mmdaesatra

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 20

“Kill. Them. All.”

“Contract?” Astrid’s arms crossed beneath her chest, her posture unyielding as she slowly rose from the chair. Her gaze, cold and calculating, locked onto mine, piercing through the defenses I struggled to maintain.

“An urgent one, preferably.” I added, forcing the words out as I met her eyes, my voice laced with the desperation I couldn’t fully hide.

A smirk danced at the corner of her lips as she sauntered toward the counter, her every step deliberate, a cat toying with its prey. “And what makes you want to leave so desperately?”

Frustration surged within me, coiling like a serpent ready to strike. My brows furrowed, and I averted my gaze, struggling to quell the storm raging in my chest. “Nothing. I just want to get out.”

The sanctuary had become a fortress, a place where the world’s chaos could not reach me. But in these recent days, it had morphed into a cage, its once comforting walls now closing in on me, suffocating, stifling.

Behind me, Astrid’s movements were slow, deliberate. She poured a dark liquid into a goblet, the faint clinking of glass the only sound that filled the oppressive silence.

“To me, it sounds like you’re running away.”

Was I?

I clenched my fists at my sides, feeling the sting of her words, each syllable like a needle piercing through the fragile threads of my resolve.

“I am not.” My voice snapped, the edge of it more jagged than I intended, slicing through the air between us. I crossed my arms defensively, the gesture a shield against the vulnerability her words had exposed. “I want to serve, as usual.”

Astrid turned to me, leaning back against the counter, a glass of wine cradled in her hand. Her gaze never wavered, eyes boring into mine with a smirk that was both warm and unsettling, “But these are not usual times, now are they?” she mused, taking a slow sip as if savoring the turmoil she had unleashed within me.

She must have sensed the desperation clawing at me, for her smirk deepened, darkened. “A contract,” she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill racing down my spine. “For an assassin. Or,” she paused, her smile twisting into something more sinister, “a Thalmor, for a Silencer.”

Her words echoed in the hollow space within me, my heart hammering in response.

“A Thalmor?”

“An ally.”

Shock rippled through me, freezing me in place as the weight of her words settled over me like a shroud. My arms fell limply to my sides, the fight draining out of me. “An ally?”

Astrid sighed, exasperation threading through her tone as she took a step back, her gaze never leaving mine. “I know, like I said, these are unusual times.”

Fury ignited within me, burning away the shock in an instant. The flames licked at my insides, scorching away the last remnants of restraint.

A Thalmor as an ally?

She had lost her mind—after everything they have done to me. After the countless Thalmor I had struck down with my blade, their blood a sacrifice to the cause she had sworn me to. And now she wanted to align with them?

“It’s not what you think,” she retorted, draining her goblet with a careless tilt of her wrist. “He’s against them, not with them.”

“And you believe that?” I took a step closer, the distance between us shrinking as my fists tightened at my sides, my anger barely contained, threatening to spill over. “Astrid, a Thalmor—” My voice trembled with rage, the words tasting like ash on my tongue, yet she merely shrugged, dismissive, indifferent.

“A Thalmor is always a Thalmor, huh?” She turned back to the counter, pouring another reckless cup of wine, the liquid sloshing over the edge, staining the wood. “Then what does that make you?”

Her words struck deep, a cruel twist of the knife, tearing open wounds I had thought long healed. My composure shattered, the façade I had built crumbling away beneath the weight of her accusations.

She can’t do this to me.

I lunged forward, the motion swift and predatory, closing the distance between us in an instant. I seized her goblet, yanking it from her grasp with a force that sent the dark liquid spilling over the edge, splattering onto the floor.

“Remember, Astrid,” I hissed, struggling to mask the venom in my voice, the fury that burned so hot it seared my throat, “I chose you over Nazir.”

I leaned in, our faces inches apart, the heat of my anger radiating off me like a flame, her eyes blazing with a slow, simmering fire that mirrored my own. “I gave you a thousand souls.”

“I know, I know it all.” She whispered desperately, “ That’s why I want you to be my Silencer.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, their weight pressing down on me. I placed the chalice on the counter, my fingers lingering on the cool metal as if grounding myself. My gaze locked onto hers, searching for any trace of doubt, but found none. Astrid, as always, was resolute, forcing me into yet another impossible choice.

Nazir’s warning echoed through my mind, a shadowy whisper that refused to be silenced. His voice, laced with concern, had been a lifeline in moments like this—a reminder of the dangers of treading too closely to the flame that was Astrid.

“I can’t tell anyone about this, not even Arnbjorn,” she whispered, her tone dipped in secrecy, slicing through my thoughts with the precision of a blade. “Like I told you before, they would not understand. No one understands.” The bitterness in her voice was palpable, a confession wrapped in the armor of her usual defiance.

But then her voice softened, took on a tone I had rarely heard from her—sincere, almost vulnerable. She leaned in closer, her eyes shimmering with something that twisted painfully in my chest. Longing.

“No one understands me like you do.”

The words struck me, shattering the remnants of my composure. I took a step back, tearing my gaze from hers, unable to bear the raw emotion in her eyes. My gaze drifted to the window frame, the world beyond a blur of shadows and moonlight, as if offering me an escape I couldn’t take.

“I need you, Niolenyl.”

Her voice, a soft plea, reached out to me, pulling me back from the brink. Her fingertips brushed against the underside of my chin, a gentle caress that coaxed me to turn back, to meet her eyes once more. There was a silent desperation in them, a plea that cut deeper than any blade she had ever wielded. It was a vulnerability she rarely showed, a chink in her armor that she revealed only to me.

The warmth of her touch sent a shiver down my spine, a contrast to the cold knot of dread coiling within me. Astrid’s need, her dependence on me, was a chain that bound me, a tether I could never fully sever. And she knew it. She knew how to wield my loyalty, my understanding, as a weapon—one that could pierce through the walls I had built around my heart.

But the choice she offered was no choice at all. It was a path I had walked too many times before, each step deeper into the shadows, into the silence that threatened to consume me.

“What do you need me to do?” The question slipped from my lips, cold and unyielding, as I took a step back. Her hand, which had cupped my chin with such delicate insistence, fell away like a withered leaf, leaving a chill in its absence.

Astrid sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. “Well, we need to start with this Thalmor. See if he’s really one of them.”

My heart thudded against my ribcage, an unsettling rhythm that only seemed to grow louder. “You want me to go after him?”

Her response was immediate, sharp, as if my question had cut her. “You got out of there, didn’t you?” She slid the goblet toward herself with languid fingers, the liquid inside swirling like the dark thoughts in my mind. “Maybe he wants it too.”

Her words gnawed at the edges of my resolve. Could it be possible? Could someone else be trapped in the same gilded cage I had barely escaped? It was a thought that, even in its slim hope, stirred something bitter and familiar within me.

The Thalmor, who had shaped my life with cruelty and twisted ideals, had a way of making the impossible seem attainable. I knew too well how they could plant seeds of hope only to crush them beneath their heel. After years of their conditioning, it was easy to see how someone could be seduced by the scraps of hope they offered, the illusion of freedom dangled just out of reach.

I had once thought I could be happy there, that I could find some semblance of peace if only I played my part perfectly.

“If you’re with me, I will find a way."

The memory, buried deep within the recesses of my mind, stirred like an ember in the ashes, threatening to reignite a fire I had long tried to extinguish. A flicker of pain surged through me, brief but powerful enough to remind me of all that I had lost.

I clenched my fists, trying to smother the emotions rising to the surface. But Astrid’s gaze was relentless, as if she could see right through me, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the choices I had made—choices that had led me here, standing at another crossroads.

“I’ll do it.”

The words were barely out of my mouth before I saw the flicker of happiness in Astrid’s eyes, a spark that quickly ignited into something brighter—excitement, perhaps even a hint of triumph. Her hand found mine on the counter, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as they settled over mine. “Will you? Will you be my Silencer?”

I drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I gazed down at her hand, its grip tightening as if afraid I might slip away. “I will do what I want to do, as usual. You’re free to call me whatever you want.”

“Oh, that’s amazing!” Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm, the smile on her lips widening as she pulled me toward her desk with a sudden, eager tug. I followed, my steps hesitant, each one feeling heavier than the last. “All we need is the blood oath!”

“Blood oath?” I froze in place, my gaze narrowing as she reached for Woe, the blade gleaming ominously as it emerged from its sheath.

“We need to swear under the eyes of our Father and Mother.” Her tone was reverent, as if the very act of swearing this oath held sacred significance. With deliberate care, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before retrieving a small, ornately carved box from one of the closed cabinets. She placed it on the desk and opened it, revealing its dark contents.

Under the eyes of our Father and Mother.

The phrase echoed in my mind, stirring a mixture of dread and inevitability. Astrid pulled a length of black cloth from the box, the fabric as dark as the void we served. With a quiet determination, she wrapped it around her wrist, her eyes lifting to meet mine with an expectant gleam.

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder of the gravity of what I was about to do. With a trace of hesitation, I extended my arm toward her, allowing her to bind it with the same cloth. The fabric felt cold against my skin, a shiver running down my spine as she secured it tightly.

“Niolenyl,” she whispered, her voice soft yet firm as her hand reached once more for Woe. “Trust me.”

Trust.

The word felt foreign, almost absurd in the world we inhabited. I trusted no one—not anymore. Not after everything I had endured, after all the betrayals and the lies. And yet, here I was, standing on the precipice of an oath that would bind me to her in ways I wasn’t sure I fully understood.

But it was too late to turn back now.

I nodded firmly, my resolve solidifying as Astrid took the blade to my wrist. The cut was precise, almost tender, as she drew the edge across my skin. My blood welled up, dark and thick, soaking into the black cloth that she swiftly wrapped around my wrist. Only then did I notice the texture of the fabric, rough and heavy with the weight of centuries—blackened not by dye, but by the dried blood of past Speakers and Silencers. A history of silent killers, all bound by this ritual, this cloth.

“Father,” Astrid began, her voice low and reverent as she closed her eyes. “Hear our calling tonight.”

The room grew unnervingly still, the air thick with anticipation. A chill crept up my spine as the candles lining the walls snuffed out one by one, plunging us into darkness. The only light now was the faint, eerie glow of the blood on our wrists.

“Bind our souls to one another.” her voice quivered ever so slightly, a tremor of emotion threading through her words.

“Let her rise,”

A sudden, searing pain surged through my veins, as though the very blood we’d spilled was burning its way into my flesh. My arm grew heavy, the weight of it pulling me down as if the dark ritual was anchoring me to something far deeper, far darker.

“The Silencer.” Astrid whispered, her breath a cold brush against my skin.

With that final invocation, the pain became all-consuming, a torrent of agony that clawed through my body. I squeezed my eyes shut, teeth gritted as I fought to maintain control, but the storm within me was relentless.

A cacophony of voices exploded in my mind, a thousand whispers merging into a chaotic symphony. They were all around me, inside me, each one speaking in a language I couldn’t fully grasp, their words crumbling into ash before they could take shape.

“Kill them all!”

“Blood is all you need.”

Each phrase struck like a hammer, driving deeper into my psyche. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into the cold stone beneath me as I tried to anchor myself, to make sense of the madness.

“You see red, that’s your job.”

I struggled to isolate a single voice, to recognize any of the tones, but they were too many, too insistent, their words intertwining and overlapping until they became one relentless command.

“Serve.”

“Blood.”

“Kill. Them. All.”

The voices grew louder, more frequent, a pounding rhythm that filled every corner of my mind. My breath hitched, my chest tightening as the voices merged into a singular, overwhelming directive. I was drowning in their demands, lost in the tidal wave of their will.

And then, in a moment of clarity, I realized the ritual had not just bound me to Astrid—it had awakened something within, something ancient and ravenous. A force that had been lying dormant, now unleashed by the blood that stained the cloth around my wrist.

And in that darkness, as the voices surged and swelled, I felt a grim acceptance settle over me.

Is this my role, my fate?

To kill, to serve, to be the shadow in the night.

With a sharp gasp, my eyes flew open, and I found myself staring into the concerned gaze of Astrid, who was leaning over me. The sight of her face so close startled me, and I quickly sat up, my movements sluggish as if I were pushing through a thick fog. I looked around, disoriented, realizing I didn’t remember laying down in the first place.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, blinking slowly as her eyes roved over my face, searching for something—perhaps a sign that the ritual had taken hold.

I felt like hell. My ears rang with a high-pitched intensity that made every sound unbearable, my arm throbbed with a dull ache, and a dizzying wave of nausea threatened to topple me over with every movement.

“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice hoarse as I slid my legs off the bed with deliberate caution. The room swayed slightly as I moved, and I had to steady myself with a deep breath.

Astrid's gaze remained fixed on me, her concern thinly veiled by a mask of calm. I could tell she was more interested in whether the ritual had worked than in my actual well-being. Her eyes scanned me like I was a piece of work she had just crafted, searching for any flaws or imperfections.

I glanced down at my arm, noting that the wound had been carefully cleaned and stitched, now wrapped in a fresh bandage. The black cloth and the bow were gone, as if they had never existed.

“Easy,” Astrid murmured, her voice soft as she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder to steady me when I attempted to stand.

It took a few seconds for my legs to stop trembling, every muscle in my body protesting as I fought to maintain my balance. The effort of simply staying upright felt like a Herculean task.

“I said I’m fine.” I snapped, yanking myself out of her grip. I took a few unsteady steps back, needing to put some distance between us. Astrid’s hands lifted in a gesture of surrender, her expression tinged with something between surprise and curiosity as she watched me.

“You got what you wanted,” I added, my voice cold and edged with the lingering pain in my arm and mind. I crossed my arms over my chest, planting my feet firmly on the ground despite the lingering weakness.

“Now, tell me where to find this Thalmor.”

“Are you leaving so soon?”

Amon’s voice cut through the air, snapping me out of my focus as I stuffed the last of my belongings into my bag. The soft creak of the door hinted at his presence, but I refused to acknowledge him, keeping my gaze fixed on the task at hand.

His silhouette loomed in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, but his eyes were anything but casual. They bore into me, filled with a concern that I chose to dismiss as insincere. I could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, but I forced myself to ignore it.

“When,” I snapped, irritation flaring as I threw my hands up, “When are you going to learn how to knock?”

The frustration simmered just beneath the surface, a bitter taste on my tongue. I hated how he could just slip in and out of my space, how he seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. It made my skin crawl, made me feel exposed.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in his jaw tensing as his expression darkened. “It’s daylight.” he hissed, the words laced with a quiet accusation that made my blood boil.

“Right,” I muttered, forcing a tight smile as I turned back to my bag. “Shouldn’t you be in the dungeons? I thought you liked it there.”

The moment the words left my lips, I regretted them. But it was too late. I couldn’t take them back. I kept my movements deliberate, trying to maintain an air of indifference as I secured my bag, but I could feel the tension between us crackling like electricity.

In a flash, he was there, his speed so unnerving that it sent a shiver down my spine. His body pressed me against the dresser, the sudden closeness making my heart hammer in my chest. A strand of my hair fluttered up, caught in the rush of his movement, before falling back down, brushing against my cheek.

His hand rested on my waist, firm and possessive, while the other braced against the wall beside my head. His eyes, intense and smoldering, locked onto mine with a gaze that sent heat pooling in my stomach. The air between us grew heavy, charged with something dangerous and undeniably magnetic.

“I told you,” he growled, his voice low and filled with a raw intensity that made my breath catch, “I wished it was you.”

I wanted to move, to push him away, but my body betrayed me. I was rooted to the spot, my pulse quickening under his touch. His hand on my waist felt like it was branding me, burning through the layers of fabric and searing my skin.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over my lips, and I could feel the heat radiating from him, overwhelming and suffocating. “Through all of it,” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk that was both infuriating and intoxicating, “I wished it was you.”

A shiver ran down my spine, a mix of fear and something else—something I didn’t want to name—coiling deep within me. His words echoed in my mind, blurring the line between threat and desire.

“I wish…” His voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between us, heavy with implication. His lips hovered just above mine, the distance between us so slight that I could feel his breath on my skin.

Desperation clawed at me, and with a sharp turn of my head, I broke the spell, my gaze darting away from his. I needed to escape his allure, to regain some semblance of control, but the tension lingered, a palpable force binding us in a moment that neither of us could shake.

“It will never be me.”

The words tumbled out, a cold and sharp truth I clung to. Yet even as I said it, something twisted inside me, a bitterness I couldn’t explain. I loathed the thought of Fen’s hands on him, her fingers tracing over his skin, her lips pressed to his. The mere image of it made something sick and ugly churn in my stomach, a dark frustration that festered beneath the surface. I shoved him away, more forcefully than I intended, but the need to create distance, to escape the entanglement of emotions, was overwhelming.

“What happened last night?” His voice was softer now, a question laced with concern that I didn’t want to hear. My movements slowed, but I kept silent, refusing to answer. “You lost a lot of blood, I could smell it… Is that—”

I froze, my gaze fixed on the door, my arm instinctively shifting behind my back to hide the wound. I could feel his frustration, a mirror to my own, but I didn’t care. I had to get out. I had to leave before this went any further.

“Wait—” His voice called out as I slung my bag over my shoulder, ignoring him as I moved toward the Black Door. I needed the fresh air, the space away from the suffocating closeness of the Sanctuary.

The door opened with a soft creak, and the dim daylight spilled in, warming my face with a tender touch. It felt like freedom, like a breath of fresh air in a place that was stifling me.

“Niolenyl!” His voice was a growl, his tone desperate, demanding my attention. I paused, glancing back over my shoulder just enough to see him out of the corner of my eye. “I can’t go out there!”

It was almost amusing, the idea that he thought we were a team, that he expected me to take him with me wherever I went, like there was some unspoken bond between us. But there wasn’t. There never would be.

“That’s the whole point. Have fun.”

With that, I stepped out into the daylight, leaving him behind. The warmth of the sun seeped into my skin, a silent intensity that felt like a promise of something different, something better.

As the door closed behind me, the tension dissipated, leaving only the steady beat of my heart and the weight of what I’d left behind.

I was alone, as I had always been, with an aching wound in my arm that pulsed in time with the heaviness in my chest.

To Markarth.

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 19

"I already paid the price."

4E, 196

The voices, thick with malice, filled the room, echoing in my ears and drowning out all else. “Come on!” one growled, his breath searing against my skin. “Make her face me, yeah, just like that.”

His words barely registered, lost in the haze of pain and numbness that had claimed me long ago.

“Do you enjoy that, you little Thalmor slut?” another sneered, each syllable dripping with contempt. His voice twisted into a cruel mockery, a venomous joke, as his hand gripped my chin, forcing my eyes open. My gaze met the distorted, stained faces of the men towering above me—Imperials, perhaps, with sharp features like brothers. Their faces blurred together in a sickening montage of cruelty.

“She feels so good,” another groaned, his voice low and guttural, reverberating through my core. Their words were nothing more than noise in the endless abyss they had thrown me into.

A thick length filled me again and again, the rhythm hammering against my body. But the numbness had settled in long before, dulling every sensation, turning the pain into an unending, agonizing void.

“Look at me,” the man gripping my chin demanded, his voice cold and commanding. I had no choice but to obey, to meet those empty, soulless eyes. “Please,” I whimpered, my voice barely a breath, the last shred of strength I had left.

“Just like that,” the one on his right chuckled darkly, “Make her beg.”

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I forced them back, choking them down as I had done for hours now. I couldn’t let them see me break, not completely.

“Don’t tire her out, boys,” the silent one finally spoke, buckling up his pants, his voice dripping with casual cruelty. “Helvo and the others will want a taste at the party tonight.”

A sudden, sickening pull as one of them withdrew left a warm, disgusting stream trailing down my leg. It was a mockery of relief, another in a series that seemed endless.

“I don’t get why we can’t just keep her to ourselves,” the one who had been lounging nearby leaned over, his hand brushing strands of hair from my sweat-streaked face. His touch was deceptively gentle, almost tender. “I could fuck her for all eternity.”

“She won’t live long,” the other replied, a cruel grin stretching across his face. “You know what they do to Thalmor like her around here.”

“We,” the man on the left growled, grabbing my aching, bruised behind with a grip that sent fresh waves of agony through me, “just want to have all the fun with her before handing her over.” He pulled me against him, his mouth descending on mine in a savage, suffocating kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth, and I gagged, choking on the taste of him.

“I said enough, Samuel!” the leader snapped, his tone laced with finality.

The lips that had trapped mine finally released their cruel hold, but his gaze remained, locking onto mine with a possessiveness that sent a shiver of revulsion through me. “She deserves kisses, doesn’t she?” he murmured, the words dripping with a twisted kind of affection.

Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine again—another long, wet kiss that left me feeling more disgusted than the acts that had preceded it. When he finally pulled away, his eyes gleamed with a sick satisfaction.

“I was her first, after all.”

As if that gave him some claim over me, some right to this madness.

I stared into his eyes—the man who had inflicted the most pain. His greenish-blue gaze was unfeeling. Each time he forced himself into me, the pain had been beyond anything I could have imagined, yet it was the cold, detached cruelty in his eyes that truly shattered me. It was as if he took pleasure not in my suffering, but in my slow, inevitable destruction.

A moment passed, and his gaze darkened, a cruel flicker of satisfaction as he finally pushed me away, rising from the floor as if discarding something worthless.

Three men loomed over me, their faces a twisted, nightmarish reflection of one another—three versions of the same monster, each leaving their own distinct brand of torment seared into my soul. They took their pleasure in different ways, carving out pieces of me until there was nothing left but a hollow shell.

My torn clothes were thrown at me, a pathetic heap on the floor, like scraps tossed to an animal. A final, degrading insult before they turned their backs on me. The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, the sound echoing through the silence like the toll of a death knell.

In that moment, I knew I was dying—not just in body, but in spirit, in every way that mattered.

The person I had been was gone, torn apart by their hands, replaced by a void as empty and cold as their eyes. I felt it in the hollow ache in my chest, in the numbness that spread through me like a poison, seeping into every part of who I was.

The silence that followed was suffocating, a void that swallowed everything. I lay there, broken and discarded, staring up at the dark ceiling, and all I could think was that this was it. This was how I would die—alone, in darkness, with nothing but the echoes of their laughter and the remnants of my shattered soul.

I survived the trial, didn’t I?

Even as the agony tore through me, as the cold, detached cruelty of these men threatened to break what little remained of my spirit, I clung to that truth. That trial had taken everything—Elamoril, my love, my friend. It had shattered me, leaving me a hollow shell, yet I I had endured that nightmare, and somehow, I would endure this one too.

I have to.

When I finally stirred back to consciousness, a numbness had settled over my lower back and legs, rendering them almost useless. Gritting my teeth, I placed my elbows on the filthy floor and tried to pull myself up. But the effort sent a sharp, stabbing pain through my body, forcing me to collapse back down.

The floor beneath me was a slick, nauseating mix of blood, the vile remnants of those three men, and filth. It clung to my skin, a constant reminder of the horror that had just transpired. I was in an attic somewhere, its walls steeped in darkness so thick that even with my eyes straining to adjust, I could barely make out any shapes. No windows, no cracks, no light—nothing to guide my escape.

How could I escape?

My eyes darted around the room, desperate to find an exit, but my legs were dead weight, and every movement sent unbearable pain coursing through me. I could try to walk, but the fear of collapsing, of my legs buckling under me, paralyzed me with dread.

But I had no choice. I had to reach deep inside, grasping for the smallest thread of restoration magic I had left. My hands trembled as I placed them over my legs, willing the numbness to fade, begging for just enough strength to stand. The pain was excruciating, sharp and relentless, and I was never good at healing. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to stifle the cries of pain, but small groans escaped through my clenched jaw. Each attempt felt like I was tearing myself apart from the inside.

Using the wall for support, I forced myself to my feet, every inch a battle against my broken body. My legs quivered beneath me, barely holding my weight, but I couldn’t let myself collapse. Not now.

I searched the crates and barrels scattered around the attic, hoping for something, anything that could aid my escape. But all I found were rotten food and scurrying mice, reminders of the filth and decay surrounding me. My heart sank further with each futile attempt. I was running out of options, running out of hope.

Leaning heavily against the wall near the door, my eyes locked onto the rusty lock. It looked like it could be picked, but I had nothing—no tools, not even a hairpin. The realization struck me like a hammer to the chest, crushing the last remnants of hope I had clung to.

I was really trapped.

The weight of it all crashed down on me, a suffocating wave of despair. My breath hitched, the hopelessness sinking into my bones, making the darkness around me feel even more oppressive. I had survived so much, endured horrors that should have broken me, yet here I was, caged like an animal with no way out.

When I first encountered them, there had only been one. It was laughable, really—me, defeated by a mere man. I, who had faced trials that would break lesser beings, brought low by a single enemy. But I had reached for the magic within me, the power that had once flowed so freely through my veins, ready to unleash it in one final, destructive move. And it had betrayed me. The connection slipped from my grasp like a ghost, leaving me scarred and bleeding, too weak to fight, without even a weapon to defend myself.

I remembered his eyes—how they darkened with a sinister gleam the moment he realized I was vulnerable—a Thalmor, alone and helpless. There had been no mercy in that gaze, only the cold, calculated hunger of a predator sensing easy prey. The realization of my weakness had brought him to life, igniting a twisted pleasure in my suffering.

Sitting here, waiting, was torture. Every second felt like a blade slicing into my skin, a slow, agonizing reminder that death was creeping closer. I was terrified, but I’d been terrified before—too many times to count. The day I was taken from my family, my first night at Clamcora, when I saw the Forsworn on the bridge with his bow… But through all of it, he was with me.

He was always with me.

Tears welled up in my eyes, not from fear, but from a deep, overwhelming sadness. My fear had turned into mourning so quickly that it took me by surprise. Here, in the darkness where no one could see or hear, I let the tears fall. No one would know.

The sorrow, so heavy and consuming, was like a cloak around my heart. The loneliness was unbearable, more painful than the wounds inflicted on my body. It was the absence of his presence, the emptiness where once there had been comfort and strength, that tore at me the most. Without him, the world felt colder, the darkness deeper, and the pain more intolerable.

I am lost without him.

So, I let the tears fall, each one carrying a piece of my soul with it. Because in that moment, I realized that this was the real trial—facing the darkness alone, without the one who had always been there to guide me through.

I wished he was here. Maybe then, everything would be okay again. His presence had always brought a sense of safety, a shield against the darkness. But now, with only shadows and silence as my companions, I felt that safety slipping away, replaced by a gnawing fear that threatened to consume me.

After what felt like hours of waiting and quietly crying in the shadows, I finally mustered the strength to check my body, marred with bruises and the lingering traces of all that had happened. The sight was a cruel reminder, but it also ignited a flicker of something deeper—anger, determination, a burning need to reclaim what had been taken from me.

I waited, letting the stillness work in my favor as I began to regenerate my magicka, drawing it back slowly, carefully, from the depths where it had retreated. With every ounce of strength I regained, I planned my next move—carefully, methodically, lethally.

Just like he taught me.

“Ah, you look ready for the party.” Samuel’s voice was light as he approached, his steps deliberate, each one bringing him closer. A radiant smile lit up his face, but as I mirrored it with a smile of my own, his expression faltered, the brightness in his eyes dimming like a flame snuffed out by the wind.

He gazed down at me, his eyes filled with uncertainty. I did not let him see the emptiness that lay beneath my facade. "Samuel," I said softly, my voice gentle but laced with a profound weariness, "I want to be with you again, first, before—" I struggled to steady my voice, "before all that.”

His eyes searched mine for something real, anything beyond the surface. I knew he would only find what I had revealed, sincerity, longing, even love, crafted to manipulate the moment to my advantage.

The corner of his lip curled up in a smirk as he began unbuckling his pants, his movements slow, deliberate. My eyes quickly shifted to the dagger strapped to his belt, hidden beneath his clothes. It was my only chance, my only hope to turn the tide. The grim reality of my situation pressed heavily on me, but I steeled myself, preparing for the moment I would act.

“Onto the table.” he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative. I complied, driven by a mix of fear and determination as he approached, his pants discarded along with the dagger. The weapon lay there, a symbol of my only hope, though it seemed distant in my desperation.

With a swift motion, he pulled my trousers down, his knee forcing my legs apart. His grip on my thighs was cold and unyielding. I felt a searing pain as he forced himself inside my brokenness, the rhythm of his movements harsh and relentless.

His arm slid beneath me, gripping my waist, while his other hand braced against the table. His lips met mine in a forceful, demanding kiss, a cruel reminder of his control.

“You loved it, didn’t you?” His gaze was locked onto mine, demanding a response as the table trembled beneath me. “Tell me.”

I knew what I had to do. Among the three, he was the most possessive, as if asserting his dominance over me meant something. I had watched and listened, and I knew that I had to survive.

“I only love what you do to me.” I whispered, my voice carrying a seductive edge that would appease his desires, a silent surrender amidst the chaos.

His grip tightened painfully as he lifted me up, and I wrapped my trembling legs around his waist. He carried me a few steps, the weight of my predicament pressing down on me.

My lips locked onto his, and my eyes darted to his discarded pants on the floor. My heart pounded with every step he took forward. He laid me down on the floor, his lips still pressed against mine as he continued his relentless rhythm. I could sense his satisfaction, his pleasure in knowing that he had my silent acquiescence—something the others had not received. It made him feel special, his sense of dominance bolstered by the illusion of my submission. My gaze flickered to the side, where the dagger lay just a few steps away.

I placed my hand on his chest, and he paused, his gaze lifting to meet mine for the first time. There was a flicker of confusion in his eyes, quickly replaced by surprise as he looked at me. For the first time since he had forced himself upon me, he hesitated—halting when I wanted him to.

I offered a playful smirk, using the briefest of opportunities to push him off and roll on top of him. His eyes lit up with amusement at the sudden shift in control, clearly enjoying the reversal of roles.

“Samuel,” I whispered softly, my voice a gentle caress against his ear. Despite my calm tone, my eyes burned with determination. I lowered myself closer to him, my breath brushing against his neck, and my hand reached out carefully to the side. My fingers found the edge of his trousers, and I tugged them just enough to access the weapon I needed.

“You were my first.” I whispered, my lips trailing up to meet his, a dark sense of irony twisting in my heart.

It was a cruel joke, just like the one he had played on me.

He moaned under my lips, his breath hot and ragged as he gripped my lower back, reveling in the intensity of the moment. “Yeah,” he gasped, clearly enjoying every second.

“And I, will be your last.”

The blade bit into his flesh, and a splatter of blood marked my face. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, then gripped the dagger firmly and pulled it out. Samuel’s eyes met mine, their vibrant blue and green dimming as life drained from them.

“Gahh!”

He gasped, another spurt of blood escaping his lips as I drove the dagger in once more. Tears traced down my cheeks, a silent testament to my inner turmoil.

Stop crying.

The third thrust, and the others that followed, did nothing to stir him from his lifeless state. The blood splashed across my face, each drop igniting a primal, dangerous urge within me. I could feel the frenzy threatening to consume me, but I knew I couldn’t give in, not now.

With urgency, I pushed myself away from Samuel’s lifeless body, quickly dressing and securing his dagger beneath my sleeve. My legs trembled with the aftermath of the ordeal, but I forced myself to move forward.

I approached the door, easing it open just enough to peer into the hall. The sound of laughter and chatter from the men beyond filled the space. I took measured steps toward the light, my breath steady but growing colder with each step.

A door to the hall suddenly flew open, and a jolt of panic surged through me. My heart raced as I realized there was no escape. Desperation clawed at me, and my gaze shot back to the room where Samuel’s lifeless body lay, but I couldn’t go back.

I shrank into the shadows, drawing my shoulders in, as a man emerged from the hallway and turned away. He was oblivious to my presence. With a silent, frantic resolve, I closed the distance and launched myself onto his back. My legs encircled his torso, and my arm tightened around his neck. His strangled grunt filled the air as I stabbed into his neck with brutal efficiency. Each thrust was a release of my rage. His body fell limp, crashing to the floor with a heavy thud.

The sudden voice from the hall pierced through my frenzied state, “What was that? Samuel?”

Fear gripped me as I scrambled to my feet, dragging the man’s lifeless form into the bathroom. My heart pounded violently against my ribs as I hefted his weight, my body trembling with the effort.

The footsteps in the hallway grew louder, closer. I pressed myself against the doorway, clutching the dagger tightly. The tremors that wracked my body were not just from fear but from the relentless, searing pain that seemed to pulse through every nerve. The agony was a constant, torturous reminder of the brutality I had endured. I dared not imagine how many bones were shattered beneath my skin.

“Samuel?” the voice called, filled with rising panic. There was a grunt, a gasp, and then, “He’s dead!” The footsteps quickened, and my pulse raced with mounting dread.

“Find that whore!”

A voice echoed in the distance, and my heart almost stopped when I spotted the bathroom window. With trembling hands, I climbed through the narrow opening, my body scraping painfully against the edges. I tumbled onto the snow outside, the cold numbing my bruised flesh as I crumpled into the snowbank.

“Look everywhere, find her!” the command cut through the night air, a chilling reminder of the hunt that had begun.

Panic surged as I staggered to my feet, each movement sending sharp jolts of agony through my battered body. I had no idea where I was, but my eyes locked onto the pine forest ahead. It was my only chance. The path through the trees was a grim reminder of the escape route I’d once taken—one I had to use again now. I couldn’t go back.

A sharp whistle pierced the air as a crossbow bolt whizzed past, grazing the snow beside me. My head snapped around, catching sight of at least five figures sprinting toward me. My heart raced, the unbearable pain in my legs pushing me to move faster. I barreled downhill, ducking my head to avoid another deadly bolt.

The icy wind cut through me, mingling with the excruciating pain. Despair clawed at my resolve, but I forced my legs to carry me forward. Every step was a struggle, every breath a battle against the agony. The forest loomed closer, its dark embrace offering a fleeting hope of escape.

My gaze lingered over the horizon, the vast, frozen tundra of Skyrim stretching endlessly before me, a desolate promise of freedom just beyond my reach.

Suddenly, the thunder of hooves shattered the silence, the noise closing in as six men on horseback encircled me, their steeds kicking up the snow in a whirlwind of power. I was their prey—weak, cornered, and helpless.

“Get her back here!” a voice barked, harsh and unyielding.

“She murdered our brother!” another shouted, his words dripping with venom as he drew his sword, the cold steel catching the faint light of the fading day.

“Easy, Elias!” one of the men tried to calm him, but Elias was beyond reason. His eyes, wild with rage, locked onto me as I stumbled backward, my legs giving out beneath me, sending me crashing into the snow. From my position on the ground, I looked up, the men towering over me from their horses, their expressions twisted with a mix of fury and disgust.

Elias advanced, his footsteps crunching through the snow as he closed the distance between us. His gaze burned with unwavering fury, the promise of violence etched into every tense line of his body. My breath caught in my throat, fear choking me as I prepared for the worst.

But before he could reach me, the third brother, the silent one grabbed Elias by the mantle, yanking him back with a force that made Elias stumble.

“I said stop!” his voice was low but commanding, brokering no argument.

“Why, Levi? She killed him!” Elias growled, his voice raw with pain and anger, but Levi remained calm, his eyes scanning me with a cold calculation before turning back to his brother.

“Legion will pay for her.” Levi whispered, his words meant only for Elias, but I heard them clear as day, the implication heavy in the air.

“Damn the gold! Samuel is dead!” Elias spat, his grief morphing into blind rage, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

A sharp crack echoed through the clearing as Levi slapped his brother across the face, the sound cutting through the cold like a whip. Elias reeled back, stunned into silence, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at Levi, the raw sting of the slap stifling his protest.

“Enough!” Levi’s voice was firm, final. The fury in Elias’s eyes dimmed, replaced by a simmering resentment, but he said nothing more.

I have to run away.

I hadn’t prayed to Y’ffre in nine long years. My faith, once a flickering flame, had been extinguished by the Thalmor and their twisted teachings. But now, as I lay in the snow, battered and bruised, with death circling around me like a pack of wolves, I felt the old words rise from somewhere deep inside me, unbidden but powerful.

Please, Mother, help me. Give me strength.

The cold bit into my skin, numbing the pain that radiated from every inch of my body. My fingers dug into the snow, desperate for something, anything, to anchor me. I could hear them closing in, their footsteps crunching over the frozen ground, their breaths heavy with anticipation. I wanted to run, to scream, to fight—but my body refused to obey. I was trapped, surrounded, helpless.

“Take her!” one of them barked, and I heard the sound of a man dismounting, his boots crunching through the snow as he approached me.

My heart raced, every beat like a drum in my ears. The fear was overwhelming, a suffocating blanket that threatened to smother what little resolve I had left. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying with every ounce of strength I had left.

Please, Y’ffre… Mother…

Hunger. The hunger was overwhelming, gnawing at the edges of my sanity, a primal, insatiable need that consumed me from within. My hands trembled as they gripped the snow beneath me, the cold barely registering against the fiery desperation coursing through my veins. I felt as though my very essence was unraveling, each breath stoking the fire in my belly, sharpening my senses until the world around me seemed to blur and fade.

But then, a voice—a woman’s voice, soft and soothing—whispered in the depths of my mind, a voice that warmed my heart like the sun after a long winter.

“Will you pay the price?”

Her words echoed in my mind, cutting through the fear like a knife. The hunger that had consumed me began to fade, replaced by something else—something deeper, something I hadn’t felt in years.

Love.

Not the cold, distant love of my mother, but a fierce, protective love that wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

“Price of the Wild Hunt?”

The words echoed in my mind, a whisper from the abyss that threatened to consume me entirely. I trembled as one of the men grasped my shoulder, yanking me to my feet with a roughness that jarred me from the haze of my thoughts.

“Get her, right now!” His voice was sharp, but distant, drowned out by the pounding in my head. As his grip tightened, I was once more yanked into an insatiable hunger that clashed with the embrace around me—a love that wasn’t truly there. For a fleeting moment, I wished for death, to follow Elamoril wherever he had gone, to escape the unbearable weight of survival.

I already paid the price.

“Come here, you—” His words cut off as pain seared through my body, a pain unlike anything I had ever felt before. It twisted and tore at my bones, an agony that no man could have inflicted. I felt as though I was being remade, each movement becoming lighter, faster, stronger.

“Shor’s bones…”

“Ulkar! Gods! He’s dead!”

“What are those?”

I sprang up from the snow and Ulkar’s lifeless body slumped to the ground, his throat slit open, blood gushing out. But my dagger was still on the floor. My hands—no, not hands—were now thinner, longer, and tipped with razor-sharp claws.

I didn’t need a blade. The hunger was all I needed.

So hungry.

The next man fell before me, my claws sinking into his flesh with ease, his blood warm and sweet against my tongue. Two pairs of hands grabbed at me, trying to pull me away, but I was beyond their reach. My teeth found his neck, and I bit down with a primal fury, tearing through flesh, muscle, and bone with terrifying ease.

This was no ordinary hunger—it was a hunger for the world itself, for everything in it. And I would devour it all.

“Kill that monster!” Elias’s voice shattered the night, raw and desperate as he scrambled toward one of the panicked horses.

Not so fast.

I advanced with a predator’s grace, the two men holding me down clutching at my frenzied form. I met the gaze of one, black creeping into the corners of his pale blue irises. Fear. I snarled and twisted, my claws raking across his torso, drawing a guttural cry from him.

So hungry.

I broke free from their faltering grip, driven by a force beyond my own, and closed in on Elias. His earlier bravado had dissolved into sheer terror, his gaze darting away as he tried to flee.

“Look… at… me.” My voice was a rasp, laden with the primal hunger that had replaced my words. Each syllable was a snarl, a challenge.

Elias stumbled back, his face contorted with fear, his attempts to escape growing frantic. The hunter was now prey, and his fear was palpable, a stark contrast to his previous arrogance.

A crossbow bolt thudded into my shoulder, but it was inconsequential. The searing pain was a mere distraction, barely registering as I pressed forward. My eyes were locked on Elias, who had backed against a tree, his hands raised in a feeble attempt to shield himself.

“I said,” I snarled, my fingers forming a lethal point as I drove them into his torso, below his ribcage. The impact was visceral, a sickening crunch resonating through the night. “Look at me.”

His eyes met mine, a mixture of horror and desperation. I drove my claws into his torso, feeling the resistance of flesh and bone yielding beneath my grip. The sound of cracking ribs and tearing organs filled the night, mingling with Elias’s gasps and groans. His body writhed, a grotesque dance of agony, but he was forced to look into my eyes as his life slipped away.

The hunger within me roared, an insatiable beast that drove me to consume the very essence of my tormentor. The crossbow bolts that continued to fly past me were mere distractions; nothing could deter me from my purpose.

I looked into the now moss-colored, lifeless eyes of Elias, feeling the warm, sticky remnants of his insides dripping from my claws. His body slumped softly to the ground, leaving a trail of blood smeared across the snow and staining the bark of the surrounding trees.

Turning my gaze to the remaining men, I moved with the precision of a predator, my steps silent and swift. I could taste the coppery essence of Elias as I chewed on his remains, the hunger that had driven me to this moment now transforming into a fierce, consuming power.

The men around me began to scatter as panic took hold. “Behind us!” one of them shouted, his voice breaking the chaotic rhythm of the fight. The horses neighed in terror, adding to the frenzy.

With a speed that matched the striking of an owl, I lunged forward. My claws sliced through the throat of one man effortlessly, and I stepped back, my movements fluid and predatory. I grabbed the next victim by the throat, my enhanced strength making the task of ending his life as easy as a flick of my wrist.

The remaining men were visibly shaken, their confidence eroding as they beheld the bloody aftermath of their comrades. Levi’s face paled as he watched the carnage unfold, his voice cracking with anguish.

“Elias! No!”

The sight of their fallen allies drove me further, my hunger transforming into a relentless drive. I leaped at the two men on my right, their surprise making them easy targets. One man grabbed at what appeared to be antlers on my forehead, an odd, distracting gesture. But I shook him off with the grace of a deer, my claws finding their mark as I tore into him with brutal efficiency.

The screams and shouts around me became a blur, drowned out by the pounding of my own heartbeat and the rhythmic thumping of others’ rapidly fading pulses. The thrill of the hunt, the strength surging through me with each death, was intoxicating.

“Come here, demon!” One of the remaining men roared, his blade swinging wildly. I evaded his attacks with the agility of a fox, sidestepping and dodging with ease. Each movement was precise, calculated.

The man’s desperation grew as I danced around him, picking off his companions one by one. The only sounds were the gasps of the dying and the relentless beat of my own pulse.

As one man tried to flee, mounting his horse in a panic, I grabbed the reins, pulling him off the steed with a brutal yank. The horse, now wild with fear, reared and bucked, but I ignored it.

Levi was still at my heels, his blade swinging in increasingly desperate arcs. I dodged his every strike, my focus on the growing weariness in his eyes. Each movement, each dodge, was calculated to wear him down, to make him vulnerable to my relentless assault.

As Levi raised his arm to bring down his blade with all his might, I stood before him, my silence deadly, like a serpent lying in wait. His eyes, once full of fury, now brimmed with terror as he realized the futility of his strength against what I had become.

He straightened his posture, trying to regain some semblance of control. But as his sword descended, I moved with the swiftness of a feline, twisting around his strike. In an instant, my hand closed around his throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The other men froze, their breaths caught in their throats as they watched in stunned silence.

But my focus was solely on Levi. The once silent, composed warrior now dangled helplessly in my grip, his eyes wide with fear, tears spilling down his cheeks.

The silent one. He was no longer a threat, but I had no intention of letting him go.

With a cruel precision, I forced his mouth open, my fingers prying it wide. His muffled grunts of pain echoed in the still air as I reached inside, grabbing hold of his tongue. My other hand tightened around his neck, and with a ferocity that matched a bear’s strength, I yanked. The sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the air as I ripped his tongue—and everything else attached to it—from his throat.

“Run! Now!” One of the remaining men shouted, his voice trembling with terror. The desperation in his words spurred the others into motion, but they were too slow. The stench of fear clung to them, intoxicating and overwhelming.

But the hunger was gone. My stomach churned, revolting against the remnants of flesh and blood I had consumed. The satisfaction of power was overshadowed by a sickening nausea that threatened to consume me.

I don’t want to eat anymore.

But then, a voice, soft and insistent, echoed in the recesses of my mind. Mother’s voice.

“Eat, child.”

I approached the remaining men as they desperately tried to flee, their fear a palpable force in the air. But this time, it wasn’t hunger that drove me—it was something deeper, a power that called out from within me. My magic surged, primal and potent, demanding release.

Dropping to my knees, I pressed my hands into the snow, the cold biting into my skin. My eyes closed as I reached out, feeling the frozen veins of the earth beneath me, sensing its icy pulse. The snow responded, its heartbeat quickening as my magic intertwined with it, awakening something ancient and unstoppable.

A horse’s anguished cry shattered the night, pulling me from the depths of my power. My eyes snapped open, and what I saw stole the breath from my lungs.

Spikes of ice, tall and merciless, had erupted from the ground, piercing through horse and man alike. The crystalline structures stood tall, gleaming in the faint light, reaching up toward the dark sky like frozen fingers of death. Blood stained the snow around them, the life force of my enemies frozen in place, a gruesome testament to the power that had surged through me.

And then, there was silence.

A silence so profound that it seemed to swallow the world, signaling the end of everything. The end of the hunt. The end of the fight.

The end of me.

A sharp coldness pressed against my side, and only then did I realize I had fallen, my body too drained to move. The world tilted as I lay on the frozen ground, my gaze fixed on the sky above. The stars, countless and eternal, shimmered down at me, their light cold and distant.

But to me, they were warm, beckoning.

I am ready.

Ready to join him, to follow Elamoril into whatever came next. The thought filled me with a peace I had not known in years. The pain, the hunger, the fear—all of it faded as my heart began to slow, its beat growing softer and softer until it was nothing more than a whisper.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the darkness that crept in at the edges of my vision.

This was the end.

“Well, well, look at what we have here, Nazir!”

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 18

“I often get what I want.”

"And then he shouted. The king... he had no idea that a man could wield such power."

Leona’s voice quivered as she recounted the tale of Ulfric Stormcloak, the air in the room growing thick with unease. The mere thought of a man, capable of such an act made my blood run cold. To challenge a king and win with nothing but a shout—that took more than boldness. It took a power that most of us could only dream of.

As the weight of her words sank in, my gaze drifted to Amon. He was already watching me, a knowing smile curling at the corners of his lips. That look—what did it mean? Did he know something I didn’t? The unsettling thought lodged itself in my mind, refusing to let go.

“A shout?” Astrid’s voice cut through the tension, a mix of curiosity and concern coloring her tone. Her hand tightened around the paper she held, as if bracing herself for the answer.

I leaned back in my chair, feeling the weight of the room’s collective dread. The Brotherhood had faced many threats, but this… this was something different.

“Some teachings of the Greybeards,” Festus interjected with a weary sigh. His voice carried the weight of years spent unraveling mysteries that should have stayed hidden. “Ulfric must have spent time with those priests to learn the Way of the Voice.”

Grodyl’s scoff broke the brief silence, his expression one of forced resignation. “The power of a dragon, wielded by a man. It’s not just magic—it’s something ancient.”

“Like, Dovahkiin?” Asbjorn’s question hung in the air, tension crackling between us as Astrid rolled her eyes, clearly irked by the reminder.

“Not quite,” Grodyl replied, his voice thick with unease. “He might manage it once, maybe twice in his life. If it doesn’t tear his voice apart the first time.”

“I came as soon as I could, Speaker,” Leona’s voice carried a sharp edge of urgency, betraying the concern etched in her eyes. “I need to return to my post.”

Astrid gave a curt nod. “Go, Leona. Stay vigilant and keep us informed.”

Without another word, Leona turned on her heel, the heavy clank of her armor echoing through the room as she made her way to the portal. Beneath the soldier’s steel, there was the heart of an assassin—one the ranks of Castle Dour remained oblivious to.

As the door closed behind her, Astrid’s composed facade began to fracture. She sank into the central chair, the paper she held trembling as it met the table, her hand barely able to keep it steady. Her voice wavered as she spoke, the gravity of her words pulling the air from the room.

“The war has officially started.” She exhaled a shaky breath, fighting to regain control. “Brothers and Sisters, if we are to survive, we must bide our time, as we always have, and wait for the right moment to strike. But before that…”

“Before what?” Festus snapped, the lines of his brow deepening with irritation. “Before the dragons swoop down and burn us all to ash? Or Ulfric’s men storm our sanctuary?”

Grodyl’s agreement came reluctantly, his voice laced with the frustration of a man trapped between impossible choices. “He’s right. We need a plan, Astrid. We can’t just sit and wait for death to find us.”

“And what exactly would you have us do, Grodyl?” Asbjorn’s voice dripped with venomous contempt as he turned his glare on the Dunmer. “Fight dragons? Charge at them with our swords and daggers?.”

Grodyl’s patience was thinning, his tone growing taut. “We need allies.”

Astrid’s gaze turned icy, her words as sharp as the blades they all carried. “You’re suggesting we pick a side, then?”

“Sooner or later, Astrid,” Grodyl replied, his gaze dropping to the floor as he crossed his arms, weariness in every line of his posture. “Dawnstar already has the Stormcloaks at their back.”

“And what price do you think we’d pay for that protection?” Astrid’s voice cut through the room like a blade as she threw the rolled paper across the table. Her hands trembled, just for a moment, as she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Waste my people, waste you, on this man’s war?”

“Astrid’s right,” Fen’s voice cut through the clamor, as cool and unyielding as the chill that permeated the room. “Ulfric and his men are as unreliable as the Empire itself, and we all know it.”

The argument continued, voices rising in discord, but my focus shifted to the parchment lying on the table. I reached for it, feeling the weight of its contents before I even read the words. It was a letter addressed to all the Jarls of Skyrim, outlining the supposed ‘dishonorable combat’ that had taken place and officially naming Elisif, the widow of the slain king, as the new High Queen. But the true purpose of the letter was far graver—it marked the beginning of the civil war.

Astrid’s voice, cold and commanding, cut through the noise, drawing all attention back to her. “We will gather our allies,” she declared, her tone brokering no argument. “And we will find a way. Until then, we must work hard, for dark days lie ahead for the Brotherhood.”

With her final words, Astrid turned on her heel and exited the hall with brisk, determined steps, leaving behind a room full of assassins to murmur and debate. Most agreed with her decision to wait, to bide their time until the first strike came. But there were others who felt differently, who believed that action was needed now. They whispered among themselves, voices hushed but filled with urgency. They spoke of gathering strong allies, of preparing for the inevitable.

It was clear to everyone present that we could not remain neutral; we would not survive without choosing a side in this civil war.

My thoughts turned to Ulfric, the man at the center of it all. His bold, ruthless move in the midst of the dragon sightings had already set a chain of events in motion, events that would plunge Skyrim into deeper chaos. The frozen land was about to be engulfed in a storm unlike any it had seen before, and as I sat there, the weight of the uncertainty pressed heavily on my chest.

How we would survive it, I couldn’t say. I had no answers, only questions that twisted and churned within me, leaving me unsettled and restless.

I pushed my chair back, rising from it with deliberate movements, determined not to let my thoughts consume me in the midst of the assassins’ quiet murmurs in the hall.

Making my way down to the bathhouse, I gave a nod to the guard at the door. He returned the gesture before shutting the door firmly behind me. I knew what would come next—he’d place the sign on the door, a single letter N etched onto it, symbolizing my presence and enforcing the rule that no one else was allowed inside while I bathed.

Yet on a midday like this, I longed for silence, for the solitude that the bathhouse promised. A sanctuary within a sanctuary, away from the world outside that seemed to burn with the fury of wars and dragons.

I undressed slowly, each piece of clothing slipping from my body and pooling on the floor before I stepped into the warm embrace of the water. As always, the heat enveloped me instantly, a soothing balm that unraveled the tension knotted deep in my muscles. A shiver of relief coursed through me, chasing away the cold that had settled in my bones.

I leaned back, resting my head against the edge of the tub, closing my eyes as I let the warmth seep into every part of me. For a moment, the weight of the past days, with all their turmoil and uncertainty, lifted from my shoulders. The world outside faded, leaving only the gentle lapping of water against my skin, a lullaby that coaxed me into a dreamless sleep.

Or so I thought.

Faint voices began to drift through the fog of my slumber. They were distant at first, mere whispers on the edge of my consciousness. But they grew stronger, more insistent, like a chorus of many, all calling out something I couldn’t quite grasp—a name, perhaps, spoken in a tongue my mind couldn’t comprehend.

The voices tugged at me, pulling me further into the depths of whatever lay beyond the veil of sleep. Yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t decipher their meaning, only that they were urgent, filled with a sense of something ancient.

The passing days in the sanctuary had been agonizingly dull. Yet beneath the surface, a relentless tension simmered, almost unbearable, as everyone was on edge, haunted by the events that had shaken the very foundation of the country.

I spent those days buried in books or in training, avoiding Astrid’s gaze and everyone else’s for that matter. With no missions, no place I was needed, and worst of all, nowhere else to go, I was adrift, a shadow in a place that was beginning to feel more like a cage.

Amon had become a distant figure, a shadow I barely glimpsed in the corners of the sanctuary.

It was past midday when I finally dragged myself out of bed. As I caught my reflection, my eyes lingered on the small scar on my neck, nearly healed but still there, a crack in the porcelain of my skin, refusing to fade.

I let the cloth fall, resigning myself to the scar’s permanence, and made my way through the sanctuary’s winding halls to the dungeons below.

“Fuck yes.”

“You like that?”

“I love that.”

The voices hit me like a slap as I reached the dungeon door, stopping me cold. Amon’s voice was unmistakable, but the other… made my heart twist in a way I didn’t want to know.

I moved closer to the cells, each step heavy, as if something dark and forbidden was pulling me forward. The voices grew clearer, more distinct.

“Give me that neck, ” Amon’s growl was low and commanding, filled with a dark hunger. The sound of bodies colliding, of skin on skin, was a raw, primal rhythm that echoed through the stone walls.

As the whimpers turned into gasping moans, I turned to leave, my chest tight with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. But before I could flee, his voice cut through the air like a blade,

“Don’t just stand there,” Amon’s voice was thick with desire, dripping with a dark promise. “Come, join us.”

I stood there, paralyzed, as if my feet had been fused to the cold stone beneath me. Every fiber of my being was ablaze with shame, my cheeks burning as the blood rushed to them.

Why did I even come here?

“Who’s that?” Fen’s voice pierced the oppressive silence, dragging me back to the brutal reality of the situation. Panic surged through me like wildfire, and I tore myself away from the dungeon’s depths, my legs carrying me up the stairs with a frantic urgency. Each step was a desperate attempt to flee the scene that I had witnessed, to escape the suffocating heat that now coursed through my veins.

I was unseen, just as they were to me. Amon might have heard my footsteps, but there was no proof it was me. It could have been anyone.

Back in my room, I slammed the door shut, leaning heavily against it, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The thought of them together, so raw and intimate, was burned into my mind.

I need a contract.

The thought of it brought a fleeting sense of purpose, a lifeline to cling to in the chaos that threatened to swallow me whole. But even that was slipping through my fingers. Days had passed since I’d last faced Astrid, avoiding her with a determination that bordered on cowardice. And she, in turn, had refrained from calling me out. The tension between us was a festering wound that refused to heal.

It was maddening to sit beneath the stone walls of the Sanctuary, as the world outside shifted and churned, as dragons became more than just legends and war loomed on the horizon. The Brotherhood had always thrived in the shadows, but now, it felt like we were waiting for the storm to pass.

But storms like these don’t just pass, they leave everything in ruins.

I hadn’t even taken a step away from the door before it swung open again, and there he was. Amon stood in my doorway, his mismatched eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole my breath. His shirt hung open, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame, revealing the smooth, flawless expanse of his chest. A thin trail of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, drawing my eyes like a magnet.

My breath hitched in my throat, a small gasp that I barely managed to stifle. I wanted to recoil, to put distance between us, but my body betrayed me, rooted to the spot by a need I refused to acknowledge. Amon took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the space between us,

“Noisy, aren’t you?” His voice was a low, dangerous murmur, laced with amusement and something darker, more primal. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, wrapping around me, muddling my thoughts.

I feel like I’m drowning.

My skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending alive with the tension that crackled between us, electric and charged with the promise of something wicked.

Snap out of it.

My brows furrowed in frustration at his words, my body a taut wire of barely suppressed anger and arousal.

“Noisy? I was just—”

“Visiting?” A smirk curled his lips, one that spoke of intimate knowledge and unspoken promises. He took another deliberate step forward, closing the distance between us with a predatory grace. Instinctively, I stepped back, my breath hitching at the intense hunger in his eye, a red hunger that spoke of something more than a simple meal.

“Did you miss me?” His voice was low, laced with a provocative edge that made my pulse quicken and my skin prickle with a mixture of annoyance and desire. His gaze was unwavering, commanding my attention with an almost magnetic pull.

“How did you come here?” I demanded, my voice trembling as I tried to regain some semblance of control.

He raised his arms, showing off the broken chain as it were a reminder of his raw power, and I could feel my body responding to the dangerous allure of his freedom.

Another step forward from him, another step back from me, and we were inside the room. The change in surroundings did nothing to deter him—his focus remained solely on me, his gaze filled with an insistent determination and a compelling sense of something I couldn’t quite name.

“Leave,” I murmured, “you don’t want to make her wait.” but the command was weak, a breathy whisper barely louder than the wind outside.

Amon’s smirk only deepened, his gaze searing into mine before drawn irresistibly to the uncovered wound that marred my neck.

In a swift, fluid motion that was both surprising and intimate, his hand rose to my neck, his fingers skimming softly over the tender wound. The caress was light, but it sent a shock of heat through me, amplifying the sting of his touch. Only then did I notice the brutal burns beneath the cuffs on his wrists, the skin looking agonized and nearly unbearable.

I stumbled back, another step widening the distance between us, trying to escape the searing intimacy of his touch. “Back off,” I finally managed to growl, my voice rough and strained. But instead of retreating, a small, knowing twitch pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Just so you know,” his whisper was thick with concealed lust, yet he wanted me to feel it, to understand the depth of his desire. “When they told me I had a visitor, I wished it was you.”

The quiet pounding of my heart surged into a frantic drumbeat as I averted my gaze, desperately trying to escape the intoxicating pull of his presence.

I tried to step past him, to reclaim some semblance of control, but he was quicker. His arm shot out, blocking my path, his palm pressing firmly against the bookcase next to me. My breath quickened, caught between the need to push him away and the desperate, consuming desire that made me want to pull him closer.

I met his gaze with all my defenses raised, trying to steady my voice. “Why are you here?”

“You visited me, didn’t you?” He pulled back slightly, his posture relaxing into something deceptively casual. “It would be considered rude,  if I didn’t return the favor.” His eyes roamed over the room, but their focus quickly returned to me, filled with an intense, unsettling curiosity.

“Like this?” I asked, my words tinged with uncertainty. “After you’re done messing around with someone else?”

I crossed my arms, a futile attempt to shield myself from the potent tension between us.

“Speaker starved me,” he breathed out, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Do you think those bottled-up remains are enough? I had to feed.”

His reasoning only fueled my irritation further.

Hunger? That’s his excuse?

“And you didn’t enjoy it-” I retorted, my words laced with contempt. But he looked at me as if he could see right through.

“I didn’t enjoy it a little bit.” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, the raw intensity of his gaze making my breath hitch.

“Right,” I forced an insincere smile, my heart pounding against my ribs. “You loved it.”

The tension between us thickened, a palpable force that wrapped around us, darkening his eyes. As he fell silent, I had no more words. I fought back the rush of blood to my cheeks one last time and sidestepped past him, making my way toward the door.

Why do I even care?

As my hand reached the handle, his voice rang in my ears.

“You know,” he said, his tone softening. “I often get what I want.”

There was the same possessiveness in his words that made my pulse race.

“I wanted to escape prison, survive dragons, as I wanted to be here, by any means necessary,” he continued as I lifted my gaze, “And now, here I am.”

Prison?

My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of his past that had suddenly surfaced, revealing a side of him I hadn’t anticipated.

I froze, my hand trembling on the door, the threshold between us suddenly an abyss of possibilities. Questions swirled in my mind, but I couldn’t find the words to voice them.

He turned toward the hall, a smile curling on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You see,” he murmured, his voice taking on a dark edge, “it’s the funniest thing.” The smile on his face widened, pale fangs glimmering under the faint torchlight. “Now, I have my sights set on something else.”

There was no mistaking the dark promise in his words, the unyielding resolve that radiated from him. I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever he wanted next, whatever his new target was, there would be no escaping it.

As his words hung in the air, he slipped into the hall, his presence like a shadow dissolving into the darkness.

The space where he had just stood was empty, as if he had never been there at all. No lingering warmth, no trace of his presence—nothing but the cold, oppressive silence that swallowed everything whole.

I peered down the length of the hall, but he was already gone, vanished into the labyrinthine shadows of the Sanctuary.

Just like that night.

But this time, my steps carried me to Astrid's chambers instead of chasing after him.

I pushed the doors open with ease, her guards offering knowing nods as I barged into the room. She was behind her desk, seemingly busy writing a letter.

I couldn't stop the silent clench of my jaw as I met her startled gaze.

"Contract. Now."

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 17

“Touch me, and I’ll end you, dog.”

Amon’s mismatched gaze flickered over to Fen, who responded with a mischievous smile that only deepened the unease gnawing at me.

As the door creaked open, granting us entry, I could feel the rage simmering within, threatening to consume me. But why? Was it the lie he had woven about himself, or the realization that his appearance at the crossroads had been a calculated maneuver? The uncertainty clawed at me as I trailed behind Fen and Amon through the dimly lit hall of the Sanctuary.

“Ashenblade,” Astrid’s voice took on a suspicious edge as her eyes briefly flicked over Amon, “You’re back early, and with company?”

“The most unexpected!” Cicero’s voice was a near-silent hiss, but it drew a cold gaze from both Astrid and me, causing him to shrink back into his chair.

Taking a step forward towards Astrid, Amon introduced himself with a soft yet steady tone, “I am Amon, Speaker. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The words hung in the air, but the tension in my body only intensified. My jaw clenched involuntarily, the dull ache in my neck fueling my frustration. Astrid’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment before shifting to me, her eyes probing, searching for an explanation.

It was the same look she’d given Nazir when he first brought me here—a look that demanded answers, that questioned the intrusion into her sanctuary, our sanctuary.

“Well?” Her voice was a quiet, cold echo, devoid of warmth or welcome.

“He wants to join Falkreath,” Fen’s voice interjected, unbidden. “A fugitive from Dawnstar.”

The words hit the room like a spark. Cicero’s sharp gasp echoed behind us, filled with a mixture of disbelief and outrage.

“A fugitive?” Astrid’s eyes snapped back to Amon, her gaze now piercing, challenging him to reveal the truth behind Fen’s statement.

“Degrading, don’t you think?” Amon stepped closer to Astrid, a silent grin playing on his lips. “I prefer to be known as a powerful asset for you and your sanctuary. If you’ll have me,”

Astrid remained still, her gaze locked with his, unflinching as he whispered, “I am yours.”

Before she could respond, the heavy thud of approaching footsteps interrupted the moment. Arnbjorn, clearly roused from one of his drunken slumbers, stormed forward. “Back off.” he growled, his voice thick with both irritation and warning.

Amon’s eyes flicked to Arnbjorn, lingering just long enough to convey a faint disappointment, as if the werewolf’s interruption was nothing more than a mild annoyance. He looked back to Astrid, but whatever he was about to say was cut short as she took a step back, her expression unreadable.

“Colymna knows about this?” Astrid’s eyes darted toward me, the weight of her gaze sending a silent shiver down my spine.

Forced to repeat the truth I had been fed, I crossed my arms in frustration. “She sent him off to the College, that’s it.”

“The College?” Astrid echoed, her tone laced with suspicion.

“Well, yes,” Amon interjected smoothly, cutting through the tension before I could respond. “She was rather faint-hearted when she learned of my true nature.”

Arnbjorn’s heavy steps reached Amon, and he loomed over him like a towering shadow. Disgust twisted his features as he spat, “A vampire.” His eyes then snapped back to me, filled with accusation. “She brings a vampire to the Sanctuary!”

“How are you any different?” The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them, my brow arching in defiance.

“Enough! Both of you!” Astrid’s sharp voice cut through the rising tension, filling the hall with her authority. Her frustration was palpable as she turned to her husband. “Take him down to the dungeon.” she commanded.

With a grim satisfaction, Arnbjorn reached toward Amon, clearly eager to carry out the order.

“Dungeon?” Amon’s voice carried a hint of indignation, as if the very word was an affront to him. He took several steps back, his gaze flicking between Astrid and Arnbjorn.

“You,” Astrid’s eyes locked onto mine, the intensity of her stare nearly knocking the breath out of me. “You owe me an explanation.”

“Come here, you pale monster,” Arnbjorn growled, his strength evident as he lunged for Amon. But Amon was quicker, sidestepping his attempt with a fluid grace. In a blink, he was behind Arnbjorn, swirling around on his heel before making his way back to Astrid.

“Speaker!” His voice dripped with wicked amusement, his smirk dark and unsettling. Sharp fangs, glimmering ominously under the dim light of the sanctuary as he darted forward with his unnerving speed.

In that split second, the memory of my own moment of vulnerability crashed over me. I could almost feel the cold steel of a dagger pressed against my skin, the mismatched gaze that pinned me in place, and the ghost of those fangs grazing my flesh. The way the taste made me feel.

The taste.

Will he do the same?

“Stop!” My voice rang out as I stepped forward, my heart racing. Amon stood mere inches away from me and Astrid, his weapon drawn. The tension in the air was thick, and Arnbjorn’s frustration deepened as he watched the scene unfold, his hands twitching with the urge to intervene. 

Amon's eyes flicked toward me, something unreadable passing through them. The room held its breath, teetering on the edge of violence, as if the entire sanctuary was poised for a single misstep.

“You bloodsucker!” Werewolf’s growl reverberated through the hall as he took a step closer, only to be stopped by Astrid’s icy gaze.

“If keeping him here will unsettle Colymna, then he’s more than welcome,” Astrid declared, her words laced with a calculated defiance that sent a shiver down my spine. “But he stays in the dungeons. Nowhere else.”

“My love—” Arnbjorn began, but Astrid’s sharp retort silenced him instantly.

“Enough, Arnbjorn!” Her voice rang out, commanding and unwavering, causing him to lower his gaze. She turned back to Amon, her eyes narrowing with cold determination. “You are mine now, and your place is the dungeon. Take it, or leave.”

Amon’s smirk faded, replaced by a glare that simmered with barely restrained fury. His eyes—one dark, the other unsettlingly bright—traveled over Astrid, lingering on Arnbjorn, and finally settled on me. The intensity of his gaze made my blood run cold.

“I accept.” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

What?

“Good.”

“As if anyone cares,” Arnbjorn muttered, stepping forward, but Amon moved with unnatural speed, positioning himself beside the werewolf in an instant.

“Touch me, and I’ll end you, dog.” Amon hissed, his voice low and lethal.

“Husband!” Astrid’s warning was the final word, her tone brooking no further argument. With a begrudging growl, Arnbjorn relented, leading Amon toward the dungeon. The vampire cast one last, lingering look at me before disappearing into the shadows, leaving a cold, unsettling silence behind.

Astrid’s voice sliced through the air, cold and commanding. “Out, Fen. Cicero, now!” The words left no room for argument, and both figures scurried out of the hall, their hurried footsteps echoing as the heavy doors closed behind them.

It was just the two of us, the silence in the hall pressing in from all sides, making the space feel smaller, more suffocating with each passing second. Astrid moved with deliberate grace, turning on her heels and making her way toward the table where a pitcher stood. She poured the golden liquid into two chalices and without a word, she slid one across the table to me.

“Honey wine.” she offered softly, sensing my hesitation.

I took the chalice, swirling the liquid thoughtfully before bringing it to my lips. The taste was sweet, but the tension in the room lingered like a bitter aftertaste.

“So,” Astrid began, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and caution, “tell me about this vampire of yours.”

“He is yours.” I countered as I settled into one of the chairs, leaning back as I propped my feet on the table, crossing them casually. “He was just… there,” I added, taking another sip of the wine, this one deeper than the first. “He witnessed the incident with the dragons too.”

“And?” Astrid pressed, her gaze sharp.

“And they are very much real.” I answered, lifting my chalice in a mock toast.

“Cheers,” she responded with a sarcastic smile, raising her own chalice in kind.

The sister in her stood before me, not the Speaker, not the leader—just Astrid. The heavy bags under her eyes were visible under the dim light of the candles on the table; she was exhausted. I knew the Brotherhood was not faring well in Skyrim with the civil war tearing the land apart, but the toll it had taken on her was stark and heavy. For a moment, I dared to pity her.

“There are a lot of witnesses other than him,” I added, the weight of my words hanging in the air as I reached into my belt and pulled out the rolled, unsealed letter. I slid it across the table toward her, watching as she set down her chalice and began to read.

As her eyes scanned the parchment, her expression grew more severe. When she finished, she took a large gulp of her wine, clearly trying to process the implications.

I hated to add to the burden on her shoulders, but being a leader meant to take up such responsibility didn’t it?

“We can’t stay out of it anymore,” I said, my voice earnest, though her icy glance in response told me she wasn’t so easily swayed.

“And pick a side like that fool Colymna?” Astrid’s tone was sharp, her frustration evident as she continued, “Risk the lives of my family for someone else’s lost cause?”

She refilled her chalice, the wine pouring out in a steady stream as her brow furrowed in thought. “No,” she said firmly, “we need to be careful about this.”

I couldn’t help but notice the contradiction, and before I could stop myself, I remarked, “You weren’t so careful with your decision making earlier.” Her gaze snapped to me, cold and piercing. I held it, undeterred. “You weren’t so welcoming of the last stranger brought to this hall.”

Her eyes narrowed, the weight of her authority pressing down on me like a vice, but I held my ground. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, until finally, Astrid sighed, setting her chalice down with a deliberate thud.

“We do what we must to survive,” she said, her voice quieter now, tinged with a hint of vulnerability she rarely showed. “And survival sometimes means making difficult choices.”

“And those choices?” I asked, leaning forward, “Are they just for survival, or something more?”

Astrid didn’t answer right away. Instead, she lifted her chalice once more, taking a slow, thoughtful sip. When she finally spoke, her voice was measured, almost resigned.

“They are for the family.” she said, her eyes distant, as if seeing something far beyond the walls of the Sanctuary. “Always for the family.”

The finality in her tone left no room for further argument. I took another sip of the honey wine, letting the silence settle around us once more.

Family was the last thing I wanted to talk about with Astrid.

“There is a rumor, a legend—" I hesitated, gathering my thoughts to share what I knew. "Someone called the Dragonborn."

Astrid's eyes sparked with interest for a brief moment before she turned to me. "A tale!" she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "One of those silly stories Nana would tell us." She shrugged, bringing the chalice back to her lips.

“We need to find a way.” I hissed, the frustration boiling within me. I was tired of my hopes against the dragon war being crushed by everyone.

"We can only dream," she sighed softly, "that Father will take us into his arms before it all worsens."

I rose from my chair, turning to leave, but her voice followed me.

“Have you thought about what I offered you?”

“I haven’t had time to consider,” I replied, glancing back at her. “Since we're all going to die sooner or later, does it even matter?”

Her silence was all the dismissal I needed. I left the hall, making my way through the dim corridors to my small room—my haven.

When I reached my small room, the first thing I did was tear off the cloth that covered my neck. The sight of the small, vertical slit that refused to heal was unbearable.

As I undressed and crawled into bed, the familiar warmth of my pillow offered a small comfort, a fleeting solace against the turmoil that gnawed at my mind. But sleep, as it had been lately, evaded me, slipping through my grasp like sand through fingers.

How could Astrid accept Amon into the Sanctuary so easily? Was she truly so naive to believe the bars of our dungeons could restrain him? She called it survival. Survival in a dragon war meant power. To Astrid, power was everything, and in Amon's nature, she must have seen a potent ally—one she could bend to her will. But power, I knew, was a treacherous thing, and Amon wielded it with a subtlety that was far more dangerous than raw strength. I couldn't fathom why he had chosen to remain in the Sanctuary, despite the indignity of being forced to sleep in the dungeon. This stubborn acceptance gnawed at me, fueling my unease. What was his true game, and why couldn't I escape the unsettling feeling that there was more beneath his calm facade?

I turned onto my side, but his silent, mocking smirk flashed in my mind, an unbearable taunt that twisted the knife of doubt deeper into my heart. If I hadn’t stopped him, would he have done to Astrid what he did to me?

Would he taste her? Would she tremble as I did, lost in that same intoxicating darkness?

A shiver of heat raced down my spine, pooling in my core, and my legs tensed, my knees pressing tightly together. The faint tinge in my neck, once a mere memory, now coiled around it like a serpent, tightening its grip until it felt as though I were suffocating.

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat, as the sensation dragged me deeper into that dark, forbidden pull. I despised it with every fiber of my being, yet it felt so dangerously easy to just surrender.

The possessiveness in his eyes—

“How about you get used to us?”

The growl in his voice—

“No one calls you that and walks free.”

That damned smirk on his lips—

“You are, darling, quite intriguing.”

I bolted upright, heart pounding in my chest, my brow furrowed in a deep frown. I shook my head, as if I could shake off the intoxicating grip he held on me, that creeping, unwelcome intrusion.

He was nothing to me. Nothing. Just as I was nothing to him. We were mere tools, steps on a ladder, nothing more.

But he is family now.

Above all, he belonged to Astrid. No one could tell if it was midday or midnight on a day of Rain’s Hand; the Sanctuary’s halls were shrouded in calm, perpetual darkness.

“And the courtyard is just over there.”

I stepped into the hall, my heart tightening the moment I spotted Fen guiding Amon through the shadows. A bitter taste lingered on my tongue as I realized how desperately my eyes had searched for him the instant I entered. He stood there, draped in the deep red leather armor of the Brotherhood, though most of it had been exchanged for black—an armor that suited his nature too well. His tousled silver-white hair hung over his face, partially obscuring his mismatched eyes that were locked onto Fen.

The breakfast was meticulously arranged on the table, each item in its place, as if trying to uphold some semblance of normalcy. But the air was thick with an eerie quiet, a silence that felt like the breath before a storm’s wrath.

I sank into one of the chairs, exhaustion pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake. The sleepless night had taken its toll; my body was drained, both from the torment inside my mind and the turmoil outside of it.

“Here you are.”

His voice sent a jolt through me, and I swallowed hard before daring to look up. Amon stood beside me, his palm resting on the table with a casual confidence that only served to infuriate me. A sly grin curled on his lips as his gaze traveled slowly down my neck, lingering on the wound I had so carefully concealed with fresh cloth after cleansing it earlier. I could feel the heat of his eyes, the silent mockery in his stare.

“How was the dungeon?” I forced a smirk onto my lips, though it felt like a fragile mask, ready to shatter at any moment. I leaned back in my chair, trying to feign nonchalance.

His expression darkened briefly, his brows knitting together in irritation. “Horrible. Can you believe the Brotherhood uses real silver chains and locks?” He shook his head, sliding into the seat next to me with an ease that made my skin crawl. “Tch, tch, tch, it burns like the fire of the Deadlands.”

My gaze instinctively traveled down his arm, seeking proof of his suffering, but his hand and wrist were covered by black leather gloves, hiding whatever marks might lie beneath. I knew better than to probe further; the dungeons had never been a place for me, and after my first active duty, I swore they never would be. Interrogation, pain—it wasn’t my skill, it wasn’t my way.

“You’re lucky she welcomed you,” I said, my voice sharper than intended as I took a sip from my cup, trying to drown the tremor in my hand. “And you should be thankful for the dungeons.”

“I prefer your company.”

His words struck me like a physical blow, sending a rush of heat to my cheeks that I couldn’t control. I struggled to swallow, the water burning its way down my throat as my heart raced against my will.

“The cave was much better than the dungeon.” he continued, his voice laced with dark amusement as he pulled out a small black bottle and uncorked it.

My eyes dropped to the bottle, tracing the stains on its surface with a mix of disgust and morbid curiosity. I knew what it contained—blood, thick and dark. He brought the bottle to his lips, drinking deeply, and I felt the eyes of the others in the hall on us. A few disgusted glances were cast his way, from those who still hadn’t grown accustomed to the presence of a vampire among us. I felt their unease mingle with my own, a collective tension that coiled in the air, ready to snap.

The door behind the table burst open with a crash that echoed through the hall, shattering the tense silence. All eyes turned as Astrid and Arnbjorn strode in, with Leona at their side, her Imperial armor clanging against the stone floor like a war drum.

Astrid’s gaze lifted from the paper in her hands, her face pale and drawn as if the words on the parchment had drained the life from her. Leona’s expression was taut with worry, her eyes flicking between us before settling on Astrid, who finally spoke, her voice heavy with a mix of disbelief and dread.

“He did it! The lunatic finally killed the High King.”

The weight of her words crashed over me, leaving me breathless, the world tilting as the gravity of the situation sank in.

The storm had arrived.

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 16

“Welcome to the family.”

4E, 196

“What is she, Nazir?" The woman's voice tore through the air, sharp and cutting, just like the blades she surely wielded. Her brown hair framed a face twisted in fury, and her deep red armor—a haunting reflection of the blood she had undoubtedly spilled—seemed to pulse with the heat of her rage. Her eyes, wide with a mix of trepidation and something darker, bore into me as if I were a creature from the depths.

Nazir, standing beside me like a shield against her wrath, tried to speak, his voice a calming murmur, “Astrid, please—"

But the woman—Astrid, I learned—would not be swayed so easily. She cut him off with a venomous hiss, "Something is wrong with that girl." There was an edge to her words that I could not understand then. Now, looking back, her tone seemed heavy with the weight of her then new role as the leader of the Falkreath Sanctuary.

Nazir’s plea was softer this time, almost as if he were speaking to himself, “She means no harm... For the Father, Astrid, look at her!” His words wrapped around me like a fragile barrier, but even I could feel the desperation in them.

Astrid’s eyes roved over me, taking in every detail, every scar and bruise, as if she was trying to piece together the puzzle of who, or what, I truly was.

I remember the way the shadows twisted and writhed under the flickering torchlight. The skulls embedded in the walls were the worst of it—those empty, hollow eyes watching my every move, silently judging, as if they knew I didn’t belong.

I stood there in the remnants of my Thalmor uniform from the day of the trial, the fabric burned and torn, still stiff with dried blood. It clung to me like a second skin, a grim reminder of the horrors I had endured. Yet, despite its ragged state, I couldn’t help but think I looked better than the first time Nazir had found me—barely more than a ghost of a girl, hanging on to life by a thread.

Thanks to him and Festus, I had been able to eat, to sleep, to cling to the edges of survival. They had given me a chance, pulled me back from the edge, but the scars of that ordeal were still etched into my flesh. I had managed to clean myself in the cold waters of the nearby lake but the bruises that marred my neck and the side of my face were refusing to fade.

Under the dim light of the hall, they stood out like dark stains on my pale skin, a testament to the violence I had survived. Every time I caught sight of them in a reflective surface, they reminded me of the pain, the fear, the helplessness.

The farm.

I could feel Astrid’s eyes lingering on those bruises, but there was no pity in her gaze, only a cold, calculating assessment, as if she was weighing my worth—or my danger—to the Brotherhood.

"I had no other choice." Nazir pressed, his voice tight, as he opened his hand in a gesture of frustration.

"Well, you had options." Festus's voice cut through the dimly lit hall, emerging from the shadows with a disapproving glare, his arms crossed in a judgmental way. Nazir stiffened at the sanctimony in his tone, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes.

"Shut up, old man." Nazir snapped, his patience fraying. "You know the state we found her in. Have you forsaken all mercy?"

"Mercy?" Astrid's voice was sharp, almost a hiss, as she turned her steely gaze on Nazir, then on me. "We don't do mercy." Her words were cold, cutting through the air like a blade.

"If you can't accept her," Nazir hissed, his voice steady as his gaze swept across the faces of his comrades, finally resting on Astrid, "then I'll leave. This isn’t a family." His words hung in the air like a challenge, daring anyone to oppose him.

With that, he touched my shoulder, a gesture that both reassured and terrified me, and together we turned toward the black door. The murmurs of discontent began to ripple through the crowd, a low rumble of unease.

"You can't leave just like that," Astrid's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Remember the Tenets, Nazir."

"The Tenets!" Nazir’s retort was a fierce, biting declaration that made me flinch at its intensity. "The first one tells us never to disobey the Night Mother, does it not?"

Astrid hesitated, her confidence wavering as his words struck a chord. "How am I disobeying her, when you’re the one who brought an outsider here?" Her tone was defensive, but there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes, a crack in her hardened exterior.

"The Night Mother embraces all who are faithful," Nazir replied, his voice unwavering, every syllable steeped in conviction, “and she is faithful to the Mother.”

No.

The words left my lips with an unwavering certainty, reverberating through the chamber.

"My mother is Y'ffre and her alone."

I felt the weight of every gaze upon me, the assassins' eyes burning with a mix of anger and something else—curiosity, perhaps. But Nazir... Nazir’s eyes were filled with silent sorrow.

"Enough!" Astrid’s voice cut through the air like a blade, the sound of her weapon being drawn sending a chill down my spine. She moved toward me with purpose, her steps heavy with the intent to kill.

She was a killer, and I was just another target—another intruder who had crossed into their world. I could see it in her every move.

"Stop it, Astrid!” Nazir’s voice broke through the tension, and suddenly, he was in front of me, shielding me from the danger I knew too well. There was a desperation in his tone that made my chest tighten, a plea that felt like a lifeline.

"Move, Nazir. We know nothing of her!” Astrid argued, seeking the crowd's support.

"Astrid is right," a voice rang out from the back. I felt a chill as a man, in strange clothes stepped forward, his eyes locking onto mine with a gaze that seemed to pierce straight through to my soul. "The void stares back.” he murmured, his words laced with an unsettling crypticness.

"Step aside, Cicero.” Nazir’s warning was sharp, but Cicero paid him no mind. His focus was entirely on me, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “Be pragmatic, Astrid,” Nazir pressed, disregarding the jester entirely. “We found her surrounded by the corpses of at least a dozen men.” He turned to Festus, seeking validation.

“True,” Festus confirmed gravely. “She has some disgusting wounds too.” Nazir’s expression twisted in distaste, but he kept his gaze fixed on Astrid.

“We don’t know what she is, but she has potential.” Nazir continued, his words creating a ripple of unease among the gathered assassins.

“Weak, that’s what she is.” Astrid spat, her resolve unshaken as she advanced on me once more.

I had heard enough.

Weak?

It was clear that Astrid wouldn’t be convinced by mere words—she needed proof, something tangible. Without hesitation, I slipped my hand to Nazir’s belt and deftly seized his blade. In a fluid motion, I darted behind him, my steps silent and swift, closing the gap between myself and Astrid. The air shifted around me as I moved, a cold breeze tousling Astrid’s hair as I melded with the shadows.

Astrid swung her blade at me, but I was quicker. I sidestepped, causing her to stumble slightly as I pushed her off balance. Regaining her balance with ease, she turned, fury blazing in her eyes, and swung again—only to slice through empty air. In an instant, I was behind her, the tip of my blade barely touching the delicate skin of her neck.

The room collectively gasped, the tension visible.

"I believe you’ve proven yourself, Elf." a man’s voice cut through the tension, though I could hear the concern laced in his tone. "Put the blade down."

"So your mistress can slay me?" I shot back, my words cutting through the silence like a blade. "I am not naive, werewolf."

The man’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. But I wasn’t finished. "I’ve slain enough dogs to recognize the stench of a dead one."

Gasps of disbelief rippled through the room, the assassins stunned by my audacity. I was, after all, a product of relentless training and ruthless conditioning, engineered to be a perfect war machine.

In the end, I survived the trial.

"My name is Niolenyl. I was trained long and hard enough to end your finest assassin with ease."

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of my declaration settling heavily in the air. The astonishment was palpable, not only from the gravity of my words but also from the precision and confidence that defined my movements. I dropped the blade, releasing Astrid from my grasp.

Nazir appeared particularly unsettled by me, the girl he had just defended. He had spoken of my potential, but witnessing that same potential wielded with such grace as I held Astrid at knifepoint seemed to leave him visibly shaken.

“Astrid, was it?” I asked, my voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. “Perhaps I am an outsider, but weak?”

I turned to the crowd, watching as they recoiled, stepping back from my presence. “I am skilled at killing, if you can’t tell. Isn’t this what you need? Bloodlust?”

“It’s not bloodlust, Niolenyl,” Nazir’s voice emerged from the shadows, steady and calm. Yet his words seemed to linger in the air, as if questioning their own validity.

“For they are faithful,” another voice intoned, low and resonant, carrying a weight that seemed to chill the very air around us. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness as the candles extinguished themselves, their flames snuffed out as if by an unseen hand.

I remember the air turning cold and heavy, pressing in from all sides. It was as though the very walls were breathing, the darkness pulsing with a life of its own. From that impenetrable void, a voice emerged—ancient, unfathomable, and filled with an authority that transcended the mortal realm.

“To me.” it whispered, but the words echoed with the force of a command that could shatter worlds.

The assassins reacted as one, their hands moving instinctively to their hearts, their postures falling into a reverent bow as they recognized the presence that now dominated the room. The atmosphere was suffused with a sense of awe and dread, the kind that one might feel when standing on the precipice of something vast and unknowable.

“Dread Father!” Cicero gasped, his voice trembling, almost breaking under the weight of his devotion.

“Hail Sithis!” they all murmured in unison, their voices barely above a whisper, as if to speak louder would draw the full attention of the void upon them. The name, Sithis, hung in the air, heavy with the weight of eons, a name that carried the promise of death and the inevitable return to the void.

I knew who he was. The Thalmor had taught us the knowledge of all the forbidden deities and their powers, beyond the mortal realm.

He was the void, and the void was him, a vast and endless expanse of nothingness that threatened to consume everything in its path.

“He is not with the void.” the voice whispered, a murmur that seemed to echo from within my very soul, as if no one else in the room could hear it but me. “The boy with the fire hair and the axe.”

At his words, a wave of weakness crashed over me. My legs buckled, refusing to support me any longer. I stumbled back, and suddenly, I felt someone’s hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. The touch was unfamiliar—Astrid, keeping me upright, forcing me to face what she couldn’t perceive, even though she was oblivious to the voice that spoke to me alone.

“He is to be never touched again.” the voice voice whispered once more. I struggled against Astrid’s hold, trying to break free, but she tightened her grip, keeping me in place.

Our eyes met, and to my surprise, her gaze held a warmth I had never seen before. It was as if she wanted me to know that she understood, that she could relate to the turmoil I was experiencing.

But how could she? Could she really understand?

“A soul that I may never envelop in my darkness is a soul worth a thousand.” the voice continued, its words resonating deep within me, filling me with a sense of loss and reverence.

As the voice faded, the sense of loss and reverence lingered, leaving me with an unsettling mourning. 

Suddenly, I felt the grip on my shoulders release, and I struggled to regain my composure. Eyes filled with fear, contempt, and anger were fixed on me, reminiscent of the way I was regarded when I first walked through Clamcora’s door.

“He spoke to her! The Father spoke!” Cicero’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension and drawing some of the hostile glares toward him. “A chosen!” He seemed almost certain he had heard the voice that spoke to me.

“Father already has his chosen ones,” Astrid was quick to interrupt, her gaze no longer warm. 

“Have it your way, Nazir.” she added, turning to face him before her attention shifted back to me.

Nazir’s gaze lowered to me, a silent smile tugging at his lips—a small, glimmering spark of hope.

“Welcome to the family.”

Family.

The notion of family once caressed my heart with promises of a warm home and a place of safety, filled with love and laughter—much like the first one I had known, before it was swallowed by the encroaching darkness. Before everything was taken from me. 

“Welcome!” A sudden voice startled me from behind. I turned to see a striking Nord woman, her dark hair and blue eyes resembling the icy glaciers of Skyrim. Her gaze was steady and inviting.

I nodded softly in response, and a smile curved her lips. “Come, I will show you around.” she said warmly, extending a gesture of hospitality in this new, unfamiliar place.

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 15

"Not now, Fen."

As he came to a sudden halt mere inches from me, the abrupt rush of air from his movement snuffed out the tiny flame flickering in my palm. His unnerving speed once more causing my brows to furrow. 

Beneath Skyrim’s muted sky, his crimson eye glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light, casting an unsettling sheen across his face. His lips curled into a grim smile, only to be swiftly concealed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, erasing the trace of blood.

I blinked, trying to make sense of the turbulent emotions that had just surged through me.

Was it relief?

“Sorry,” he said, his smile fading as he noticed my perplexed expression. “Just needed a quick bite. We can move on now.”

His tone was nonchalant, almost practiced, as though he sought to erase the incident as if it had never happened. He brushed past me with deliberate casualness, his shoulder brushing against mine before he made his way to his steed.

“Who did you kill?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a barely restrained fury.

“It doesn’t really matter,” he replied with a dismissive shrug. “If it helps, he was a bad guy.”

He continued to his horse, his shoulder pressing against mine in a gesture that felt oddly intimate as he mounted.

“It matters,” I said softly, my voice wavering with a fragile vulnerability. “Mother’s invitation—we—”

“And we deliver. Yes, yes,” he interrupted, shaking his head as if to brush off the concern. “Soon, we’ll all be gone anyway,” he added, casting a sideways glance from his saddle. “Uninvited.”

His words cut through me, freezing my heart with their chilling certainty.

The reality of dragons rising unpredictably from the earth, with no guarantee of safety, painted a grim picture. Their previous non-aggression offered no assurance against future attacks.

I mounted Shadowmere, guiding her close to Amon’s steed, I asked with a sudden murmur, “Do you think there is a way to stop it?”

For a fleeting moment, his eyes locked with mine, and I thought I detected a glimmer of something—perhaps doubt or realization.

“If you want to cling to tales of heroes saving Tamriel, you’re welcome to.” he said, his voice as cold and unyielding as the night itself. “I don’t see any hero here.” His gaze swept across the forest briefly before returning to mine. “Do you?”

I struggled to maintain my composure, his words shattering the fragile hope I had clung to. The prospect of a war against dragons seemed increasingly inevitable, but if there was any chance of avoiding it, I felt it was worth every effort to pursue.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading,” I said, my words catching him off guard. “Heroes, legends, Daedra…” I allowed a faint, wistful smile to touch my lips. “Tell me more.”

His eyes widened, moving from my smile to my gaze, as if struggling to reconcile the hopeful glimmer in my eyes with the bleakness of our situation.

He nudged his steed forward, and I followed, the distance between us shrinking as his voice took on a somber tone. “Dragonborn. The warrior who will save us all.”

“There have been many,” he continued, his voice heavy with weariness. “Emperors like Septim and traitors like Miraak.”

Tiber Septim—the man who transcended mortality. My heart quickened at the thought. “A mortal soul who can shout with the power of a dragon.” he explained, his tone tinged with a hint of disdain.

His words ignited a flicker of fragile hope within me.

“Anyone too determined can achieve it.” he said dismissively. “Wasting your life just to summon a gust of wind,” he shrugged, a cold mockery in his voice. “I wouldn’t spend a second of my eternity with those ancient relics up there.”

High Hrothgar loomed in my mind, its seven thousand steps a constant reminder of the seekers of enlightenment.

“We don’t have time.” I said firmly, my voice tinged with desperation.

“Well, that brings us back to where we started,” he said, his smirk widening into something almost cruel. “We’re all going to die.”

I pressed forward, struggling to cling to any semblance of hope. “This Dragonborn,” I asked, my voice trembling with intensity, “if anyone can achieve it, what makes this warrior so special?”

He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and concern, as if my questions were both intriguing and troubling. “What sort of libraries do your people have?” he inquired, “The Dragonborn carries the soul of a dragon. Shouting becomes second nature to them.”

Second nature.

“Do you believe such a person exists?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, laden with yearning.

“I don’t.” he said abruptly, his tone cutting through the air like a dagger.

His finality was a crushing weight on my chest. The question lingered, heavy and unresolved.

What if?

Until we reached the fork in the road near Falkreath, my thoughts were consumed by the idea of the Dragonborn. The possibility of such a figure, destined to wield the power of a dragon, filled me with a mix of hope and dread.

My knowledge of dragon lore was steeped in the doctrines of the Thalmor. They had drilled into us the belief that Tiber Septim was no divine being but a mere mortal who ascended through sheer will.

According to their teachings, Septim’s deification was a fabrication, a falsehood designed to legitimize his rule. We were conditioned to view his followers as heretics, to be apprehended and silenced.

Now, the thought of the Dragonborn emerging once more was also troubling one. The Thalmor, with their relentless zeal, would pursue this warrior with an intensity that matched their efforts to eradicate the legacy of the Septims. I shuddered to think of what they might do to someone with the power of a Dragonborn.

As the rhythmic clatter of our steeds’ hooves echoed through the night, a thick shroud of anxiety settled over me. The Black Door loomed ahead, its dark presence a silent reminder of the unknown.

Amon’s gaze shifted to me, his expression a mix of patience and expectation. He tilted his head slightly, breaking the silence with a command as soft as a whisper but carrying an undeniable edge. “The words, please.”

The Black Doors were infamous for their selective nature, their riddles were gatekeepers, requiring the correct incantation to grant entry. While I knew the phrase for the sanctuary in Dawnstar, Amon was expected to know the words for the Falkreath door.

The two sanctuaries, each home to two of the four Speakers, were locked in a perpetual struggle—caught in the storm of enmity between two formidable women.

“Colymna didn’t tell you?” I asked, my voice tinged with both curiosity and frustration.

Amon’s expression hardened as he stepped forward, his eyes revealing a trace of bitterness. “I told you,” he said, his voice laden with resignation. “She sent me to you hoping to be rid of me. She hated me since the day I joined the Brotherhood.”

I crossed my arms, the weight of suspicion settling heavily on my shoulders. “What really happened?”

He sighed deeply, shrugging as if the effort of explaining was too much. “I wanted to be included and she agreed. But she despised me from the very beginning.”

I gave a slight nod, signaling him to continue.

With another weary sigh, he confessed, “Before the dragon incident, she had ordered me to go to the College.”

“The College?” My curiosity was piqued, unable to restrain the question that bubbled to the surface.

Amon took a step closer, a flicker of guilt marring his features. “She wanted me to find the mage who was researching a cure for vampirism. When I encountered the dragons, I-” he sighed, “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“I saw your men,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I hoped I could talk to one of them, but they were too busy scrambling to their portal.”

As the reality of our situation sank in, I felt a profound sense of revulsion. 

“I knew one of you would come back,” he continued, stepping closer and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And you did.”

So, another game?  A way for him to avoid returning to Dawnstar? The tinge on my neck made the it all more unbearable than it was by the second. 

“Why did you lie to me?” I demanded, stepping back and piercing him with a glare.

“I—” He shifted his gaze, “I heard about you, your reputation. The Snake of the South—”

“Enough with the damn names,” I cut him off sharply, my voice slicing through the air. “Your plan was to escape?”

“Escape?” A silent, cruel laugh escaped his lips, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “And come to yet another Sanctuary?”

“No, no, sister—” He shook his head lightly before stepping closer. “You see, I enjoy killing. That’s why I joined the Brotherhood.”

A smirk curved his lips. “Just like you.”

Nothing like me.

“And you really thought Astrid would accept you just because you came here with me?”

“I hoped so,” he shrugged with a hint of a smile. “Given that I behaved in the second half, I thought I might have earned it.”

His touch on my elbow startled me. I uncrossed my arms, not darning to take another step back. His mismatched eyes showed a fleeting amusement that gradually faded into silence. “Come on,” he whispered, his voice soft. “The words.”

“Silence, my brother.”

Fen’s familiar voice cut through the air, her tone carrying an edge of command. Her eyes locked onto us, a sly smirk curling at the corners of her lips as she deliberately closed the distance between us.

Not now, Fen.

Her gaze lingered on me with a knowing intensity before she asked, “Why deny him the chance?”

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 14

“The ultimate dragon slayer of the Blades, and the daring ambition of unfortunate Varen.”

The dull ache in my stomach roused me from sleep. As I turned on my side, the relentless sunlight filtered through the crack at the entrance, driving away the darkness.

Hunger gripped me. Although Amon was not satisfied with the flavor, he was full, thanks to Nels and his men.

I pushed myself up from my bedroll and noticed him across the fire. His silver hair spilled messily over the edges of his bedroll, his face calm and serene. I stood up with the intention of reaching Riverwood for a proper meal. The southern regions, more welcoming to mer than the north, promised fewer difficulties—at least, that was my hope.

I pulled my hood over my head, stepped out of the cave where we had camped, and began my descent. Heading north towards Riverwood, the midday sun warmed the path before me.

Silent steps carried me into the Sleeping Giant Inn, a hollow space that felt almost oppressive in its emptiness. A single drunk Nord huddled in a corner, his desolate presence amplifying the room’s silence.

Behind the counter stood a woman I recognized, her fair hair cascading around her shoulders and her blue eyes sharp and penetrating. She carried herself with an unyielding pride that seemed almost too grand for an innkeeper.

I took a seat at the counter, my gaze dropping to the worn surface as if to hide the pangs of hunger I couldn’t ignore.

“Meat. Any meat. And quickly.” I ordered, my voice barely more than a growl, as if my ravenous stomach was speaking for me.

“Of course.” she replied with a trace of amusement, before turning to the cooking pots behind her. As I waited, I surveyed the inn once more. The ongoing civil war had clearly impacted Riverwood, a small town vulnerable to the conflict's reach, lacking the defenses of larger cities.

The clatter of a plate brought me back to reality. I glanced up to meet her gaze once more. Her eyes held mine for a fleeting moment, searching as if seeking something in my own weariness.

I quickly turned my attention to the plate before me, my hunger surging as I devoured the rabbit stew with an almost desperate ferocity. Each bite was a visceral relief, tearing through the emptiness inside me, offering a brief escape from the turmoil surrounding us.

“From the North, are you?” she asked, her voice firm with an undercurrent of suspicion.

“No.” I replied tersely, taking another bite of stew.

“You carry the air of the North about you.” she said, leaning closer to the counter. “Bad news, I’m afraid.”

My spoon paused mid-air before I placed it back on my plate and met her gaze. “What news?”

Her blue eyes flashed with the clarity of the morning sky. “Dragons.” she whispered, her words cutting through the silence and resonating deeply in my mind.

“What do you know about them?” I demanded, my curiosity piqued.

How could this woman have such knowledge? I hoped the rumors had not spread so quickly.

A faint, knowing smile curled at her lips. “I know they are deadly, vicious creatures.”

“Go on,” I pressed, my tone growing colder. It was clear she wasn’t going to reveal much easily.

“And that they are coming to hunt us all down and end the world.”

“That much I already know.” I said, shrugging slightly as I returned my focus to the plate before me.

“There must be a way.” she said, her voice tinged with desperation as if she needed my attention. And, in truth, she had it.

I remained silent, hoping my quiet would prompt her to elaborate, but she just fixed her gaze on me, unyielding.

“How?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Not how,” she replied, her breath steady and unhesitant, “but who.”

I raised an eyebrow, skepticism mingling with a fragile thread of hope. “And who might that be?”

Her blue eyes faltered for a moment, dropping to the counter as she grappled with her thoughts, struggling to articulate the answer.

“I—”

“Delphine!” a man’s voice interrupted, calling from behind her.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, my voice barely audible but thick with desperation. I clung to her words, longing for the answer that might offer a sliver of hope.

Her eyes lifted from the counter to meet mine, a flicker of sorrow in their depths. “Perhaps some other time,” she murmured, her voice almost tender, “when we meet again.”

With that, she stepped away from the counter.

“Wait!” I wanted to scream, my silent plea bursting with urgency and frustration.

“I’m coming, Ognar! Stop yelling all the damn time!” she shouted back, her voice fading as she left.

Her cryptic message left me in a storm of emotional turmoil. Could there truly be someone who could counter the dragons' threat? The notion of a savior was both exhilarating and tormenting, feeding a fragile hope that gnawed at me with equal parts anticipation and fear.

Who could it be?

The question burned in my mind, the uncertainty of whether hope was just a fleeting dream or a tangible chance for salvation.

As the inn’s door creaked open and a few Imperial soldiers entered, I pulled my hood tighter and lowered my gaze. It was time to leave. I left a coin on the counter and slipped out the door, careful to avoid any recognition.

As I made my way back to the cave, I saw Amon standing by the fire, his figure cast in stark shadows as he focused intently on sharpening his blade. The moment I entered his sphere, his eyes flicked up, the dagger in his hand flipping with a practiced ease before being sheathed with a deliberate, almost provocative finality.

“Where were you?” His voice cut through the air, laced with a demanding edge that bordered on possessive.

“At the inn, I-” I blinked, and suddenly his mismatched eyes were inches from mine, his proximity sending an electric jolt through my senses. His movement had been so swift and startling that it left a lingering warmth in the space he had just occupied.

Vampires and their unnerving speed.

“You went to Riverwood alone?” His voice dropped, each word laden with a concern that felt almost intimate.

I raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the sharp edge in his tone, "Why not?” I responded, meeting his gaze with steady defiance.

His jaw tightened, his presence radiating tension and intensity. “I woke up and found you gone, with no trace of where you’d been.” There was a quiet rage in his voice, though I couldn’t decipher its source.

I crossed my arms, stepping back, as if to underscore my resolve. “I go where I want, and you should get used to it.”

“How about you get used to us?” His voice was firm, his step forward resolute.

Us?

We were strangers. Riding together in silence or staying in the same inn for a night didn’t change that truth. We didn’t know and didn’t trust eachother. Why did it infuriate him to think I might abandon him?

”Hearing the names they call me doesn’t mean you know me.” I said, my voice cool but laced with challenge.

His jaw relaxed, his gaze shifting to a calm that was oddly comforting.

“No,” he replied, his tone softer, “I thought you were gone for good. Your belongings are still here, but I know—” He hesitated, causing my eyes to widen slightly. “—to you, nothing or nobody is too valuable to leave behind.”

He is right.

I despised admitting it. I could abandon anyone, as those I valued either died or left me in other ways. I could also leave behind anything, carrying only what I needed to remain unburdened. Astrid had taught me that being too attached to possessions was contrary to an assassin’s way.

“Let’s just say my trust isn’t easily earned.” I muttered, trying to silence the storm of thoughts in my mind and averting my gaze.

He killed them. 

I passed him deliberately, my shoulder brushing his lightly. As I made my way to my bedroll, the silence between us felt heavier than ever. For the first time, I longed for even the smallest sound to break the oppressive quiet. He moved toward the fire, choosing to remain silent as well.

I could just leave, knowing that he wouldn't be able to follow. Yet, the ease with which I had slept through the night next to a stranger, made me realize how much his presence had become, in its own twisted way, a comfort. Trusting him, a vampire, felt like a leap into the unknown, one I wouldn't have taken with my brothers or sisters.

Untill sunset, I spent my time packing my bag and cleaning the blood stained parts of my gear. Pulling my bedroll into a tight row and securing my backpack on my shoulder, I headed toward the cave’s narrow entrance, each step heavy with the weight of the silence pressing down on me.

Say something.

A dull ache crept into my neck as I glanced back into the cave. Seeing Amon extinguishing the last flickers of the fire brought a fleeting sense of relief.

Stepping outside, the sun was setting softly over the pine trees, its light painting the lake with hues of gold and amber. With a whistle, I called for Shadowmere. She approached with a graceful urgency, as if she, too, yearned to go home. I mounted her, and behind me, I heard the soft shuffle of leather as Amon prepared his own steed.

As we rode through the enveloping night, the silence felt more oppressive than before. The indifference I had carried yesterday had dissolved, replaced by an unbearable tension. Each tree that passed us and every stone beneath the hooves seemed heavy with unspoken dread.

“At the inn,” I ventured into the silence, “the innkeeper spoke of dragons.” Just voicing it seemed to lift a fraction of the oppressive weight from the night, making the darkness feel a touch less menacing.

“It’ll take a day or two for the news to reach Markarth.” he responded, his gaze sharp and his crimson eye glowing faintly, adding an edge to the quiet.

“She mentioned that there’s someone, that might be able to end all this.” I continued, my voice trembling with the weight of my fears and hopes.

He exhaled heavily, the sound a mix of resignation and contemplation, as he looked away from me, focusing on the winding path ahead. “Another legend,” he said, his tone dripping with a touch of disdain.

My curiosity sparked, and I prodded further, “You knew about this?”

He shrugged, his gaze never leaving the road as if searching for answers in the dark. “Well, I am old.”

Old? The term seemed vague, and I found myself growing more frustrated. He appeared only a few years older than me, but his ageless demeanor suggested a lifetime of untold experiences.

“How old?” I pressed.

“Just old.” he muttered, finally meeting my gaze. His expression was one of resignation, met by my furrowed brow.

I sighed, my determination breaking apart, “What legend?”

“A hero of the Nords,” he replied, his voice softer, almost wistful. “The ultimate dragon slayer of the Blades, and the daring ambition of unfortunate Varen.”

His words felt like fragments of a broken dream. We were told that the Blades had been eradicated by The Thalmor, their legacy now nothing more than a shadow of the past.

“Just tell me what this really means.” I demanded, my voice now a mix of urgency and weariness.

“A warrior with the body of a mortal and the soul of a dragon.” he murmured, his gaze steady, as if daring me to grasp the enormity of what he was saying, his crimson eye was deep, shining like a flawless ruby.

I struggled to reconcile his words with everything I knew about dragons and the teachings of the Thalmor, a flicker of doubt and suspicion began to gnaw at me. Could Amon be spinning a story just to get on my nerves?

“And what is this warrior’s destiny?” I asked, my voice trembling with a blend of frustration and vulnerability.

His gaze met mine briefly before he turned back to the darkened forest. “Whatever the warrior chooses.”

Before I could react, the rhythmic clatter of hooves grew louder. Amon spurred his steed forward along with his gaze, startling Shadowmere and vanishing into the night with an almost desperate haste. Suddenly, I was alone.

I pressed Shadowmere forward into the thickening gloom, my heart pounding as I scanned the forest for any sign of Amon. The darkness enveloped me, hiding every detail, every hint of where he might have gone. As I neared a clearing, I saw his dark steed standing alone, its serene presence a stark contrast to the encroaching night.

A rush of suspense surged through me, making my breath quicken. I dismounted Shadowmere with a sense of urgency, my eyes desperately searching the shadows.

The clearing was bathed in the dim light of the moon, but beyond it, the forest remained a wall of inky black. I opened my palm, conjuring a small flame that cast a trembling light over the clearing. Shadows danced ominously on the trees, and the only sounds were the anxious breaths of the horses and the distant rustle of the night. The solitude felt almost tangible, a heavy weight pressing down on me.

He was gone, just as I was starting to think I could get used to us.

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 13

"May Harbor have mercy on them.”

  Legate Rikke, I write to inform you of a matter that demands immediate attention. On the eve of the last day of Rain’s Hand, while overseeing the fortifications of Fort Kastav, I witnessed a sight that challenges our understanding of this world and threatens the very security of Skyrim. Two dragons—beasts of legend—appeared in The Pale. One descended from the heavens whereas the other rose from the earth itself, as though the ground had split open to release it. Their size and power were beyond anything our soldiers have ever faced, and their presence alone was enough to shake even the most seasoned among us. The men are deeply disturbed by these events, their morale strained as we grapple with the implications of such creatures roaming our lands. The threat they pose to Skyrim and the Empire is incalculable. In the face of this new danger, it is imperative that we maintain unity and strength within our borders. In light of these extraordinary circumstances, I must urge you and General Tullius to consider a course of action that, while drastic, could secure the future of Skyrim and the Empire. Ulfric is a symbol as much as he is a man—eliminate him, and the Stormcloak Rebellion will crumble into disarray. With the dragons now a pressing concern, a prolonged civil war would only divide and weaken the land and The Empire cannot afford that when we face such a formidable enemy. The impending audience between Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and High King Torygg offers us a unique opportunity. A calculated, covert action during his journey could save countless lives and bring this conflict to a swift and victorious end. The safety and stability of Skyrim and the Empire depend on decisive action, and I believe this is our moment to act. Fort Kastav stands ready to execute any orders you deem necessary, Legate. I submit this report for your consideration and stand ready to act in service to the Empire. Yours in duty, Commander Cassius Marcellus Fort Kastav, The Pale

“So, it was true.” The words slipped from my lips, barely a whisper as my eyes lifted from the parchment, the weight of its message settling like a stone in my chest. “He’s going to meet him.”

The realization felt like a dagger twisting in my gut, but before I could fully process it, Amon’s hand shot out, yanking the paper from my grasp with a speed that made my breath hitch.

“You murdered a patriot, you monster,” he quipped, his voice laced with a dark humor. His lips curled into a smirk, that knowing, infuriating smirk, as he handed the parchment back. I snatched it from him, tucking it securely under my belt, trying to ignore the way his fingers had brushed mine.

“Let’s go,” I ordered, my voice a shade too sharp, betraying the turmoil swirling within me. I mounted Shadowmere in a swift, almost desperate motion and without waiting for him, I urged my steed southward, my mind a storm of conflicting thoughts as we followed the path the Commander had described.

Amon’s voice broke through the rush of wind and the pounding of hooves. “You know, when the world is on the brink of ending beneath the crushing power of dragons and the boots of drunken men, I’d rather have a talkative companion.”

”I am not your companion.” I shot him a sidelong glance, forcing a sardonic edge into my reply. “And sure, why don’t we prattle on about the collective doom we’re all about to face?”

From the moment we met, Amon’s careless demeanor had grated on my nerves, his mocking tone like nails on a chalkboard. His reckless behavior on the gates of Kastav grated on me, like a pebble in my boot. Yet, there was something in the way he effortlessly invaded my space, something unsettling that gnawed at the edges of my resolve. The sting on my neck, lingered—a stark reminder of how close he dared to tread.

He scoffed, urging his horse forward until he was riding beside me, his gaze burning into me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. I kept my eyes fixed ahead, but I could feel him searing into my consciousness.

“I know we—”

“We?” 

“Hmpf,” Amon grunted, his lips twitching into a faint, almost begrudging smile. “Fine.”

For the first time, I turned to fully meet his gaze. My pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the aggravation that always seemed to accompany him. “I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot,” he continued, a rare sincerity coloring his tone. His eyes, usually veiled with mockery, glinted with a sincerity that caught me off guard.

For a moment, I could sense a shift in him, a crack in his usual facade. But the bitterness inside me wouldn’t allow his words to land softly. “Not unusual for you,” I shot back and  turned my gaze back to the road ahead, the tension in my chest tightening. “Especially if you forcefully ‘taste’ everyone you see.”

His silence stretched between us, heavy and charged, as if he were searching for a way to respond without igniting my temper further.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost introspective. “It was not what I had intended,” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest as if trying to contain his thoughts. “But then you—” He hesitated, “You had the nerve to approach a vampire with a dagger.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, and despite myself, I felt a frown forming on my own. 

“I’d heard stories about you,” he continued, his gaze drifting toward the sky as if recalling distant memories. “The Ashenblade, the Harvester, the Silent Death… all that.”

Each name felt like a dagger in my side, a reputation that had become both a shield and a prison. But hearing them from him, spoken with a strange mixture of respect and curiosity, made them feel like something else entirely. “My reputation precedes me,” I sighed.

“Indeed.” Amon’s smirk widened as he met my gaze, his eyes glinting with that familiar mix of amusement and intrigue. “I just haven’t decided what to call you yet.”

“Niolenyl would be sufficient.” I replied, my voice faltering ever so slightly as I uttered my true name.

As we rode further, the ground beneath us began to shift, the rough texture smoothing out in a way that felt almost unnatural. When I glanced down, I noticed something strange—the earth was a mix of snow and sand, an odd fusion that seemed out of place, even in this unpredictable land.

“Look,” I said, drawing Amon’s attention to the ground. “This should be the spot.”

I dismounted Shadowmere with caution, the tension in my body growing as I took a few steps forward. The earth beneath my boots felt different with each step, the snow-covered grass and stone, gradually giving way to a mixture of snow and sand.

The darkness of the night enveloped the area, but under the pale glow of the moon, I could see it clearly—a circle etched into the earth, the very spot where one of the dragons had risen. The air was thick with an ancient energy, a power that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

As I stood there, the weight of the investigation pressed down on me like never before. The landscape, the letter, the whispers of the looming threat…

As I turned back, I saw Amon kneeling in the strange mix of sand and snow, his hand sifting through the grains with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Ash.” he murmured, his voice heavy with realization.

A cold weight settled in my chest as I watched him. All along, I had clung to the small hope that Astrid was right—that this was all some elaborate scheme, a deception we could unravel. But the truth was undeniable now, pressing down on me like a vice, squeezing the air from my lungs. The fear I had glimpsed in the eyes of Festus and Grodyl was no illusion.

I couldn’t stand it. With hasty steps, I made my way back to Shadowmere, my mind racing. I needed to leave, to escape this suffocating truth, to ride back to the Sanctuary and deliver the news to Astrid. Maybe then, the weight would lift, even just a little.

“Hey!” Amon’s voice cut through the night, but I didn’t stop, didn’t let his words anchor me. I climbed onto my steed, my movements rushed, driven by the urgency to flee.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, frustration etched in the furrow of his brows.

“Go back to your Sanctuary,” I ordered, my voice sharp, laced with the firmness of duty. “Deliver the news to Colymna. The Black Council will gather soon.”

The words left my lips with a cold finality, and it wasn’t until after they hung in the air that I felt their weight added to the burden already on my chest.

Will I ever see him again?

“Colymna already knows,” Amon retorted, his tone tinged with irritation. “Where do you think I ran to the night I saw the dragons?”

I shrugged, feigning indifference, though inside, a silent storm raged. “Well then, since my duty here is over, I will return home. You should do the same.”

With that, I turned Shadowmere southward, toward Morvunskar.

“Niolenyl!” Amon’s voice, calling my name, pierced through the darkness. Part of me wanted to keep riding, to let the night swallow me whole, to be alone as I always had been, unbound by others and their expectations. But another part of me, the part that had hesitated when I spoke my name earlier, made me pull on the reins and turn to face him one last time.

He took a few steps closer, his eyes, a sapphire and a ruby, gleaming with an intensity that matched the moonlight. “Let me come with you,” he pleaded, his voice earnest, “I want us to have a new start.”

His words hit me like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep me away.

A new start? With him?

The very idea seemed absurd, yet… the look in his eyes made it feel like something more, something I hadn’t dared to consider.

“A new start. My name is Amon,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with something heavier. “I am a vampire, I like killing and I—” He paused, a sigh escaping his lips as he shook his head, as if trying to find the right words.

“Well, Colymna hates me and everyone else in the Sanctuary. I can’t go back there, not after she dismissed me so easily.”

I searched his tone for the slightest hint of mischief or mockery, any sign that he might be deceiving me, but found none. Amon’s voice, for once, lacked its usual edge. It was unsettling, almost disarming. His words hung in the air between us, laden with a vulnerability I hadn’t expected. My eyes locked onto his, searching for something, anything that might make me doubt him, but there was nothing to find. Maybe part of me didn’t want to find anything, didn’t want to uncover a reason to push him away.

“I know I’ve crossed the line,” he continued, his voice faltering. “More than I should have. I mean, I—”

“You shouldn’t have acted recklessly at the gates?” I cut in, my voice laced with the remnants of old anger, though it was softened now, almost teasing.

”I shouldn’t have called you a virgin-” 

“Well I am not.” The words escaped my lips with a tremble that I couldn’t contain, “So it doesn’t matter.” 

He nodded eagerly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “No more of that, all right?”

There was something in the way his eyes pleaded, something that made my cheeks flush with a warmth I wasn’t prepared for. Amon, the reckless, maddening vampire who had done nothing but irritate me from the moment we met, was now asking to stay by my side. He could just go anywhere else if he didn’t want to return to Dawnstar.

But his plea stirred something within me, a long-buried ache that I hadn’t acknowledged in years. The thought of having someone by my side, even someone as infuriating as Amon, was oddly comforting.

A consort to my loneliness? A friend, perhaps—like Nazir, who had always been there, just like the others I had eventually lost. Each one leaving a void that I had tried to fill with duty and perfection. Or someone like Astrid? Who had forced me into an impossible choice?

What would Amon be to me, if he were to stay?

The question gnawed at my mind, twisting and turning with no clear answer. It unsettled me in a way I hadn’t anticipated, like an itch beneath the surface of my skin that I couldn’t scratch.

“I’ll ride back to the Falkreath Sanctuary. I suppose you are free to entail.” I said finally, my voice carefully measured, though the tremor of uncertainty laced my words. The truth was, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to follow, or if I was too afraid of what that might mean.

When he smiled, it was as if the moonlight itself softened, casting him in an ethereal glow that made my heart skip a beat. I looked away quickly, the intensity of his gaze too much to bear. With a swift motion, I turned Shadowmere southward, urging her into a brisk pace, hoping the ride would shake off the emotions swirling within me.

The hours of the night dragged on in silence as we rode past Morvunskar. The landscape shifted around us, dark and unforgiving, yet familiar. By the time we reached the bridge at Fort Amol, the first light of dawn began to creep into the sky, bleeding soft hues of pink and red across the horizon. 

But even the dawn’s beauty did little to quell the storm inside me.

My thoughts spun in a chaotic whirlwind. Astrid would demand an answer from me, and the weight of that decision pressed heavily on my shoulders. The thought of sinking deeper into her schemes, of becoming more than just her tool, sent icy tendrils of fear through me. I had always been an instrument of hers, shaped and honed to perfection, but now the blade was turning, and I wasn’t sure where it would land.

Amon rode in silence beside me, his presence a constant, unspoken tension. He didn’t speak, yet his silence was anything but empty. It was as if he were waiting, giving me the space to think.

As the endless tundra of Skyrim began to glow with the first light of day, the world around us transformed. The pale colors of winter painted the landscape, the sky a vast canvas of soft pastels. The wind tugged at my hood, pulling it free, and my hair streamed behind me, wild and untamed. I lifted my gaze to the sky, its endless expanse so bright and clear, and for a moment, I allowed myself to breathe.

It was beautiful—an untouched moment of serenity in a world on the brink of chaos. Even though I was not born in Skyrim, it was the only place that had ever felt like home. Its harsh, unforgiving land, its endless skies, and its fierce people had shaped me into who I was. I loved it in a deep, abiding way, but not with the boisterous enthusiasm of the next drunken Nord. My love for Skyrim was quieter, more in the way it had become a part of me.

As the sun began to rise higher, its insistent rays washed the land in a growing palette of colors, from pale pinks to golden yellows. The day was claiming the night, and with it came the realization that we would soon need to stop and make camp.

When we turned further south, Amon pulled his hood tighter around his head, shielding himself from the sun's relentless rays. The journey through the night had been long, the roads unforgiving, and I could feel the toll it was taking on both of us.

Just above the Embershard Mine, with Lake Ilinalta shimmering below, I halted Shadowmere. Exhaustion clawed at me, the weight of a sleepless night bearing down as I dismounted. My legs nearly buckled beneath me, but I steadied myself.

The looming presence of Mount Hrothgar above us offered a strange comfort. The mountain's dark, jagged silhouette cut against the sky. It wasn’t the most inviting of places—a high-altitude camp beneath the Throat of the World—but it would suffice. A few hours of sleep and a meal would have to sustain me before we continued our journey to the Sanctuary.

With calculated precision, I ignited the fire using the barest flicker of flame from my fingertip. Fire was always tricky for me, alive and unpredictable, slipping through my control like water. Yet, I managed, coaxing it to life until the warmth of the flames licked at the darkness, casting our shadows against the cave walls.

“Get some sleep, I’ll keep watch,” I ordered, my tone brokering no argument. My stomach growled as I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a dried rabbit leg. The sight of it made me grimace, but hunger gnawed at me, leaving me with little choice. I took a small bite, the taste as dry and unsatisfying as I’d expected.

“You should sleep,” Amon’s voice interrupted my thoughts, soft yet firm. He placed a bedroll near the fire, his gaze lingering on me in a way that made the space between us feel smaller. “I know you didn’t sleep at all in that inn.”

His words froze me in place, how did he know? 

“I did.”

Amon’s brows furrowed as he let out a frustrated huff. “Sure,” he shrugged, his tone dripping with irritation, “and was that before or after those drunken men called you an elven bitch?”

His words struck me silent. The piece of dried rabbit in my hand suddenly tasteless. My heart pounded, unsure whether it was anger or disbelief that gripped me.

”May Harbor have mercy on them.” He finished with a soft shrug as his voice deepened. 

“You…” I hesitated, swallowing hard, trying to find my voice. 

“I saw them on the road to their camp, when you were busy in the Fort…”

I stared at him, searching for some hint of his usual mockery, but his expression was unreadable, save for the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

“And they tasted like,” he hesitated, his voice tinged with disgust, “Bad mead.”

My breath caught in my throat as I stepped closer, the words trembling on my lips. “Why?”

“Why?” He repeated, his tone instantly cold, almost offended, as he crossed his arms over his chest, “No one calls you that and walks free.”

The darkness of the cave concealed most of his features, but the glint in his eyes shone brighter against the shadows, stark and unrelenting. A part of me, a dark, twisted part, couldn’t deny the satisfaction that flickered in my heart. The thought of Nels and the othersi meeting their end at Amon’s hands was disturbingly comforting. But witnessing how far he was willing to go for something like this made my heart race beneath my chest. It felt like it wasn’t just about survival or some twisted game—it was about me.

A tension, thick and palpable, hung between us as the silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. I searched his eyes, looking for a way out of this labyrinth of emotions, but found none. Instead, I found only the truth staring back at me—raw and undeniable.

And in that truth, I saw the reflection of my own heart, twisted and conflicted. 

“Amon, I-” I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips. But the emotion in my voice betrayed me, revealing the turmoil that roiled beneath my surface.

“Get some sleep.” his voice was softer now, almost tender, as he moved toward the shadows at the entrance of the cave. The darkness swallowed him, leaving me alone with the echoes of his words and the storm of thoughts that seemed to churn with a maddening intensity.

I laid down on my bedroll, the hard terrain of the cave pressing uncomfortably against my back. The sharpness of the stones beneath me was a cruel reminder of the bed I had refused earlier, a comfort I now regretted denying.

My mind was a labyrinth of tangled thoughts—anger, confusion and the silent ache on my neck which, this time came as a slight comfort, rather than an irritation as I stared at the caves cold ceiling.

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 12

"Maybe choosing one family over another was a grave mistake."

I took a step toward the Khajiit, his form still and unmoved as his gaze followed my every movement.

“What does that mean?” My voice trembled slightly as I advanced closer. “Who are you?”

But Maiq remained silent.

“Oh my Bal.” Amon’s scoffing voice startled me, and I turned to face him, irritation prickling at the edges of my patience.

When I looked back, the Khajiit was already gone. “Are you talking to yourself now?” Amon’s tone dripped with mockery, laced with a feigned concern that made my skin crawl.

“The Kha—” I stopped myself, biting back the words that would only fuel his ridicule. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” His voice carried a dangerous hint of mischief, as if he found delight in my unease.

I met his mismatched eyes with a sharp glare. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his armor, exuding a smugness that set my nerves on edge.

“You are awake.” I sighed,  “That means we can finally go.” I brushed past him, our shoulders grazing ever so slightly as I made my way toward the inn.

“Gather your things. We’re leaving in ten.”

As I packed my belongings and secured the mantle around my shoulders, my mind swirled with thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. Dragons, an unknown company, and now, hallucinations?

This wasn’t the life I envisioned within the Brotherhood.

Maybe choosing one family over another was a grave mistake.

“Let’s go.” Amon opened the door without so much as a knock, his composed demeanor unsettling me even further.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” I snapped, narrowing my eyes as I grabbed my backpack.

“You said ten minutes.”

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him once more. Our shoulders touched again, the contact deliberate, though I couldn’t tell if it was meant to provoke me or offer some twisted reassurance.

“Ouch!” A child’s cry of pain pierced the air, pulling me from my thoughts.

“That’s what you get!” A little girl’s voice responded, laced with a wicked satisfaction.

I glanced over, noticing the boy doubled over, clutching his crotch in pain—the girl’s handiwork, no doubt. A smirk tugged at my lips as I patted her on the back before stepping out of the inn.

The cool evening air carried a weight of anticipation as Amon and I rode side by side, the road beneath us leading to Fort Kastav. The horizon was ablaze with the fading hues of sunset, the deep orange slowly giving way to the creeping darkness.

“So,” Amon’s voice broke the silence, a curious edge to it. “How does it feel to be an assassin of the Brotherhood?”

“Hollow,” I replied, the word slipping from my lips like a sigh, filled with a silent resignation. My eyes remained on the horizon, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Rather grim, don’t you think?” he remarked, his tone tinged with amusement, as if he found pleasure in my discontent.

“More than it should be,” I mumbled, straightening in my saddle as I fought to maintain my composure. “But that’s what we do.”

His silence unsettled me, and the longer it stretched, the more it gnawed at my nerves. “If you are thinking of leaving,” My voice cut through the stillness, sharp and accusatory as I turned my gaze on him, a fierce glint in my eyes. “I could dismember you right here.”

Amon’s lips curved into a silent chuckle, the sound low and mocking. “Like you did last time?”

He was right. If I hadn’t underestimated him in our first encounter, perhaps things would have turned out differently. My hand instinctively touched the cloth around my neck, a reminder of that failure, before I forced it back down.

I refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply, choosing instead to let the silence stretch between us as we continued southward. 

As the watchtowers of the fort came into view, the night had fully embraced its shroud of darkness. The kind of darkness I could easily exploit.

“Amon!” I called out, alarm rising as I noticed him striding purposefully toward the gate of the fort. “What in the Oblivion are you doing?”

“Aren’t we here to gather information?” he replied, his tone casual, pulling up his hood as he continued toward the gate, undeterred by the four guards standing watch.

“We can’t just walk through the front door!” My hand shot out, grabbing his arm with a firm grip. “This isn’t our way!”

He stopped, his eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of his hood as he turned to face me. There was a dangerous amusement in his gaze.

“Oh yeah?” his lips curled into a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. “And how did you manage to reach a thousand?”

“I don’t murder my way in.” Each word was deliberate, carrying the weight of my resolve.

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning in just slightly, enough to invade my space. “An assassin who cares about lives and innocence?”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, the sharp points of his teeth catching the dim moonlight as they glinted. “You are, darling, quite intriguing.”

Heat flooded my cheeks despite myself, and I cursed the reaction. “You mean to just barge into a fort full of imperials? These aren’t some bandits.”

His question came suddenly, his gaze piercing through the night to lock onto mine. “So, those are the people you hunt down? The bad guys?”

“Who goes there?” the silent night was shattered by a man’s voice.

“We need to go.” My whisper was more a command than a warning. Without hesitation, we moved together, slipping into the shadows toward our steeds. The faint glow of a torch followed us for a while, before it turned back, leaving us to the safety of the dark.

"Stay here." I commanded again, my voice brooking no argument. Amon’s brows furrowed in defiance, but before he could protest, I cut him off, my tone swift and unyielding. "I will handle this as I always do, and you will not get in my way."

My gaze locked onto his, fierce with determination, daring him to challenge me.

"I’ve wasted enough time with your games." I added, my voice laced with finality.

Without waiting for his response, I turned and slipped into the shadows as I always had—alone, and on my own terms.

Climbing the craggy face of the mountain that the fort nestled against, I moved with a predator’s grace, each step calculated, every breath measured. The shadows clung to me like a lover, concealing my presence as I ascended. As I reached the lip of the guard tower, I paused, surveying the scene below. The night was thick with the scent of pine and the distant murmur of soldiers.

I leapt onto the tower, landing softly beside two guards, their conversation masking the sound of my approach. The first never saw me coming; my elbow struck with brutal efficiency, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he could even gasp.

The second guard spun around, his mouth opening in a silent scream, but my blade was already at his throat, pressing just enough to stifle the sound. His eyes bulged with terror as he stared into mine, and I could almost taste his fear.

“Where are the commander’s quarters?” I demanded, my voice a deadly whisper.

“Please—” he choked out, his breath ragged.

I tightened my grip, the blade biting into his skin. “If you speak another word that isn't giving me directions, I’ll end you.”

His fear won the battle with his instincts. “B-b-beneath the east tower,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Second floor, the door at the end of the hall.”

“Good.” My voice softened, a mocking lilt creeping into it as I eased the blade away from his throat. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Relief flickered in his eyes, but it was short-lived. I moved with the swiftness of a serpent, wrapping my arm around his neck and choking him into unconsciousness. As his body sagged, I let him drop to the stone floor, where he would remain until morning—if he was lucky.

With the guards dealt with, I slithered along the bastions of the fort, my movements fluid and soundless. Reaching the second-floor balcony, I peered into the dimly lit hall beyond, where a lone soldier stood vigil outside the commander’s quarters.

I stepped inside, drawing the soldier’s attention immediately. He eyed me with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, his gaze lingering on the curves of my figure.

“I’m here to see the commander,” I stated flatly, all pretense of warmth stripped from my tone.

The soldier’s lips twisted into a lecherous grin. “You? At this hour? I thought he liked them younger.”

My jaw tightened, but I held my composure, masking the revulsion that simmered beneath my skin. “Are you going to question his orders?”

He snorted, waving me past with a dismissive hand. “Go in, then. Just don’t expect him to be gentle.”

I pushed open the heavy door and entered the room, my senses immediately assaulted by the scent of oiled leather and burning incense.

The commander stood behind a grand wooden desk, his silhouette framed by the flickering light of a single candle. He was a large man, his presence dominating the space, yet the lines of weariness etched into his face betrayed his true state.

“Ashenblade,” he greeted, his voice a deep rumble, tinged with something akin to disdain. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I’m here for information.” I replied, taking deliberate steps closer to his desk. “About dragons.”

His body stiffened, a flicker of fear crossing his face. I leaned in, my gaze locking onto his. “Tell me what happened that night.”

His breath hitched slightly, the fear in his eyes betraying the bravado he tried to maintain. “We were awakened by a horrific scream,” he began, his voice thick with the memory. “The soldiers ran to the towers and saw it—a creature with wings as black as the void.”

“Just one?” I pressed, my gaze piercing through his.

His head shook violently. “No. Another rose from the very earth, tearing its way from the ground as if the land itself had birthed it.”

“Rose from the earth?” I repeated, incredulity lacing my tone.

“I know it sounds insane, but I swear on the Nine it happened.” He swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly as he recalled the horror of that night. “The first one came from the north, I think. We didn’t see it until it was too late, until it was already upon us.”

“And after that?” I prompted, sensing the depth of his terror. “Did they attack you?”

“No.” he admitted, the word almost a sigh of relief. “They ignored us completely, as if we were nothing.”

I straightened, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. “Thank you, Commander.” I said, pulling back from the desk, my voice laced with false gratitude.

He smiled, a weary, bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t thank me. This information is worthless. We’re all doomed, no matter what Astrid does with it.”

I turned to leave but hesitated, a dark thought creeping into my mind. “One more thing, Commander,” I said softly, my voice dropping to a whisper as I asked, leaning in towards him. 

“How young were they?”

His face blanched, confusion and horror swirling in his eyes. “Who? What are you-“

My blade flashed in the dim light as it sliced across his throat. The words he might have spoken died on his lips, replaced by the gurgling choke of blood.

The crimson stain spread across the desk, a stark contrast against the polished wood. I watched as his life ebbed away, his eyes wide with the realization of his fate. As he slumped forward, I rifled through the drawers, finding a sealed parchment that might hold something useful. I tucked it into my belt and turned to leave, my steps unhurried. As I reached the door, it burst open, the guard from earlier barging in with his sword drawn, his face a mask of panic.

“By Ysmir!“ his eyes scanned the room, “Commander!” he gasped, his eyes darting between me and the bloodied corpse slumped over the desk.

”You little…” His voice was a strangled mix of horror and fury as he raised his sword. I met his charge head-on, my movements a blur of deadly precision.

He swung wildly, his form sloppy and unbalanced. I sidestepped his first strike, then ducked under the second, my body moving with fluid grace.

With a swift movement, I planted my back against his, using his own momentum to pull him off balance. As he staggered forward, I drove my blade into the nape of his neck, severing the spine with a sickening crunch.

His body went limp, collapsing at my feet in a graceless heap. I wiped the blood from my blade, my breath steady as I surveyed the scene.

“Oh, right,” Amon’s voice drawled from the shadows behind me, dripping with sarcasm. “This is not our way.”

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 11

"It was more than curiosity, more than a fleeting desire. For me, it was a kiss that bound my soul to his, a sealing of my heart, forevermore."

4E, 196

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, and the valiant souls who stand before me today, the graduating class of this era’s 196th year. As we gather for this momentous occasion, we honor the exceptional journey that has led us here, culminating in the ultimate test of strength, strategy, and survival – the final trial."

High Instructor Alhonir's voice resonated through the grand hall of Clamcora, each word weighted with significance. The solemnity of the moment hung heavy in the air as we stood, uniform in our navy blue robes adorned with intricate silver and gold buttons.

Elamoril was positioned on the opposite side of the hall, among the other males. His gaze, as it had been since moment we arrived at the hall, avoided mine, a silent tension lingering between us.

"In the heart of the shadowed forest lies the arena where destiny itself awaits. Within its depths, ancient weapons and arcane powers slumber, waiting to be claimed by those bold enough to seek them. This trial is not merely a contest; it is a crucible, where you will prove yourselves not just as competitors, but as warriors, facing the formidable challenge of combat and conquest."

I held my breath, the weight of the words pressing down on my chest.

"As you've been taught throughout these years, our strength lies in unity. This is why we are granting you until tomorrow to form your teams of six."

High Instructor Alhonir’s voice took on a sudden gravity, a spark of intensity igniting in his eyes.

"Choose wisely, for these comrades will be the ones with whom you forge your strategy, as you face the unknown menace lurking within the forest."

Once again, I silently pleaded for Elamoril’s gaze, but his eyes remained elsewhere, fixed on anything but me. Over the past year, our brief exchanges had dwindled to nothing, a painful reminder of his disapproval. He hadn’t forgiven me for my choice to return here—to this place—when we could have gone home.

"At first light, the final trial will begin. Until then, eat, drink, and cherish these final moments with your friends," High Instructor Alhonir announced, his voice briefly wavering, a rare glimpse of emotion crossing his stern features. "For tomorrow, you will graduate."

A wave of applause rippled through the hall as we dutifully followed his cue, but my hands moved mechanically, the sound hollow in my ears. My body trembled, the chill of uncertainty gripping me tighter with every passing second. Despite all our training, the unknown that awaited us filled me with a fear I could scarcely admit to myself.

As the evening deepened, the dining hall buzzed with the nervous energy of last-year students, each eager to finalize their teams before the dawn brought the trial’s commencement. The room was ablaze with the warm glow of candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls, as hushed conversations blended into a steady murmur.

Elamoril sat at the far end of the long wooden table dominating the center of the hall, his copper hair falling over his brow as he engaged in lively discussion with a group of others. His laughter, once a source of comfort, now seemed distant.

My heart ached with a quiet, persistent pain, the loneliness of the moment settling in as I sat in isolation.

"No team?" The sudden voice startled me, breaking my melancholy thoughts. I looked up from my empty goblet, only to be met by Brellin's hazel eyes, warm and inquisitive.

I shook my head, a small motion that caused Brellin to arch an eyebrow. He glanced over at Elamoril and his group, their animated conversation continuing without pause, before turning back to me.

"Me, Tadriel, and Meldor are forming a team," he said, a hint of hesitation in his voice as he took a seat beside me. "We’d be honored if you joined us. We could really use a swordswoman of your skill."

Brellin was a skilled mage, his talent in elemental magic well-known among our peers. Tadriel, another mage, excelled in the art of regeneration, able to mend wounds with a mere touch. Meldor, however, lacked significant combat prowess; his obsession with alchemy made him more of a scholar than a warrior, though his potions had saved us on more than one occasion.

"And you thought she'd join the loser team?" A sharp voice cut through the air behind us. "Such a fine match for the Snowleaf."

Fara, her hazel eyes gleaming with mischief, stood with her arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips as she mocked Brellin and me.

My brows knit together in frustration, but I held my tongue, refusing to rise to her bait.

"Don’t be upset, Fara," Brellin shot back, his tone dripping with mockery. "There’s still room in our team if you’re feeling left out."

"Hah!" Fara scoffed, a sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. "I’m the finest archer in this class. Do you really think I’d waste my time with the likes of you?"

"I’d like to join."

The familiar, soft voice made me freeze. Elamoril’s eyes were locked on Brellin, his tone measured and calm. "If there’s room," he added, his gaze briefly flickering in my direction before settling back on Brellin.

Brellin’s face lit up with a glimmer of hope, his nod deliberate and eager. "Of course!"

"Gods," Fara scoffed, rolling her eyes at Elamoril, "Really? Codell and the others were certain you’d join us."

"There’s no place for Nio on that team." Elamoril’s words sliced through the air like a blade as he took the seat beside me, his presence commanding the space.

"Sadly," Codell remarked as he stepped up behind Fara, his tone measured but with a hint of disappointment. "But you aren’t leaving, are you? We’d have been unstoppable with a pair of archers as skilled as you two."

"Fara is certainly the superior archer," Elamoril responded, his voice steady, eyes never wavering from Codell’s. "She alone is more than enough to carry your team." Yet, at the end of his sentence, he allowed a small, proud smile to form as he glanced at Fara.

Codell sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement. "Well, that much is true."

"Still, Elamoril," Fara leaned forward, planting her palms on the table, her gaze locking onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "I’d choose you, if you asked me to."

“Wait—" Codell began, only to be silenced by the cold, cutting glare Fara shot his way, forcing him to back down.

"What happened to not wasting your time with us?" Brellin sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.

"I would never," Fara retorted with disdain, her voice low and dangerous. "But you need a sixth, don’t you?" Her gaze drifted back to Elamoril, lingering on him with a boldness that made my blood simmer.

I remember a sudden urge flickering through me—a desire to carve those eyes out of her head.

"I don’t recall saying yes.” I finally muttered, my voice soft yet sharp, catching Elamoril’s attention like a snare tightening around its prey.

But I kept my focus on Brellin, "I’m sorry." I whispered, beginning to rise from my seat. But before I could fully stand, a familiar hand clamped around my wrist, pulling me back down with a force that startled me.

I tried to yank my hand free, but Elamoril’s grip was unyielding, his fingers pressing into my skin with a possessive intensity.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

"Let me go." I demanded, each word deliberate, my voice trembling slightly as I met his gaze.

With an unwillingness that I could feel in the very air between us, his grip finally loosened, and I pulled away, rising from the table and leaving the hall behind.

I knew I needed to find a team—and I would, eventually. But I refused to sit there, enduring his silent dismissal of my presence while he played the hero by joining my team, ensuring our victory as though I couldn’t manage without him.

After everything.  My steps carried me toward the library, the dim light of the corridors a welcome escape from the stifling tension of the hall. I felt a sudden, harsh grip on my waist. Before I could react, I was pulled into the shadowy aisle between the towering shelves, my back pressed firmly against the cold wood.

Elamoril stood before me, his eyes ablaze with something fierce, something raw that I had never seen in him before. “Where do you think you’re going?" His voice was sharp, each word laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Away, from you.”  I breathed, struggling to keep my voice steady, to maintain the coldness I desperately wanted to project. 

I knew he could sense the fear simmering just beneath my defiance, just as I could sense the hesitation in his grip. For a moment, we were locked in that charged silence, the air thick with unspoken words.

“Isn’t this what you want anyway?” I finally snapped, pushing his arms away with a force that surprised even me. He didn’t resist, his hands falling to his sides, though his eyes remained fixed on mine.

He was silent, but I refused to be. The words I had held back for so long surged to the surface.

“You left me,” I spat, my voice trembling with the fury that had been brewing within me. My eyes burned, the tears I had fought so hard to suppress threatening to spill over. “You left me in the middle of a mess that I made.”

“I know, I fucked up.” The words burst from me, stronger than I intended, “I know I failed you, that I ran from what we could have had if we had escaped. But you never gave us a chance to be what we could have been if we had stayed.”

“Nothing, Nio, we would have been nothing.” he replied, his voice a steady whisper, yet carrying a finality that stung.

I gave a bitter, sarcastic smile, nodding in mock agreement. “Right, just like we are now.”

I took a deliberate step closer. “It’s not just the Thalmor. It’s all because of you, because you wanted us to be nothing.”

The intensity in his gaze faltered, the blazing fire in his eyes dimming into something softer, more familiar. The raw edge of his anger smoothed into a quiet, steady flame. 

He was back.

“I never wanted us to be nothing,” he said quietly, his own step bringing him closer. “I only wanted to take you back home.”

The pain in his voice was palpable as he reached out, gently cupping my cheek. “I hated seeing the way they treated us,” he murmured, his touch tender and almost reverent. “The way they treated you.”

I placed my hand over his, the warmth of his touch mingling with my own. “You,” I whispered, “you became my home.”

A flicker of something soft and vulnerable appeared in his eyes, the fire within them momentarily dimming as my gaze drifted to his lips before returning to his eyes.

“Nio,” he breathed, his voice trembling with a mix of regret and longing. It was more a plea than an address, his arm sliding around my waist with a tenderness that seemed to bridge the gap between us. “I told you that—”

“That you would always be here,” I finished for him, my voice steady but laced with the pain of unmet promises. “And you weren’t.”

As he pulled me gently into his embrace, my feet moved involuntarily closer, closing the distance between us. His hand slipped from my cheek to cradle the side of my face, his fingers tangling softly in my hair. His thumb brushed lightly against my skin, a tender caress that sent a shiver through me, igniting something deep within.

“No matter what happens tomorrow, I want you to know that—” His eyes softened, revealing a vulnerability that made my heart ache. “Nothing can change my love for you. I will always love you.”

My eyes widened, a flush of heat rising to my cheeks as I searched his gaze, silently pleading for him to understand.

Can you love me the same way I love you? After everything?

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the frantic beating of my heart. “The same way you love me.”

As his lips descended upon mine, I clung to him, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, anchoring me to the moment.

The intimate bond we shared had always sparked curiosity, since we were kids, a silent awareness between us that had gone unspoken—until now.

His lips were soft against mine, his breath a gentle caress that mingled with my own. In that fragile space, I remember surrendering.

It was more than curiosity, more than a fleeting desire. For me, it was a kiss that bound my soul to his, a sealing of my heart, forevermore.

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 10

“Much snow in Skyrim, enough snow.”

"An elven bitch!" The shout from behind me was followed by a chorus of laughter and jeers.

I rose to my feet, my stance unwavering. The rage within me simmered, a crimson haze threatening to consume my vision. I was ready to paint the ground with the blood of the man behind me as I turned slowly, locking my gaze onto his.

"Say that to my face.” I challenged, my hand slipping silently toward the hilt of my dagger.

Come on. Say it. 

In that moment, duty was forgotten.

Astrid was no stranger to the trouble I brought to the Brotherhood. Countless times, brothers and sisters were dispatched to clean up the messes I'd made. Yet, she never truly banished or punished me for murdering outside the confines of a contract like Nazir did. She simply chose to turn a blind eye to my berserk rages.

Perhaps that’s why.

As the man’s mouth opened to retort, another voice rang out from behind the table.

"Don’t, Nels."

The tall figure of Nels towered over me, his expression twisted with disdain, though beneath it, I could see the flicker of a hidden, burning desire.

It was a familiar look, one I'd seen countless times in men who laid eyes on me. My distinct appearance was an advantage, and I used it, it made the collection of a thousand souls all the easier when faced with weak-minded men.

With his friend’s warning, Nels hesitated. I knew at least one of them would match my appearance to Ashenblade’s—the snow-white hair and ashen eyes as cold as death.

"Come on, Nels, listen to your friend." Another voice cut through the air, this time belonging to an elven mage.

Frustration flashed across Nels' face. He let out a heavy sigh before spitting down at my feet, the glob landing just between the tips of my boots. Then, with a look of disgust, he turned and walked away—choosing to live another day.

I shifted my attention to the mage, but he had already turned his back to me as he walked back to his table, the matter clearly of no further interest to him. Determined, I wove through the throng of patrons, the murmur of voices fading as I approached his secluded corner.

His dark hair fell loosely around his angular face, its sharp features marred by the shadows of sleepless nights. Hollow eyes, pale blue and unsettling, seemed focused on the pages of a book in his hands, refusing to acknowledge my presence.

"You get used to it," he finally mumbled, his gaze still fixed on the words before him.

"Are you from the College?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"No." His reply was curt, "I left Winterhold some time ago. Now I stay here at the inn."

There was a bitter edge to his words, a contempt I couldn’t quite place. Dagur's complaints about the smell crept into my thoughts.

"Because they don’t like what you’re experimenting with?"

His eyes snapped up from the book, which he closed with a rough flick of his wrist.

"And why would that be your concern?" His voice was cold, each word deliberate, as if testing my intent. "Shouldn't you be off, killing someone?"

Sensing my hesitation and the flicker of confusion in my expression, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that barely breached the space between us. "You’re not here for me, are you?"

I shook my head firmly as I cast my gaze downward, fixing it on the worn surface of the table between us.

"I just wanted to know if you’ve heard anything about the dragon sightings.” I murmured, my tone as quiet as the grave.

"I know what everyone else knows."

I lifted my gaze, "And what is it they know?" 

His gaze didn’t waver as he leaned forward, placing his arms on the table, "There was only one of them," he began, his voice a low rumble, "black as the void and colossal in size."

I tilted my head slightly, my curiosity piqued as I countered, “The witnesses say they saw another pair of wings."

"The soldiers swear the second one appeared out of nowhere," he continued, his tone growing darker, “from sand and ash, born of the very earth itself."

His words painted a vivid, haunting image that sent a ripple of unease through me. My brows furrowed as I tried to make sense of it. "How is that possible?"

"Unfortunately," he said, leaning back into his chair with a resigned air, "understanding this phenomenon is beyond my expertise."

Such a mage.

"Thank you…" I hesitated, but before I could ask, he offered his name.

"Nelacar." he introduced himself softly, the name slipping from his lips like a secret, and I nodded in acknowledgment.

The walls around me seemed to close in, my thoughts scattered by the raucous laughter and drunken shouts echoing through the inn. The noise made it nearly impossible to focus, to come up with any plan that could salvage the situation. 

The day refused to end, as if mocking my growing sense of failure. This wasn’t my way. I wasn't accustomed to wasting time in an inn-usually, a few hours of restless sleep were enough to carry me through a full day, so long as I kept my head down and avoided trouble.

But here, in the unforgiving north of Skyrim, trouble was not so easily avoided anymore.

“Long way to The Pale!” A soldier’s gruff voice broke through my thoughts, drawing my attention. I watched as he and his men including Nels walked out, avoiding my gaze, their boots crunching in the snow as they descended the stairs of the porch. 

The group was likely headed to the Stormcloacks camp in The Pale, the very place where dragons had been sighted. I knew this because Grodyl had spoken of their latest scouting mission over the Stormcloak camp, describing how they’d perched on a rocky hill overlooking the Great Lift of some ancient Dwemer ruin. His finger had traced eastward on the map, stopping near Fort Kastav. Where a ragged legion of soldiers were dreading the night when the Nords would cross the lake.

My plan was straightforward—to gather information, sifting through whispers and rumors while cloaked in shadow. 

Being recognized by the Stormcloaks had been a mistake. But I knew I couldn’t kill my way into obscurity. In the end, the dead served Father, and the survivors served my name.

As I waited for sunset, I wandered through the ruins that haunted Winterhold, my mind was a tempest of anxiety, churning over Nelacar’s words.

A dragon, rising from sand and ash.

The mere thought sent a shiver racing down my spine as I gazed down at the ruined houses and buildings, remnants of a forgotten past that the Sea of Ghosts had slowly claimed over the years.

Dragons were a terrifying unknown—an inscrutable threat that twisted my insides with fear.

It seemed almost cruelly ironic.

For the past four and a half years, my life had been devoted to the embrace of the void, serving the very essence of uncertainty that now, seemed to paralyze me. 

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed the first snowflakes drifting through the cold air. Their descent was hypnotic, a slow, graceful dance that seemed to echo the swirling chaos in my mind. 

A Khajiit’s voice, thick with a familiar accent, cut through the silence,

“Much snow in Skyrim, enough snow,”

My heart raced as I snapped my gaze up to the Khajiit, who had been nothing more than a whisper—a shadow of doubt or a trick of my imagination the last time I heard his voice.

Now, he stood before me, his fur a mix of tawny and white, his golden eyes locked onto mine.

His whiskers twitched as he finished,

“M’aiq does not want any more.”

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 9

"They didn’t seek fear for its own sake; they turned loathing into leverage, disdain into power."

“So, what’s the plan?” Amon’s voice broke the silence as we secured our steeds in the stable, his tone carrying an edge of curiosity that irritated me more than I cared to admit.

I was still lost in thought, the ache on my neck a persistent reminder of the encounter that had unsettled me. But I had to focus on my purpose—investigating the dragon sightings.

“I’ll start by talking to the locals, see if they’ve heard anything about the dragons. Then—”

Amon’s sudden chuckle interrupted me, unexpected and annoyingly smug. “Oh, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

His words only added to my frustration as he continued, “Bold of you, considering your men fled with their tails between their legs.”

“Have you seen them?” I demanded, my curiosity piqued despite my irritation.

Amon's eyes gleamed with amusement. “Of course! The Dunmer and the old man. How could I miss them?”

“No, Amon,” I sighed, exasperated, “I meant the dragons. Have you seen them?”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his gaze distant. “The wings, the eyes filled with fury and blood…”

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress my irritation.

“Yes, I think I’ve seen them,” he finally admitted, his tone light as I turned and began walking towards the Frozen Hearth.

“And?” I prompted, hoping for something more concrete.

“And I ran, like everyone else!” He replied with a laugh, strolling beside me as if the entire situation were a game.

I shot him a sharp look, but his nonchalant demeanor only underscored the challenge of our task. As we approached the inn, I steeled myself for the difficult conversations ahead. 

As we entered the inn, the warmth of the hearth enveloped us, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. 

“Ouch!” Amon’s voice cut through the murmur of the inn as he took a few steps back, feigning surprise at a little girl who had collided with him while running. Her wide eyes and flushed cheeks revealed her fright.

“Careful, darling,” Amon said softly, giving her a reassuring smile.

“I need to hide!” The girl’s voice was high with panic as she clutched at Amon’s leg.

“Hide from what? Are you alright?” I asked, stepping forward to inspect her.

The girl looked up with a pout. “There aren’t many people left in Winterhold, and I only have Assur to play with, and sometimes he’s mean.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Mean?”

“He always wants to play ‘Hunt the Elf!’” she exclaimed, her gaze shifting to Amon, who gave a small, knowing nod. “And he makes me be the elf.”

Amon cleared his throat and moved towards the counter. I leaned in close to the girl and whispered, “Next time, just kick him between the legs.”

As I joined Amon at the counter, I could see the sly grin on his face.

“Good advice,” he murmured. “Explains a lot.”

I frowned, puzzled. “What does it explain?”

“Why you’re still a virgin,” Amon replied, his gaze piercing and unapologetically direct.

My heart raced, blood rushing to my cheeks as I struggled to maintain composure.

“Are you not?” His eyes locked onto mine, his question demanding honesty as if lying was simply not an option.

“How can I help you today?” The innkeeper, a woman with amber-colored hair and tired eyes, asked, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

Before I could answer, Amon stepped forward, his gaze lingering on me with an unsettling intensity. “A room, if you please. We’ve traveled through the night.”

I raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, but kept my silence.

“Certainly.” The innkeeper handed him a key, accepting the gold in exchange.

“Thank you,” Amon said, his smile both warm and chilling as he glanced at me, a silent invitation veiled in his cold eyes.

The room was modest, its dim lighting casting shadows that danced over his chiseled features as he began to unfasten his armor.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice betraying a hint of frustration.

“I need to sleep.” he replied curtly, his fingers deftly working to remove his armor.

“You can’t travel in daylight, can you?” I pressed, frustration edging into my tone.

“No.” he answered with a firmness that left no room for argument.

I crossed my arms, trying to contain my irritation. My plans to leave Winterhold that day and ride to Fort Kastav were now on hold for someone I barely knew.

As he disrobed, his skin gleamed with a ghostly sheen, pale and flawless, unmarred by any blemishes or scars. The sight was both mesmerizing and unnerving. I quickly turned my gaze away, struggling to ignore the strange heat rising in my cheeks.

“When should I wake you?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

“We,” he said, stepping closer, his movements deliberate and confident, “will wake at sunset. I wouldn’t want you to be tired on the journey.”

The implication of his words, of sharing such close proximity, was unsettling. 

“You’re crazy if you think I’ll sleep next to you.” I said, striving for firmness.

Amon’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh no, darling, you’re free to get your own room.”

With that, I stormed out, slamming the door behind me with enough force to make it reverberate through the small inn.

“I need a room.” I demanded sharply.

The innkeeper handed me a key, and I took it with a hasty, frustrated motion. As I entered the small room, I leaned against the door, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions.

Amon was right, the only person I had ever imagined sharing such intimacy with was long gone. And after his loss, I vowed to never seek it again, in anyone else, resigning myself to the hollow ache in my chest.

The sting of the wound on my neck only served to amplify my frustration. The sensation of the vampire’s breath on my skin had awakened feelings that echoed the forbidden pleasure Elamoril had once ignited in me—elusive and maddeningly seductive. 

I tended to the wound with quick, practiced motions, wrapping it in a clean cloth to soothe the persistent ache and try to banish the unwelcome feelings it had stirred.

Lying on the bed, my eyes traced the barren walls, Astrid’s mocking laughter seemed to fill the silence in my mind, mingling with the shame and confusion I felt.  Sleep eluded me, as much as I longed for its embrace. The midday sun, though hidden behind Winterhold's perpetual clouds, kept me awake with its dim light filtering through the window. I rose from the bed, frustration gnawing at me, and began dressing, taking more time than usual to braid my hair. The strands slipped through my fingers, as if even they resisted my attempts to find some semblance of peace.

As I gazed out the window, I wondered whether Amon could travel under such a sky—clouded, but still touched by daylight. But a deeper part of me recoiled at the thought of speaking to him again. 

I pulled my hood up as I left my room, my steps light as I made my way through the inn. The gazes followed me, their eyes full of suspicion and disdain, but I kept my head down, avoiding their stares as I sat on one of the stools.

“Can I get you breakfast?” the innkeeper asked, his voice devoid of warmth but polite enough.

I nodded, turning slightly to survey the room. A table of Stormcloak soldiers drank heavily, their laughter coarse and loud. In a corner, an elven mage in dark blue robes sat alone, his eyes fixed on a book. A few other Nord men lounged around the central bonfire, their faces flushed from the heat and their mugs of ale.

Nords and their ale, no wonder the Stormcloaks were struggling as they did—lost in their cups rather than their cause. 

As I turned to meet the gaze of the man behind the counter, I was greeted by a fair-haired Nord whose icy stare mirrored the frigid winds outside.

“If you've business with the College, you're welcome to stay here,” he said, his tone indifferent, though his eyes flicked toward the elven mage sitting in the corner. “Just don’t experiment like that one over there. The smell is—” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “—horrible.”

“I do, in fact,” I replied softly, keeping my tone measured. “I have to see the Arch-Mage.”

The man’s curiosity was piqued, his eyes narrowing slightly as he placed a plate of cheese and bread before me. “The Arch-Mage?” he repeated, the words heavy with a mix of respect and suspicion. “Must be something important, then.”

I nodded, “Hard times are coming.” My words hung in the air, and I could sense the concern they sparked within him. “The Arch-Mage should be informed of the return of our doom.”

The Nord inhaled sharply, his rough exterior momentarily cracking as a flash of fear crossed his face. “Dragons.”

Suppressing a smirk, I asked, testing the weight of my next words. “Have you seen one?”

“Me? No, the Divines forbid,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “But one of the Stormcloak soldiers was going on about a sighting the other night.”

I glanced over at the table of soldiers, their boisterous voices filling the room. When I turned back to the Nord, I pulled a wedge of cheese from my plate, taking a deliberate bite as I prepared my next question.

“And the Jarl?”

He huffed, crossing his arms with a mix of frustration and disdain. “Korir? That prideful idiot never asks for the College’s help,” he muttered, lowering his voice as if sharing a well-known grievance.

Winterhold, one of the Old Holds, was deep in Stormcloak territory, and so was its Jarl. They hated us, the mer, simply because we had taken their god from them. Their resentment ran deep, a bitter wound that festered with every passing day.

I understood them all too well. 

During my time with the Thalmor, we were not only indoctrinated into its agenda but also shown the depths of its methods—specifically, what they had done to Ulfric Stormcloak.

Despite having half the country rallying behind him, he could never truly break free, not after all the torture and the relentless agony. The techniques used to fracture his will were coldly dissected in the pristine classrooms of Clamcora, where we were taught to wield them without mercy.

"I’m glad to hear the Empire is still taking action," the man whispered, his words almost hesitant as they reached my ears, drawing my gaze to meet his.

Even as I carefully braided and concealed my hair, its silver-white strands still shimmered faintly in the dim light. He probably assumed I was an Imperial asset, sent here to deliver urgent news about the dragons.

Ancano, the true asset, was likely already entrenched in the Arcaneaum, his invisible strings wrapped tightly around Arch-Mage Savos. Whatever action the College might take against the rising threat of dragons, it would ultimately serve the Thalmor’s purpose. To compare them to the Brotherhood was absurd. Feared though we were, our influence paled in comparison to the Thalmor’s mastery of manipulation. They didn’t seek fear for its own sake; they turned loathing into leverage, disdain into power.

I knew the moment I set foot on the College’s bridge, they would recognize me—not for any overt ties to the Brotherhood, but for the whispered legends of the Ashenblade. The mer who had, over the years, claimed the lives of their own. The irony, of course, was that I had only taken the life of a single mage from the College. Those students who had vanished? Their fates had nothing to do with me.

A small, knowing smile played on my lips as I watched the innkeeper, his eyes alight with a naive hope.

But I had no intentions of strolling openly through the College’s halls. The Brotherhood had its own ways of gleaning secrets, its own eyes and ears within those ancient walls. Grodyl whispered the College’s darkest secrets directly into Astrid’s ear.

“Dagur!” A woman’s voice cut through my thoughts, drawing the innkeeper’s attention. I recognized the woman from earlier, her amber eyes clouded with concern as she approached the counter. “Eirid's been playing 'Hunt the Elf' again,” she complained, her voice laced with frustration.

Dagur’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of embarrassed resignation. He nodded, stepping closer to her as they spoke in hushed tones. The rest of the inn might not have heard them, but I caught every word.

"It's just children playing, Haran. No need to fret.” Dagur said, though his voice carried an edge of impatience.

"I'm not 'fretting,’” Haran retorted, her tone sharp. “I don’t want Eirid playing those sorts of games!"

"All right, all right. I'll speak to her."

As I maneuvered through the bustling inn, my ears strained to catch snippets of conversation, hoping to uncover something useful.

"I can't believe it—of all people, you got the escorting job. Total bullshit if you ask me." one grumbled.

"Bjarke deserved the honor, you know that, Ulrar." another chimed in, his voice tinged with resentment.

"Not every day a Jarl gets an audience with the High King!" a soldier added, though his words dripped with cynicism.

"Torygg is no damned king!" spat a voice, brimming with disdain.

Near the warmth of the fireplace, I found a spot, subtly positioning myself within earshot of the soldiers.

"Easy, Bjarke," one of the others cautioned, sensing the growing tension.

"Why should I? Brother?" Bjarke's voice rose, loud enough to draw glances. "There are no Imperial dogs here! They're too scared to leave their fort!"

The air around me grew taut, the tension thickening as the Nords, emboldened by their ale, grew rowdier. I kept my gaze fixed on the flames, trying to blend into the shadows as my mind swirled around the implications of this meeting with the High King. Was the audience requested by Ulfric?

But then, with brutal clarity, I felt a sharp tug at my hood, the fabric slipping away to reveal my silver hair and pointed ears.

Fuck.

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 8

"This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything—especially not this."

My breath hitched as the stranger’s blade skimmed my skin, leaving a searing trail in its wake. A crimson ribbon of my own blood, trickling down my neck in a silent testament to my vulnerability. In that moment, I couldn't help but wonder how I, the hunter, had become the hunted.

He exhaled softly, the sound brushing against my ear like a whisper, his lips parting with deliberate slowness. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip in a gesture that felt more intimate than it had any right to be. Panic surged within me, screaming at me to flee, but the blade pressed harder against my throat, a cold promise that I was going nowhere.

Without a warning, his tongue traced the trail of my blood. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of heat and cold, of violation and something darkly thrilling.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything—especially not this.

Yet, a soft moan escaped my lips, the sound trembling between disgust and a reluctant, undeniable arousal.

His eyes, dark and smoldering, locked onto mine, drinking in my reaction with satisfaction. His smile was wicked, almost feral, as if he had peeled away every last one of my defenses and found the most vulnerable part of me exposed, trembling, and at his mercy.

"Cold," he whispered against my neck, his voice a haunting melody that sent a delicious shiver down my spine. "Yet hot."

His breath ghosted over my skin, a chilling contrast to the heat that pooled in my core, and before I could fully comprehend the intoxicating mixture of sensations, he pulled back. The dagger slipped back into its sheath with a practiced ease, leaving me gasping.

Instinctively, my hand flew to my neck, fingers brushing over the still-warm trickle of blood. The sting was real, grounding me, but it did little to erase the lingering imprint of his presence.

I frowned as I looked up, searching his face for any hint of the emotion that had just passed between us, but found that the intensity of a moment ago buried beneath a cold, calculating gaze.

“I’m Amon,” he said, his lips curling into a smile that was almost too perfect, too polished. As he dipped into a soft bow, his pale hair cascaded across his forehead, revealing pointy ears adorned with silver rings that caught the faint light. The piercings glinted against his almost ghostly complexion, marking him unmistakably as an Altmer, though one unlike any I had encountered before.

“What did you just do to me?” I demanded, my voice trembling with barely contained fury.

“Tasted you, simply,” he replied, with an indifferent shrug that only served to enrage me further.

“Is this how you greet all your sisters?” I spat, my voice sharp with disgust. “Stopping them in the middle of nowhere just to get a taste?”

“Stop you?” he repeated, feigning innocence, though the mocking lilt in his voice was unmistakable. “No, no, dear sister. I was merely deciding which way to go.” His gaze flicked nonchalantly to the crossroads ahead, as if it held any real significance for him.

“Cut it,” I snapped, refusing to let his game continue. I stepped closer, my eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What do you want from me?”

“No fun, are we?” Amon attempted to sound disappointed, though the smirk on his lips betrayed his amusement. When I refused to answer, he continued, “Well, I’m the new initiate. Colymna told me I’d learn a lot from you. The famous, Ashenblade.” His words were laced with a subtle challenge, his eyes glinting with mischief.

I sighed in frustration, my expression betraying my irritation. Colymna, the Speaker of the Dawnstar Sanctuary, had always been a thorn in Astrid's side. She aligned herself too closely with the Stormcloaks for Astrid's liking, and her decision to send this vampire to me made little sense.

“Why did she send you?” I asked, my tone edged with suspicion.

“I think she hoped you’d finish me off. The woman has issues with us mer. And she doesn’t like vampires.” He sighed, his shrug almost careless.

“Or maybe it’s because you annoyed her too much.” I quipped, a mischievous smile tugging at my lips as I watched his smirk falter.

“How did you find me?” I pressed, my curiosity tinged with unease. His sudden appearance was far too convenient, and the fact that he knew exactly where to find me was unsettling.

“Too many questions and too little fun, don’t you think?” Amon deflected, his voice laced with impatience.

I found myself increasingly vexed by the sudden burden of this forced encounter.

Amon, with his ethereal beauty, carried an air of decay that made my skin crawl. 

With a subtle gesture, he summoned a magnificent black steed from the shadows, and the sight snapped me back to reality.

“I don’t care of your nature. Just keep your distance from my neck, or I…” I began, my words a low hiss as I mounted Shadowmere.

“Or what?” he interrupted, his mocking tone a challenge, daring me to finish the threat.

“…or I drive a stake through your heart.” I spat, my eyes narrowing as I met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated.

“Oh dear,” he chuckled softly as he too ascended his steed, his voice a dark melody laced with amusement, “I assure you, I have none.”

4E, 180

"What took you so long?" Sai's voice cut through the stillness, his tone sharper than intended. The Dragon Lord of Time met his gaze with an enigmatic smile, a knowing glimmer in his ancient eyes.

“I suspect we both share troubles when it comes to our progeny,” Auri-El murmured, his voice like the whisper of the first dawn.

He glanced down at the slumbering infant, brushing a finger tenderly across her brow. “So, what do we do then, other than turning to our daughters?”

“Spare me the riddles, Akatosh,” Sai interjected, his tone sharp.

Auri-El’s expression softened, the timeless wisdom in his eyes deepening. “Do you wish for her to awaken, or not?”

Sai straightened, the weight of his concern heavy upon his shoulders. “That’s why I’ve prayed, day and night, to the worthless Divines.”

The elder gods lips curved into a smile, his gaze shifting from the baby in his arms back to Sai. “You should know, old friend, the Divines only intervene when our beloved Nirn is in danger.”

Sai’s frustration simmered, his brows knitting together. “What are you implying?”

“We have her though,” Auri-El continued, his voice a soft melody of inevitability, “our beloved daughter.”

“She’s not yours!” Sai retorted, his voice laced with a rare intensity, each word cutting through the ethereal silence.

“She wasn’t yours either,” Auri-El replied, his tone as gentle as the dawn yet unyielding as the march of time. “Not until your mistress placed her into that dreamless sleep.”

Before Sai could muster a response, before the torrent of questions could escape his lips, Auri-El moved with the precision of ages. He reached out, pressing a finger to the infant’s forehead, the divine touch brimming with a power beyond mortal comprehension.

“Now, she will be exalted above all, favored like my sons.”

The Dragon God smiled, a serene yet final expression, as he spoke the word that would bind her destiny, sealing it with an utterance that resonated through the fabric of the world.

“Dovahkiin.”

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 7

"You will always be hers."

The bathhouse of the sanctuary was a serene room, its centerpiece a carved pool filled with hot water from the healing spring beneath. The warmth eased every ache and tension, though it could do nothing for the turmoil in my mind.

I sat in the pool, letting the water soothe my strained muscles and wash away the day, but Nazir's words and the tremor in his voice still echoed in my head.

“Ah, Niolenyl, I’m sorry—” Astrid’s hesitant voice jolted me from my thoughts. I looked up to see her standing at the entrance, her back turned. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I sighed, trying to shake off my unease. “You can come in.”

She hesitated, then slowly turned and made her way towards the pool.

“Sometimes, even I forget the rules I set.” she chuckled softly, shedding her towel before stepping into the water. I averted my gaze, focusing on the ripples around me, my reflection distorted by the steam.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

“Yes,” I replied, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. “To The Pale, for the dragon investigation you forced me into.”

“Well, let’s hope you find out that the dragons are still very much dead.”

“They are not.” My voice was cold, and it cast a heavy silence between us.

“Before you go, Niolenyl,” she said, her voice drawing closer. When I opened my eyes, she was standing directly in front of me. “I want to talk to you about the foundation of our family. The Black Hand, as you know it.”

”In the bath?” I tilted my head to the side. 

Her eyes gleamed with intensity as she continued, “Speakers like me are the four fingers, and Nazir, the Listener, is the thumb.”

I nodded, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than a simple lesson in tradition.

“And fingers have nails, don’t they?” She smiled, a smile that felt unexpectedly genuine. “The Silencers.”

I arched an eyebrow, the term unfamiliar and unsettling.

“The rank itself is kept hidden from the rest of the brothers and sisters,” she said with a casual shrug. “No one really knows who the Silencers are.”

There was something in her tone—anticipation, maybe—that made Nazir’s warning resurface in my mind.

“But I’ve known mine for some time now.” Her smile deepened as she stepped closer, the space between us shrinking.

“You’ve given me a thousand souls.” She whispered, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’ve proven yourself.”

My cause.

Don’t accept it.

Despite the recognition, my brows furrowed. “What do you get in return?”

“You.” She said it with a cheerfulness that made it sound as if she were asking for something simple.

You will always be hers.

“Do I even get to say no?”

She faked a pout. “Why would you?”

“Am I not already your errand girl?” I asked plainly, watching as her expression hardened.

Her playful facade slipped away as she pulled back, her tone deepening, “Skyrim is on the brink of civil war, as you well know. And you were right—we can only keep our hands clean for so long.”

She sighed, the water tracing silent paths down her collarbones as she chose her words carefully, “The thought of dragons has everyone here on edge…”

After exhaling a long, measured breath, she continued, “I need a sister I can trust, Niolenyl. The others... they-”

Sensing the weight of what she was asking, I interrupted, “You don’t trust the rest of your brothers and sisters? Arnbjorn?”

“Do you?” She countered, a slight smirk playing on her lips as she made her way across the pool.

I kept my silence, contemplating the implications of her offer. 

If I accepted, would it bind us together, forever? 

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” she said, her voice softening with a hint of sympathy as she leaned her head back, “I don’t want you to rush it.”

In the quiet solitude of my room, I was wrestling with my thoughts as I meticulously packed my bag. Potions and poisons clinked as I arranged them alongside worn maps. 

I slipped into my deep red leather armor, the supple material embracing my form like a second skin. The armor’s long skirt, with a daring slit running along the leg, allowed for swift, unhindered movement. I tugged on my high knee boots before securing my dagger snugly against my thigh with a leather strap. I fastened my black fur mantle around my neck as I opened the door to leave. 

The sanctuary was eerily still as I made my way through the hall. The first light of morning filtered in, casting long shadows that seemed to cling to the walls. The silence was thick, almost oppressive, but it felt fitting for the tension that coiled within me. As I approached the black door, I saw Astrid leaning against the rough stone wall, spinning the Blade of Woe in her hand. Beside her stood Grodyl, his expression unreadable. When they noticed me, both sets of eyes locked onto mine.

"Well, let’s get it over with, shall we?" Grodyl muttered, his voice breaking the silence. He moved quickly to open the black door, stepping out into the cold morning air. I followed, with Astrid close behind, though the unspoken tension between us felt like a physical presence.

Throughout the night, my thoughts had been consumed by Astrid's offer, and by the memory of Nazir’s desperate plea for me to refuse it.

His voice had been full of fear. Making me wonder, how far did he think Astrid would go?

The questions had mounted, pressing down on me until I felt suffocated. Yet, despite all the hours I spent contemplating, I still had no answer.

“Take Shadowmere,” Astrid said, her voice unexpectedly gentle. She offered a soft smile, “I know she likes you more than she likes me anyway.”

Her simple gesture managed to bring a fleeting smile to my own lips, though it did little to ease the turmoil inside.

“Take care out there,” she added, her voice quieter now, almost tender. “And write to me.”

“I will.” I replied, the words escaping as little more than a whisper.

My attention turned to the portal that shimmered with an ethereal glow of blue and green. With a sharp whistle, I called for Shadowmere. The air seemed to ripple as she emerged from the shadows, her coat dark as the void, her eyes glowed with a deep crimson. I secured my bag to her saddle, the leather creaking softly under my touch. I mounted her with practiced ease, the familiarity of the action a small comfort amidst the uncertainty.

Before leaving, I turned back to Astrid, my gaze lingering as I searched for another figure. But Nazir was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know if he had left after our last conversation or if he was avoiding this moment, but his absence stung more than I expected.

With a resigned sigh, I turned Shadowmere toward the portal, its shimmering light promising both a new path and new dangers.

Pulling my hood over my carefully braided hair, I reached down to stroke Shadowmere’s head, feeling the warmth beneath her inky black fur. “Come on, girl,” I whispered as I urged her forward.

With that, she stepped through the portal, and the landscape beneath her feet transformed into a thick, powdery blanket of snow. The biting wind hurled snowflakes against my skin, stinging and relentless.

Winter in the south had been manageable, a chill that was cold but gentle. Here, in the far reaches of Skyrim's north, the air was merciless, cutting through me with its icy sharpness.

Ahead, the imposing silhouette of the College loomed against the horizon. It stood as a testament to its grandeur, the first light of dawn casting a halo around its towering spires. Even with the signs of collapse and decay evident in its structure, it remained majestic.

As Shadowmere trembled beneath me, my senses sharpened and with a reassuring hand, I patted her neck.

Cloaked in darkness, a stranger loomed like a specter against the first lights of the dawn.

Drawing nearer, I could make out the stranger’s attire—a high-collared leather armor, adorned with intricate patterns. Yet, it was the aura of mystery enveloping him, like a shroud of shadows, that captivated my attention.

I brought Shadowmere to a halt, her breath forming frosty clouds in the cold air. My eyes locked onto the figure before me— a man who stood resolute at the crossroads of fate.

His silver blonde hair fell in wild, untamed strands, framing his face with pale, almost glass-like skin and a sharply defined jaw. 

“Who are you?” 

My question hung in the cold air, but the stranger’s only response was a smirk—a smirk that danced on his lips like a flickering flame in the darkness.

“Answer me!” I demanded, my voice trembling with both fury and determination.

The stranger's response was a slow, deliberate motion as he folded his arms, his gaze lifting to meet mine. His eyes were a study in contrast—one a calm, icy blue, the other a burning crimson.

"Is this how you greet all your brothers?" he asked, his voice a melodic blend of mockery and amusement.

I arched an eyebrow and dismounted Shadowmere, my gaze again sweeping over the stranger’s attire. There was no mark, no sign that would tie him to the Brotherhood—no indication of who or what he was. And yet, something about him felt inescapably familiar, as if he belonged to a world I had only glimpsed in shadowed dreams.

“I don’t wear cheap leather,” he quipped, his voice a smooth blend of arrogance and dark humor. His smirk grew beneath the veil of tousled platinum locks, a glint of mischief dancing in his mismatched eyes. “I’m allergic, you see…”

But I wasn’t here for games.

His words washed over me like the chill wind, unheeded. With a swift, almost feline grace, I closed the distance between us, my eyes locking onto him as if I could see straight through to the core of his being.

He didn’t flinch when I pressed my dagger against the side of his torso, the blade biting just enough to remind him of its presence.

“What is life’s greatest illusion?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, yet each word was laced with a desperate intensity.

Somehow, I wanted to believe him to be one of us—an assassin from Dawnstar Sanctuary. A part of me clung to that hope, yearning to spare him the edge of my blade.

Cold.

The touch of his blade sent a shiver down my spine, the icy steel pressing gently beneath my chin, lifting my face to meet his mismatched gaze. There was a spark, a flicker of something in those eyes that made my pulse quicken.

His voice was a soft murmur, barely more than a breath against my skin.

“Innocence, my sister.”

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 6

"From a family that made me, to a family that perfected me, and now, to another that played me like a finely tuned instrument."

“I know what I saw, Astrid,” Grodyl insisted, his voice firm with conviction.

The hall buzzed with murmurs, whispers threading through the air like shadows. Some assassins spoke in hushed tones of concern, while others expressed disbelief, their words tinged with doubt.

But I had no doubt. Over the years, I’d met countless people and had learned to recognize the truth when it stared me in the face.

“Great,” Astrid finally scoffed as she moved to her seat at the head of the table. “As if the civil war wasn’t enough, now we have to worry about dragons too.”

Her attempt at a sarcastic cheer couldn’t mask the concern that underlined her words. We all heard it, the subtle tremor beneath her sharp tone.

“We’ll find a way,” Arnbjorn said, his voice a low rumble as he took the seat beside her.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Nazir asked, his question earning him a cold, piercing stare from the werewolf.

“By staying out of it,” Astrid interjected, her voice cutting through the tension. “As we always do.”

“And you think that will work?” I asked, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room shift toward me. “We can scout the war from a distance and keep our hands clean, but how do you plan to scout dragons?”

Astrid stilled, her movements freezing as her gaze lifted to meet mine. Fury burned beneath her brown eyes, a controlled fire simmering just beneath the surface.

“They didn’t attack, and you only saw them, didn’t you?” Arnbjorn asked, his question directed at the witnesses. Both shook their heads, confirming his assumption.

“So?” Nazir interjected, his tone edged with frustration. “We wait and do nothing until they decide to attack us?”

“If they attack us, we’ll deal with them, Nazir.”

“Oh?” the Redguard chuckled, his amusement barely masking his disbelief. “That is a dragon, you fool!”

“Enough!” Astrid’s voice cut through the tension, “We still don’t know if all this is true, it might be a trap, or a trick of the elves—”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound escaping before I could stop it, halting her mid-sentence.

“Whatever it is,” she sighed, her gaze sweeping across the room, lingering on each member of our family, “we will gather information, see what we can find.”

Her eyes finally settled on me. “Since you’re in a cheerful mood, you can look into this, right? Ashenblade?”

I leaned back in my chair, feeling once more the weight of every silent gaze fixed on me.

Astrid was the Speaker—there was no defying her. Well, deep down, I didn’t want to. She had always been a firm supporter of my berserk nature, giving me the freedom to act as I saw fit. But the Black Hand’s authority was absolute, and we were all bound by its grip.

I nodded softly, a slight shrug signaling my agreement.

“Well then, it’s settled,” Astrid sighed, her voice carrying the finality of a closed door. “No more talk of the winged beasts.”

As night approached, the hall grew quieter, though the tables were still occupied by assassins discussing the day’s events. Like everyone else, I was frustrated by the thought of dragons returning. Skyrim was already had a civil war on the horizon, and Astrid was right—each day brought more dangers than the last.

“Nio,” Nazir’s voice pulled me from my thoughts as I stood alone in the secluded courtyard, both haunting and serene, a hidden gem tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.

I greeted him with a smile before turning my gaze back to the sky, filled with countless stars, their light dim and distant. 

“I came back because,” he began, placing a hand on my shoulder, “I need to talk to you.”

I turned to him, curious. “About what?”

“I know you’ve chosen your path,” he sighed, the weight of his words hanging in the air, “but listen to me, just this once.”

There was a note of uncertainty in his voice that I couldn’t quite place.

“Soon, Astrid will make you an offer.”

I nodded, urging him to continue.

“Don’t accept it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What will she offer me?”

“Something you’ll likely think you deserve, and you—”

“Then I’ll take it.” I cut short, turning my gaze back to the night sky.

He exhaled, the sound filled with frustration.

“Then,” he said, his hand slipping from my shoulder, “you will always be hers.”

I stilled, my mind wrestling with the truth in his words. Deep down, I knew he was right.

From a family that made me, to a family that perfected me, and now, to another that played me like a finely tuned instrument.

I laughed bitterly at my fate in my mind, but a soft chuckle escaped my lips.

I shrugged.

“She is family.”

So was the Brotherhood. I felt like I belonged to it, to its cause and its fate. From the moment I first walked through the Sanctuary's halls, I knew it was my home.

And I served it. So much so that Nazir believed I had gone too far.

“Look, Nio,” his voice dropped to a whisper, filled with urgency, “you’re heading down a path that leads only to darkness. I warned you before, and I’m warning—no, begging you, for the father’s sake, please…”

“I don’t understand,” I interrupted, my brows furrowing in frustration. “Why would you stand between me and something Astrid would offer?”

I crossed my arms, my stance firm.

“After all, you’re the one who brought me here, rather than anywhere else.”

His expression shifted, the concern in his eyes giving way to a flicker of shame.

I knew my words were harsh, but I had never been one to shy away from the truth, whether it was painful or not.

I turned to leave, but his shaky voice stopped me in my tracks. “You know, at first, I pitied you—when we found you that day, in that ragged dress, covered in blood.”

I didn’t turn to face him, but I couldn’t take another step either.

“And then I pitied the owners off those scattered body parts around you,” he continued, his voice a haunting whisper, “crushed between ice spikes that wouldn’t melt.”

His words dragged the memories to the surface, vivid and raw. I could still see the twisted remains— splintered and torn, the ice piercing through them like spears. The sight had once filled me with horror, but now, it was a memory tainted with a dark satisfaction.

I tried to move forward, but his gentle grasp on my arm held me in place.

“Then I adored you, Nio,” he said, his tone softening. “You were such a naive soul, forced into malice.”

I froze again, my mind replaying the scene he described. The truth was, when he brought me here, he thought he had saved a victim, someone who needed to be mended. But what he didn’t know then was that I had spent most of my life training to cause suffering.

Over the years, as he had learned everything about me, I knew he understood the gravity of his mistake—to have brought me to the perfect place to unleash it all. I could smell his regret that clung to him like a foul stench.

“But now I—” he hesitated, as if the words were too heavy to speak, “I just fear you.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I took a step forward, freeing myself from his grip. “It’s too late for me now.”

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 5

"A family. Brothers, not bound by blood but by duty and faith."

4E, 201

How long does it take to deliver a thousand souls to the Dread Father?

For me, it took four and a half years.

Years that blurred into one another, marked only by the mourning of my only friend.

Not a single day passed without the ache of missing Elamoril.

I believed the only path to healing and forgiveness was through devotion—a cause to fill the void. And that cause was earning my place in the most feared organization in all of Tamriel.

No, not the Thalmor.

A family. Brothers, not bound by blood but by duty and faith.

“Ah, Ashenblade,” Speaker Astrid’s voice echoed through the hall, “Honors the Sanctuary with her presence once more!”

I sighed, catching the undertone of disdain in her words. With a silent nod, I stepped inside and sank into one of the hall’s chairs.

“As usual,” Arnbjorn muttered, unimpressed, as he took a sip of his ale.

I never imagined I’d grow up to be an assassin. But to grow up cold—that, I deeply regret.

“A thousand souls—that’s worth drinking for!” Astrid clinked her wine glass against his tankard, smiling.

“Who’s counting?” I forced a smile of my own as I raised my glass of Jagga wine.

The Sanctuary had become my home, and the assassins within it, my family. Yet I always sensed their doubts about me.

Years of relentless bloodshed earned me some names like Ashenblade and I grew accustomed to this life—the blood, the pleas for mercy, the screams. It all became second nature; to always be a few steps ahead, to hunt my prey, and to vanish into the shadows.

I was unstoppable.

“I heard Nazir is visiting.”

Fen’s soft voice and the gentle touch of her hand on my shoulder startled me, pulling me abruptly from my thoughts. The mere mention of Nazir made my eyes widen. I loved and respected him, more than I could ever express. From the moment we first crossed paths—by some twisted stroke of luck—he had been a beacon in my darkest days.

“Do you know why?” I asked, reaching out for the cheese bread, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I thought you would tell me.” Her voice was laced with genuine curiosity.

“I have no idea, really.” I dismissed her with a casual tone, taking a bite, but the taste turned to ash in my mouth.

“Well, you must be happy to be seeing him again.”

I stopped chewing, my breath catching in my throat.

“I mean—” Fen faltered, her hesitation palpable, “I mean after…” Her voice trailed off into silence as our eyes locked.

I did love and respect Nazir, but I couldn’t ignore the truth gnawing at me. The family he had given me was, in essence, an organization—a machine of ranks, hierarchy, and authority.

Yes, just like the Thalmor.

“You’re right,” I sighed softly, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace, “I am happy to see him.”

Fen’s tense expression melted away, replaced by a warm, cheerful smile. Her deep blue eyes sparkled faintly in the dim light, just enough to distinguish the blue from black.

An assassin is supposed to be nameless, faceless, hollow—as expected. All the same.

But I knew that here, we were more than that. We were distinguishable and different, each of us carrying our own stories and desires, hidden beneath the veil of duty.

As I lay in my bed, in a room that felt more like a forgotten closet, the weight of exhaustion threatened to swallow me whole. The suffocating walls closed in, but this space—this miserable, windowless box—had become my sanctuary. I chose it, rejected the shared quarters because I knew I could never sleep beside someone I didn’t know or trust.

And after four and a half years, trust remained a distant, elusive thing.

Turning onto my side, the familiar, crushing sensation overtook me—the hands of a thousand souls, pressing down with the force of their collective rage and despair.

Every night, I drowned in the storm of my own conscience and I wondered, in the darkest hours, if the Thalmor would find satisfaction in what I had become. Would they see the twisted irony in it all?

They had seen me many times since my escape. I made certain that each sacrament marked for a Thalmor was mine and mine alone.

Officers, Justiciars, Torturers—I hunted them all, delivering each to the Void with my own hands. It was never enough, not nearly enough to quench the burning desire for vengeance against those who had taken him from me.

And so, I forced myself to sleep, in the dark, trapped between the suffocating walls and the crushing weight of my sins.

“Nio!”

A sharp knock and the unmistakable voice of Nazir jolted me awake, cutting through the haze of sleep. I shot up from my bed, heart pounding, and hurried to open the door. The sight of him standing there brought an unbidden smile to my lips.

After all, he was the one who saved me.

“You look great!” he said, smiling. “You’ve become such a fair lady.”

Before I could respond, laughter echoed down the corridor, drawing both our attention. Nazir’s smile faltered, replaced by a frown.

“A lady?” Astrid’s voice cut through the air as she approached, arms crossed. “An executioner, at best.”

Nazir’s posture straightened, his gaze meeting Astrid’s with a nod of acknowledgment. His arrival here, directly at my door rather than reporting first to the Speaker, as his duty as the Listener, was unexpected.

“Astrid,” he greeted her softly.

She stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Welcome back home, Nazir.”

“I won’t stay long.”

“This still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Astrid countered, her voice steady, though a smile played at her lips.

“I—”

Before he could finish, a sudden, heavy thud echoed from the far end of the hallway, followed by a series of unsettling noises. The force of it was palpable, a shiver running through the air.

“Dragons?” Fen’s voice, tinged with amusement, filled the hall as we rushed to the source of the commotion.

“Dragons!” Festus’s breath came in heavy, labored gasps, his tone laced with worry. “Just near the Stormcloak camp! The Dunmer had seen them too!”

“He speaks true,” Grodyl scoffed and crossed his arms. With that, the portal that had brought them here vanished, leaving a charged silence in its wake.

“What’s going on here?” Astrid’s voice sliced through the tension, demanding answers.

“The old man and I were scouting in The Pale when it happened,” Grodyl began, voice heavy with a mix of disbelief and certainty. “We saw them. I know it sounds mad, but-.”

“What exactly did you see?” Nazir’s voice was laced with concern.

“Wings,” Festus’s voice trembled slightly. “Two pairs of wings—one ash-colored, the other black as the night itself.”

“Oooh,” a voice entered the hall, dripping with curiosity. Cicero, the Keeper of the Night Mother, walked in with a twisted grin on his face. “And they call me the madman!”

To be continued…

[mmdaesatra]

The Silencer - Chapter 4

“Silence, my brother.”

4E, 196

“Well, well, look at what we have here, Nazir!”

A voice, sharp and unfamiliar, shattered the fragile veil of my sleep. My body tensed as if awakening from a nightmare, though I feared the nightmare was far from over.

"You’ll scare her!" Another voice, softer but no less urgent, whispered.

A warm hand clasped my wrist, its grip tightening briefly before loosening, as if testing to see if I would stir. I fought to open my eyes, but my body refused to obey, a heavy numbness weighing down every limb. 

"She is alive." the voice whispered again, closer this time, tinged with relief.

I felt a gentle pull, and then I was cradled in an embrace that was both foreign and oddly comforting. My legs dangled lifelessly, trembling as the man carried me, the warmth of his body seeping into my cold skin.

Consciousness ebbed and flowed, the world around me fading in and out like the flicker of a dying candle. I caught fragments of their conversation, muffled and distant, as if I were submerged in water.

"Do you think that was wise?" one voice questioned, tinged with doubt.

"What?"

"Taking the girl."

"The girl is coming with us." the other voice replied, firm and resolute. There was no room for argument in that tone.

Darkness swallowed me again, a deep, impenetrable void. The whispers continued, but they seemed to belong to another world, far removed from mine.

I felt something cool and wet on my forehead as I finally stirred again. I blinked, the world around me a blur of shadows and dim light. A feeble fire flickered nearby, casting long, wavering shadows on the rough walls of a cave.

My throat burned with thirst, a desperate, searing need that drove me to sit up despite the pain. My fingers fumbled for the bucket nearby, knocking over a tankard with a loud clatter. I flinched but didn’t stop, plunging my head into the bucket and drinking greedily, the water soothing my parched throat.

"By the void... what—"

The voice startled me, and I flinched again, my gaze darting to the corner where a man stood. His presence, unnoticed until now, sent a fresh wave of panic through me. I glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings—a cave, cold and damp, its ceiling adorned with jagged stalactites that dripped water onto the stone floor.

"Easy now," the man said, his voice calm, his hands held out in a gesture of peace. "We won't harm you."

But his words only fueled my fear. I didn’t know these people, didn’t know what they wanted from me. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I squeezed them shut, bracing myself for the worst, for the pain, the touching and the blood running down my legs.

"Girl... Elf girl," the man’s voice was gentle, his touch on my shoulder light, but it made me tense even more. I kept my eyes closed, trembling.

"We won't touch you," he repeated, a promise in his voice. "No one will ever touch you without your consent, ever again."

The sincerity in his tone, the compassion, was like a lifeline. Slowly, I opened my eyes, tears spilling down my cheeks. The man before me wasn’t an elf—his skin was dark, his features unfamiliar. A Redguard, I realized, a warrior from a distant land.

A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, and I doubled over, clutching my stomach as my legs curled up instinctively. The pain was like a knife twisting inside me, a reminder of the horrors I had endured.

“Easy,” the Redguard murmured, gently pushing me back onto the bedroll. His touch was soft, careful, as if afraid I might break.

The pain coursed through my veins, a relentless agony that seemed to tear at my very soul. It was invisible, intangible, yet more real than anything else I had ever felt.

“You will be alright,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Tears glistened in his eyes, mirroring my own. 

Every gruesome detail of what I had endured haunted me, clinging to my mind like a shadow that refused to fade. But these two men that took me to their carriage—they had saved my life.

"Now, repeat after me, Elf girl," the other man, older, his voice tinged with wisdom and experience, spoke up. "Silence, my brother."

I didn’t understand the significance of the words. They felt like a riddle, a password exchanged in secret. The Thalmor had such rituals, codes that unlocked hidden places. What did this one open?

Festus and Nazir, I learned their names eventually. The elderly man and the Redguard. An odd pair, but they hadn’t harmed me. That alone was enough to earn a fragile thread of trust.

"Silence, my brother," I repeated, the words feeling strange on my tongue.

"Well done!" Nazir chuckled from the front of the carriage as I recited the words. His laughter was a brief respite from the tension that had gripped me.

Our carriage passed Falkreath, the dense trees closing in around us as we veered left at a fork in the road. The forest grew darker, more oppressive, until the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Festus was the first to rise, leaping from the carriage with a speed that belied his age.

"Home sweet home," he muttered, a sigh of relief escaping him. "Come on, girl."

I scanned the surroundings, searching for the home he spoke of, but there was nothing but trees and shadows.

Nazir led the way, his steps sure and steady, while Festus and I followed closely behind. We soon arrived at a clearing, and there, before us, stood an entrance. My breath caught in my throat as I gazed at the black door, its surface marked with a handprint, eerie and foreboding.

"Be calm," Nazir said, placing his hands on my shoulders, urging me to stand tall. "And now..."

Nothing happened at first. The silence was thick, almost suffocating. Then, without warning, a voice echoed in my mind, deep and resonant,

"What is the music of life?"

My body trembled, fear clawing at my insides. For a moment, I considered running, fleeing from this place and the horrors it might hold. But where would I go? Home? Without Elamoril? The thought of facing the same monsters that had violated me, of being captured by the Thalmor again, paralyzed me with terror.

Could I ever return to the green of my childhood?

Was there anything left for me in this world?

With a deep breath, I forced myself to stand straight, my eyes hardening with determination.

I uttered the answer, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my heart.

“Silence, my brother.”

To be continued…