Jonas opened a bleary eye, wondering why his father could have awakened him at such a dark hour. "Cassynder?" he croaked, his throat dry. He had learned long ago not to call his father anything that might betray his lineage. Yet when Jonas' surroundings became visible to him, he realised he was no longer with the nice Altmer couple he called Mother and Father.
The blue-skinned man leered over the boy, his upper lip curled. "I say we kill the bastard!" he snarled. Jonas cringed; the man's voice was like scraping metal.
"No," his companion said sharply, his mottled skin stretched into an evil grin. The mottled man's pinkish eyes roved over the boy's face. "Not yet," he whispered. His voice was even more horrifying than the first man's.
Jonas tore his eyes away from the cold unblinking stare of the blue man and looked around to try and figure out where he was. He found himself strapped to a stretcher made from some tough leather unlike any he had seen before, and he saw that this stretcher was carried by a male bosmer and a female dunmer, both clad in red robes and hoods that partially obscured their faces. Seeming to notice where Jonas was looking, the mottled man grabbed the bosmer's face and turned it upward so that he was looking directly into the wood elf's eyes.
"Dawn is breaking!" The man sneered and spat onto the bosmer's face before releasing him. The mottled man turned with a smile and looked at Jonas again.
Talos save me! Jonas thought. Who are these fiends? The blue-skinned man snarled abruptly and turned to his companion. "I tire of waiting, and I thirst for the satisfaction of this one's blood," he growled, pointing a talon at Jonas. Jonas felt his blood run cold."Patience, patience, my friend," the mottled man said softly. "We wait until dawn."
"You do not deserve the rank of Markynaz!" the blue man snarled. "I have waited for this long enough! You are not my master, you are not my equal, and you are not my friend! Don't think that you can tell me what to do!" He took a step toward Jonas, a blade glowing in his hand.
Jonas did not see the mottled man move, but he was suddenly aware of a bloodied knife embedded into the ground a few feet away from the blue man, and a thin line across the man's neck.
"Tsk, tsk," the Markynaz tutted as blood began to seep from the wound in his comrade's neck. "It is a pity you feel that way, considering that you are only a Xivilai," he did not bat an eyelid as the Xivilai fell to his knees, gagging on his own inhaled blood. "Ah well," the Markynaz sighed, mock disappointedly. He gave Jonas a cruel smile as he said; "I suppose it just means more meat for me."
Jonas heard a sudden cry from nearby, and the Markynaz looked suddenly afraid. "Daedra!" a voice called from somewhere even closer. "We cannot wait for dawn as I had hoped," the Markynaz said to the two slaves. "Protect me." The two slaves threw their hands up into the air and to Jonas' amazement, armor appeared on their bodies; weapons in their hands.
"You should be grateful," the Markynaz whispered to Jonas as he drew a blade made of some metal the boy did not recognise. "Under other circumstances your death would be long and…excruciating. Fear not. It shall be quick." Pain darted across Jonas' chest, but only for a moment; the daedra, if that was what it was called, had been flung backwards, and his blade had only broken the skin just beneath Jonas' tunic.
The battlemage looked pleased with himself as the daedra flew backwards, but it smiled arrogantly as it raised the blade above its head and flicked a drop of blood into its mouth.
The change was instantaneous: the thing rippled with magical energy. It laughed and cast its palm toward the cluster of soldiers, sending bolts of lightning at the unprepared group. Jonas did not see what happened next, however, for the dunmer woman that had carried him earlier had appeared at his side, a silver dagger clutched in her hand.
"Help!" Jonas tried to scream to one of the soldiers, but a gloved hand slid across his mouth. To Jonas' surprise, the woman swiftly began to cut the ropes that bound his hands and feet.
"Run!" the dunmer whispered urgently, "run far from here; you are our only hope. Martin may have closed shut the jaws of Oblivion, but the threat still lurks beneath the surface. Find Jauffre. Don't let yourself be seen by the daedroth or any other daedra, and for Azura's sake, do not tell anyone but him your true identity. Find Jauffre. Only you can save us."
Before Jonas could protest that he was only a twelve-year-old boy, and that he had no idea who Jauffre or Martin were or even what Oblivion was, her grip loosened as an arrow shot through her forehead, the look of pained worry never to leave her features.
Jonas jumped up, turned and ran into the forest, jumping over the dead Xivilai and praying that no one had seen him leave, least of all the daedra, or daedroth, or whatever it was supposed to be called.
Jonas' head was bursting with questions, but he ignored them as he ran. Soon he became tired and found that he could no longer run, and that the landscape was blurring in front of his tired eyes. He stumbled over a gnarled root and felt his face connect with the damp, sweet-smelling earth.
Where is my father? He thought sadly. Why did these daedra take me from my other parents – I should say, the Camorans? Who is Jauffre, and where is he for that matter? It was only now that Jonas realised his vision was blurred with tears; he had no idea where he was, and the chances of his ever seeing his father again were remote. "I didn't even tell him I loved him," Jonas whispered to himself. He abruptly stood and shook his head. "No!" he told himself sternly. "Don't think like that! You will see your father again – after all, you are Jonas Septim, son of Cassynder Septim. There is nothing you can't do!"