1

Knock

The first time they met, it started from a knock on the door.

The large doors of the Chapel rattled with each knock, the noise echoing. Everyone occupant within the Chapel seemed to still simultaneously, all eyes casting to the only way that the Daemora could get in. The air grew thick, everyone waiting with berated breath for the knocks to come again, to know they hadn't just been dreaming it. And they did, this time incessant and demanding.

In the furthest part of the Chapel, near the stainless windows, a priest knelt, praying with the few remaining survivors. He lifted his head to stare that the door, greying hair falling into his gentle blue eyes. As though it was second nature, he cast a spell from his fingertips. His eyes were bathed in a white glow, the same colour aura being seen from the Chapel's occupants and from the figure on the other side of the door. He blinked and the world returned to as it were.

He stood the others nearby staring at him with questioning gazes. Even the guards did, turning the heads back from where they stood at the door

"It's no Daedra," He announced, leaving his words hanging in the air. He could not be clear who was on the other side but he knew there was no danger present. A guard, perhaps? A refugee who had managed to sneak their way past the Gate? All the options were absurd. Whoever the individual was, they were either stupid for trying to reach the Chapel or far too injured to realise what was happening.

There was a pause as the Guards decided what to do, their hushed murmurs carrying across the stone walls. After much deliberation between them, he could see they'd made their choice when they all nodded their heads. One brave soul approached the door whilst the others formed a barricade, shields up front and swords poking out from the sides. The door opened with a creak and in slipped a small, lithe figure. Heat from the outside poured through until the guard slammed the door shut to keep the monstrosities out.

He felt his feet carry him over to the person who had just entered, question in his gaze. Other did too, curious as to who this newcomer was. Drawing nearer he took note of how petite they were in both frame and height. Their leather armour barely clung to their frame, like there was meat lacking on their bones. The armour had several tears to it, grey skin illuminated by the red that streamed in from the glass. Their face was covered; by the shadows and their hood, making it impossible to see their face. One of the Guards questioned them but was met with no reply.

Instead, the mysterious figure turned their head as though searching for someone. The movement slowed when they neared his position, stopping altogether as they stared directly at him. While he could not see that they were gazing at him, he could feel the icy intensity of it, chilling him to the core and freezing him in place. The spell was broken as they made their way towards him, the Guards observing them apprehensively and the citizens with fear. They betrayed no inclination in their body language that they were disturbed by the many eyes upon them, stalking head fast towards him.

When they were shy of a few metres from him, they halted their path but they were close enough for him to catch a glimpse of their face. The majority of her face was covered by a hood and a scarf that was draped over her mouth and her nose. Only her eyes were exposed, a deep crimson colour that was known to belong to Dunmer. They held a frosty gleam to them, unlike the blaze that would normally be associated with the colour. A small, elven dagger was strapped to one hip and a Scimitar on the other. He didn't let what he saw perturb him, having seen similar in his years as a Priest.

"Are you Martin?" The voice was low and rough, holding a raspy quality to it, like the voice was often used.

It retained feminine tones, informing him that the individual was a womer. As she spoke, he couldn't help but feel another shiver creep up on him and he repressed the urge to act such a way in front of her. Instead, he chose to focus on the suspicion that arose when she spoke his name. How did she know who he was if never having met her before? If the circumstance were different, he might not have thought twice. But with the Oblivion Gate tall in Kvatch, most of the town killed and a random stranger amongst it all was warrant for wariness.

"Why? Who are you?" He didn't bother to keep the caution out of his voice, wanting exactly to let the Dunmer know how he felt.

The response was a blink of the cold, red eyes; acting like the edge to his voice didn't faze her in the slightest. She stepped closer to him and Martin willed himself not to step back, wanting to show the Mer he wasn't affected by her. Even when her piercing gaze remained glued to his eyes and Martin felt like she could see into his very soul. It was disturbing to say the least.

"Are you Martin?" She repeated and each word was stressed with the ire that rose in her tone. It was then when he realised that this womer was dangerous and not one to be trifled with. Yet, Martin didn't allow himself to falter to her intimidation.

"Yes, I am Martin, what do you want with me?" He answered, equally as irate, not at all appreciating her rather unneeded behaviour.

He could see her brow move upward, no doubt at the tone of his voice. In fact, the iciness of her gaze seemed to dim a little, intrigue filling them, something that left his perplexed but he didn't mention, brushing it off as a trick of the light. She stepped closer to him, breaching his personal space. This time he let his discomfort show, unsure how to feel about the proximity.

"The Emperor sent me. You're his son and you're needed,"

A/N; Honestly, writing this now is a terrible idea on my part. I mean I have A-Levels, it's not good but I'm determined to do this. So far I've done six chapters and have planned the rest out and I want to finish it so, hope you all enjoy; because you lot are what motivate me