This is the start of a saga that will take you on a roller coaster of an adventure. It represents the start of a Guild that was briefly mentioned by the in-game character Niruin of the Thieves' Guild storyline in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Niruin says, "I used to run with a guild down in Valenwood. I think they called themselves the Silver Crescents." There isn't any information about this thieves' guild, so it leaves a world waiting to be explored. And I did just that. While not focusing on Niruin (because he seemed like a minor member anyway), I decided to make the story of the Silver Crescents my Guild Master's origin story. I made the entire story lore-friendly while not hindering my artistic licensing. I hope you all enjoy my twists on Bethesda's timeline, and how I tie in mechanics from the game into something that's pliable if this world was real life.

Please leave a review and tell me how you like it. Drop some criticism too!

I spat in the face of destiny. Those who told me that my only path was walked by my mother would meet the better end of my blade. Never trust soothsayers.

The Silver Crescents Book One

Through the Twilight

Chapter 1: The Raven's Induction To The Night

Part One

How did I reach so far in this life? How did someone of my wild, explosive nature survive all the adventures and encounters with death that peppered along my one hundred years? How was I so lucky to have met the people that I have met—people who touched my heart, and shaped my soul?

My life has always had twists and turns that mirrored the vast forests of Valenwood. It may have been a life forged by the Divines above, or a beaten path written with my own two feet. A long series of events constructed the product you see before you. And so, I stay humbled, because the life I live is indeed a life to be thankful for, even with the twist and turns that fate has thrown at me.

The gods created all mortals, though our destinies may differ, there is no deficit in value between us. I was born a Bosmer elf, a wood elf. In the vast forest that is Valenwood, to some, it's a dangerous and sometimes savage place, but I'm not sure they would understand such a beautiful and intricate country. This is what the divines willed, and so it is.

My name is Leila Lockharte.

You may know me as the Guild Master of the Riften Thieves' Guild. Some of you hate me, some of you are frightened by my name, some may even wish for my death, but there are others; those of whom I hold dear to my heart; those who know me for the mortal I am, and those of whom I strive every day to protect. I think about them every waking second of my life. Their faces and the memories that we shared flash endlessly through my mind like the running water eternal canal. Without them, this path of life would be meaningless. And without them, I would not be here today. So, I walk down a path that normal people would deem dark and uninviting, only those who walked with me at my side can truly understand where this path leads, or what kind of destiny we could find. There's not one other person that can understand the path that leads us through the twilight to a destiny that lay in the darkest regions of the Mundus and of the void.

It wasn't always easy for me. For I have been on many paths in my life until I realized I had to forge my own. There were times I felt as if I should deter from this destiny, but my friends and family had always pulled me back. These times were harsh; these moments were perilous. In my eyes, it was my first life before the divines gave me a second chance to do it the right way, but I will never forget everyone from back then and the lessons I learned, and the people I've lost...

Back there in Valenwood, a different country than Skyrim, a different Thieves' Guild than the one in Riften. A different love and a different family. How could I forget them? How could I not remember everything that we've been through, the lessons they all taught me? How could I forget him? His smile, his courage, and his love, I could always remember Elren-the mortal I loved in the first half of my life. Even with all the pain, all the heartache, it was perfect, there was nothing about it that I would change, nothing at all.

But I tell you this story because people need to know that if one life ends, it does not mean all is lost. I can hope that you will learn from my words that I speak, and the story I tell about the life of a thief and a life before Skyrim.

I stood with my feet planted firmly on the ground and body angled towards my target. An arrow fitted to my bowstring, drawn and ready, quivering against my cheek as the foliage several yards ahead of me stirred to life. My target wasn't a massive animal, but it was tough. For other children my age, it would be a semi-difficult kill, but I wasn't a normal girl. I was raised differently, diligently... harshly. An easy kill, or rather, it should've been. But the most laborious task became difficult with him looking. And it always happened just like this.

The spring breeze only left a slight tug on the enormous trees making them rustle but not dance. The weather was with me today. The calmest time of the year and the best time to sharpen my skills while hunting. Although these small attempts my father tried at training me were subpar compared to my tutor, the Ancestors be the glory that my time with my tutor was over and done with, but it was far better than being out here with my father. He was critical of my every mistake, even after years of honing my skill since I was only five years old.

My brothers were close behind to play as Father's second and third pair of eyes. Though they didn't like our father much either, they were still his favorites, so it seemed.

Far ahead, the cries of a dying animal echoed through the brush, reaching my ears. My target found some prey which meant it stopped. The groveling rage and hissing told the tale of a fight, but not a very good one. All animals seemed to be predators in Valenwood's forests, some better than others. The creature reared its head in an effort to swallow its freshly earned food. Saliva and the blood of whatever poor animal fell victim to the beast oozed from its mouth in a pink foamy ichor, wetting its jaws and dripping sloppily to the dirt. It's too bad it had to die now and never enjoy another dead meal again. I had to kill it. Not just for training but because it was an ugly creature wanted for hunting in nearby villages, murdering children in their sleep and preying on livestock. With one swift arrow, I'll end its life shortly.

'Take the shot, Leila.' Milkar, my eldest brother, placed his hand on my shoulder. A sound resembling a sigh escaped from Father's mouth. I hadn't the nerve to look back.

A simple show of affection from my brothers would agitate the man. After all my feats in the years that he threw me at another elf's feet, he still believed I need to be stronger, more skilled. Any parent would want to have their children grow into able adults, especially on Tamriel where death waits at every corner, but there was no love to his ambition, only a desire to forge me into something I never wanted to become in the first place. That man did not care for me the way a father should care for his child.

A high-pitched song of death played as my arrow ripped through the air. It buried its head deep into the creature's neck. The beast now revealed to be a basilisk—scaly, crawling monsters that plague local the undergrowth of local villages—let out an airy hiss towards me, already moving towards it; my brothers who were trailing behind; and my father, who was standing on a ridge overlooking the process. The pressure immediately fell from my shoulders, something I had been taught to deal with under my tutor some years ago.

Aranwen snickered as he usually did. Sure, I was proud. But I shouldn't have been. This was too simple a kill, too close proximity. My record is beyond anything anyone has seen with others my age—Children, if you could call me a child. I wouldn't; I'm barely a child. Usually, I would buckle under the pressure of trying to impress my father, a feat in of its self. Glancing towards Father earned me a stark stare. There was no apparent reaction. Honestly, he looked at everyone like that. What exactly did I expect? It's never going to be enough for him. Nothing I do or have done. I gritted my teeth, holding back the fire forming on my tongue. 'Did you see that father? An easy target, the villagers will be pay happily.'

'It was an easy target,' he said, turning his back to me, cloak flailing. 'How could you be proud of that, when you can do so much better? She was able to hit that same target at the top of a mountain at your age.'

'I'm not... I thought—'

'No one would be able to hit that as far as Mother could, Father.' Milkar interjected. 'She killed the beast, shot it directly in its weak neck. She has proven her training with Rollyn has paid off. Let us call it a day, pack it up, and head home...Shall we?' Milkar eyed my father with his brilliant, gleaming glare.

Father walked off. Not another word was spoken, not even the acknowledgment of the dead beast. Worthlessness wasn't the word I would use; it would be guilt that fit the bill. Guiltiness for killing a woman that I never got the chance to meet. Mother died giving birth to me, and so he figured it was of my own doing that undid her... And people say, "when an elf woman can have a third child it's a symbol of luck." What a load of torrid sheep's piss. Gaining my father's respect is just a distant dream I don't believe I will ever achieve. All because of the circumstances in which I was born. "No tears for the strong, especially not in front of an enemy," my old bastard of a tutor used to say. It hurts, even more, wiping away the one tear falling down my cheek. These hunting trips were a colossal waste of my time. Father will never get it, and I was beginning not to care. Maybe someday, I will start to do things my way. I will make him acknowledge me... One way or another.

My brothers lived their lives in Father's praise. Both were tall, strong, and shared the innate skill to shoot an arrow further and more accurate any other Bosmer. Milkar was the eldest of us. A true-born leader...because those exist. I loved him because he looked out for me on many occasions such as this. But he lived in a class of thinking and skill all on his own. To be that good at everything must be lonely. I related to him the most.

We all looked the same to be truthful. Put the painted portraits the Lockharte siblings as younglings and you couldn't discern a difference. My siblings and I shared the same emerald eyes our mother was known for having. Father gave us our burnished hair with honey streaks flowing through it.

'Old men and their condemning criticism,' I said, fitting my bow to my back. 'One day, Father. One day.' A promise for the ages.

My brothers shared glances. 'Leila, Father is a difficult soul.' Milkar said.

'It's been two months since Tutor Rollyn gave me back to him, and he has yet to recognize my skill.'

Milkar sighed. 'It isn't that Father doesn't acknowledge you, Leila, give it time, and I'm sure he will express his pride for you.'

I scoffed. 'When the moons crash to Nirn! He hates me! Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. He just scolds me for my shortcomings!' We walked along the forest floor; wildlife scattered as we beat a path through the scrub.

'Don't you worry your little head about Father. He's just an arrogant—' Aranwen started, humorously.

'I think what Aranwen wants to say is that Father just has a different way of showing affection. We all had to experience this, little sister. You weren't the only one.' Milkar stated. 'Also. Aranwen is joking. Obviously, he knows Father's ears are as sharp as a wolf's.'

Aranwen chuckled. 'Oh, a wolf's, you say?'

Milkar didn't reply further. Since I was able to create memories, my father has always acted as if he hated me. Nothing I did was right for his praise. There were never any stories of how harsh Father was on Milkar and Aranwen when they were my age. Perhaps they shared the sentiment of resentment. Their accounts of Mother were that she was a beautiful maiden and one of the fiercest warriors in Valenwood. She had eyes as green as two sharply cut emeralds that could twinkle in any light. It's where my brothers and I got our eye color. Her skill with the bow was unmatched. Mother led the legendary Circle of Seven to the Oblivion gates and held back a horde of Daedra, saving Valenwood from the brunt of their forces. Father was also one of the legendary Seven that saved our province more than a century ago during Oblivion Crisis.

It isn't my lack of ability that bothers him, no, it's because I am not Ara of the Ghost Bow. I am not my Mother, and I will never be her. I would only dream to be half as skilled as her. Half the hero.

We emerged onto the road with our carriage awaiting us. The forest hid our little expedition as it hides all things. Mysterious, vast, and dangerous—Valenwood is an untamed world that would eat you up and spit you out with no remorse. But it was my home.

Father had taken his seat, his eyes scanning the deep, thick forest as if there was something hidden behind the veil of green, his chiseled chin pressed down onto his hand with his elbow braced against the edge.

'Are you done so soon, my Lord?' Wendell asked.

'It could have been much sooner.' My father told his Steward.

'All the better to get back to work, milord.' The old Bosmer smoothed wrinkles from his leather tunic with a gloved hand.

'I'd have a few words with that bastard Rollyn about her training,' My father stated. 'There isn't any reason she can't excel in the Ranger Guard, but in order for that to happen, she needs to be trained correctly.'

Ten years under Rollyn's tutelage and this man believed I wasn't trained correctly. Ten years of blood, sweat, and tears only to come back and be told I wasn't good enough. I was five when I left home. Too young to have fought with blade and bow and grown into my potential. I mastered my bow at eight and took down children five years my senior with a knife at that age. And yet, in his eyes my training was inadequate?

'I...' I began to protest.

Father narrowed his eyes at me. 'Take us home, Wendell. I have important matters to attend to.'

Wendell shot me a sympathetic glance and gave the horse's reins a snap 'As you wish, milord.'

The carriage jerked into motion, and the horses cantered down the cobblestone road. Every bump and groove smashed, it was hard to restrain me from using the momentum and throttling my father. It wasn't the wisest of my ideas, because if Mother was the best warrior of the Oblivion Crisis one hundred and forty years ago, then Father was her second.

The slander was heavy, but it was something I've learned to live with since young. That was Father, and this is what he thought of me. Nothing more than a nuisance. Perhaps if I showed even half that potential and ability Mother carried in one fingertip, he might not be so critical of my faults.

The employment of Rollyn, a legendary weapon's master, to teach me everything that I needed to know to become like Mother was just another ploy of his. I trained for nine years of my life, missed my entire childhood only for him to say that I wasn't good enough. It's all his fault. All his. It'll take everything I have to live with Father again. Even in the months in my returned, I wanted to leave again. Just face the forest surrounding my home and take off like nothing ever mattered.

An hour of traversing the routes through the Grahtwood wilderness, we finally reached my house. My Father's estate was one of the largest in the region. In fact, being heroes of the Oblivion Crisis, Mother and Father were favorited by the people and by the Silvenar. Their privileges stretched far and wide. Our home showed just how better treated we were. The manor was built on the base of a tree. It was squat but covered enough space for more than three families could live within. It's branched stretched far up, twisting, and snaking towards the blue sky. No other trees grew around it. Some say that a battle was fought here between my Mother and a powerful Daedra a hundred and forty years ago and this tree was the only thing left standing. A quaint little story if you asked me. The manor walls were just the tree's bark, sporting large bulges and tags that grew in with the tree.

We lived on the outskirts of Elden Root, Valenwood's capital city. A grand place to live for any Bosmer. It was the metropolitan area for the province and the capital for the entire Aldmeri Dominion. Not that I like the Altmer that set up their base here because I genuinely hated them. Better yet, my dear old Father is the ambassador that connects Valenwood to the Aldmeri Dominion. He sits at the Silvenar's side, pretends to be the best of friends with him so that the Countreeve can get her rule across. At least that's how Tutor Rollyn explained it.

'Two hours on the range. Your brothers will accompany you. Perhaps they could show you how to hit a target truly.' Father stepped off the carriage, his cloak whipping.

Mother made great use of the land that Valenwood had gifted her for destroying the army of Daedra that threatened our forest. Besides the large snugpod, Mother built a field of targets to harness her children's latent potential. Her children being Milkar and Aranwen, she died before she could even bond with me or tell me that I was going to be special like every Mother is supposed to.

A crowd of Dominion advisers stood at the entrance to our home. They awaited my Father. Nothing but blues, golds, and reds draped the Thalmor agents, surrounded by the brass, eagle-ornate moonstone forged armor. I could look on at him with nothing but disdain for him and his Altmer friends. These elves were supposed to be our saviors, or so they said. I didn't believe it. They were incompetent with everything else. And rumors were spreading fast about their dealings with the Khajiit of Elswyr.

'As Ambassador for the new regime, Father fits perfectly for the role,' Aranwen said. There was absolute awe in his voice.

'Do not fret over Father's position of power, brother. It's because he has a strong connection with the Dominion that he received such a job.' Milkar informed him.

I considered my brothers for a moment. Milkar my oldest brother was a full hand taller than Aranwen and several hands taller than me. His back was broad as he was wise, and his build said everything it had to about his strength. Aranwen was the younger image of Father, but these to have several opposite personality traits from each other that it was laughable that they were related. Though the resemblance was there, Aranwen was always a joker. Milkar was serious, and his knowledge was far too long for an Elf his age.

Stretching down the grass plain and ending at the tree line, Mother's field of targets was the largest in Valenwood. A half mile of rows upon rows of different targets that can hone the skill of an archer. It was paradise for the Bosmer. The best of the best come here to practice at the time, giving my Father wants for impressing his friends a great indulgence.

As a young girl, before being dragged off by that insufferable Rollyn, I couldn't even attempt at hitting the first few targets.

'The last one,' I said, thumbing the distance.

Milkar tightened the straps on his gauntlets and looked up incredulously. 'The last?' He grabbed the length of his hair and tied it into a single knot, his emerald eyes shining with amusement.

Milkar pulled his bow from his back. A grand thing, forged by the same hand and the same style as mine. Our bows were the Lockharte clan's heirlooms. A curved thing made from the bark of an Iron-Bark tree that was now extinct since the Oblivion Crisis. The Iron-Bark that came from the tree had these magical properties that allowed it to absorb magicka without being enchanted. I took my own into my hands. The bark was as hard and powerful as iron, but lighter than a bow made of oak bow or willow.

'Confidence,' my brother started, 'is what makes or brakes a warrior. Because if you don't have confidence, you will most certain hesitate in a fight and that can kill you.' A common-sense lesson that should always be repeated, no matter how many times you've already heard it.

Milkar pulled an arrow from his quiver and met arrow to nock. He aimed far; the arrow ruled perfect with his chiseled jawline, his muscled arms rippled with striations. 'I'm not the best archer in Valenwood. And I will never be.' He released the arrow.

It flew true and without conflict. Slice through the air of resistance like nothing else. It ate the distance between it and the target in a mere bat of the eye and burrowed its head dead center in the furthest target. A simple board strapped to the protruding root of a tree.

Such power and accuracy displayed were typical of Milkar; his skill had to be many tiers above mine. Never had I been so envious of my brother.

'I don't remember this field being so easy to beat.' I said in astonishment. The hours of practice as a little girl was beaten by a single elf and a single arrow from his bow.

Milkar grin stretched right back to his ears. 'I wanted to show just what we are capable of, Leila. And you have so much more skill than what you believe you have. I was capable these feats for all my life, but...' He paused. 'Potential is an odd thing; you see it can blossom all at once in a mortal. For a child to realize their potential early is a blessing and a curse.'

'What do you mean?'

'A child that has realized his full potential is considered a prodigy, but average as an adult. It is not always good to rush into such potential. You must cultivate it, hone it, let it flourish over a lifetime. That is how the greatest warriors are found and molded. You have the greater potential than any Lockharte that has ever lived.'

'How do you know?' I asked. 'I can't even receive praise from Father.'

'That's because Father isn't comparing you to the average,' Aranwen chimed. 'He's comparing you to the Mer of his world, don't you know? Aranwen sat back with a chuckle. 'The warriors that come from Father's world aren't like you, Milkar, and me. They're from a different tier entirely. I don't blame him for expecting so much of us, honestly. If you'd have met Mother, you would understand.'

Milkar nodded. 'It may have been quite a long time ago, but I remember Mother. I remember her before you filled her belly. She was amazing. Her brilliance sometimes outshined us. We fought for her attention. But we were young.'

'How young?'

'I was around your age the year you came around. We spent every day watching Mother train with warriors from all around Tamriel. Swords, bows, knives, lancers, it didn't matter. She was always the best. The only person that was second to her was that man,' Milkar nodded towards the house, 'Father was apart of the Circle of Seven and Mother was their leader.'

I pulled an arrow from my own quiver and set it to my bowstring. Taking the stance was as easy as breathing to me. Years and years of repeating the motion made it like walking.

Milkar brought his face leveled with my drawn hand. His sharp eyes analyzed my stance. I could hold this for hours upon hours. He tested me for flaws in my stance, giving me the slightest of tugs and shoves. Years I have been doing this. I gulped in. I was too young, too much the amateur to try this shot, but now was the time to prove to myself that I have improved despite what my Father says.

Milkar tapped his skull. 'Right there. Let it free.'

He would probably deny it, but Milkar was closest to Mother's prowess. Even after only seeing him sporadically during my training ventures with Tutor Rollyn, I knew that he was in a tier far above Aranwen and me. By the way, he thought, how he handled his weapons training, and how he interacted with the world. He was a genius on all accounts. There were no doubts about it.

Amused admiration waved over me. Repeatedly this elf had proven to be the savior of my heart. The net that catches me from falling into the void of despair. He was my brother, but I wished he was my father. He was like a poster child of the Bosmeris warrior. A Mer to bring cheer to my heart.

Milkar the strong and stern, a natural leader. The brother whom I wanted to be like, and Aranwen the carefree and fun-loving child. Those were my brothers. Those were the two mortals that the divines have blessed me with.

My focus sharpened, everything around my peripherals blurred away and my target sharpened in my vision. I felt as if I was the arrow, a force of death and speed. I was its god, a synchronized connection between Archer and weapon. We often fool ourselves into thinking that to have power, we must believe ourselves to be better than those who don't. The simple answer is that we are not better than anyone else. But In our mind's eye, we are something we are not on the outside.

'Focus...' Milkar whispered, his voice became atmospheric, a smoky afterthought that circled around my focus but not cutting into it. I let the worries of life go and slipped into a colorless void where only I and my bow existed.

Where did I want to go? Where was my destination? Drawing my hand back, I heard the strain on the bow; I felt the quivering vibrations between my fingers. My eyes opened, and a drawn breath slowly released as if my soul had attached itself to the arrow.

I fired.

My bowstring reverberated a quick, metallic, and cold twang as the arrow freed itself from my grip, traveling like a single lightning strike across grazing lands; a single herald of death that seemed to move increasingly slow as my heart began to speed. It flew far, and it flew true, passing the target my brother struck earlier, and into the tree line. And just as the target struck by Milkar's arrow had burst at the seams, so did mine. The feathered fletching shook violently, then halted to a complete perpetual stop. It was the perfect shot.

Aranwen chuckled. 'Bull's-eye...'

Milkar grinned and took a step forward.

I lowered my bow, my heart pounded in my chest 'It hit...' I turned to my brothers. It wasn't as if I hadn't hit targets farther than that. It wasn't as if it was hard, but when I was younger, hitting that target was only something of a dream. To see my progress was nothing short of astonishment.

'You see Leila,' Milkar began, 'if there is anyone who can surpass Mother, with all of her glory, it'll be you.' Milkar pressed his finger to my chest.

Aranwen folded his arms and nodded. 'Just believe in yourself, and there isn't anything you can't do.'

A sudden but quiet wind of change flowed over me. An urge to question the beliefs and ambitions that have been painting me for so long. Maybe a new strand of arrogance sudden grew from my mind, I cannot say for sure what it was, but I wanted to be seen different than I was now. To surpass mother—that was something that everyone I ever got the pleasure to meet had said. To surpass my dear mother who was a woman that was known for her feats. The words of my Father surely brought me down, and at times I felt like that suppressing what I could truly commit to. Maybe what Milkar had said was true about the curses and blessings of potential.

But that was an adventure for me to discover on my own.

Milkar, Aranwen, and I fired arrows at targets for hours before they left me. I kept going. A new wind of confidence overcame me. The day became night. The sun retreated behind the horizon bringing twilight with the twin moons. The forest became submerged with the bioluminescent light of the Forest God, Y'ffre's, blood. Green, yellow, pink, and blue hues illuminated the darkness of the night.

To the north, the Elden Tree stood protruding out into the sky, like a hand of Y'ffre trying to pluck the glittering spectacles of light in a dark sea of black. The forest has this harmonious gift of wonder to it. As if the Divines came down and knew exactly was they were doing when they made the trees, the plants, and the animals. When they made the trees as numerous as the stars above, I often wondered if I could not solve the world's problems on a similar basis of harmony. Treat everyone as if they were heroes in their own right. Like stars wrapped in the night sky or trees with Y'ffre's Light.

Tangible images of the world molested my mind. Normality was never an option for me. They seldom are for the gifted children. It's a curse, I'd say because you've got all those terrible possibilities.

It was a wonder that came about every so often. Soon after I left home, family became a strange word to me. My mother was gone, brothers nowhere to be found, and my father; someone who paid too much attention to the wrong things and not the right things. Only the gods knew how much I desired him to look upon me with appraise and rejoice.

Did I love my father? A hard question to answer, but I did love him just as my brothers loved him. I would even go far as to say that I admired him. All I ever wanted was his approval. But now—as ashamed I am to admit—that want for his love was quickly dwindling.

"She'll be just like Ara when she comes of age!" They said. "Her prowess will show in due time, though Ara was better than her at that age!" The same conversation being repeated over and over.

They continued to shape me to the likeness of my Mother. Gave up when they saw I didn't have it in me. Father kept on, had me fire arrows until my fingers bled. He left me at the feet of Rollyn, told him to deal with me. I have no destiny of my own—only what my father thrust on to me. If becoming Mother isn't my purpose, then what was?

To me, the world was empty and lonely—a void that was ready for filling. But with what? I could ponder it day and day out, but what would become of it? How can I surpass what I am now? An empty shell of nothing, unable to become like Mother.

It is often said that the secret to happiness is freedom and the secret to freedom is courage.

I need that courage. What will give it to me?

My last arrow spent, I looked down at my hands. How tough they've grown is a testament to how hard I tried to achieve a goal that wasn't mine. It was a surreal feeling at that moment with my brother's words resounding in my mind. I could be more; I should be more. I had to push on, carve my own way. Mother will always be the shining goal at the end of the path, but I didn't have to follow such a fate that was created by Father or anyone else. I will create my own.

I reached out with my beaten hands, trying to grab onto something that seemed so far away. The stars in the night sky, the trees on the edge of Mother's field, the gargantuan Graht-Oaks that dotted the forests, it didn't matter. I wanted something; I wanted it to be all. But I didn't want it the way everyone else wanted. Defy. Defy. Defy them all. To exist on my own terms, that is my goal.

A raven gawked at me from a nearby target, an onyx thing the size of my head. It glared back at me with its black eyes, deep as the void.

'Why would you want to visit me?' I asked it. 'A girl without her own destiny?'

I turned away towards Father's manor. Spring-Garden couldn't have seemed farther.

'Is it hard to have your own destiny? Can't you find your own?' It was my mind, but I entertained the thought that someone cared.

I turned back towards the blackbird; it's attention still to me as if it truly did ask those questions. 'Because I don't know anything else. I wouldn't want to.'

'Shadows grow long in the twilight; they overtake their owners. You're like a shadow. Become like me.' I watched the bird flitter around. It bit on something, something bright and twinkling.

'What do you have to offer?'

I walked towards the thing. It acknowledged me with a shift of its head. Its sleek feathers shone a deep, inky darkness. 'Paths aren't forged on their own; no one can make you a path for you. Walk. Walk and never look back on this place.'

It was like a call of the wind. It raced past me, through me, it took me in an embrace. I felt it flow into my leather garbs, fill me with thoughts that hadn't occurred to me before. The raven opened its mouth and dropped a twinkling, green stone. An emerald, bright in Y'ffre's bioluminescence. 'What?'

'Leave, Leila.'

Leave. Leave. Leave. The winds came again stronger than strong. It forced me to move, take a step. A flurry, a whirl, or a spirt, whatever it had been, it was strong. Like an urge, a longing deep in my heart. Fourteen years old and I won't be told, I can't be told. My hands wrapped around the gem. I felt its edges; life was like an emerald. It's green and beautiful until you twirl it around in your hands and eventually find an edge to cut yourself.

And so, I took a step. A slow one at first, but it was a step.

'Don't follow the path.' An emerald-eyed ghost crossed the tree line and disappeared. 'Blaze the trail.' The raven flapped into the air and flew into the woods.

I followed.

I walked at a slow pace at first, descending the first hill and reaching the first of the targets. Droves of splattered arrows permeated the ground and the wooden structures. Most buried to the shaft, the dead of imaginary enemies. Others were broken, shattered, failed shots. It was the same mid-way across the field, but this time my slow pace had picked up into a stride. My feet wrapped in padded footwraps brushed the soft grass, feeling the grains of dirt slip in and out of my toes. At the end of Mother's field and the start of the tree line, I sprang into a light jog.

The forests of Valenwood are different from any other in Tamriel. Its luminescent glow that each plant and animal emitted during the night was green, indigo, or pink hue that mystified Nirn. The Bosmer called it Y'ffre's Light. Some shone as brightly as stars, some only carried dull hues.

The buzzing of insects, the howling cries of the night's nocturnal denizens whisked into my ears. My light jog had evolved into a full-blown sprint. The trees and the brush becoming a blur to my peripherals but clawing at my skin all at once. Something has drawn breath into my soul, clenched it in a tight grasp, and whispered softly into my ears. It was an urge to run, an urge to do more. To seek freedom within the night, to search for some sort of salvation in the shadows. I felt that I had to be somewhere, but where? Not here, not back at my home. But... somewhere beyond Father's hand—beyond Mother's shadow.

I noticed beams of moonlight shooting through the trial of hundreds of feet of trees. The lucky pillars of the Divines that made it to the forest floor. And so, running as fast as my legs could carry me, I looked up to the stars and the black sky. The twin moons, Masser and Secunda, shining bright their supple light. There I felt it, a presence unlike any other.

It could have been merely exhilaration that drove its hooked grip on my mind. But I'd put a fat coin purse on the exhaustive task of creating another Ara of the Ghost Bow. Expectations of my skills and being her daughter. I let it carry me through towering trees and through the thicket that separated my home from the world.

I flew with the raven that night; I didn't care where it would take me, so as long as where ever I landed, I could find my true destiny. This was my sign, my aspirations becoming something tangible.

You are here; you are you. You are Leila Lockharte and no one else. The path you will forge will be yours alone; it will be your choice. You will see the world as you wish it. No one can take that away from you. It is power you seek, power to change the world around you, stop the chaos. Destroy anything and anyone in your way. Her power can be yours, but there isn't anyone that can lead you to it besides you. Remember this: you are like a raven, you are free to fly in the blackness of the night. You are not someone's shadow; you are the shadow.

Reality returned to me like a heavy weight upon my shoulders. But even so, I felt...free in an odd way. Like suddenly, I didn't need Father's approval. There wasn't need to become like Mother. There was just me and a void that I needed to fill.

The trees thinned, and I managed to break out onto a road. Sleepless even at night, the road stretched down into the city of Elden Root. Dirt and moss-covered cobblestone webbing through the outskirts of forest and city. The calamity of urban life, crawling about in a mass of bodies and transports. Even in the night, Elden Root never ceased to run. High above, the Elden Tree towered. It loomed over Nirn, like a Divine of nature ready to soak the sun and shield the denizens below. Its roots stretched out like twisting roads driving into the ground and exiting, like a thread patching a godly wound on the world. Elden Root was one of many Graht-Oaks that littered Valenwood. Our trees were large, but Graht-Oaks were mountainous, holding entire cities to its bark and districts crossing its powerful boughs. Apart from the Elden Root's districts, the lower city that sprawled out from the tree's base. It was as if the tree had vomited out the large buildings and structures across a long stretch of land that reached out for miles in all directions.

Elden Root had always been my home. The lay of the land started out as supple farmland, trees planted in rows upon rows which fed the city's citizens. Then the urbanicity hits you. All sorts of people lived here. Mer, Wood Orc, humans, and creature-folk come here from all around the Tamriel.

Elden Root was a nocturnal creature. Guards and Dominion soldiers patrolled the streets on the lookout for the next unruly traveler or citizen that stepped out of line, merchants called out their wares in a scrambled song of loud, obnoxious voices, and the rattle of city sounds burst into my ears from every corner.

No one gave any thought to a child only fourteen summers old. Children in the city were a common sight. Dirty urchins begged street merchants, more well-off children followed their parents, never missing a step behind them. Elden Root's massive root walls segregated its districts like gates usually made of stone. I followed the whirr towards the markets, a place where I spent time before.

A greying Bosmer overlooking his stall caught my eye especially. His eyes were a stark green, and wrinkles flowed in waves from the corners of his eyes and lips. A large cloth covered cart was parked at his back, and his stand displayed several types of bows and arrows—amazingly fletched ones at that. His eyes locked on to me and a wrinkled smirk grew on his lips. 'Well met, young one.' He said, looking down. He was almost three heads taller than me. But then again, I was a small child: strong, but small.

'You carve these on your own?' I asked, enthusiastically. If I was a dog, my tail would have been wagging with excitement. The man studied me for a moment before casting his eyes on my own bow. I tore it from my back, so he had a better view of the bow. 'A family heirloom, a gift from the Fighter's Guild. My brothers have one of their own. Only three in the entire world.'

'I've never seen Iron-Bark so expertly carved...' He gawked. 'And what's this? Your bowstring is made of Gleam blossom flax... how marvelous!' I knew my bow was impressive. This wasn't a new reaction to my bow. The Iron-Bark wood was rare—seldom anyone ever crosses another wielding Iron-Bark any weapons.

Valenwood, almost everyone can appreciate a well-made and expensive bow. The man's smirk never left his face.

'None of yours can really compare...' I muttered disappointedly. I didn't mean to speak the insult out loud, and he sure as Oblivion wasn't supposed to hear it. I shot him an apologetic glance, but he merely shrugged off the unintentional insult. When it came to bows and the fletching of arrows; when it came to weapons in general, I acquired the same taste as my tutor. I pressed my bow into his hands and took one of his. It was very a well-made bow; its quality is as good as those wielded by the Ranger Guard.

The crunch of leather itched my ears from behind, but I paid it no mind. 'What do you want for it?' He asked. I shook my head. To be truthful even if he offered me his entire cart worth of merchandise, I would not part with the thing. I've had it since I was able to wield a bow and draw a bowstring pass my cheek.

'Not for sale,' I stated. I pushed his simple bow back on its display and took my bow from him. 'Sorry—'

'Fine. Run along now.' The old merchant resigned into the shadow of his cart. An air of apology escaped my breath, but I had managed to say nothing. He grimaced and turned to attend to his merchandise.

Iron-Bark weapons may have been some of the finest weapons made in all Tamriel. The wood is said to be as strong as Ebony. To part with my bow would be my folly. I turned from the fletcher's stall only to catch a quick waft of air against my neck. It put a right chill down my spine, but it was quick, inconspicuous. I spun around to see him take it. Like a ghost in the night, a black shadow sweeping from corner to corner. In the blink of an eye he was gone, but in that sliver time, everything seemed to stop as if we both were caught in between two moments. The boy's eyes locked with mine—big brown and inviting. There was the slightest hint of a smirk crossing his curved lips. A second later, I was staring at his back as he raced down the street. His hooded cloak flailed with the generated winds of speed.

I blinked once then I blinked twice. He was gone, vanished in the crowds of consumers scrambling the marketplace. It took quite some effort to pick my jaw up from the ground. An empty display case fell in the boy's wake, pulling me from the shock of what had just transpired.

'Did you just—' I turned to the merchant who cast a sharp green eye down on me.

'What?'

'That boy...He just stole from—'

'Did you just steal from me girl?' The merchant's wrinkles began to fold in on each other.

'What? No! It was not me!' My cry seemed to fall deaf on his long gray furred ears.

'Who could have stolen it? Where did you hide it?' The merchant emerged from behind his stall cart. 'Come here!'

I took two quick steps away from his reach, the desperate old elf growing too close for comfort. I pled with him, tried to tell him his mistake for blaming you. I could have dismissed his anger and left him to stew in it. But I have my pride too. I took another step back as he grew closer and backed into to something hard. The squeal of leather spun me around to meet a tall Bosmer clad in Ranger Guard armor. Great... A getaway from my Father only landed me in more trouble. It was more than what I wanted.

A light orb drifted over the street illuminated the Ranger Guard's face to reveal a not so amused frown. 'What seems to be the problem here?'

The merchant pointed an old crinkly finger at my face. 'This little urchin stole from me!'

'I didn't!' I argued.

'Tell it to the Magistrate when he's sentencing you to the dungeons!'

My mind began to race for a possible answer, a well enough excuse or plead to convey my innocence. The Ranger looked down at me impatiently but eager to take me away with him. The entire market began to crowd, casting accusatory glares and scowls. My mind began to swirl with it. The world refused to make sense anymore; my mind wasn't working. Not the merchant, who only a moment ago was just admiring the carved work of my bow, the guard ignoring my side of the story, or the people closing in on me. That boy, he moved so swift and stole so fast that it seemed like a gust of air snatched it right off the shelves. That boy, whose eyes were a sad brown but with a grin of mischief. That boy who put me in this situation.

That boy.

This was his doing, and he would be able to clear up the misunderstanding. Sweat beaded heavily on my forehead. That boy was gone, and there was no hope of him coming back.

The Ranger Guard warrior reached his hand for my collar. The Ranger Guard were Valenwood's staunch warriors. They were highly skilled professionals that made up the army of Valenwood. Father and Mother were once apart of the Ranger Guard before they were viewed as heroes of the Oblivion Crisis. They weren't a force anybody would want to trifle with.

I smacked the elf with the limb of my bow, sending him reeling back in surprise. I hardly managed any damage to the warrior, but I managed to startle him enough to make an escape. Ducking and hopping past hopeful citizens trying to play the good Samaritan, there was, but one thing on my mind: clearing my name before Father found out.

My feet pounded against dirt and stone, and the wails of bystanders resounded from behind. I knew I could outrun a warrior of the Ranger Guard, so I decided to bide my way in the nooks between buildings. Some alleyways left the world dark, but I didn't let it stop me.

I could have ended it there by telling them who I was—whose daughter I was. But that would have meant the satisfaction my Father would have received by punishing me. Perhaps he would have sent me away again to train. I would run for miles to never have to see Tutor Rollyn again. Although, living with him on the road wasn't as bad as living in lavish with my father. Any ill news that would cross my father's ears would end in severe punishment. At least that's what I believe. I couldn't give him that win. And so, I ran. I ran as fast as I could.

They called after me, but there was no way in Oblivion I was going to stop. Of course not, I'd rather risk my freedom running then to sit there and give up the chance of escape. No... that boy will be found, and he will make things right. It wasn't much of a chore to shy my face away from the onlookers as past them. I was already several streets away before I decided to make an inconspicuous stroll towards the city's exits. I kept caution about me. Recognition was not an option. Being the daughter of the legendary Faeden Lockharte, Ambassador of Valenwood and Ara High-Arrow of the Ghost Bow, anyone could say they have seen me here. The single giveaway was my eyes. My accursed eyes I shared with Mother.

Weaving through the crowds as swiftly as my body allowed me to at a brisk walk, I felt an electricity flow through me. Something different from the tug that brought me to the city, something exuberant. My hands were steady, my mind clear, and not the slightest of anger festering in me. But my skin prickled, and pins poked every inch of my body. My body was in a frenzy, something that I haven't felt in a long time. It was as if a slave just realized her new-found freedom. My hand traced across my cheeks and my lips. I was smiling, giggling even. I was having fun.

The markets had been alive and well, but this part of Elden Root was dead. Full of deserted streets with so few stragglers unaware of my hair-raising getaway. There were so few sconces here that the shadows flowed in accordance to the flickering lights, they seemed like living tendrils looking to grab anyone from the light and drag into any dark corner of the city. There's no underestimating the Ranger Guard here in Valenwood; the stories ran long of their hunts for criminals and enemies. But I knew how men and mer thought; I was trained that way. Sweat ran in rivulets down leather archery armor. Being smart about my escape, I stayed completely out of the light-orb sconces that floated around the city on some magical route. The shadows offered their safety to me. Not even wanderers saw me.

You are the shadow.

I was completely invisible. My escape from the markets was swift enough, but I rejoiced the fact that it was Bosmer warriors the pursued me and not Dominion soldiers. If it had been the Thalmor in their gleaming gilded armor, I would already be dead before any questions were asked.

The world fell eerily silent. Fallen four-prong leaves crunched under my soles. I felt a rising worry building within my chest. All the excitement and exhilaration from earlier slowly fading into a cold, wary anguish. Every step meant more of my bravery diminishing. My conscience forced me to peek every corner and stare every half-lit street. My hope to find that boy was now foolish looking back on it. Just plain stupid to think that I'd be able to find him in such a large city. These streets were merely the outside of the great Graht-Oak, and the core of the city was inside the tree itself. Even the thought of searching for him seemed maddening to me now. I should cut my losses and flee back home now before anyone else finds me.

'Did I cause trouble for you?'

The voice slipped from the shadows like a snake slips from a branch. I spun on a Septim. The boy from earlier perched up on a smooth marbled stone as tall as a troll and as thick as a horse. The only providing light was the twin moons, and that caused a thick shadow to cast over the front of his body. But I recognized him easily enough. The dark, brooding cloak draped over his shoulders ending before his torso led to his legs. His head obscured, casting an even deeper shadow over his face. The fact that the boy wore leather armor completely tightened to his skin, almost acting as a second skin, was proof enough. He was a thief. And earlier couldn't have been his first criminal act.

'It's you!' I hissed, moving a few paces towards him then stopped. I hadn't thought about how dangerous the boy could have been. Even if he was just a boy, no more than a summer older than I was. I clutched my bow in my tight fist. 'By Auriel, you've made trouble for me! You've got the guards searching as if I'm some criminal. I'm not even supposed to be out here, so if my Father finds out. I'm—I'm—'

'I'm sorry if I caused you trouble,' He repeated himself. His voice was soft and low, almost inaudible, but it was smooth and comforting. He hopped off his stone throne, allowing the moonlight she'd better light on the rest of his body. His brown leathers were like that of a Bosmer archer. Ancient and in tatters as it were, it still would allow him the mobility to move at such great speeds as he did earlier.

I stared at him incredulously. 'You have to clear my name.' I said, all the anger from earlier slowly dissipating. 'Look just tell them you did it.' The boy's eyebrow raised, and as he came nearer, my bow raised more. I let my hand find my quiver. He stopped his approached abruptly and threw his hands in the air. 'I don't know what you're about, so you'll just come with me, won't you?'

He frowned, his hands dropping to his sides. 'I won't be able to do that,' He stated in a low, shy tone. My arrow nocked to my bow now, I pushed the tip to his chest, and he grimaced. Of course, I didn't want to kill him, either way, my father would have my head, but I wanted to see if he'd be frightened enough to do as I say. But he showed not even a flinch. He unhooded himself and spoke clearly. 'What's the point, we'll just both be jailed.'

My brow furrowed. He made sense, maybe too much sense, and I hadn't thought about that through my panic. Just as I lowered my bow and considered him for a moment, the loud clatter of guard armor ringed from down the road. Dominion soldiers. A whole platoon of them.

'They're for us?'

'They're for me, you root licker!' I snapped. My heart pounded heavily against my heart. Fear was an emotion I didn't like to handle, even with the fire of excitement still coursing through my veins. 'They're going to jail me, and it's your fault.'

I caught a glimpse of the boy's eyes. Brown...they were that deep tawny color reminiscent of the human Imperials from the northern province. But that wasn't what kindled my curiosity. The fact that he was grinning and smiling through those brown eyes of his. With his hood on, anyone would mistake him for an Imperial, but now his pointed ears and slickened brown skin revealed he was also Bosmer. A half Bosmer half human.

'We aren't going to be caught.' He said. With an abrupt tug on my hand and his grin stretching further along his face, he pulled me deeper into the alley.

'We're running?' The clatter of armor grew closer, echoing on the bark-covered buildings.

For a moment he paused, looking back at me with a raised eyebrow. The twin moons still behind him, shining all their light on me. 'Your eyes.' He muttered.

'My eyes?'

He let out what I thought was a mixture of a snort and a chuckled. 'Now this is interesting.'