The Solrhusra household was never calm.

We had a large family that never went very far since we had several buildings on our land. Moving out to start a family meant just moving some belongings to the building two minutes away and redecorating a little. My father had built many of the buildings with his father and grandfather, and I knew it filled him with pride knowing my six siblings and I would live there and not stray too far.

So while we scattered across our lands for our own space, we often spent together. We would cook our meals on the fire pit outside and crowd round on low tables and mats on the ground to eat. It was busy and noisy, even more so since my two older sisters had married and given me nieces and nephews. There was always overlapping conversations and laughter, nearly always a baby to coo over or a child to coax into trying vegetables. We would often get distant relatives stopping by unannounced too. But they always brought stories to tell and spiced meats to cook.

And when the sun set and our bellies were full, the children would run off the last of their energy in the trees, grandmother would amuse us with small spells and my father would talk business or dole out words of wisdom. Until eventually we'd have to clear up and the little ones were carried off to bed.

Growing up in the large family was all I was used to, my father had four siblings and loved the idea of having a house full of his own children. I grew up surrounded by people, my earliest memories were of curling up to sleep in one big bed with my older sisters and my mother, before she passed. And when she died and we mourned her, there was always someone there to hold me or wipe away my tears. My father eventually remarried. I went from three siblings to six and as my sisters grew older I gained a brother and a sister through marriage.

So there were always younger siblings or nieces and nephews to help out with; chores around the land to be done and my seamstress work for the nearby village. There was very little alone time in our family, which had never bothered me for the first 22 years of my life but something had changed.

I ignored it at first, the little niggling feeling in my gut. It was the same kind of feeling I got right before I realized I was running late for an errand or when I had managed to get myself lost on a new path. It was the feeling of being in the wrong place and it didn't matter whether I was visiting a nearby moon sugar plantation, painting in the meadow, reading the children stories by the fire- the feeling didn't shift. At night it was even worse. I would toss and turn, hovering between sleep and waking. I would have dreams of places I had never seen before. My sketchpads filled up with half remembered scenery that was so unlike the Elsweyr forests or instead it was blurred faces of people who looked so strange compared to my Khajiit family and friends.

I didn't know what any of it meant. So I tried to keep it buried it deep inside me and hoped it would pass.

It didn't work. I'd find myself drifting into thought while I got dressed about what clothes would fit in my bags if I traveled. I turned down a date with the Ohmes boy I'd had a crush on for as long as I could remember because it suddenly felt wrong. My family would constantly be snapping me out of a daze and tut at me while I stammered excuses- not wanting to tell them that for a moment the trees had vanished and rising mountains replaced them, seeming to call out to me.

Several months passed in that fashion. It wasn't until a week after my 23rd birthday that something really changed, all thanks to another dream. This one wasn't hazy visions of mountains and a cold, blue sky. It barely felt like a dream at all.

I was standing in an empty stone room, with intricate and beautiful carvings all on the walls. I knew I was dreaming yet I didn't wake, instead I got to pace the room, running my hands along the marks on the wall. There was writing that I couldn't read and figures holding weapons against a range of creatures. Some of the pictures reminded me of the ones I saw in books, historic ones that spoke about the Oblivion crisis. Others hosted different creatures, ones crawling out of the ground or flying above buildings.

"I see you have discovered your history, Ma'hlia."

The voice startled me and I whipped round, but there was nobody else in the room with me. I stared hard into the shadowy corners but nothing appeared. My heart hammered and I tried chanting internally to myself to wake up.

"This isn't an ordinary dream, child. And there is no need for you to fear me. I am only here to guide you onto the path you know you must take. This is your history, your future, the destiny of your soul etched on stone. There's only so long you can deny what must come to pass."

The voice was calm and melodious, the kind of voice that put me at ease. It almost reminded me of my mother though it was impossible to determine the gender. Not when I was trying to make sense of what was being said.

"I... I don't understand how any of this has to do with me? I haven't gone to any battles or anything like that. I... Do you mean my ancestors or something?"

There was a faint sound, like rushing water or a gust of wind. It was otherwordly yet reminded me of the good-natured sighs my father would give before teaching us children something. But this... voice, whatever it was, carried an even more ancient and wise aura than anyone I knew. Whoever or whatever this voice belonged to, I somehow knew it was beyond mortality as I knew it.

"No I do not mean your ancestors, not in the way you think of them at least. At pivotal points in history there have been chosen people who must do what is needed and are destined for a fate more than the one they expect. Those people are part of your history because you are one of them. They are part of you and you will need to remember their strength and carry it with you in the times ahead, Ma'hlia."

I frowned, more than a little confused. This was more cryptic than when grandmother read my tea leaves with a twinkle in her eye.

"I don't understand what you mean. Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"All will become clear in time."

I tried to say something but as quick as I could open my mouth I was suddenly snapping upright in bed.

I was cold and clammy with sweat, feeling as if I'd run a mile or so in my sleep. My eyes darted around the room as if I could locate that mysterious voice but all I could see was the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor and an old cobweb up in the corner of the ceiling. I sat staring at it for several long moments, my mind in turmoil as I replayed the dream in my head.

I wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, hopefully when the little ones came to wake me in the morning the dream would have faded from my mind and I could go about my day in peace. But I didn't pull the blanket back over me and instead I moved purely on instinct, pulling my warmest clothes out my wardrobe and packing them into father's old hunting pack.

When I was nearly done, sunlight was filtering through my small window. Clothes that didn't fit in my pack were neatly folded in piles so my wardrobe was bare and I had stripped my bed. Even my watercolors and charcoal drawings were taken down from the wall, my sketching tools tucked away safely in my pack with my clothes. I was about to slip downstairs to organize rations and waterskins or canteens.

But I could hear the house waking up and before I could go anywhere there was a flurry of footsteps and S'inji burst into my room with Reina on his back, both of them laughing.

S'inji had only been a baby really when our mother had died and although he had her eyes, he looked more like our step-mother, Zilaasi, than anyone else. He was 11 years older than Reina, the eldest of our half-siblings but they were thick as thieves. We all loved the little ones as much as each other, they were still family to us. But my older sisters and I still missed our mother so much- S'inji had little memory of her so had no problem with calling Zilaasi his mother and always hated when we called the younger kids 'half-siblings'.

"Time for breakfast, Ma'hlia! Mama is letting us go fishing today but we have to eat first!" Reina launched herself off S'inji's back- that girl had no fear- and into my arms in a flurry of fur and laughter. "Thenna is coming, but he said he's only coming if you come too and tell us stories! And you gotta bake something nice- ooh maybe you can make those tarts you made last time!"

I couldn't help but smile, Thenna trailing into the room too at the sound of his name. He was Reina's twin but while she was loud and rambunctious and forever talking, Thenna liked to sit and watch what was happening, only speaking after long consideration. He was like a miniature version of father, but with a bigger sweet tooth. And of course he was the one with the watchful eyes that actually noticed the changes in my room, moments before S'inji spotted it too.

I gently set Reina back on the floor as I watched the boys frowning at the packed bag and empty wardrobe. I said nothing as S'inji muttered something about getting an adult and darted out the room- what was I supposed to say to two seven year-old's that were suddenly staring up at me with mournful eyes?

"You're leaving," Thenna said it as a statement, not a question and with such a solemn little voice that Reina burst into noisy tears. Guilt overwhelmed me and I almost upturned my bag there and then to change my mind. What was I thinking? How could I leave the little ones- if the twins couldn't understand how could Rhusi, who was only four? Or my sisters' kids, five of them between the two of them and some barely walking and talking? They wouldn't even remember me by the time I got back.

I was dithering between comforting Reina and undoing my hard work when suddenly I had a concerned Zilaasi scooping both the twins into her arms, my father and grandmother behind her. Zilaasi had a hard look on her face, protective over her babies that I had inadvertently upset and my father looked so confused you'd think someone would have just told him that the trees had started walking and talking. Only my grandmother looked serene as always, coming over and taking my hand.

Her hands were course and calloused from her years of work, but always gentle when holding mine. These were the hands that bathed and clothed me as an infant, had combed my unruly curls as I grew, the hands that taught me how to repair a piece of clothing and stitch a hem. These were the hands that had given me the gift of my tattoos at 16, the stripes up my arms, legs and cheeks to mimic the pattern my mother's fur had carried. My grandmother was the one who did so much for all of us, especially all the times I had gone to her feeling isolated or worried. She would listen patiently, smooth back my hair and kiss my forehead and tell me everything would me okay.

I drew strength from her grip and swallowed, straightening up and meeting my father's curious gaze.

"I'm leaving. I… I want to travel and see all the different lands before I have my family. Like you did, father," I sent him a pleading look but his face was unreadable as he stared in silence. Zilaasi straightened and gave me a gentler look before ushering the twins back downstairs. "I have to do this. I can't explain why, it's like the stars and the moons whisper to me at night. It... It's my fate and I have to listen. I love being here and I love you all but I need this."

My grandmother squeezed my hand gently, I knew without looking at her that she was giving her seal of approval. I kept my eyes locked on my father- the one whose opinion mattered the most. He gazed back at me, no doubt seeing my mother in me as he often said he did. His expression as always was impossible to read and my stomach twisted as he opened his mouth to speak, to settle any arguments or to turn down my plans. If he disapproved, I knew I would be lost.

"I will help you pack."