A/N: This story has been modified from it's original version. Edited as of 11/20/2018.

- Morrowind belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

- Julan Kaushibael belongs to Kateri. Download link to the mod can be found on the AO3 version, as FFN is still not allowing for links.

Prologue

19th of Sun's Dusk, 3E 327

The streets of Mournhold were even more crowded than usual, he found. He didn't venture into the city very often, but when he did, it was usually quiet. Which he couldn't help but find strange. No one could possibly be aware of who he was.

Today, the Great Bazaar was busy. Children ran amok, and young couples found dark, narrow alleyways so they would not be found doing the unspeakable. The drunk were found unconscious or vomiting, people danced or handed out free food or gifts. It was almost as if New Life had come already. He wasn't used to it, but at least he was able to pass through the crowd mostly unnoticed.

Vules was waiting for him beside the sewer entrance, and he smiled almost nervously when he set his eyes on him. He remained expressionless, but he couldn't help but be amused by this nonetheless.

"Ah, serjo," a voice greeted him, "I was wondering when you would show up. A fine celebration this is, is it not?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Celebration?"

"Ah, yes, serjo," Vules replied, before going on to explain. "News of the Nerevarine's achievements reached the mainland. Everyone has an excuse to be happy for the first time in…well…decades –"

"I didn't come here to be told what I already know," he snapped. "I came here so that we can confirm some kind of arrangement after the last time your organization failed me…miserably."

Vules scowled.

"Let me assure you, serjo, that not even I saw that coming," Vules began. "That was the first time we have ever failed a contract. And to fail one such as you is – shall I say – incredibly embarrassing for us -"

Before Vules could continue, he proceeded to grab the front of Vules's shirt, giving him a menacing glare that felt about a sharp as being stabbed with a thousand daggers.

"Then do not let the count go up to two," he snarled. "Or – shall I say – you will regret it immensely."

"Yes, serjo," Vules managed to say, despite his currently frightened state.

"Good," he nodded. "Contact me when the job is done."

He let the old assassin go, and then turned the corner, making his way back to the palace through the Temple gardens. On the way, however, he was stopped cold when he heard a familiar voice stop him in his tracks.

"Helseth," she hissed.

Helseth turned to see Balsea, an old friend of his uncle's. She must have been making her way back to Godsreach.

So much for remaining inconspicuous.

"Balsea," he returned coldly.

She narrowed her eyes.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, quietly but deadly.

Helseth, in turn, also narrowed his eyes.

"None of your concern," he snarled.

Balsea shook her head, almost as if in disgust or disbelief.

"You do realize that this is not an area in which you can succeed, do you not?" Helseth tried not to look taken aback. She knew. "She's someone who's managed to outsmart the Great Houses of Vvardenfell, and managed to convince the Ashlander tribes to name her Nerevarine. Do you honestly think one lone assassin is going to be able to make her meet her end?"

"That last time was merely a coincidence," Helseth snapped. "They cannot fail twice."

"You seem so sure of yourself," Balsea murmured. "But you seem to be forgetting who this is. This is no common enemy, Helseth. In fact, I do not believe she's your enemy at all."

"And what if she is? You've heard the stories. You've heard that the Nerevarine is supposed to rule Morrowind, and that would mean overthrowing the –"

"Please refrain from lying to my face, Helseth Hlaalu," Balsea hissed.

For a moment, there was silence, except for the sounds of chirping crickets and people chattering away behind them.

"You may be able to fool your people, but not I," Balsea continued, "I know your family. I know better than that. We both know that is not the reason you have chosen to target her. You are not the kind of man who would chose to believe in ancient superstitions."

"That is, until they have proven to be true," Helseth retorted.

"Stop it," Balsea snarled. "Have you no heart? No respect for your uncle or his memory?"

"The only reason you are still around is because I have respect for my uncle's memory!"

Balsea snorted at this.

"If you did, you wouldn't be doing this," she insisted. "But seeing as you are, I am going to warn you. You will not succeed in this endeavor. This girl is smart and capable and she will foil you at every turn."

"Funny," Helseth remarked. "I wonder where she gets that from?"

Just as Balsea was about to say more, he turned on his heel and went back to the Palace, leaving her in silence.