It had been one year since the renowned Dragonborn, savior of Nirn, loved by all, drowned at the Irkngthand ruin, her final story masked by a simple, valiant death at the hands of a Falmer. Tamriel's people, and even Tamriel itself, it seemed, mourned for her loss, though still celebrating her years rather than grieving them. However, even a year later guilt still gnawed at the thieves that brought her to her end, and they knew that one thing ought be known: the truth.

Sorry if the prologue is super long. I tend to get carried away. Enjoy!

Prologue-

Eliana thrust the dark, menacing ebon blade into the neck of the pale, slouching beast, immediately recoiling as she jerked the weapon out of its body, forcing back a gag. It stank of death and feces, and it sickened her to think that she had actually touched its thick, clammy cloud-colored skin. Dark, cloudy eyes stared back at her as the life slowly drained out of the Falmer, a gurgle rolling out of its lungs before saliva spilled out of its jaws, pooling around its dull, drained face. The Imperial coughed as she backed away, her weapon suddenly heavy in her hand.

Karliah placed her gloved hand on her comrade's shoulder, her gleaming violet eyes, obscured by the shadow of her hood, softening. The girl pushed her hood off of her head, revealing a head-full of thick, wavy copper hair that was cropped rather short, just below her ear lobes. Sweat dampened her overgrown bangs, and her forehead was slick with perspiration. Blood trickled from her straight, slender nose.

"Are you alright?" the Dunmer asked, swallowing as she tried to catch the woman's wandering hazel eyes. She had been rather uneasy throughout the entire battle through the ruin, and Karliah worried that she was not fairing well. The young Imperial was not exactly known for being very stable.

Eliana sighed, sinking into a crouch. "I don't know." She rubbed her face with her hands, releasing a shuddering sigh. She refused to cry in front of them. Not now, not after everything that had happened.

Brynjolf stood back, avoiding the scene. He did not utter a word as he carefully looted the remained corpses, pocketing every piece of value he came across. His shoulder ached from a destructive blow from the Dwemer centurion, and he feared it could be serious. The Nord was not the type to go thundering through bandit camps or dragon lairs or ruins like this one, so it was not often that he was injured badly. He was not a warrior, not a brute or a knight, he was one thing and one thing only: a thief. He enjoyed the fact that it was so simple yet daring, sly and exhilarating. He loved to hear that soft click as a lock pick slid into place, the sound of gold hitting gold, to experience that feeling of complete triumph as you slipped out of a home or shop or residence perfectly unnoticed, a job gone smooth as silk.

He found no such triumph in the sound of a blade on blade, the crunch of your weapon slicing into your foe.

He and Eliana were unalike in so many ways, and similar in a rare few, but that very thing was something they both shared a guilt of. The both of them could not help but feel that sense of dread and regret as their enemy's lifeless body hit the ground, killed at their very own hand. They could not help but loathe the scent of blood, the reek of dying flesh or the fumes of burnt hair or garments. They felt the tingle of guilt itching up their spines when they heard their combatant's last words, and they paled and tensed when they were reminded.

They were not killers.

Brynjolf held his breath as he tore a platinum pendant from the scrawny, damp neck of a fallen Falmer, quickly dropping the piece of jewelry into the small leather pouch at his side. He wondered how on Nirn the elven fiend had gotten such a fine piece of wealth, if there had been someone else, someone human, here before. He found it unlikely, but shrugged to himself and settled for the only reasonable answer out there. He smiled faintly. Silver and gems did not belong on the neck of a savage.

A part of him wished, hoped that he could somehow find a way to have a life like that, noble and wealthy and full of lust and desire, but he knew that it was not for him. He was not and would never be a man of riches and power, great things and honor. He had done too many horrible things to be considered a noble, and had too many desires as it is.

Silver and gems did not belong on his neck, either.

He glanced up, away from the Falmer, and saw that Karliah was speaking in hushed tones to their Guildmaster, whose face was in her hands, her feet drumming rhythmically on the firm soil ground. She removed her hands, and her dark eyes were glassy, ripe with fear.

"Yes, yes," Eliana murmured, nodding along with Karliah's worried statements. "I know. I promise."

The Dark Elf stood, placing a hand on the Imperial's shoulder as if to steady her as she did the same. They were both clad in the sleek, form-fitting black Nightingale armor, though Eliana's hood was down as well as her cowl. The girl had always looked rather striking in the dark armor, as if it was made only for her. She moved with an unfamiliar grace while wearing it, her strides ground-covering and accurate, her combat fluid and natural, almost like a dance or march. It was as if she had changed into a whole new person when she became a Nightingale, now intrepid and sure.

However, simply a new set of armor and another god to worship did not fully cast away her true demeanor.

Looks were shared between the two women as they made their way to Brynjolf, gesturing to the drop-off. "We ought to be on our way. I'm certain that Mercer is somewhere down there, and we don't have any time to spare." Karliah stated, and her two companions nodded. They pulled away from the mess of corpses and stray weapons strewn around the cavern, their footsteps nearly synchronized.

Eliana shuddered, pulling up her hood and positioning her cowl over her mouth and nose. She could smell blood, and blood only. Her nose must have been leaking some more from when the Skulker had slammed her with the heel of his disgusting hand. She wrinkled her nose at the thought, trying to match the other two thieves' pace. She took a moment to look at Brynjolf from his back, furrowing her brow and repressing a smile. If she had seen him like this months ago, when she had been merely a petite, nervous amateur thief who could barely pick a lock, she would never have recognized him. Stendarr's mercy, she may have even turned around and strolled in the opposite direction. And though his new demeanor made him seem poisonous, menacing, a threat, it did not fit him.

Karliah, however, was another story.

The Dunmer was sly, dexterous, and even seductive at times. She could sneak like a house cat, rob like a weasel, and in her hands any bow was pure peril. The Nightingale aura fit her like a charm, and of the three she was the most suited to the title. It was as if it was meant to be.

Karliah leaped down, her feet hitting the ground below with a muffled thump. She called to them from below, ensuring that it was safe. "There's a gate down here. Get down, all of you." She made sure to keep her voice at a low mutter.

Brynjolf came down next, Eliana following closely behind. The Imperial leaned up against the steep hill, feeling her face drain of color. She did not feel prepared. She was anxious and agitated, and a frigid sweat was already breaking out on the back of her neck. She had been harmed by Mercer before - the last thing she wanted was to finally die that way.

"He's close," Karliah said, her words trembling the slightest. "I'm certain of it. We must prepare ourselves."

"Oh shit." Eliana finally managed, swallowing and taking a moment to catch her breath. Brynjolf and Karliah eyed her for a moment, fear swelling in their chests. Was their Guildmaster even prepared? Did she have the ambition to kill Mercer, finally?

Finally Brynjolf spoke up, his words soft. "Then this is it. We do this for Gallus and for the Guild." Karliah nodded, the faintest smile hinting at the corners of her lips. Eliana was silent, expressionless, her eyes fixed on the door.

Karliah silently shoved the door open, crouched into a sneak. Brynjolf followed her out onto the ledge, but Eliana hesitated. Karliah scolded her with pleading eyes, until finally the young woman followed, her hands shaking vigorously.

"He's here and he hasn't seen us yet. Brynjolf, watch the door." She could not help but watch Eliana as the Imperial stared blankly at the enormous statue below them.

"Aye, lass. Nothing's getting by me."

Eliana released a shuddering breath as she watched the Breton on the statue, his tools tapping away at the magnificent, huge pearly eyes on the statue. One of them was already gone, most likely carried by Mercer. She felt the boiling pit of hatred in her stomach, and closed her eyes. She had to do this. For Gallus. She nodded, opening her eyes. For the Guild.

Karliah glanced at Eliana, who seemed a bit more comfortable than she had just been. "Eliana, climb down that ledge and see if you can-"

"Karliah, when are you going to learn that you can't get a drop on me?"

Suddenly the cavern began to quake, the ledge crumbling and sending Eliana tumbling down below. As her body hit the ground she gasped, choking back a sob when she sensed the explosive pain in her lower back and left hip. Karliah had shrieked, and was standing back, and Mercer was speaking. She could barely understand him, for her entire head was throbbing and blood was rushing as she struggled to stand, reaching for her blade and slicing it out of the sheath. It hissed, and she held it before her, staring at the Breton standing on the huge golden book, his words forceful and dripping hatred. But the Imperial faced him, and listened.

"-shift in the wind. And at that moment, I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade."

Eliana did not speak, merely watched as he scurried to the very edge of the book. He was silent for a moment, and Eliana could not help but wonder what in Nocturnal's rack Brynjolf and Karliah were doing. Watching?

"What's Karliah been filling you wretched head with? Tales of thieves with honor? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises?" Eliana felt her blood boiling, her arm itching to thrust the blade into his filthy skull. "Nocturnal doesn't care about you or the Key or anything having to do with the Guild!" The Imperial knew that they were all lies. Everything that came out of his betraying mouth was a lie. And so she took a step forward, her eyes locking on him as he averted his gaze up to Karliah and Brynjolf, then looked back down.

Finally she satisfied her urge to speak, to make his blood run cold. "This isn't about Nocturnal, Mercer. This is personal." Personal. Shit, everything was personal these days.

"Revenge is it? Have you learned nothing from your time with us? When will you open your eyes and realize how little my actions differ from yours? Both of us lie, cheat and steal to further our own end." A chill shot down her spine at his words, and she took another step forward.

She felt nothing but hatred for this man. For what he did to Gallus, to Karliah. For what he did to her, all those times before. For what he did to the Guild. And so she spoke. One last time, before death and blood and honor spilled. "If anyone falls," Her words were hissing, poisonous. "It will be you."

She did not even hear those last words he said to her, only saw the laughter in his eyes and menace in his grin. He raced up the statue, speaking as he scurried along, his gleaming Dwarven blade drawn. "Karliah, I'll deal with you after I rid myself of your irksome companions. In the meantime, perhaps you and Brynjolf should get better acquainted." She heard Brynjolf's agitated words, the whip of blades slicing through the air, Karliah's violent tones as she cursed Mercer, then spoke to Brynjolf to calm him as he went rogue, his weapons whirling at his companion.

And she ran.

Eliana ran for him, sprinting up around the statue and after his quick form. Her blade was drawn, the faint light in the cavern glinting off of the Nightingale seal on the hilt. She was reeling in closer, closer to him, just a few strides away, but then he was gone. Vanished. She swore, slowing to a half as she glanced around. Then she heard it - his unmistakable bellowing laughter. He was standing near the Snow Elf's head once more, chuckling like a madman.

Her heart raced as she bolted up to the head, fighting the urge to simply throw her blade at his constantly moving figure. She regretted not bringing her bow along. She found catching him at this rate unlikely.

A smile came to her lips as she sheathed her sword, standing at the top of the statue while Mercer, having vanished once more, stood on the book. She had bought the spell from the Bosmer wizard in Riften after she had nearly been slaughtered by a pack of angry Death Hounds. She had never been much of a mage, the most she'd ever cast being a Lightning bolt spell that had burned her hand and left her wincing every ten seconds for the next five days. But she found a need for backup, just in case she lost her weapons to hungry vampires once again.

The blue glow trembled in her palm, but it was growing. She had spent hours that day trying to master it, nearly setting fire to the Cistern in the process. But she had actually become decent with it, and the only problem now was her trouble with aiming.

The deep, night-sky blue bow buzzed in her grip, humming as she knocked back an arrow. She pulled the humming blue string to her cheek and aimed for Mercer, who was sprinting up the statue. She released the arrow, and it flew towards him, sticking in his dark leather armor. He laughed and yanked it out, and it gradually faded as its enchantment died. She cursed herself for not aiming for a more tender part of the attire. Mercer was rushing towards her, and she was about to jerk her sword out of its sheath until she heard something - the rush of water, and the distinct sound of boots splashing. The Breton looked frightened as well.

Eliana took the chance. She pushed towards him, prepared to send her blade crunching through his rib cage, but then he vanished, and she was falling, the water soaking her to the bone. The stairs dug into her hip and back bruises as she fell, and she cried out. The water was ascending by the second. When she finally hit the bottom of the stairs she felt a wave of rage push through her, and she conjured the bow once more.

Mercer was standing at the top of the stairs, watching her and chuckling as she tried to rise to her feet, the swirling water only sucking her legs to the stone floor once more. She choked back a sob, knocking an arrow. She let it fly. It pierced Mercer in the side, and he yelped, touching the wound, gradually darkening with blood, and then looking back up at her. She let another one fly, dragging herself forward as it sliced through the air and toward his thigh. He cried and staggered backward, paling.

"You're not a threat, fool...merely an annoyance." And he lunged forward, blade set ready to strike. The Imperial gasped, trying to stand, but her boots struggled on the slick floor. The water was nearly to her back as she crawled toward the steps, her face damp and shining with water. She wiped her face, trying one last time and succeeding. Mercer was just feet from her, and she brandished her blade, lunging toward him. He was startled, swinging the blade late. Before it could even meet her armor she had hit him in the temple with the hilt of her sword. He howled, falling backward, clutching his head.

His eyes were dark as she stood above him. "Shadows take me..."

Eliana rose her blade high above his chest, both hands clutching the narrow hilt. "You got that right, you son of a bitch." With that she brought the point down on his chest, and a single strangled cry escaped his throat before his eyes drained of their life, now blank and subdued.

She staggered backward, laughing. Until she felt her boots fill with water, and she shrieked, racing back up the stairs. The final pipe burst, and the water began to rise even more rapidly.

"Dammit!" Karliah cried. "This place is coming down. Quick, get the Skeleton Key and the Eye and let's get out of here!"

Eliana grabbed Mercer's corpse by his dense leather armor, attempting to drag him up the stairs, but it was of no use. He was too heavy for her. She cried out as the water began to spill forward. She quickly rummaged through Mercer's pockets and pouches, even underneath the straps and his armor, in search of the two items. She could find neither. She felt her eyes flood with tears, and let out a strangled sob as she searched. "I can't!" she called.

But just as she was certain that all hope was lost, she found something. The sharp point of something pierced the leather on her gloves, and she gasped. She had found the key. But the Eye wasn't on him - it was so large, she would have found it by now. Had he dropped it?

She hurriedly rose and jogged up the stairs, careful to watch where she stepped. The water was spilling out of the burst pipes even faster, and she caught a glimpse of Karliah and Brynjolf swimming towards the statue. She felt dread swell inside of her. Could she even swim? It had been years since she had last actually swam. I'm not going to die here.

She caught a glimpse of something round and bright near the large book the statue held. She shouted to Karliah and pointed, but the Dunmer did not hear. She yelled once more, and this time it was Brynjolf who answered.

"Aye, lass, I'm on it!" He dove down and rushed to the golden book, limbs moving vigorously, then pushed his way back to the top, following the Dark Elf.

Karliah was the one who spoke next. "Eliana, we will be out of the cave, up there-" she pointed above the Falmer's head. "That's where you'll want to swim for! We'll see you there! I must speak with you then."

No one told either of them, Brynjolf or Karliah, that their beloved Nightingale couldn't swim.

Holy moly! I hope everyone enjoyed. I am aware that I tried to rush it near the end, but I was so excited to publish it! More chapters will be coming soon xoxo.