"I was born eighty-seven years ago."
Two armored men ran down the tight corridor, guarding their king. A third tagged behind, her sword glimmering too brightly, but not as bright as the Emperor's eyes.
"For sixty-five years I've ruled as Tamriel's Emperor."
They were getting closer, slowly and surely, but not fast enough. Uriel Septim's fingers held on tightly to a sleek necklace strung against his silky robes, his feet straining to keep up with his guards ahead. A few times, he almost felt as if his heart pounded against his ribcage so ferociously that the others could feel it, too.
"I have seen the Gates of Oblivion, in which no waking eye can see; in Darkness, a Doom sweeps the land."
The stone halls almost appeared to be twisting maniacally, stretching on eternally. "Come on, sire!" His Blade begged, but grief had struck against the words. All his sons, his heirs, his responsibility... dead.
"This is the twenty-seventh of Last Seed."
It wasn't supposed to hurt this much, surely? Uriel had done things he took pride in, ruling Tamriel with a kind heart but iron fist, yet he had also done things he was ashamed of. Repeatedly. No- this was not supposed to sting his soul as much as it did now.
"The year of Akatosh, four hundred thirty-three."
Maybe he was torn apart like so because of what he knew was to come. What would transpire. What those Gates would hold, would symbolize, would bring.
"These are the closing days of the third era."
Uriel spotted the iron gate of the prison cell as the approached. Behind it, they would find escape. Behind it, he would find his freedom from the world. A shrill song, death sung him to him now, and the emperor couldn't help being thankful he would not be there to watch the dreaded Siege arrive.
"These are the closing days of my life."