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Prologue; Paths of Fate

. . .

The Hero

. . .

Another night, another terrible dream in the blackest voids of his mind. One of the few places his power meant nothing, no armor no weapons no voice. Just darkness, the same darkness that had plagued him since the World Eater's defeat. Maybe it was just a nightmare, maybe he'd just been drinking too much again, or maybe it was a warning of things to come.

Before him, he could see a great plain. It was the golden fields outside of Whiterun, there was no mistaking it. But the bodies covering the ground made it clear this was no peaceful premonition. Men and women lay dead or dying, as a crimson rain pours upon the land, threatening to drown them all in blood. This wasn't the Civil War, no no no this was far worse.

He could see a great tear in the sky above, a mighty hand reached out to him. But just as it reached him, a terrible pain pierced his back. Slipping through just the right openings in his ribs, biting deep into his flesh.

Awaken!

He bolted upright in his bed, panting for breath. He looked around slowly, as if making sure he was still in the right place. A small home, his home. Sighing heavily, he brought a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes as the figure beside him stirred.

"Hmm?" She groaned, opening her eyes slowly, "Kaldr, what's wrong?" The red headed young woman asked worriedly.

"Damn nightmares again..." He sighed, looking towards the window. Sunlight was just creeping in over the city walls, morning had arrived, "I'm sorry Ysolda, did I wake you?"

"Yes, but its okay." She assured, putting on a small smile, "Its morning, I'd be getting up soon either way."

"Right..." The young Nord man nodded, swinging his legs over the beds edge before reaching for his nearby clothes.

Ysolda watched him carefully, reading his mood as best she could, "What did the Priest have to say about these... Nightmares?"

"Nothing helpful," He sighed, tying back his long golden hair to keep it out of his face, "I need to visit the Greybeards..." And maybe speak to Paarthurnax.

"That's a long trip for one question," Ysolda replied, as she began to get dressed as well, "But I understand, when do you plan on leaving?"

"Tomorrow," Kaldr replied, rolling his shoulders as he finished getting his clothes on. Scraping away a bit of stubble with a daggers edge, "I've got a few smithing orders to finish, should leave you with plenty of money while I'm gone." He added with a small smirk.

To which Ysolda chuckled, shaking her head, "You're just trying to spoil me aren't you? You know saving the world was enough right?"

"Perhaps," He answered, walking around the bed to her, "But the world is for everyone, far less personal than something for you alone." Pulling the beautiful maiden against his muscular form, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her own.

She returned the gesture in kind, breaking away only when she had to breathe, "Mmm, well you're doing a good job so far..."

"I'll be sure to grab some sleeping tree sap on my way back, if that helps." His tender expression shifting to a teasing grin.

"You're never going to let me forget about that are you?"

"Nope, never."

. . .

The Basilisk

. . .

Footsteps echoed beyond the cell door, the dark hall beyond it was starting to light up as the sound drew closer and closer. The beast within the cage knew it was the Master, purely by smell he could tell. His reptilian eyes narrowed as the light grew brighter, casting the cell doors shadow upon his black scales. As two men in gilded elven armor appeared by the entrance, the Master stood between them.

His fine robes showed off both his position and magical prowess to all, glimmering runes dotting the sleeves and making intricate patterns across his chest. His deep green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, he stared into the blackness of the cell and looked upon the Basilisk, "Up, the time has come for your departure." He spoke clear and concisely, but with an edge matching the crack of a whip.

His word was law, and so the beast obeyed. Rising to his feet, chains dragging behind him, his hulking form lumbered towards the door. One of the soldiers undid the lock, pulling the door open while the other rested an uneasy hand on the pommel of his mace, "Quite obedient for a monster..." He noted idly.

"A few years of training does wonders, with the right methods." The Master smirked, hands behind his back, "Now come along, we must get you to the ship." He turned and began to walk, the Basilisk following behind him without hesitation. Tail dragging across the ground, chains following.

"I'm ready?" The guards nearly flinched as he spoke, not expecting the beast to be capable of such things. His voice was low and guttural, but he was clearly intelligent.

The Master was unfazed, "Yes, as ready as we can make you... The time has come to fulfill your destiny."

He kept his head low, nodding slowly as he followed, "And once I am finished?"

"Then you may finally rest, and be free." The Master assured, not bothering to look back as he continued forward.

The cold northern winds billowed across the docks, but the basilisk was unfazed by them. Or, if he was, it did not show. Even in such tattered rags, he showed no sign of submitting the cold even as fully armored soldiers tightened their cloaks. His body was strong, stronger than theirs, he knew that. But Mother and Father wouldn't let him kill them, not yet, they were useful to their plans.

"You will be dropped off up the coast from Dawnstar," The Master explained as they boarded the small ship, "From there, you will travel South to Whiterun, find the Dragonborn and kill him."

"Yes, Master..."

Even with the Master's final orders, another voice resonated in his mind. If the Master's word was law, Her's was divine commandment.

"And if the Dovahkiin is not there... Destroy everything."

. . .

The Heir

. . .

"Welcome, to the Shrine of Azura."

She had traveled a long way to reach this place, this frigid mountain. Crossing sea and land, ash and snow with nothing but a bandaged body and a tattered cloak. To reach this shrine in particular. And now standing before her, was a woman of her own kind. A Dunmer, though she looked older, and garbed in a followers robes. An acolyte, priest maybe?

"The Twilight has told me of your coming," She continued, when the bandaged Dunmer woman didn't verbally respond. "She is ready to speak with you... Approach the altar whenever you are ready."

Seras nodded, stepping forward before placing both hands upon the stone slab. Closing her violet colored eyes, and embracing the Twilight as it invaded her mind.

"You have my thanks for traveling so far, young one." The voice spoke directly into her mind, thoughts filled with a comforting light, "The time has come, and I require a true Champion... And your lineage carries more power than any in Morrowind."

A legend's blood coursed through her veins, a lineage that often caused more trouble than it avoided. But she felt no remorse, even with a body like this. Without a word, she nodded slowly. Seras would follow her long sought after destiny, if only to find a purpose in an aimless existence. It was the entire reason she came so far, why her body was chilled with frostbite, why her feet bled through their bandages...

"The Defilers have begun to make their move, and you must stop them... Or all Tamriel might fall into darkness." Not a warning she would give lightly, Seras understood that much, "Go to Whiterun, and kill the beast."

Azura didn't need to give a proper explanation, as images flashed through her mind of this poor creature. Seras pulled away from the Shrine, looking upon the face of Twilight, before nodding. Without a word, she began to descend the steps and make her way down the mountain once more.

Aranea watched her go, a somber look upon her face, "Good luck, heir of Nerevar... I will pray for you."