The plodding of hairy hooves over dirty, hard packed snow was like a rhythmic drumbeat through the wintery forests of southern Skyrim. The rumbling of the weather beaten cart as it moved over uneven terrain sounded in time to it's unsteady rocking, the aged wood creaking and groaning in protest to the constant motion. An icy wind eased it's way through the rocky slopes, sending flurries of snow airborne once more to dance around the convoy of wagons.

Enalin woke to take it all in with blurry eyes and muffled hearing, her skull pounding on the right side. Her eyes, caked over with a thin layer of grime from an extended period of unconsciousness, took notable effort to keep open. Her tan skin, unused to such weather, was riddled with goose bumps, though she didn't have the energy to shiver. A small groan of discomfort escaped her throat, barely audible to most of the passengers who she could sense in the wagon around her, but just loud enough to be heard by the one across from her.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." a heavy nordic accent drove her to lift her head, aching though it was. The speaker was a nord, through and through, she could tell by looks alone. Blond, dirty hair hung in collapsed braids about his shoulders, and his eyes were a fairer shade of blue than she had ever seen down south. The mans arms were thick and sturdy from the life of work and toil his homeland commanded, and his skin had a natural roughness to it. All in all, his filthy appearance disgusted her. "You were trying to cross the border, right?"

"Border?" Elanin repeated, her eyes narrowing as she struggled to get a hold on the situation. What was this barbarian rambling about? All she remembered was traveling through the mountains, going along the same as she had for weeks before...

And then she remembered it all: the battle, the soldier, the blow to her skull... Oh gods, her head... The memory itself turned the dull throb into a fiery agony, and she instinctively moved a hand up to the wound.

Only to find her wrists were bound tight.

Confused and still somewhat disoriented, she looked down with animalistic alarm. Thick, rough ropes bound her delicate wrists together in her lap. With growing panic, she noticed that her tattered robes were gone, replaced instead by dirty rags of stitched together fabric. Even her shoes were gone, replaced by tattered footwraps. Nose crinkling in disgust, she attempted to stem her own revulsion at her appearance.

"By the Eight, what happened? Where am I?" She questioned, and was insulted as the Nord only smiled in response.

"Imperial must have hit you pretty hard elf. You were trying to cross the border, right?" He asked, and Elanin only nodded in response, eager for any kind of clarification. "You walked right into an Imperial ambush. Same as us, and that thief over there." The Nord nodded his head to the passenger beside him, and Elanin felt a fresh wave of revulsion at the sight. A notably scrawnier nord, wearing rags like her own, sat in the spot beside the other. He appeared to be fairly beaten down, but still in better condition than herself. The hardiness of the nords was more than a rumor then.

"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy..." the man spat, lip curling in obvious hatred for his passenger and kinsman. "If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to

Hammerfell!" He turned to face her, and she reviled at the sight of his blackened teeth. "You there, you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." The blond nord appeared undisturbed by the thief's words, answering cooly but sharply.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." his added emphasis on the last word stung the man into silence.

"But why am I here? I am a noble and an innocent, I have done nothing wrong!" Elanin pleaded, eyes darting about for some kind of authority figure or the like. Unmoved by her plight, the blond Nord only shrugged in response.

"They probably assumed you were with us or the thief. Can't imagine Imperials would show any mercy-"

"Shut up back there!" The imperial driver barked. The order was met with a scoff from the horse thief, who turned to the prisoner opposite him.

"What's wrong with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue!" The blond nord growled, his body tensing and his bound hands clenching into fists. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!" Enalin tensed at the revelation of the mans name, snapping her head to look at him in spite of her necks protests against the movement. The prisoner beside her was every bit a man of power and authority. Steely eyes gazed at each of them in a powerful and encompassing gaze, his powerful form radiating confidence and strength. His shoulders still wore the rather tattered remains of a once regal fur cape, and, strangely enough, a rag was tied around his mouth. Ulfric? The murderer of the high king? It couldn't be... The horse thief shared her surprise, voicing his shock immediately afterwards.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of WindHelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!" His uneducated mind mulled over the information for a moment, trying to decide what implications this might have on him. Horror crossed his dirt covered features as he finally realized what the others passengers already had. "But if they've captured you, then... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going..." the blond nord said, his voice heavy with bitter acceptance of the inevitable. "But Sovengarde awaits..." Enalin felt a chill of instinctive fear settle in her gut, not needing a thorough understanding of nordic religion to know what he meant. She didn't want to die! Not now, and not like this! A high elf deserved to die with dignity, not clad in rags and surrounded by Nordic savages! She needed to find someone, to explain what had happened. Surely all of her hard work couldn't end here!

"No! This isn't happening! This can't be happening!" The thief cried to no one, as no one bothered to care.

"Hey...What village are you from, horse thief?" The blond Nord asked suddenly, shattering the tense silence that had befallen their miserable little group.

"Why do you care?" The thief grumbled back, glaring daggers at the man. Elanin only listened, hoping for some comfort in the mans words.

"A nords last thoughts, should be of home." He reminded simply, likely repeating the phrase from a simple lesson learned during boyhood. The thief went silent before responding rather quietly, his voice tinged with bitter nostalgia.

"Rorikstead... I'm, I'm from Rorikstead..." The statement brought Elanin back to her own past, the fond and now long gone memories of her home in the Imperial city flooding back in a rush. She thought of the better days, when father was alive and her worries were few. To think it was not so long ago...

"General Tulius sir! The headsman is waiting!" The bark from the imperial officer snapped her back to the present.

"Good. Let's get this over with!" An authoritative voice called back, and she turned her head to see that they had arrived at a small village, and a gate built into an aging stone wall was opened for them. The wagon before them had just begun to enter as the thief began to moan once more.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh... Divines, please help me!" If the gods heard his plea, they certainly did not answer. Not even a breeze resisted them as they passed through the gate and into the village, a rather tiny one by the looks of it. All around them, villagers went about their daily business, likely enjoying the pleasant weather that accompanied their work.

It was not the kind of place Elanin had pictured herself dying. She had always imagined an elegant death of old age in a warm bed, surrounded by people and relatives of worth. To die here, clad in rags and surrounded by rabble, and to serve as nothing more than a show of sick entertainment... The very though made her grow physically ill. Her wide eyes looked all about, at the mountains that scraped the sky on all sides, to the villagers that gawked on every side, looking at her as if she was nothing but an animal.

"Look at him, General Tullius, the military governor! And looks like the Thalmor are with him." The nord across from her spat, his fair eyes following the ornately armored man on horseback who had since veered off from the main group. Elanin watched him as well, taking a gasp of surprise as she saw that he was speaking to a group of... elves. The Thalmor! Three of them, a hooded justicar on horseback, flanked by two guards in glittering elven armor, all perfect examples of the magnificence of their race. A part of her thought to call out to them, surely they would realize the folly in her being here? A high elf such as herself had no place among these nords, after all.

"Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this." The color drained from her face at the thought. The memory of the ambush was vague, but was it possible that her own kind had staged the attack? The irony was as terrifying as the implications. Would they think her guilty of associating with theses... vandals? So she was not only doomed to die amongst them, but as one of them? Her insides churned with terror and revulsion at the thought. Her inner turmoil was interrupted as the blond nord spoke once more, his voice heavy with nostalgia and sadness.

"This is Helgen, I used to be sweet on a girl from here... Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in..." He shook his head, fair blue eyes staring off into the depths of the pale sky. "It's funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"Who are they daddy? Where are they going?" She heard a little boy behind her ask.

"You need to go inside, little cub." A mans voice responded. The child made an effort to argue, but gave in with little fuss, and she heard the door shut behind her. They were rounding a kind of tower now, and she could see that the wagon before them had already stopped in an open area that likely made up the town square. She heard the imperial soldier stop the horse, and the sudden lack of motion made the thief start up once more.

"W-why are we stopping?" He stuttered, small eyes darting about like a cornered animal.

"Why do you think?" The blond nord responded bitterly but calmly. "End of the line." At a bark from one of the soldiers, the others in the cart stood with her, and she followed mechanically.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" The thief blubbered, trying desperately to gain the attention of one of the soldiers. He jumped down from the wagon, and Elanin followed, feeling suddenly detached from everything. She'd heard of the multiple stages that one went through before death, ending in acceptance, she had simply never expected to go through them herself.

"Face your death with some courage, thief." The blond nord chastised with little effort, suggesting he was now at the same emotional state as Elanin.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake-!"

"Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time." a broad shouldered Imperial Captain, the only female officer there, spoke with a heavy and desensitized tone. Elanin lifted her eyes, and could tell solely from the woman's body language that she had seen far more bloodshed than most.

"Empire loves their damned lists." The Nord beside her muttered, reawakening his emotions to voice his discontent.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of WindHelm." The nord beside the captain began, scribbling his quill over the parchment. Without a sound of complaint, the jarl stepped forward, walking unguided to his place beside the block. Elanin followed his movements, though his destination was obscured by the crowd at her left.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The nord beside her spoke proudly, bowing his head in reverence as the man passed.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

With equal calmness, the man beside her, who she now knew as Ralof, went to join his companions. He glared at each imperial as he passed, and Elanin swore some seemed to flinch under his gaze.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." Unlike his predecessors, the horse thief Lokir began to fidget, taking several quick steps up to the two imperials. The officer put a hand on the hilt of her sword.

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" He made a split second decision, and began to run, taking an awkward, stumbling gate thanks to his bonded hands. He moved with considerable speed, however, in spite of it, driven by fear and the instinct to survive.

"Halt!" The captain barked after him, though it had no effect.

"You're not gonna kill me!" The man taunted back, beginning to round the corner. With a signal and a command from the officer, the two soldiers who had been standing to the side drew their bows, letting fly two arrows. With expert precision, the shots thunked deep into the thief's back. With a strangled gasp, Lokir fell forward, lying motionless in the dirt where he fell in a growing pool of blood.

The sight woke Elanin from her haze, and all she could do was stare at the body. Never in her short life had she witnessed such violence, and it rocked her to her core. She could feel the animalistic urge to survive well within her as the officer turned back to them all.

"Anyone else feel like running?" She taunted, and Elanin swallowed to clear the lump from her throat. Stone cold silence greeted her, and the officer beside her returned to his task. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he looked directly at Elanin for the first time.

"Wait, you there. Step forward." Slightly taken aback, it took a moment for her to comply, taking a few shaky steps toward the armed officers. Her golden eyes warily took in both their swords, and the captain gripped the hilt if hers tightly when she caught get eye. She felt both of their eyes boring into her, and was reminded of the habit of nobles to size each other up upon meetings. Those encounters never ended in blood, though, not usually, at least. "Who are you?"

"Elanin Tiani, I'm-"

"You're not with the Thalmor Embassy, are you high elf? No, that can't be right..." He cut her off, scribbling some more information onto his parchment. The total brush off left her at a loss. Nobles were not used to being ignored, and a flush of indignation filled her, even in the face of death.

"I am a noble of house Tiani in the Imperial City." She asserted, golden eyes glittering with rage. "You have made a mistake-"

"And I'm the illegitimate daughter of the Emporer." The Captain scoffed, settling a firm hand around her swords hilt. "Keep that tongue still if you want to prolong what little of your life is left, elf." Elanin bit her lip to stifle a response, glaring at the woman with a feeling of hatred more intense than she had ever felt before.

"Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list." The other officer continued, and the captain snorted, crossing her arms across her shining steel chest plate.

"Forget the list, she goes to the block."

"By your orders, Captain." He turned back to her, half genuine sympathy in his eyes. "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to the Summerset Isle." A part of Elanin wanted to say that she had never even been to Summerset Isle, but her common sense won out, and she remained silent. "Join the others, Prisoner." Doing as she was told, Elanin turned to the group, only taking half a step before the Imperial Captains boot in her lower back forced her forward. Gritting her teeth, Elanin took her spot, standing tall in spite of the humiliation. She took sudden note that all gathered seemed to be Stormcloak soldiers, and a ring of imperial guards and citizens watched on all sides.

"Ulfric Stormcloak." A man in ornate imperial armor spoke up, likely the General Tullius that Ralof had spoken of before. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a powe like the voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." The jarl growled from behind his covering, but could not put forth any more complex of an argument. Tullius's tone became sharp and accusing, and a few of the townspeople let out murmurs of agreement. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

As if nature herself approved, an unnatural wind blew through the town, carrying with it an unearthly echo. All present turned their heads upward, suggesting to Elanin that such a thing was not commonplace in Skyrim.

"What was that?" The imperial soldier who had been reading off names spoke up first, though the general was quick to reply, moving over beside the priest that stood off to the side.

"It's nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" The Captain responded, turning to the priest with a nod. "Give then their last rites." The woman nodded, then lifted her hands to the sky, speaking with a voice that was both clear and beautiful.

"As we commend your souls to Atherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with!" A soldier spoke up, marching to the blood stained block without fear. The priestess widened her eyes in surprise, but with a nod if consent from the captain, she relented.

"As you wish." The Stormcloak soldier, a nord at the ending days of his prime, sneered at the headsmen.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning!" Not to be outdone, the Captain forced the man to his knees before the block, driving her boot into his spine to force his neck onto the stained stone. Though Elanin could not see his face, she knew he was staring his killer in the eyes. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials..."

The executioner raised the exe.

"Can you say the same?"

With a sick, wet crack, the executioner connected his axe, and the mans severed head fell neatly into the basket below as blood gushed from the stump of his neck. With a snort of contempt and a kick from her boot, the Captain pushed the lifeless body aside, steam rising from the still warm blood as it pooled on the dirt. Elanin's jaw dropped in shock, her tan face going white with terror as her heart sprang into her throat. She had seen two men die in over the course of mere minutes, and her delicate upbringing had certainly not prepared her for the grim sight. Beside her, the other prisoners appeared less disturbed and more enraged at the sight.

"You Imperial bastards!" One woman snarled, and she was quickly retorted by a chorus of cheers from the villagers.

"Justice!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

"As fearless in death, as he was in life..." Ralof said amidst the cheers, his head bowed in silent grieving.

"Next, the high elf!" the Captain barked, pointing a finger at Elanin. Her blood froze, but before she could move, the same echoing noise from before blared out around them, this time far louder than the last. All present turned their heads in every direction, trying to ascertain the source of the mysterious noise.

"There it is again, did you hear that?" One of the imperials remarked, but the Captain quickly silenced him from commenting further.

"I said, next prisoner..."

"To the block prisoner, nice and easy..." Her feet moved without protest to the command, and she could feel the haze of submission muting out her will to live. With hollow eyes, she looked each one of the soldiers in the eyes as she came to them, silently accusing each for her untimely death. She took in the sight of the body beside the block as she reached it, lying still in a pool of it's own blood. She had but a moment to look the executioner in the eyes, and was terrified at what she saw. He had the eyes of a man who was so desensitized to death he no longer cared about life, like a walking corpse. She suddenly felt the Captain force her to kneel, and the hardness of her boot shoving her head onto the still bloodied block. In spite of it all, she cringed with revulsion as the blood, still warm with life, matted her golden hair and stained her neck, it's irony scent filling her nostrils.

Tilting her neck the slightest bit, she stared at the executioner, watching as he lifted the axe, brought it behind his head to gather momentum. A sudden charge of fear pulsed through her, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, not wanting to see the blow.

But it never came.

A loud, unearthly roar cut into the morning air, and she opened her eyes to see a dragon emerge from behind the side of the mountain that bordered the town.

"What in Oblivion is that?" She heard the General cry, and Elanin felt a sense of utter terror engulf the village.

"It's in the clouds!" One soldier cried, and she struggled to see from her limited vantage point as the creature momentarily left her field of view. It reentered with a literal boom, several tons of scaly muscle touching down on the tower that reared up above her. The shock wave shook the executioner to the ground, and his bloody axe clattered against the dirt.

"Dragon!" Someone behind her cried, and Elanin lifted her head off the block to stare in terror. With ruby eyes, the black scaled Titan looked the crowd over, it's bat like wings hanging down the sides of the tower. After a moment, the creature seemed to decide on it's plan of action, and opened it's tooth filled maw.

The stories and legends that Elanin had studied told that dragons breathed fire and ice, but what happened next was a thousand times more devastating. No fire or ice erupted from the creatures throat, but instead a bone rattling shout, so powerful as to knock any still standing off their feet. The clouds above immediately began to churn and boil, swirling together with an unnatural red glow, almost like fire. It then began to thunder, and chunks of flaming stone fell from the sky above, some the size of small boulders.

"Don't just stand there! Kill that thing!" Tullius ordered, and the scraping of unsheathing swords was heard all around. No sooner had he issued the order than the dragon shouted again, a crushing wall of force that threw back everyone in it's path and sent Elanin rolling backwards, her bound hands preventing her from stopping herself. Resting face down in the dirt, she heard the unending symphony of booms as the stones crashed into the earth, some colliding with houses to crunch through the once solid timbers. Though she couldn't see, she felt the rush of air as the beast took wing, letting out another ungodly roar as it rose.

"Guards! Get the townspeople-" General Tullius's command was drowned our by the chaos, and Elanin could no longer tell what was going on. The roar of noise around her made it impossible to think, let alone to move. A part of her told her to lie still, that playing dead was the only way to escape such a beast...

"Hey, high elf! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" A strong pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders, and she was forced to her feet. She found herself facing Ralof, the soldier from before, though now his arms were free and he possessed an Imperial blade, as well as a fresh stain of blood across his armor. Instinct took over, and no words were needed as he began to run with Elanin following just behind. "This way!" He shouted, pointing to the tower on the far side of the square. His guidance was hardly necessary, and both ducked into the keep as a flaming stone the size of a child crashed to earth just behind them.

Panting, Elanin placed her hands on her knees as Ralof slammed the door behind them, muting the noise just the slightest. Two other Stormcloak soldiers lay bleeding on the stone floor. One of them, a young woman, was literally trying to hold her guts in through a gash on her midsection, blood gurgling from her throat. Gagging, Elanin turned away from the sight, seeing that Ralof had now begun to speak to another man... The Jarl! Ulfric had managed to secure a blade of his own, and was now free of his binds as well as his mouth gag.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked, his voice slightly rough from so much exertion. With a voice as cool and hard as steel, the Jarl redponded.

"Legends don't burn down villages." A thundering roar shook the tower, and streams of dusted drifted down from the stones overhead. With a frown, Ulfric observed the trembling masonry, then he spoke with undeniable urgency. "We need to move, now!"

"Up through the tower!" Ralof decided, making his way to the stone stairs that encircled the towers inner walls. "Let's go! This way friend, move!" Needing no further convincing, Elanin made her way up the stairs, taking the lead by going up in two or three at a time with her long legs. They immediately came to the second "floor" of the tower, where a Stormcloak soldier was working furiously to clear fallen rubble from the next stairway.

"We just need to move some of this rubble!" She heard him cry as they reached the top, going just high enough to see him struggling with a boulder half his size. Before she or Ralof could make a move to aid the man, the wall to their right was bashed in, chunks of stone flying as the tower shook with enough force to nearly knock Elanin back down the stairs. The man who had been clearing rubble was thrown back to the center of the circular floor, his leg caught underneath a massive hunk of masonry. Dust and small pebbles fell from the curling above, some of which clattered on the nose of the dragon that had forced a part of it's great head into it's self created gap. It's ruby eyes came to rest solely on the trapped man, who screamed in terror as the beast opened it wicked maw.

Yol...Toor...Shul!

The alien words ripped from the creatures throat with a blast of flame, engulfing the trapped man and filling the small room with a heat so intense that Elanin and Ralof were forced to retreat a short way down the stairs. As soon as the flames dissipated, there was a rumble as the creature took flight, loud cracks ringing out as it flapped it's tremendous wings.

Ralof took the lead up, and was the first to take in the sight. The man had been reduced to nothing more than a blacked corpse that still sizzled from the heat, with a few tendrils of flame licking at what little purchase remained. They both quickly turned away, and Elanin felt bile rising in her throat at the scent of burnt flesh that suddenly filled her nostrils.

"See the inn on the other side?" Ralof said suddenly, putting a hand on get shoulder to turn her. Looking out the dragons self made window, she did indeed see the inn just below their vantage point, though a considerable chunk of it's roof had caved in, and fire was slowly spreading across the dry timbers. "Jump through the roof, and keep going!" Her eyes went wide, and she faced the man with a look of incredulousness.

"Have you gone mad? I'll never make it!" Bristling with impatience, Ralof took her bound hands, slicing with expert skill through the ropes.

"Relax, never saw an elf that couldn't make a jump this height, now go!" With that, he gave her a mild shove, and she half fell, half jumped out of the opening. She cleared the space after a moment of free fall, hitting the wooden floor with a clumsy roll, using her now free hands to keep herself steady. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she suffered nothing worse than the pain of the initial landing. Gaining her footing uneasily, she coughed as she lifted her head into the gathering smoke, eyes watering as she quickly made her way across the floor. Broken and smoldering furniture lay strewn about the small second floor, but it took no time for her to see the only way down was through yet another hole on the far side of the inn. Jumping down, this time with greater ease thanks to the reduced height, she ran into the open.

"Haming, you need to get over here! Now!" She was confronted by the imperial officer that had been reading the list, struggling to coax a crying boy away from a dying man that was likely his father. The discussion had likely been going on for some time, as the boy relented at a few whispers from his father, letting go of the blood soaked man and running to the officer. The soldier guided the boy behind a house, where Elanin saw another man, this one rather old, was already waiting. "That a boy, you're doing great."

An earth shattering boom followed as the dragon touched down, crushing what little life remained in the dying man by impaling him on it's talons. The little boy let out a wail, burying his face into the older mans chest as he sobbed in grief. Elanin watched it all in numb shock, frozen until she heard the imperial cry out a warning.

"Gods, everyone get back!" With almost no time to react, Elanin crossed what little distance remained between herself and the other group, taking shelter behind a partly collapsed home as the dragon let forth another blast of fire. The flames licked around the corners of the wood, but the shelter held strong, and the creature eventually took wing once more.

"Still alive prisoner?" The soldier asked, keeping his eyes trained on the sky above. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." He turned back to the old man, who still held the trembling child close. "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar." The man blessed, and Elanin wasted no time following the man she now knew as Hadvar. They quickly passed the mangled corpse of the boys father, a gaping hole was through his midsection from where the dragons talon had impaled him. Sightless eyes stared accusingly at the sky, and a great shadow momentarily eclipsed the sun. The dust beneath them began to swirl from the draft of the dragons wings as it dove close, and Elanin felt the wind from each wingbeat as it drew closer.

"Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar shouted, grabbing her and bringing her close to the wooden wall at their left. Her head jarred painfully against the stone, and she opened her eyes to see a man standing atop a short staircase before them, his bow drawn. The wall shook as the dragon landed, perching, quite literally, just above her head. Jaw dropping, she could only watch as it roasted the bow wielding man alive, transforming him into nothing more than a shriveled, blacked corpse. Oddly, the sight that had repulsed her before did nothing now.

"Quickly, follow me!" Hadvar shouted, recovering quickly with experience. Numbed with shock, she did as she was told, stumbling through the shattered remains of a home and emerging out onto the open street, where the few surviving men were waging a losing battle. One man lay on the dirt in a pool of his own blood, another tried hopelessly to stem the glow from a gash on his chest.

"The bleeding won't stop, the wounds too deep!" Age heard the man cry in desperation as they approached.

"Tell my family I fought bravely..." The dying man whispered, though none but Elanin seemed to hear as the battle waged on.

"Soldiers! Retreat into the keep! We're leaving" Tullius ordered, and the few men within earshot beat a hasty retreat to the main tower.

"It's you and me prisoner, stay close!" Hadvar shouted, taking the lead as the dragon swooped down once more, incinerating a line of guards. Charred and bloodied bodies lined their path, but Elanin kept her eyes forward, desensitized by her own need to survive. Passing through a stone archway, they all but ran into Ralof, who was now wielding an iron war axe and sporting several new blood stains. "Ralof!" Hadvar barked, screeching to a halt with Elanin at his side. "You damned traitor! Out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time." Ralof replied calmly, though he hefted his axe to show he was not afraid to test it.

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovengarde!"

With that, the two men each went a different way, both of them calling out for her to follow them.

Perhaps it was chance, perhaps it was fate, perhaps she just went for the one who seemed closest, but that split second decision determined the rest of her life.

Panting with exertion, she followed Ralof into the keep.