"Oh, this is all such a mess. Father, why did you do this? Did you lose your mind?"
Emily Jane, more commonly known as Mother Nature, daughter of Kozmotis Pitchiner, let out a loud sigh, looking at the sky. It was streaked red, as though the blood that stained the ground had splashed into the sky as well.
"Talking to yourself again, Emily?"
She barely restrained a jump reminiscent of the creatures that had, until recently, inhabited this area. Whipping around, she saw a short, plump man, his normally cheerful face grim. "This isn't your fault, you know," he sighed, resting a wrinkled hand on her shoulder.
"I feel like I could have prevented this somehow," bemoaned the Nightmare King's daughter.
Tsar gave her a pitying glance. "Emily Jane. No one, and I do mean no one, could have expected nor prevented this catastrophe."
Her mouth opened, as though to respond, but then her lips pressed closed in a tight seal, her eyes dropping to the ground. Lunar stayed silent, allowing her a moment of self-pity. She took a moment to compose herself, and straightened, walking towards the scene of the disaster.
Fwoooosh!
The pair whirled around, watching as a burst of flame appeared in the shape of a furled Dragon. The dragon unfurled, stretching out its wings. The flames extinguished themselves, revealing bright crimson scales. The reptile stared at them for a moment, speaking, folding its wings to its sides. "Greetings Emily Jane, Tsar Lunar. It is a pleasure to see you both once again, although I do wish it could have been under better circumstances." Its voice was a low rumble, seeming to shake the very ground upon which they stood.
"Akatosh! To what do we owe the... I'm not sure we can say pleasure at such a time, of this visit?" MiM questioned, brows furrowed. They didn't even know that Akatosh knew about Kozmotis outside of him being Emily's father, much less about the recent Pooka Massacre.
The Dragon sighed. "I could sense their distress from my realm, Tsar. We all could. The others of my Pantheon asked for me to look for the cause."
The moon-dweller shook his head. "Kozmotis Pitchiner went insane."
"Kozmotis? Lady Jane's father?"
A slight nod. "He has slaughtered several peoples, and just finished his destruction of the Pooka."
The crimson beast's eyes dulled, and he looked around, taking in the mauled and mangled rabbits. Before he could, speak, however, Emily called MiM's name.
"Emily?" He walked over and stood next to the crouching girl.
She ran her hand through the bloodied fur of an adolescent Pooka, gray in colour, with the Spring clan's flowering markings flowing through his fur. "This one still lives."
The elderly man crouched down as well, pressing his hand against its chest to feel a racing pulse, and further examination revealed the grass in front of his muzzle waving slightly. "He does."
"The last Pooka," her eyes hooded, and she threaded her fingers through the ruffled fur on his chest.
"Indeed." MiM pressed his hand to the Pooka's forehead, and his eyes widened. All the possible futures for it darted through his mind. "A Guardian, then."
"What?" she looked up at him, "you are certain?"
"He has not a future in which he does not become a Guardian."
Mother Nature nodded, and allowed her magic to flow through his veins, reinvigorating his slowing heart and enhancing his natural magic. "To Earth?" The man nodded, and she scooped up the small, adolescent hare. "Farewell, Akatosh." With a nod of acknowledgment, both Tsar Lunar and Emily Jane vanished from sight, taking the Spring Pooka with them.
Akatosh watched them vanish with a frown, before making his way to a thicket of thorny branches. A small lick of fire destroyed them, revealing the source of the thin, thready heartbeat he had been hearing since his arrival – a puny Winter kit. Smaller than most hares he had hunted in Cyrodiil, he could sense great magic coming off of her. Another lick of flame raced over her, although it did not burn her. Instead, it cauterized her wounds, sealing them and prompting her black-as-pitch fur to grow over the bald spots. The effect on her was immediate – he had never heard a heartbeat so strong, so vital. He looked her over, prodding her magic and feeling it push back twice as hard. "And you, kit, will be a Guardian of your own."
The dragon dipped his head, taking hold of the scruff of her neck, and lifted her up. His eyes flashed across the grim scene, and a blast of flame as hot as the sun rocketed off his scales, beginning to burn everything in a mockery of a funeral pyre. Another, smaller flare of flames, and the God and the Guardian were gone.