Reminder: two seasons equal a year.

I hate leaving home. I love what I do, but I'd love to go home every night. – Charlie Watts

… … … …

"Ki-Luna." I looked up at Vicente's voice, pausing the movements of the whetstone over the blade of my sword. In his hand he held an unfolded piece of yellowed parchment, an unreadable expression on his face. Tilting my head in curiosity, something I had picked up when I moved from Black Marsh to Cyrodiil, I carefully placed Ember Runner and the whetstone on the table on which I was perched comfortably. Wordlessly, the old vampire handed the letter to me, and I continued to stare at him for a moment longer before glancing downward.

Vicente Valtieri,

I am sure you have heard of the recent passing of the Speaker of Anvil. There has been a promotion from the same Sanctuary in order to fill this role. However, there is no one of high enough rank or of experience to fill the role of Silencer.

With this in mind, I request you send Executioner Ki-Luna to fulfill this role in Anvil. The Cheydinhal Sanctuary is ripe with those of considerable experience and rank, but I and the new Speaker find that she will be of most assistance. I will be awaiting confirmation from Anvil of her arrival.

As a form of signature, there was the Listener's seal. Looking up to my Mentor, there were no words that could form my disgust and horror. I settled for hissing and grunting in Jel with words that could not be translated without loss of meaning.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his thin but strong hand rested on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. "If there was anything I could do…" But I shook my head, trying to get everything straight in my mind, so I stalled.

"Why would the Listener write to you and not the Speaker?"

"Would you take the news so…well if it were coming from her? She rarely stops at the Sanctuary, and despite the keenness of her Silencer, everyone knows you would probably attack him. You are known by the Listener, and well enough it seems that he would contact me with your new orders rather than the Speaker."

"Vicente…" I knew my voice sounded broken, but I could not help it. My mate and children were in Black Marsh, my homeland, and Cheydinhal was my second home. To be forced to the complete other side of Cyrodiil, to a city and sanctuary I despised…there were hardly any words appropriate for the situation.

He said nothing, just standing there beside me as I tried to gather my emotions. It would probably be best to leave late tonight, if only to escape the sorrowful faces that would surely follow.

"I…I will write to Julos tonight. Might you send it along for me?"

"Of course. When do you plan to leave?" I knew he would see the cowardice in my actions, but I told him anyway. The disappointment was obvious, but so was his understanding.

"Make sure you at least say your goodbyes to Lucien." Ah, the boy. The goodbye to him would definitely be more painful than to Vicente. He was sometimes a younger brother (more than just the slight detachment of a Dark Brother), sometimes a son. I remembered finding him in the streets of the Imperial City, and have watched him grow from mere Murderer to Eliminator, even if the promotion happened just the other day.

Even for one as aware as I of my surroundings, I did not notice when my Mentor left my side, the training room now drowned in stifling, nearly overwhelming silent noise. Still, I did not leave. On the alchemy table next to where I sat was parchment, ink well, and a quill for notes. Not possessing the will nor the desire to leave quite yet, I moved to the table and sat down. Dipping the quill in the ink, I laid a parchment and smoothed it out, stalling once more. But as I wrote, the words began to flow as smoothly as the surface of the Niben.

Julos

I apologize for the nature of this letter and for you to receive it without my being able to tell you myself.

I have been informed of my immediate movement from one Sanctuary to another. I cannot tell you where for fear of your involvement, however small.

A recent drawing of mine has revealed something disturbing, for I know not what it means or whom it could be intended for. It shows a nondescript prison of sorts, but I recognize the tools of torture from my infiltration of Castle Leyawiin, but it does not seem to be of that horrid room. Do not worry yourself or the children, as we both know many of these drawings have not come true, or will. A village burning as a black shadow flies away? It is laughable.

If you or one of the children wishes to write me, go through the usual channels, and the letter will reach me. Again, I apologize, but in this, I have no control.

Sithis guide you where shadows fall. I wish the best for you and the children.

I expected no response. My contacts within Archon assured me of his and the children's continuing lives, and the Septims I sent insured their comfort. I longed to be by my mate's side, to watch our children grow and become productive members of society. But it was not meant to be. And now, I was only moving farther away.

Sighing, I folded the letter in the form of an envelope, rising after I scrawled my mate's name on the front. Picking it, the whetstone, and Ember Runner up, I left the training room, crossed the commons, and snuck through the sleeping quarters to my bed. The barracks were unusually empty, what with our…this Sanctuary hitting a busy period where the contracts were back-to-back. I unlocked my personal chest and quietly gathered my meager possessions. As I packed away my charcoal sticks and some parchment, some trinkets I had gained, I found an old drawing of mine from two seasons ago, around the same time Lucien had joined the Brotherhood.

It was around the time of the Mid Year celebration, something not found in Black Marsh. The boy was a Murderer, still learning his place in his new family, when he was caught up in the great glee and planning. Not quite used to the unique, strange, and crazy mannerisms of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, he retreated from the preparations for some alone time. However, when he fled into the woods for his own sanity, he found me, resting in a tree, munching on an apple.

"Ki-Luna?" he had questioned, motioning to me with his hand. My smile was more in my eyes, but as ignorant he was in the expressions of the Saxhleel, he could not understand that quite yet. Without speaking, I waved him to join me in the tree. When he finally found a branch that could support his weight, he was sitting on one just to my left and slightly higher than where I was.

"Needed space?" I asked, and he nodded with an exhausted sigh.

"I don't think I've ever seen a group of people so excited for Mid Year. And I grew up in the Imperial City!" I found it humorous, his exasperation, but I did not show it. I finished my apple, throwing it deeper into the forest, before pulling my drawing pad and charcoal from my bag that hung from a branch above me. As the black stick scraped against the parchment, I felt the curious eyes of the boy on me.

"What are you drawing?" he finally enquired.

"Whatever my hand and mind deem fit," I answered, lifting my lips in what was supposed to be a grin, but from his minute flinch, it seemed more feral than happy. I would be glad for the day he no longer thought my facial expressions were frightening. As I actually looked at the drawing, not staring through it as I normally do, I could see the beginnings of three faces, two of Argonian and one of a human, although the latter was obviously older. From the sketch, I could already tell who made up the portrait.

Shaking myself from the memory, I looked at the finished picture, seeing the younger face of Lucien and those of my children. Their smiles were bright and innocent, but retained the hardness that was borne of the Brotherhood. Of my children, their faces were as accurate as I could remember, having last visited them just after the boy entered under the mentorship of Vicente, and of Lucien, it was accurate to the day I finished it.

I carefully added it to my bag of belongings before double-checking to make sure I had everything, and I slipped out as softly as I had entered. The walk down to Vicente's office that doubled as his personal quarters seemed to stretch on. Knocking on the door just loud enough for him to hear, but not to let the noise echo down the stone hall, he called for me to enter.

I had no words, nor did he. I set the letter on his desk before walking around it. In an uncharacteristic show of affection, I wrapped my arms around him in a hug. Much like a father might, he squeezed tightly, as if he didn't want to let me go, but knew he had no choice. As we pulled back, he held my hand before dropping it. We smiled sadly at one another before I grabbed my bag from where I had dropped it in a chair. The door closed behind me with a finality I had only felt when I first left Archon.

I returned to the barracks, where I gently roused Lucien from his slumber. After ensuring no one else had awoken, I led him to the commons where he looked curiously at my tightly packed bag, at Ember Runner at my hip, and my traveling armor rather than my Shrouded Armor. As I met his chocolate colored eyes, I saw the realization spark in them.

"You're leaving?" Sweet Sithis, his voice was so broken and small, much like when I had first left my children to return to Cyrodiil.

"It is not my choice to make," was all I could say to this question. No accusation burned in his gaze, but there was some anger at the situation, and most definite grief.

"Will I see you again?"

"I plan to visit, but I make no promises." His nod was slow, and I hugged him much like I would my own children. We stood like that, embraced, for many minutes until I had to pull away. I rested a clawed hand on his cheek, the other on his shoulder, looking deep into the grief-stricken pools of brown. "You have been a brother and a child to me. May Sithis guide you where shadows fall." I did not look back as I grabbed my bag and swept up the well ladder.

I would not take my beloved Shadowmere with me, because for all I was going, she would have no time to rest in between contracts. I made sure to leave the bridle I rarely used in my trunk and let her take me to Anvil one last time before we parted ways.

… … …

I had been at the Anvil Sanctuary for nearly a season, but I still did not feel welcome. As Silencer to Arquen, the Speaker of this Sanctuary, I was busy and always moving. We both preferred to not be near one another, so a courier was often sent between us, delivering contracts and payment. I had many missives given to me, but they were contracts rather than the letters I had hoped for. No one, not even my mate, had written me, but it was not something I could, or would, worry about. However, when I saw the black envelope handed to me by the wiry courier, dread pooled in my stomach.

The Listener's seal disappeared at my touch, and my hands felt shaky despite their steadiness. Written on the parchment was a contract, denoted as a Black Hand mission by the color of the missive. The target: Adamus Phillida.

And so, I traveled to the Imperial City and did my own reconnaissance, despite the information printed on the missive I had burned after committing it to memory. Time drew short, for a Dark Brother or Sister was not meant to sit on information so long, no matter how dangerous the contract. We are assassins, not guards or soldiers. The night before I pledged to strike out, I penned letters to Vicente, Lucien, Julos, and my two children. Everything I wrote was personal on a deep, intimate level, but I knew not how it would be received.

… … …

"You were foolish to think you could kill me," the arrogant Imperial snarled from the other side of the room of where I lay, bound to a stretching rack. However, I could see in his eyes he was shaken. Almost being assassinated by your rivals would do that to even the steadiest of men. His armor was now fixed and polished, all evidence of burnt or dented armor gone, replaced with his normal, disgusting gleam.

My luck needed to hold, but in this event, it had failed me in the worst of times. I panted, but did not beg. I flinched and groaned, but did not speak a word. Their patience grew thin, but I was determined to take my secrets of my Family to my grave. So was the way of life for a Shadowscale.

I did not give into his taunting, but my held-back responses straining against their bits.

"Well, little assassin," and I finally relented, cursing his name and bloodline to Sithis' Void to the end of time in Jel, "it seems your time has come." He finally tore his blood-hungry gaze from me, somewhat calming as he interacted with civilized folk, as he had introduced them. What kind of civilized folk bound someone, beat them mercilessly, and then dumped their body? The Dark Brotherhood has tortured for information, and I have done so, myself, but there is a fine line between business and sick pleasure, and I'm afraid Phillida crossed that line many leagues back. "Finish the job and dump everything into Lake Rumare. The slaughterfish will take care of the rest."

I always had hoped I would meet a swift end, for it is the gentlest of deaths, but it would seem my wishes would not be obtained. One Imperial gathered my bloodied bag, sword, and armor, while two more unstrapped me, but bound me once I was off the table. Blood loss had slowed my reaction time, and I was in no condition to fight off well-armed, well-armored, perfectly hale guards.

The trip outside was dizzying in the speed, although I was gracious for the moonless night sky. I would leave Nirn, but I would join Sithis in the Void, where I would be free from such cruelty. I was taken to a small boat docked on the land, where two more guards stood at the ready. Unceremoniously, I was thrown into the boat, but I could not even groan, for my breath had been stolen from landing harshly on my back. The first two Imperials turned back to the prison while the others pushed off and hopped into the boat. I assumed they would take me somewhere so the dumping of my body would not be seen. On such a cold night, I doubted even the Nords would want to leave their warm homes.

They rowed for what seemed like hours, but time passed by as quickly as seconds, and the clouds that promised snow and cold took away my ability to tell how much time had passed. But the rowing had ceased, and hands grabbed my things, tossing them into the water. I was roughly gripped next, a single heave throwing me into the shockingly frigid water of the lake. They had to have known I could breath underwater, as all Argonians can, but as I sank, my blood mixed with the water. This is how they wanted me to die: by slaughterfish. It was an exceeding cruel way to kill someone, a way I knew would not be implemented by the Brotherhood. There are things we abide by, and although few things go against our, admittedly, lacking morals, this would be one of those.

Even in the murky water of Lake Rumare, I could see several of the golden-green scaled fish appear and begin to circle me as I drifted downstream. I had no strength left, nothing to even call upon in reserves. However, I felt no fear as the fish circled closer, drawn by the blood that still leaked from my body. I felt no peace, no anger…nothing. I was empty of all emotion. Is this what others feel when they know their demise is imminent, when there are no escape routes, no second chances? If it was, I was then glad for it.

The water had frozen my scales and my nerves, so when the first slaughterfish bite into me, I felt something I guess would be the equivalent of a bee sting, but I had no way of knowing for sure.

Death claimed me that night, in the dark and icy waters of the Upper Niben. It would be many, many seasons until my broken and incomplete skeleton would see a familiar, beloved horse run across the waters above me, escaping from a successful mission that I had failed to complete. It would be so many more before my skeleton disintegrated in the water and Ember Runner, a sword with so much history before me, would see the light of day. I would not see my children grow, I would not see the boy I called brother and son rise to great heights, and I would not grow old with my beloved mate. Somehow, I didn't regret any of it.

… … … …

A friend of mine said something powerful at his grandfather's funeral. He said that the greatest lesson from his grandfather's life was that he died empty, because he accomplished everything he wanted, with no regrets. I think that, along with leaving a legacy, would be the greatest sign of success. – Marvin Sapp

Well, I hadn't been thinking of making a second part to this, but it happened. I would like to thank Raven Studios for letting me borrow Sarielle from Forged in Darkness: A Dark Brotherhood Tale, and for looking this over for me. It's a really good story, as are the others. And, again, nothing but Ki-Luna is mine. Don't expect anything else to come of this, but maybe, someday, I'll write a longer tale about Ki-Luna, but I promise nothing, so don't get your hopes up.

Have a great day, everyone!