A light snow fell from the dark sky, blanketing the buildings and the ground. A few people wandered through the streets, while others managed their stalls in preparation for customers. Among the people navigating the large city were two Khajiit, one a young boy and the other a proud warrior. The warrior walked close to the boy, as though they wished to protect him from the evils of the city.
The two of them walked in silence for a few moments. Suddenly, the boy tripped over something and fell to the ground. He got up slowly, glancing sadly at his now bleeding hands, which he had tried to use to break his fall. He turned, wondering why the warrior was not fussing over him like she usually would.
She was gone.
The boy looked left and right, hoping to find her. She was nowhere to be found...but neither was anybody else. He began to run through the streets, hoping to find someone, anyone, but they had all vanished.
Right as he was about to give up, he saw a man standing in a nearby alley, watching him. He was wearing a hooded cloak, but the small part of his face that was visible was as white as the snow that was still falling. The boy walked away; something about the man didn't seem right to him.
He turned down another alley, only to see the pale man from before standing at the end of it. The boy turned and ran as the snow began to fall harder than before. He went down a different alley, but he was at the end of that one as well. The young Khajiit spun around and fled once more. By this time, the snow was falling so fast and so hard that it was impossible to see where he was going. Still, he kept running. All he knew was that he had to get away.
He stopped to catch his breath after a while, confident that he had lost whoever it was. When he looked up, however, the man was standing over him. He knelt down, removed his hood and grinned, pointed teeth bared. His ominous red eyes were the last thing the Khajiit saw before the world became black...
Desharo's eyes flew open. He had expected to feel cold stone beneath him, to see the grey sky of Windhelm. Instead, he was lying on a soft bed, with a wooden roof above him. He sat up and realized he was in someone's house; a fire crackled peacefully to his left, while a few bookshelves and cupboards stood to the right along with a single chair. On that chair was an Argonian boy, looking at Desharo worriedly. His scales were a very light green, and the horns on his head were shorter than most Argonian's. He seemed to be about the same age as the Khajiit and had a very scrawny build.
"You're awake. Good. How are you feeling?" he asked kindly, albeit nervously. The shock of waking up in a house had made Desharo forget about what happened. Oddly, he felt no pain from where he had been slashed with the dagger. He tried to get out of the bed, but the pain, although lessened slightly, returned immediately, forcing him to lie down again.
"Fine. Not that it's any of your concern," Desharo growled.
If the Argonian was offended by the remark, he didn't show it. "I healed most of your injuries, but I ran out of magicka to heal the rest. I can finish now, if you'd like," he offered as though he didn't hear the other boy. Desharo rolled his eyes.
"Great, an Argonian mage who feels the need to jump into other people's lives. Everything I love rolled into one person. Look, I do not need your help. Thank you for healing me, but I do not have time to stay here." He tried to get up once more. The boy muttered something and looked away as Desharo was forced to resume his previous position, cursing under his breath. Just then, the door opened. Much to his displeasure, another Argonian entered the room, this one a man who was perhaps in his late thirties. Judging by the look on his face, he seemed just as unhappy to see Desharo as the Khajiit was to see him.
"Who the hell are you?" he barked.
"Who the hell are you?" the Khajiit snarled back.
"I'm Varzen-Ja. This is my house. You let him in, didn't you?" he asked, glancing at the other Argonian. "Why?"
"I...I found him in an a-alley yesterday," he stuttered, still refusing to look at either of them. "H-he was really badly injured...I couldn't just leave him..."
The man crossed his arms. "Well? Is he healed?" he asked impatiently.
"S-sort of...I need a little more time-"
"I don't care. If he can make it out the door and die in the street instead of my house, he's fine. Get him out of here."
The boy was about to respond when a Nordic man burst into the room. He looked frantic and was breathing heavily, as though he had been running for a long time.
"What's wrong? Did something happen?" the Argonian asked, his tone much softer with him than it had been with Desharo.
He took a while to respond. Once he got some of his breath back, he managed to say, "T-there...is...something attacking...the city...we...we think it's...a dragon..."
"What?" the Varzen-Ja exclaimed.
"Yes...It...just came out...of nowhere. We...need help." Varzen-Ja grabbed a nearby sword and ran out the door with the other man. He came back after a few seconds and said, "Get the Khajiit out of here right now, but make sure he doesn't get in the way." He then sprinted out once more, sword in hand.
"I'll heal you first. You aren't in any condition to leave yet," the younger Argonian muttered, placing his hands over Desharo's stomach and closing his eyes. A golden light emanated from his palms, spreading and twisting itself around the boy. A few moments later, the glow faded. He stood up and braced himself for any lingering pain. Much to his relief, he felt nothing.
"H-hey! Where are you going?" he stammered, standing as well.
"Nowhere with you, I know that much," he retorted. Desharo began to walk out the door, but stopped before leaving. "If you must know, I'm going to look for a friend. No, you can't come with me. You'd probably just get in my way."
The Argonian grabbed something off of a shelf and held it out. "...here. I found this near you. I wasn't sure if it was important, so I fixed it just to be safe." The dagger that had been broken by the vampire was now in one piece again. He took the weapon and left the house without thanking him.
Desharo had trouble believing that a dragon was attacking Windhelm. Besides the fact that everyone knew they were all wiped out a long time ago, he figured a dragon would be smart enough to not attack a city full of guards and angry Nords. The second he got outside, however, there was no doubt that the man was right; violent flames were dancing everywhere, heating up the frozen city and melting all the snow. A large, winged creature was soaring in the sky. A few Nords were shooting arrows at it while others ran away, screaming hysterically.
Not so tough now, are you Nords? Anyway, I have to find Do'zefen before that thing ends up killing her, he thought desperately. He sprinted to the alley where they had been attacked, but the warrior was nowhere to be found.
Dammit. Alright...maybe she woke up. Wait, that's even worse! That means she's probably walking around injured with a dragon nearby!
"Kid! What are you doing? Get out of here!" one of the Nords holding a bow shouted at him as he ran past. He stopped and asked the Nord if she had seen a female Khajiit anywhere, ignoring his comment.
"What? I don't know! Uh...yeah, I think I saw one around the Palace of the Kings," she said quickly, returning her attention to the dragon. "Leave her, cat! It's too dangerous here! You-"
Desharo ran off before she could finish her sentence. Upon arriving in front of the palace, he only saw a throng of people desperate to get out of the city, but they were all Nords and Elves with the occasional Argonian. No Khajiit.
"Do'zefen!" he shouted frantically.
"Desharo!" a gruff voice called back. The warrior pushed through the crowd in front of him, resisting the fleeing citizens attempting to knock her in every direction. Her head was caked in dried blood and she moved with a limp, but if she felt any pain, she ignored it. Do'zefen smiled and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, which was her equivalent of a warm hug.
"It is good to see you again," she said.
"And you as well. Are you okay?" he asked. "What happened to you?"
"I'm more concerned about you, but we don't have time to talk. In case the screaming and fire did not give you a hint, there is a dragon attacking Windhelm. We must leave immediately."
Desharo nodded and the two took off, using any alternate path they could find to avoid the crowd. Despite her injuries and the limp she had a moment ago, Do'zefen moved as quickly as ever and, if it were not for the blood, one would not even know she was still hurt.
The gates of the city were in sight when they heard a loud and fearsome roar. A gigantic winged reptile landed in front of them, blocking their way out. It was bigger than any creature either of them had ever seen, and, strangely, also more beautiful; its green scales shined stunningly from the sunlight and the intense flames, as though each one was a striking gem. The most unnerving thing about it was its eyes, black slits that lay horizontal in front of a light green. Unnatural, yet still somehow breathtaking. They could have stared at the beast for ages.
A man screaming brought the two back to their senses.
The beast opened its mouth and out of it came a torrent of fire, whirling towards the crowd. Do'zefen pulled the boy out of the way; the flames flew past them and struck a few unlucky Nords who were not able to move quickly enough. Their screams of agony were far worse than the ones of fear that were heard until then. The awful noise seemed to block every other sound out until the shrieks faded away. He couldn't help looking back. The only thing left of them was a smoldering pile of ash.
"Desharo, do not look at them!" Do'zefen exclaimed, moving between him and the dragon and pulling out her sword. "Just run! I will take care of the dragon. Go!"
He shook his head and pulled out his dagger. "I will fight with you. These Nords are not likely going to give much assistance, so someone has to."
"No," she said simply before pushing him to the ground. With that, she charged toward the beast and began slashing at it. Although she hit it several times, the strikes didn't seem to do anything except annoy it. She dodged a bite, attempting to stab the dragon in its eye. The dragon used its wing to knock her away and started to walk towards Desharo. He sprang to his feet, ready to kill this beautiful monstrosity. The young Khajiit readied his weapon as it roared and reared its head. Before it got the chance to attack, Do'zefen ran in front of him. The dragon and the warrior both lunged forward. Her sword lodged itself into the roof of the beast's mouth, but she did not get away unharmed; one of its massive teeth had sunk into her chest.
"Do'zefen!" he shouted, running forward. She let go of her weapon and sank to the ground.
Desharo held her up, trying to think of something he could do. She smiled weakly. "...a dragon...killed by a caravan mercenary...this is one for the story books..." she laughed. It quickly turned into her coughing up blood.
"Do not speak..." he said softly, holding back tears. "You need to save your strength..."
"Listen to me, Desharo..." she whispered. "Do not grieve...I have done my job. I was..." she violently coughed up more blood and continued. "I was hired to...protect you and Ja'grano. That is what I have done..."
"I do not care what you were hired to do!" he cried. "You can't die...! Please! You're my friend! I do not want you to die!"
She chuckled. "Friend. Most people...would find me too irritable to be their friend...but you and Ja'grano...were different. Thank you...Desharo. My only regret is that I am leaving you two without...protection...and we both know you are hopeless...on your own."
He chuckled lightly. "Yes...we are. That is why we need you, Do'zefen. Ja'grano will probably get himself into trouble, and Alkosh knows I cannot help him. So, please...do not die..."
The once strong and proud warrior sighed. "...Tell him...I am sorry. Goodbye, Desharo...and...thank you."
"What? No! No, you can't die! Do'zefen! Do'zefen!" he called out her name as though doing so would heal her. She smiled one last time, closed her eyes and became still.
A loud crackling sound made the boy look up. His vision was blurred, but it looked as though the dragon was burning. He wiped the tears away to see that the creature was encased in a white fire. From the fire, a strange energy rushed out and flew towards Desharo. He closed his eyes, but felt nothing other than an odd surge of power, as though he could sprint a thousand miles, lift a thousand pounds...do anything he wanted, and more. He stood up and looked at the creature again. By this time, only the skeleton remained, and the energy was gone. The screams had stopped and were replaced by a dead silence. The cluster of Windhelm citizens stared at the boy.
"...what...what was that...?" Desharo asked nobody in particular. There was no answer. Then, from somewhere within the crowd, a woman with a beautiful voice sang out, "Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart. I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes. With a voice wielding power, of the ancient Nord art. Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes."
