Author's Note: And this chapter was supposed to be posted earlier, but I don't know why I even postponed the update.

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Chapter 9: Carac Agaialor

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When Josephus felt the cold breeze blowing against his forehead once more, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was one of the best feeling he had ever since he was in this damned Paradise.

"Well done, Champion. Your progress is swift and sure. Perhaps you will reach me after all," Camoran's voice boomed out once more, only this time, Josephus felt he was close. He opened an eye took one look at his new-found friend, Eldamil, and as if the elf read his mind, he nodded. Of course I'll reach you, Camoran. I am, after all, the Hero of Destiny, as you said. "You think I mock you? Not at all. In your coming, I hear the footsteps of fate."

"Truly?" Josephus muttered under his breath, opening both eyes. The darkness of the evening did not completely envelope the landscape. In spite of that, Eldamil murmured something and a bright orb of light floated above their heads. With a viable source of light, Josephus began taking short strides following the white stones that shaped a path uphill. "I don't think I hear fate when I walk, do you Eldamil?"

Eldamil only smiled and shook his head. "While Mankar Camoran despises Tamriel as it is now—well, the last time I saw it," he paused and his smile faltered, "he seems to view you a hero for your homeland. He sees you equal to his skills. He will count the seconds until you arrive in his palace, just through here."

Just after Eldamil finished his small speech, Mankar Camoran continued on with passion fit to be envied. "You are the last defender of decadent Tamriel, I am the midwife of Mythic Dawn; Tamriel Reborn. I welcome you, if you truly are the agent of fate."

"It shows," he said, touching the hilt of his sword with two fingers, "But will he be victorious, or us?"

There was no sound except for the whistling of the wind. Even their footsteps did not reach Josephus' ears when Eldamil finally frowned. "It will not be us; it will be you."

"I don't understand," Josephus shrugged, "It would be us; we will defeat Camoran—"

"But it is not me who will claim the victory, Hero of Old Tamriel," Eldamil said stubbornly, and he put up his red hood to protect his face from the cold wind, even though Josephus knew it was to hide the elf's expression, "I will not be alive if Lord Camoran isn't."

Josephus sighed audibly, "If there is any possible way you could return to Tamriel, please, tell me."

Eldamil snorted, but did not reply. Josephus turned his head to look ahead, the light above his head dimming with every second. Only when it was getting evidently darker did Eldamil chanted the spell again, but did not say anything else.

The magnificence of Paradise was not hidden behind the gloom of night. There were glowing flowers that seemed to emanate from a small shrub, and there were white marble columns that circled around a statue of a terrifying figure. Josephus glanced at it and looked intently at it before turning to Eldamil, "Is that Mehrunes Dagon?"

"I believe so," the elf said, putting aside their last disagreement, "yet I have not the honour to see him in person. I hope I never will, if that is truly what he looks like."

A shiver ran down Josephus spine as he tried to imagine the figure walking across Cyrodiil, crushing tall watchtowers that surrounded the Imperial City, but his brooding—if it could be called that—was interrupted when footsteps not belonging to either him or Eldamil sounded from somewhere to the east. Josephus needed only look at Eldamil once, and the elf stopped. He followed suit.

"If I am correct," the Altmer said, barely above a whisper, "We are standing outside the gates of Carac Agaialor."

"Then you still have your senses," a woman called out from inside the gate. Josephus turned to look at the female Altmer standing behind the silver bars. Eldamil's light went out and it was dark for a second before the woman lit a few torches, some even out of her reach. "Are you here to betray my father once more," her brown eyes travelled from Eldamil's expressionless face to Josephus', who began to recognise her, "or are you here to bring in the Hero of Tamriel my father speak so fondly of?"

Eldamil's eyes twitched and crossed his arms, "We've only come to your father, no one else."

"You do not even have a sliver of worth to see him," the Altmer hissed, snapping her head at Josephus' companion, before turning to himself. When her eyes bore deep into his, there was recognition. And as Josephus remembered, Ruma Camoran sensed that. She chuckled, "You did not expect to see me again, did you? You have no grasp of the power that my father has at his command."

Eldamil put his arms back to his sides, anger evident in his tone, "The power that your father commands will not protect him."

"Did I speak to you? Forgive me if you were mistaken, though one should expect that since your decision of Lord Camoran's gift was definitely unintelligent," Ruma drawled, never taking her eyes off Josephus. She sneered, "Do you truly think you could stop us?Soon Mehrunes Dagon will walk upon Tamriel for the first time since the Mythic Age, and our victory will be complete."

"I am afraid that your dreams will not be granted," Josephus answered, but Ruma only rolled her eyes but stepped back and took out a key.

"Then your own foolishness will be your undoing." She opened the gate and turned around, and Josephus considered stabbing her back, but even before the thought was fully formed, Ruma only snapped back at him, "Don't even think about that. Your business is with my father alone, or was your jabber about something else?"

He scowled as deeply as he could when she turned her head back to the steps in front of her, and she lit a few more torches to truly illuminate the small palace of Mankar Camoran. Carac Agaialor was decorated with vine and ivy alike, a few leaves strewn about the stone of the entrance. It was surrounded with a small garden that showcased only few of the many floras found in Paradise, or at least the ones that Josephus found on his way.

Standing on top of the stairs, however, was also a familiar face. "Dear sister, I do hope I am not seeing things. The Hero of Kvatch is here, with the lieutenant of our attack who fell in the same city he was supposed to destroy? The irony of it all."

"What you see before you is real, Raven. However if you were careful enough when you wanted to initiate him, otherwise you would have gotten rid of him sooner," she said with irritation, stopping beside him. Ruma turned to face the two men standing on the base of the steps, and Josephus saw how hatred could make their face so similar.

Raven scoffed and took a step down the stairs and stopped just above Josephus, so that the Imperial would have to look up to see the Altmer's face.

"So here you are at last. The lackey of the Septim pretender. You still think you have a chance, don't you?" he tilted his head to look mockingly at him, "Well, I clearly did not expect you to make it this far, and to befriend our once most trusted member." He clicked his tongue as he turned to Eldamil, "Well, brother, if you fail to defeat my father with this excuse of a hero, then perhaps I could persuade father to lower your position to... a mere prisoner."

His cackle was what made Josephus' blood boil, and in that agonizingly slow moment, Raven turned around. His side was vulnerable. It was now or never.

Now.

Josephus pulled out his sword in the instant, and before he could even form a sensible thought of why Raven must be eliminated—since he would just go back to life not an hour after his death—his sword point met with his back. The feel was indescribable, to pierce through an immortal's soul. When Raven's body fell, Josephus got a clear view of Ruma, standing in shock, and momentary grief filled her face before she narrowed her eyes and glared at Josephus.

"What a complete waste of time. You could have saved that act of vengeance for my father."

Everything was a flash of fire and lightning, and steel against magic, destruction and restoration both. He did not know who cast the first offense; was it Eldamil's bolt of lightning once more, or Ruma's fireball? They narrowly dodged a telekinetic wave that brought a few pebbles and debris astray, though its force was enough to stagger Josephus that he nearly lost his footing. Eldamil quickly shielded themselves with a small ward, strong enough to hold a few of Ruma's telekinetic force before she was truly in front of them, and they had nothing to protect themselves with.

"My father would be most proud of me when I kill you," Ruma exclaimed, her hands fully engulfed with flames before throwing them in Josephus' general direction. While he missed, a bit of fire licked at his boots, which he quickly stomped off. Eldamil's spells were blocked by Ruma, who was supporting a telekinetic shield of her own. "Sadly, however," Ruma shouted from the other side of her shield, its buzzing drowning her voice, "Lord Camoran would like that honour for himself."

"What a selfish twat, then," Josephus was swinging his sword in his hand, trying to regain the energy to move his feet; he did not remember anybody casting a paralysis spell. "If he would like to kill me, perhaps he should have done so now."

Ruma's shield died out and everything went back to fighting. Ruma's fury seemed to power her spells, for even now Eldamil was drained of his magicka, and Josephus was sweating like a pig in spite of the breeze of the evening. They cannot win.

"We could have settled this the nice way," Ruma said, driving out the two men with bolts of lightning aimed at their feet. I suppose she was serious when she did not want to kill us. He was about to yield when a shock traveled through his nerves and he felt his body shaking. "But I am considering the option of killing you now, saving my father the trouble. Oh, his wrath is worth it if that would mean I could kill you."

And that very second another bolt of electricity hit him, and his heart felt like it was trying to rip out of his chest. There was no other option other than the one his mind was shouting at him—or was that his thief instinct, long buried in the depth of him?

Josephus shared a small look with Eldamil before running through the gate. With no idea where to run, and no source of light in the darkest moment just before dawn, he only tried to escape to save his own hide. He did not even turn back to see if his friend made it out alive. He ground his teeth as he remembered that day in the inn, where his friends left him selfishly, left him when he needed support the most.

Flames did not remind him of Bruma and the battle that took place in the valley of always winter, but he saw destruction. Martin continued to stare at the flames and felt the heat dancing inside of him, a part of his soul feeling confident in his friend who was in Paradise. His friend who would reunite with him once more. His soul called for the Amulet of Kings.

It was a few hours following noon, and after his brief meeting with Jauffre just this morning, Martin had left his robes signifying his duties back in his room, to wear when Josephus returned with the Amulet of Kings. Martin rested his forehead on his palm, his arms supported on his knees as the fire went out of his view, but he still felt that indescribable warmth inside him.

The chatter in the Great Hall continued in flat, dead voices. Martin's most trusted Blades sensed their Emperor's gloom—for lack of a better word—and refrained from speaking loudly. One who chose not to speak at all was Jauffre, sitting right beside Martin.

The elder was not truly summoned or invited to join him, but Jauffre had already grabbed a chair and sat alongside his Emperor. Martin did not protest of this and let the Grandmaster be. He is not bothering me, he reasoned, and it is wrong to decline his company after the gift he has given me.

"Should anything fail," Martin started, with no purpose of conversation in mind, "will all of this be for nothing? Will Mehrunes Dagon truly win against Tamriel?"

Martin did not even need to turn his head around to find Jauffre frowning in disdain. "Josephus is a skilled fighter, Your Majesty. He will return to us with the amulet."

He continued to cradle his head, wishing for the damned wait to be over and for Josephus to suddenly return, exclaiming, "I've done it! I defeated Mankar Camoran's arse once and for all," only because it seemed like the thing his friend would say. The thought would have made Martin smile, but even the small encouragement did nothing to him. His composure could be held for so long before he had to burst.

The soon to be Emperor only sighed, "I am afraid you did not truly hear what I said, my good man. Only if Josephus does not return with the amulet... it means certain doom for us all. And Dagon will not allow any survivors."

"For a moment, my lord, I ask you not to think such things," was Jauffre's counsel, and finally Martin dared a peek at the old Breton's face, "Only to focus on present matters. My Grandmaster used to tell me that. To worry about what-ifs, and ones that seem terrorizing, why, then we might as well lose our minds."

Martin finally let go of his face, exhaling heavily. "You are correct, of course, my friend. I shouldn't have said such things."

"It is all fine, Your Majesty," Jauffre, however, did not dismiss the topic, "Besides the matter of Josephus not returning, there is no reason for you to isolate yourself from the world."

"There is," Martin started slowly, "There are, actually. One is that I am a bastard son of Uriel Septim, the second is that Ocato has yet to reply on my letter, explaining my claim to the throne." This all made Martin realise how weary he was while it was not even dusk yet. "And there are still an abundance of problems that I must resolve when I become emperor."

Jauffre sighed, "You are not the only illegitimate emperor to claim the throne. There are many recorded by history, and some were well received by the people."

"I've found none of their names in the books I've read, so far," Martin said, exasperated. "An emperor so loved by his people would be important enough to note, wouldn't he?"

The old man sighed once more. Even Martin himself was tired of this. "Yes, there was Calaxes Septim, another bastard son of your father," he explained, "While his life was not glorious, nor was it well loved, yours could be. You could be a change in the empire."

Martin mustered a small smile before standing up, "I hope that task doesn't fall on me alone."

The only indicator that a day has passed since he had been in this Paradise was the fact that he was starving, and the sun was beginning to rise, if only a bit. Josephus was struggling to find his way back towards Carac Agaialor. The various plants that previously provided beauty were only obstacles for him that he must go through. If not, they were hiding places from the daedroth that wandered throughout the land.

His guilt had replaced every other emotion in his person; there was no fear of being caught, but guilt that if he was caught he would not be able to finish what he was originally supposed to do in this damned Paradise. He did not even feel his sickness that, in other circumstances, could feel like it was killing him slowly. There was only guilt.

I should not have left Eldamil to fend for himself. He took a deep breath as he pushed a branch out of his way. It was selfish of me. And I promised him that I would defeat Mankar Camoran, for him and for everybody here. Yet all he did was run, escape, avoiding his death. It was hypocritical of him, but now nothing can be done except to find Carac Agaialor and finish the deed of killing Camoran, ending this nightmare once and for all...

A twig caught his foot and he tripped. The effort of standing up was almost impossible to accomplish, so Josephus only stopped at sitting. His stomach grumbled, but he was dead set on finding any sign of the path he ran through when he left Eldamil. Josephus took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and finally tried to stand up. He left before his guilt would crash unto him and he would break down.

"Get up, human," the dremora growled. Niera felt that she count herself lucky that she was not immediately killed. "What do you think you were doing, entering an Oblivion gate empty handed?"

She did not speak for fear of choosing the wrong words to say, but the dremora was only angered by this, so she blurted, "I-I was lost in the forest and—"

"That is not the answer I seek," the creature drew his blade, but Niera was already running the opposite direction. She was going down, and through a dark hallway, when suddenly spears jolted from the walls. Niera would have been dead by now if she did not stop immediate, her face only inches from the point of the death trap. Her eyes wandered down and found a lock of silver blonde hair on the ground. The spears slowly went back into the walls, and it was invitation enough for her to continue running.

I have no weapon, I only have this leather armour as protection, and my supplies are gone. She stopped when she was at the end of the hallway, three black doors facing her. Niera stopped to catch her breath first, and looked back to see if the dremora was following her.

And he was. Wasting no time, Niera burst out of the door on her right and met with the interior of the spiraling tower she spied when she was outside of it. The stone was cold beneath her feet despite the heat outside. In the middle of the tower was a red beam whose source was a round stone at the very top of the tower. Hearing the door open behind her, she sprinted to a door on an upper level, and saw no connection of the stone ramp with another door on the higher level. Going down would mean going back inside that damn hallway.

She had barely caught her breath when she entered a corridor with skin—whether daedric creatures or human skin, she did not want to know—as walls and a strange flooring. Right in the middle of the small corridor was a fountain squirting out clean water. It looked clean, at least, and Niera neared it enough to open her glove and wash the hand which was hurt by the Harrada plant. The water stung for a while, but the cool flow of it seemed to wash off a bit of the pain, if that made any sense. All of this certainly doesn't.

Niera had no means of drying her hand, so she only put her glove back on. The water calmed her enough that she felt a tingling inside her, the magicka of her Breton blood ready for use. She took a deep breath and shrouded herself in a chameleon spell. The least that could happen was that she was discovered, should the spell suddenly wear off.

She traveled through the winding corridor in fear that somehow a daedra would emerge from nowhere and flay her, but when she found a small doorway leading towards the beam of light once more, there was relief and disappointment as well.

She had no idea how to get down without attracting the dremora's attention. If she were to the hallway, and all the way down, she didn't know if she had enough magicka for a long duration of chameleon. Dying was, of course, out of the picture.

Niera was certain that the beam was upholding the tower. She could feel some of its power ringing in her head. And judging by the strange architecture of inside the tower, it was impossible it could be supported by itself. Perhaps if she stopped the beam, somehow, she could return back to Cyrodiil without having to go through hell.

And hell was still an underestimation.

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I don't think this chapter's title was fitting for its content, but hey, Josephus technically reached Carac Agaialor. That's one of my finest logical moments there.

I am very sorry if you were expecting Josephus (bloody hell that name's getting harder to write by the second—maybe I'll choose to refer him as Joey in future Author's Notes) to kick some butt, namely Mankar Camoran's, but you didn't get that in this chapter. The timeline is starting to become what I'd call a hamster cage: you pay attention to only one—Joey's chapter, in this case—and almost forgot about another hamster, and it escapes and boom, things just go wrong.

I'm rambling. The text above is not a necessity to read, but here's the too long didn't read version: OH WOW I NEED TO WRITE A BALANCED STORY.