Bastrii's eyes flicked open in the early morning dawn, finding herself covered with a spare blanket from her saddlebag. She looked around the alcove, confused; Where was Midna? Braehoof?

Sitting up, the fire had turned to coarse embers in the pit. The cook pot was to the side, the lid covering whatever contents it may hold. Everything else was packed up and put away, the cart repaired.

Bastrii placed her arms on the blankets, readying herself to stand. Her hand caught on wood, confusing her as she picked it up. It was her bow; broken into two pieces. The string was wrapped around it, the Elf sighing.

Making it to her feet, she checked herself over. No present injuries, clear breathing – she felt cured, though very drained. Like she had climbed the mountain three times over, and had only just took her first rest. A soft tinkling of glass on stone caught her ear, the Elf stooping over to pick up the vial her foot tapped.

A small, blue potion. The same one she received from Therrjo, at the Stormcloak Camp near Falkreath. She gave it a little shake, happy to find it mostly full. Besides a sip or two, of course.

"This journey is driving me to drink." Bastrii mumbled, tipping the bottle back. She grimaced at the taste, the shocking sensation perking her up. With time, her body could recover from channeling her healing spells. But for now, this would have to do.

Shuffling over to the pot, the Elf plucked the lid. Cold soup rested at the bottom, enough left for a single bowl. She covered it up and returned it to the coals, bewildered. Midna couldn't cook, could she?

A small log joined the ashes, as she packed up the blankets and bedroll. Best not to linger more than her welcome. She stirred the concoction in the pot, her nose twitching. It didn't smell… right.

Soon, she was holding the bowl of – what might have been – soup, looking around the misshapen lumps of vegetables inside. It didn't smell foul, but it reeked of burnt fond. Cautiously, she took a spoon to her mouth.

If the salt didn't make her gag, the nearly jello like consistency and burnt, crunchy, chewy taste did. She immediately let her mouth fall open, letting the contents of it fall into the bowl with a plop.

She pulled out a carrot with her spoon. Did… did she even have carrots in her supplies?

Instead of gorging on what would probably kill her, she returned to the feed bag and was absolutely delighted to find no bite marks in the loaf of bread from before. She cut a few slices, retrieved some cheese, and made a rather depressing sandwich of it before cleaning her pot out.

"By Y'ffre's oldest branches, how can there be so much burnt to the bottom?" She questioned, having spent the last several minutes scraping it out with a smooth rock. Her job complete, she returned her wares. Just in time, too – the sound of hooves caught her ears, the sun eclipsing the horizon.

Braehoof slipped into the alcove, the wailing blizzard outside quiet for a change. Instead, small flakes of white gently showered the path outside, her smaller companion resting on the Elk's barrel.

"Good morning, Dragonbird! How was the nap?" She said, giving a yawn. Braehoof stepped over to her, gently rubbing his nose against her neck. Bastrii couldn't help but smile – he was so much more affectionate now. His eyes absolutely brimmed with intelligence, their bond nearly granting him all of her wisdom.

He spoke clearly, and with no stuttering. "The dawn is crisp and the winds have settled. We've scouted the path ahead, as well. It's smoother, but the steps grow ever taller. And we are closer than ever before! I can feel it in my hooves."

Nearly every time Braehoof's mind grew, it always seemed to dumbfound her. At first, he could only communicate in emotion, and through direct contact. Eventually, it evolved and he could speak to her mind directly. Then he evolved again, and he could speak a few scant words vocally, then sentences. And now? It's like he found a dictionary, read it, then suggested a revision to the author.

Needless to say, Bastrii was fond of this change. She pressed her forehead to his own, resting a hand on his neck. He leaned in, embracing it.

"Alright you two, moment is over. Break it up, break it up – we need to move." She flew up into the air a few inches, before faltering and slumping back over Braehoof's torso. Midna clicked her tongue, settling herself back onto the Elk's shoulders.

"Are you okay, Midna?" Bastrii asked. She wasn't overly concerned about the Imp – but it was necessary to ask. She did save her life, after all.

"I'm fine. Just a few aches and pains from yesterday." She took her helmet off, holding the stone to her chest. "Will you put this away for me? It's a bit heavier than I remember."

Midna passed the Fused Shadow to Bastrii, who stuffed it away into the safety of the saddlebags. The Elf looked her companion over, frowning. Her usual complexion had faltered over this journey. Once fair faced, her eyes had heavy bags beneath them. She looked tired. Her hair, usually maintained in a ponytail bound by a small metal chain, slid free of the binding and feel loosely over her cheeks.

Her crafted leather clothes had burns across the entirety of it, stains of blood and dirt clashing against the black marks. Before she could continue her inspection, the Imp drew her hood over her head and tightened the cord, glaring at her from behind the veil.

"Stop staring and let's keep moving." She said, though without malice. Braehoof threw a careful eye to the Twili on his back, before turning back to face Bastrii. His voice rang clearly in her mind.

"She's pushing herself too hard," He said, "but she refused to rest this morning. She fretted over you all night, you know."

Bastrii turned back to her work, Midna moving out of the way as Bastrii placed the saddle on his back. "Why? Was she waiting for me to wake up to heal her again? I couldn't finish the job last night."

"No. She wanted to make sure you were alright. I couldn't convince her to sleep. I woke up, and she was still staring – so I asked her to join me in my patrol." Braehoof tightened the strap of the saddle with his teeth, the large travel bags joining his flanks on either side.

Bastrii didn't respond, only work on attaching the cart to his companion's back.

"Midna, thank you for making breakfast. It means a lot." The Elf said, tying the wooden arms of the cart to the saddle.

"It's not like I wanted to. You slept all night! What else was I going to do?" She barked defensively, her eyes glaring at Bastrii from beneath her hood. Bastrii was taken aback by the sudden aggression, her ears perking at her words.

"I was just thanking you, Midna." She said, trying to calm her down. But she didn't respond, only glare though the ring of her hood.

Eventually, they were on the road once more – Bastrii leading her Elk companion onwards as the Imp slumped tiredly on his back. She didn't speak, only remained in her stony silence.

"What's wrong with her?" Bastrii asked Braehoof through their connection, the snow trickling across their forms.

"She wouldn't tell me much this morning. But… I think she's afraid."

"What makes you say that? She looks more pissed off than anything. Then again, she's always like this, so I don't see the big deal." The Elf kept her eyes ahead, waiting for his response.

"I don't understand it too well, but… maybe it's best to just leave things be." He thought with her, climbing another flight of steps. "Anymore stress and I think she's going to snap and hurt herself."

"You're right. It's not been very easy." They cleared another monument in no time – the wind picking up over the distant steps.

"'Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their voice too was strong; Although their sacrifices were many-fold.' Alduin. You know, I wouldn't be in this mess at all if Alduin hadn't made the mistake of destroying Helgen."

"Where would you be, then?" Midna asked quietly, her head sagging from exhaustion.

"Dead. Alduin is a very powerful, towering dragon – he crash landed on a tower in Helgen, knocking the executioner over and giving me just enough time to escape with the Stormcloaks. Because he razed that town, I survived."

Bastrii took a look over the distant landscape, the trio hanging at least three miles above the world below. The air felt a bit thin, but breathable. Wood Elves aren't afraid of heights – but her half Nordic blood had a bit of trepidation when peering over a cliff like this. A few steps to the left, and you would plummet to the scraggy rocks below.

Regardless of this knowledge, the beauty of the landscape beyond shined. From this very spot, you can just barely make out the sight of the great city of Windhelm resting on the far, far coast. Its mighty walls a tiny fragment of the bigger picture. The trees were far and many; the cooler climate of the northern hold limiting the life to firs and wintry shrubbery. Lakes and rivers dotted the land in gentle glimmers.

At a glance, the world seemed so very peaceful. The war, the dragons – they were but a distraction to this sight.

Braehoof gave Bastrii's shoulder a gentle nuzzle, flicking his head towards Midna. She was fast asleep. Bastrii sighed, reaching into the saddlebag and withdrawing the still warm blanket from before. She draped it over the Imp, making extra sure to tuck her in and keep her safe.

"We're going to make it there, tonight. It will be late, but we'll make it past sunset."

They trekked upwards and onwards, many more miles left to scale as another cloud settled on the peaks. The storm slowly returned, and the world grew dim around them. Regardless, they pushed on – eager to end their journey.

"Bastrii?" Braehoof spoke, keeping quiet even as the wind wrapped around them. The Elf's ear perked – a habit she picked up from her Elk companion.

"Yes?" She asked, as Braehoof searched for the words.

He wanted to tell her how he felt. It was a bittersweet feeling; by now, he knew rejection was imminent. But if there's one piece of Bastrii he absorbed, it was determination. He knew it was going to hurt him, he knew she would just say no.

The sentences strung together in his mind, but while he was determined to speak it, his skittish instinct made him swallow his tongue.

"I uh… nothing. Just wanted to know how you're feeling. All better?"

Bastrii smiled, scratching behind his ears. "Of course! I don't recall what really happened, though. It all seems to have come together in a blur… I remember healing you, then passing out. Beyond that, nothing."

"The troll crushed crushed your ribs, breaking them several times over. If our connection hadn't become so… deep, I wouldn't have been able to tell you were injured. You just looked peaceful, when you were unconscious. When we lifted your armor, I… it made me worry." He nuzzled her again. He really did like the short touches. They were comforting.

"But I feel fine. Well, not completely fine – but that's beyond the point."

"We used the healing potion Therrjo gave you, from Arrowflash Pass. I told Midna where to find it. I've been seeing your more recent memories in my head, lately – it started just the other day. Otherwise, you would have perished and… I don't want to be alone again. Do you remember your promise?" The Elk hung his head on her shoulder.

Bastrii idly stroked the bridge of his nose, nodding. "I remember hearing your voice last night. Like something out of a dream. I promised not to leave you… right?"

He nodded. "I hope you keep that promise. I can't see your knowledge on our connection, but I know that you dying would hurt me immensely. In more ways than one."

The Elf gave a determined smile. "I don't plan on it. Besides, I've got more than one promise to keep – I don't plan on leaving this world unattended. I still have to bring Midna home, and I have to vanquish the Thalmor and Imperials. The chaos they've caused has gone on long enough."

Her hand dropped from his muzzle, picking up the pace again. Midna snored quietly on his back, as they continued upwards in the gentle snow and harsh breeze.

"'With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst Dragons withdrew from the world.'" Bastrii red the sixth Emblem aloud, the hours trickling by. "Two more, and the Temple should be beyond the end."

"I hope they have a stable… Or, if they don't mind sharing, a bed. I would love to try one; I've seen them in your memories. Some look rather comfy, minus the occasional Cervine pelt haunting them."

Bastrii felt unsettled, realizing that a lot of the leather in this world came from his species. "How does that make you feel?"

"Worried for my distant kin, and a bit cautious. But otherwise, I can tolerate it. I've seen much worse in the wilds. I watched Wolves pick my mother apart before my very eyes, when I was nothing more than a calf. I couldn't do anything but watch as she brayed and whined for me to flee."

He hung his head low, sighing. "I've been thinking. When I saw two-legs running in the wilds, exploring caves and killing animals… the few who live on the roads, do they not have a home? Are they lost, too?"

"What do you mean?" Bastrii asked, a rather steep step nearly making her slip on the ice.

"Well, like you. Your parents both perished, and you don't have a home… do all who wander… are they lost?"

"Most adventurers don't leave home unless if there's no home to leave. Nirn is a dangerous place; it's safer with a roof over your head. The few who do scavenge and hunt are often trying to establish themselves in the wild, or have little left to lose. Most people turn to banditry when all is lost; they kill and rob to sustain themselves not out of hatred for others. But for hatred for the life they have left.

"My mother used to say that people aren't innately evil; even the most wicked have a heart that they share with those they love. When they have no one to love, then all that's left is to love themselves. To be selfish. When there's nothing worth fighting for, you're left to fight for yourself."

She withdrew her own small water skin, taking a sip. "When you fight for yourself, you often put yourself against everyone to do it. I guess that's why I'm giving up a bit of my time, money, and supplies to return Midna home. It gives me someone else to focus on, other than me, and stops me from becoming depressed.

Braehoof thought on it for a while, nodding. "You're very wise, but I wouldn't expect less from a thirty five year old women."

"And how old are you, Braehoof?"

He blushed beneath his coat, hiding his head beneath his antlers. "Well, I mean… for an Elk, I'm a full grown adult."

"And how old do Elks live to be, without magic?"

He shuffled his cloven hooves, sighing. "Well, fifteen winters, usually."

"So you're probably around the age of four or five, right?"

"…Yes. I haven't been on this world very long. But it doesn't mean I'm not mature. I'm five years old."

Bastrii giggled quietly to herself. "For a five year old, you're pretty wise yourself. Though I think that has to do with our connection."

"I'm not even going to lie. I was very, very stupid not more than three days ago. I mean, I couldn't write a book, but I'm starting to read your language as well. It's odd, hearing one's own voice in their head. It's… exhilarating. And these new words make communication so much easier." He emphasized the complex speech, happy to speak clearly and freely. "I would love to find a way to… scribe a novel."

"Okay, you're pushing it now. That's a bit on the nose, don't you think? The Wild joining man and writing a book about it. That's pushing the limits of sanity, if you ask me." She laughed, the Elk bugling quietly in defeat.

"It would be an exceptional, extravagant, influential, conversationally riotous, culture changing novel, if you ask me." He grinned, using nearly all of his dictionary in a single sentence. Something about speaking so fluently really lit the nerves in his body.

"When were you born, Braehoof?" She smiled mischievously, her hand catching on a stone railing, the steep ramp ahead a challenge for the cart. She hoped Midna wouldn't fall from the incline.

"I would never know the exact date, but I'm assuming my mother brought me the Sun in Second Seed, before the Midyear." He smiled. He even knew the calendar! He felt so enriched.

"Alright. I'll see about getting you a dictionary and thesaurus before then, for your Seedling Celebration." She smiled, referring to the Bosmer name for Birthday.

The conversation died out again – the seventh monument coming up as the day began to wane. Braehoof took the charge, reading the Emblem aloud.

"Ahem… 'The Tongues at Red Moun… Mountain' - right?" He looked to Bastrii for confirmation. She smiled and nodded, and the Elk continued.

"'The Tongues at Red Mountain went away… humbled; Jurgen'… Er… I think it says Wind. Oh! Windcaller! 'Jurgen Windcaller began his Seven Year medi… med… meditation; To understand how Strong Voices could fail.'"

He beamed up at the Elf, the Bosmer feeling the pride radiating off of him in waves.

"Well done!" She scratched behind his ears, the Elk braying softly in response. He stepped in closer, beaming.

Their pace continued; a steady walk up the tight slopes across the mountain. Nearly every step was pointed upwards by now, the white powder piling higher around the group. Midna's eyes fluttered open, the Imp sitting up on the saddle. She still looked worn out, but at least the bags under her eyes weren't as heavy as before.

Yawning, she slowly floated off of Braehoof's back, joining Bastrii's side once again.

"Sleep well?" Bastrii asked.

For once, Midna shook her head 'no', but didn't let on why. Her eyes seemed to take a peculiar interest in the ground today, the usual mirth missing.

Bastrii poked her for more information, but the Imp seemed content on being silent from her endeavors.

"Come on, Midna – you can speak with me." She said, climbing another slope.

"I don't want to talk about it."

The Elf sighed. Snappy and rude, now sad and demoralized? Which emotions will she swing through by dinner, she wondered. Maybe it was a Hyrule thing.

To her surprise, she continued. "I'm sorry."

"Hm?" Bastrii perked a brow, curious. What did she have to be sorry for?

"My attitude. Just… everything. I'm not helping by being distant and selfish. I'm trying not to be, but… it's a habit. One I forced on myself a long time ago. The way I treated everyone so far – I… I don't deserve the help I've been given."

She didn't look up, but went silent again. Bastrii gently placed her hand on her shoulder.

"I know the feeling of being torn away from home, Midna." She offered, her smile returning. "I've made a lot of mistakes, too, you forget. Ever since we've started this quest, you've probably been kicking yourself a lot, huh?"

The Imp nodded beneath her hood, sighing into the fluttering wind.

"I nearly killed myself by overdoing it a few times, too. When my father died and my home in Valenwood was lost, I struggled with grief and guilt. I pushed myself to journey up here, to Skyrim, alone. To at least honor my mother one more time before I passed. I honestly believed that I wouldn't make it another day afterwords, so I stopped taking care of myself."

They cleared another red flag, a cold reminder of the lives lost on one of the world's tallest mountains.

"I pushed myself so hard to make it through Cyrodil, just to reach the border of Skyrim. If I hadn't landed in the care of a healer in Bruma after a muddy rock slide, I would have perished on those hills. My body was so worn down, that I couldn't even stand for two weeks. I just never slept. I walked, and walked… if it weren't for the generosity of others, I wouldn't have made it here today.

"But I wasn't thankful. I felt like their time was wasted on me. I wasn't worth the effort or energy. I had nearly forgotten who I was and what I was doing – I was content with just letting all of my knowledge and skills fade as I sunk into those pillows and out of this world, night after night.

"It took me a while to realize that I'm the one in charge of my destiny. I write my own story, and by sitting there, I was going to let the Ink run dry. I had to get out of bed, and put myself back together – or I would become some poor beggar on the street. That gave me the strength to make it here, to Skyrim. I decided on my mother's grave that I would avenge my father, and fight the dominion at every turn. I was going to return to Valenwood, but you know what happened from there."

Midna nodded, bringing her eyes up.

"You're right, Bastrii. I… I can't just be content with my fate, and lean on you to do all of the heavy lifting. If I want to make it home, it's on my shoulders to make it." She swelled with determination, facing the bitter cold. "I'm the leader of my fate. I have to take care of myself, and stop pushing us myself so hard. If it means pacing myself, then so be it!"

Braehoof joined as well, smiling. "I knew Bastrii would cheer you up. This is a journey, not a race – focus on staying alive, not the destination. One trail at a time."

With renewed vigor, the group forged on ahead. The daunting cliffs leered ever steeper, the wind picking up into a howl on their backs. The sun began to set, as the eighth Monument approached.

"'Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The Seventeen disputants could not shout Him down; Jurgen the Calm built his home on the Throat of the World.'" Bastrii read, pressing up the path. "We're close. The temple… we're almost there."

Excitement began to bud in her veins, her pace doubling what was once a steady walk, into a definite jog. Four miles into the air, the night sky reigning in.

Rounding another short cliff face, it finally stood before them. The dark stone monastery gleamed in the growing moonlight, the Nordic arches and strong stone walls a daunting imposure on the mountain side. It hung high into the breaking wind, towering over the group. A few braziers littered the path onwards, lit with glowing embers that spiraled into the sky and up across the distant stars.

The cobble path stretched upwards to the steps, each holding the weight of past visitors on the stone. An ornamental chest sat between the two flights, surrounded by dozens of frozen flowers and small offerings. Two heavy set doors sat locked on either side, the cliff to the left showing the distant town of Whiterun, miles below. Like a speck in the wind.

Midna looked onwards, her voice catching in her throat. It was an impressive hall, built miles above the rest of the world. Something inside seemed to draw her, as if fate itself was begging for her exploration.

The trio made their way to the impressive gate. Braehoof was the first to speak.

"From your memories Bastrii, didn't the old man ask that you leave the offerings in that large chest?"

The Elf snapped out of her stupor, her mind tearing to the heavy set wood. She nodded, turning to the cart and quickly adding the heavy bags to the container. She looked around for a stable, saddened to see that no such one exists.

"Looks like you'll have to follow us inside." Bastrii said, stroking Braehoof's neck. He nodded, Midna joining the Elf's left.

"What can I do to help?" She said, motioning to the cart. The Bosmer smiled.

"Help me take off the cart and saddlebags. I don't think we need to worry about anything being stolen up here."

The duo quickly worked on dislodging the equipment from Braehoof, leaving him in his soft leather pelts. He mewed softly, happy to be free of his burdens. Giving a little bounce, he nibbled on a chilly flower on the way up the stairs with the two.

Bastrii raised her fist, ready to slam it into the entrance. Before it could land, the door cracked open. An old man stood before them, his long gray beard hanging low across his chest as his wise eyes looked her over. His robes billowed in the wind, taking in the women.

He spotted Midna, and his eyes shrank. But he quickly blinked it away, coughing before speaking.

"So… a dragonborn appears, in this moment, at the turning of the age." He said, in his rugged, elder voice. Bastrii nodded, and he invited the group inside.

Braehoof approached the door, and the Elder raised his hand. "We do not allow wild animals into the Monastery."

"I am a wild animal no longer." Braehoof said flatly. Bastrii was expecting the Graybeard to jump, to say something, to be… shocked, but he merely nodded.

"You have accepted the Soul of Man, then?" He said, eyes blank.

"Yes."

"Then you are welcome, in the presence of the Dragonborn."

He opened the door wide, Braehoof nodding as he joined Bastrii and Midna. He had to tilt his head to let his large antlers slip past, but he was happy to be out of the cold. The three stood quiet, the Graybeard stepping forward to the stairs.

"How did you know I was Dragonborn?" Bastrii asked, confused.

"We heard the Voice carry up the mountain. But, none-the-less, a demonstration is in order. Let us hear the Voice once more."

Bastrii nodded, breathing in. The dragon blood boiled within her, and she spoke – "Fus!"

A shock wave of power rippled across the Graybeard, but he stood strong. Only the faintest hint of weakness showed, his poise unbroken.

"Very well. I am Master Arngeir, I speak for the Greybeards. We are honored to welcome the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will teach you how to use your gift, and follow your destiny."

"My destiny?" Bastrii asked. Was there more to it than that, than slaying a few dragons and saving the world?

"That is for you to discover. We can show you the way, but not the destination. You have shown that you are Dragonborn, you have the inborn gift. But, do you have the temperament and discipline to follow the path laid out before you? That remains to be seen."

He led the way up the steps, beckoning them with a hand. Midna wanted to speak, to ask questions – but something told her that now would be a poor moment.

"Without training, you have already taken the first steps in projecting your voice into a Thu'um, a shout. Now let us see if you are willing, and able, to learn."

Several more Greybeards stepped from the wings of the Monastery, joining Arngeir as they journeyed deeper into the chilly stone halls. They entered a cavernous lobby; a large square standing center in the temple, several paths leading out into the deeper wings and resting chambers of the Graybeards. Ancient Nordic arches and twisted stone contorted into architecture from ages past, a dozen clay pots cluttering the room. They held varying supplies, from lumber to tenders, herbs for braziers and ordinary linens.

The group gathered into a circle, Arngeir directing Bastrii to step to the front. Braehoof and Midna waited in the distance, watching curiously.

"When you shout, you speak in the language of the dragons. Thus, your dragon blood gives you the inborn ability to learn words of power. All shouts are made up of three words of power. As you master each word, your shout will become progressively stronger."

He nodded to another wise man, who stepped forward.

"Master Einharth will now teach you Ro, the second word in unrelenting force. Ro means 'balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus – force – to focus your Thu'um more sharply."

Einharth raised his hand to the ground, closing his eyes. He spoke in a hoarse whisper, as if trying to contain his power. To hone it into a burning essence, which formed embers in the ground before Bastrii.

The Elf stepped forward, inspecting the word. It burned brightly in the stone, her eyes adjusting to the glare as it seared into her mind. She breathed in a gasp, the draconic text vanishing in an instant. She felt the text etch into her very being, the word 'Ro' written into her soul.

Ro. Balance.

She nodded to Arngeir, who continued.

"You can learn the power of the word through practice and meditation. That is, how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb the soul and knowledge from slain dragons immediately. As part of your initiation, master Einharth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro'."

The same gray cloaked man bowed his head, his fingers lacing beneath his long robe as the power flitted freely from his being. The flying strands of light soaked into her core, searing her head with its power. It reminded her much too clearly of when she absorbed her first dragon soul, back in Whiterun.

Arngeir waited for her to catch her breath, his eyes piercing into her.

"Let us see how you have learned this new word. If you will, Dragonborn."

She looked up to the Elder, breathing in deep.

"Fus… Ro!" She shouted in her Thu'um, her throat grinding as the voice amplified immensely. The shock wave honed in to a close ring of light blue energy, slamming into the prepared Graybeard. He stumbled backwards several inches, but maintained his footing with a grunt.

"Impressive," he said through the strain. "Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn. You have journeyed far to reach here – the hours of twilight have long since past." His eyes flicked to Midna, the Imp's heart stopping in her chest.

"We shall continue your training at the break of first light. For now, we must speak in your chambers for the evening. The three of you may follow me."

The Graybeards slowly filed out of the room, as Arngeir led the way up the steps less traveled to their right. Midna darted to Bastrii's side, sticking close as the trio followed closely.

For a few quiet moments, only the sound of Braehoof's hooves echoed down the long hallway. He looked around curiously; he had never been in a Two-Leg dwelling before. The stone walls seemed so clean and orderly, refined – much more stoic than the free forms of nature.

They entered a distant chamber on the far corner, a room of four beds waiting for them. He closed the door shut behind the group, turning to Midna.

"So your people have returned, then, or am I out of touch?" Arngeir asked, his eyes honing in on the Imp. Midna blinked.

"Returned?"

"I may have stepped ahead of myself. You are a Twili, is that correct?"

Midna lowered her hood, sighing. "Yes. I'm looking to return home. I've been cast off by an evil sorcerer in another realm. I joined Bastrii to find my way."

He gave an exasperated sigh, the tension in his body easing.

"Am I right to guess that you are unaware of your people's history, here in Nirn?"

Midna stared at the old man, who ventured onwards. "Very well. A short history lesson, then, before I continue."

He lowered his hood, exposing his salt and pepper hair. He seemed more sagely, as he pressed his hands into the sleeves of his robe.

"Your people, the Twili as they are now called, hail from another realm referred to as Hyrule. In the times of Old, there was a portal to the distant world of Hyrule, forged by the Aedra under the Pact of the Three Goddesses. This was to exchange knowledge between worlds, bringing with it the founding of the Destruction Tree of Magic from the Hylians.

"The Hylians had formed a strong Alliance with the Chimer – a race of Elves of pure, almost golden skin that followed the prophet Veloth seeking religious freedom. This changed, with the Battle of Red Mountain."

He looked over Midna's ashen gray skin, her fierce red eyes meeting his.

"The Daedra Azura, the Goddess of Dusk and Dawn, cursed the Chimer and the Hylians who brought this deadly magic to the land of Nirn. She turned the fair, golden skin into an Ashen gray, and their eyes a piercing red. This formed the race of Dunmer, as you know today. And… for you, that formed the Twili. Cursed Hylians who returned to Hyrule. From that, the story is unclear – as Azura banished the Sacred Mirror to the plains of Oblivion, stained in the blood of the fallen.

"Of course, not many know of the true history of the Hylians. Few hardly speculate that such a race existed, as others had claimed the titles of scholars for the Arcane. Though I must ask – why do you take on the form of an Imp?"

Midna was too dumbfounded to speak at the moment. She didn't even know of this history. Yet here it all stood, splayed out before her.

"I was cursed by a Usurper to the Throne. He made me into this… creature. Now he's exiled me here, as if on a whim. Like I'm some kind of… toy."

Arngeir frowned. "It does not bode well that such powerful sorcerers lay across the plains of Oblivion, and are able to exile another to a long distant world with such ease."

He turned to the door, thinking. "Very well. We will commune in the morning. For now, rest is in order."

He slipped past the stone frame, the wood clinking shut. And the trio were left to their own devices once again.

By the Nine, writing this chapter was impossible. My laptop lacks a battery - because of this, when it gets unplugged, I lose a lot of progress. My cat accidentally unplugged it, which led to my libre office becoming corrupted. I had to update from 5.3 to 6.2, so I had to restart - twice. It really took a lot out of me to get this to work, considering how I now work six days a week as well.

I also lost a lot of progress on the bible for this, as THAT was corrupt too. So not only did I lose all of my writing, I lost all of my author notes as well. Which is impossible to keep a hold of nowadays.

I'm sorry for yet again writing Midna to be a little rude. I just don't have an amazing reason to why she would change immediately. It will come with time.

Other things to note that the lore here is mostly accurate - the Chimer were once fair skinned elves. They were the core developers of the destruction tree. When they lost the favor of Azura, she cursed the entire race to be dark, gray skinned and red eyed shells of their former radiance. Azura is literally the Daedra Goddess of Twilight, or the actual description - Dusk, and Dawn. This all aligns too perfectly.

Expect a bit of a delay on the next chapter. It's been... grating, lately.