A/N - I just want to thank everyone who is reading and/or reviewing! I'm super happy that you are enjoying the story!


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XI. Shadows and Dark Promises

(Vokunne ahrk Vul Kaatte)

Miraak stirred from sleep, blinking slightly. The world was silent, its emptiness pressing upon his eardrums. The only light granted to him came from the colors illuminating the night sky, green and blue auras sliding amongst the stars. The air was chilled and the atmosphere still except for the distant howling of a wolf. All was serene, peaceful - almost too peaceful.

Miraak began to feel uneasy, the sense that something was amiss lingering in his mind. He rolled to his side, observing his small camp from underneath the overhang he rested in. He pushed a root jutting from the wall aside, wincing at the frozen rattle it caused. Unfortunately, the noise couldn't be helped. Ignoring the obvious sound he'd created, his eyes sought out any irregularities.

He found one.

His horse was absent, its tether no longer holding the animal to the small camp. The rope, attached to a tree, lay uselessly in the snow, obviously broken. Miraak tried to make sense of it, disbelieving his horse had broken its lead and vanished into the woods without so much as waking him, especially in the empty silence of that bitter night.

Such a sound would have been thunderous...

A sense of danger filled him, and he felt alarm. Readying himself, he released the noisy root that he'd pushed away. It was just as well the root would make such a racket; subtlety had never been his style. Seizing his mask, he pushed it to his face, feeling the enchantments enhance his magicka. Grabbing his staff, he shoved through the roots of the overhang, on his feet in moments.

There was a noise, a faint unmistakable brush upon wood. He froze, turning his head, listening and waiting. He heard no more, but he knew that something was there. He felt certain that it lingered nearby just out of his vision, but no matter where he scrutinized with his searching eyes, he found nothing. He approached the broken tether, tightening his grip upon the staff. When he reached it, he gave it his full attention.

The end was not the frayed edge of a ripped lead, as he had expected. Instead, it was the clean cut from the work of a dagger. He could see a set of footprints next to the hoofprints, leading away. He realized what had happened in an instant. A thief, maybe a bandit, had surely stolen his mount. This thief must have used cloth to soften the hooves' movements, if the prints were anything to go by.

Still, I did not waken! Ridiculous!

He was not looking forward to trekking back to his temple on foot. He still had a three-day ride before he reached his sanctum. Now, it looked to be a week of walking. He was enraged to imagine some peasant upon his mount riding through the land, smugly amused with their success no doubt. Worse still, to picture that a dragon priest might have taken the horse instead.

Whoever did this, they were a coward… Miraak thought as he straightened, rolling his shoulders to work the lingering chill out of them.

There was a faint sound like the one from before. Annoyance bubbled up inside of Miraak. What animal was messing about his camp? Why hadn't it left when he'd stirred? He stalked in the direction the noise had came from, impatient. It was probably a night bird or a rodent foraging in the woods, but he wasn't willing to leave it to chance. A glint caught his eye then, but he didn't know exactly where originated from. He looked up into the trees before dropping his searching eyes lower. Moving in to examine the undergrowth, he could pinpoint nothing.

A distant whinny reached his ears, ringing from deep in the woods. He snapped towards that direction and tensed. His horse was frightened, its vocals a desperate scream. Following the whinny through the night was a low snarl rising to a rich yowl, further, but definitely near the horse.

Miraak did not hesitate when he started for the sounds. His horse was close, if he hurried, he could save it from whatever animal was upon it. Fire would frighten away most land predators, and if not, it could kill them. It sounded like-

A heavy weight dropped upon his shoulders.

A flash of surprise raced through him, and he instinctively twisted in an attempt to escape. A fiery discomfort drove into his shoulder, and he snarled. His staff hit the snow. Pained, he struggled against something he was trying to comprehend, grabbing uselessly behind him. He could catch nothing.

"Die, Vax!" Hissed a vicious voice.

He understood an assailant was upon him somehow. What kind of coward struck from behind like a hiding serpent?

He felt pressure upon his throat, cutting off his air and filling his neck with an angry ache. His hands flew swiftly, grappling at a thick cord there. He jerked sideways, slamming his attacker into a tree. Both crashed into it awkwardly. Miraak trapped the attacker's arm against the icy bark, hearing a gasp of pained air.

Somewhere in the distance, a howling screech tore into the air.

My steed! Miraak felt instant annoyance with his foe holding him back.

He couldn't inhale. The pain was increasing. His attacker writhed, trying to free his arm. Even if he had the assailant pinned, he was still being strangled. The pain in his shoulder was increasing. He knew that he'd probably been stabbed, and the position was only driving the blade in further.

With a grunt, he thrusted his shoulders forward, driving his elbow back into a set of ribs. For an instant, the pressure increased dizzyingly. Then, it let up. The weight fell, and a thud upon the snow reached his ears. Miraak stumbled, gasping air, wrenching around to face his foe. He saw the attacker rush forward. A small blade sank into his stomach, and his back hit another tree. Fierce pain filled him. He inhaled sharply, feeling his own warm blood upon his robes. The enemy lingered, seeming to become abruptly confident in his victory.

Unfortunately, the dragonborn had no idea how to battle with this kind of enemy - a man who fought like a shadow, constantly slipping just beyond his own reach. He wasn't even sure it was a man. His enemy was covered from head to toe in black, and seemed to waver indistinctly in his vision, hard to see in the dimness of the night.

"For Lord Hevnoraak!" Hissed the voice. "I am a shadow in his name, striking from the emptiness." The blade twisted and Miraak hissed.

Finally, he saw the whites of his enemy's eyes, glaring wrathfully at him. It was the surest sight he had seen since awakening to the dim camp. Miraak wasn't sure what came over him. His hands raised, pulling on his magicka in desperation. He wrapped his flaming fingers around his enemy's neck.

The man struggled, his faceless mask hiding his expression. It didn't take long before flames were everywhere, blazing into his opponent devastatingly. The writhing shadow screamed, trying to free itself, but it was burning away.

"Shadows do not burn!" Miraak growled. "You are not a shadow...but a cowardly fighter!"

Miraak gritted his teeth, tightening his grip to the utmost. He felt it collapse and break under his hands, the flames consuming his opponent. The scent of burning flesh hit his nose. The charred corpse smashed into the snow, still burning, its screams seeming to still echo into the dark night.

Miraak straightened his stance, wincing in pain. He reached behind him and grabbed the dagger within his shoulder. He bit his lip, giving a savage yank. The blade pulled free. He flung it to the ground, pain lancing down his arm. His shoulder gave an unwelcome twinge. He stooped and seized his staff, readying himself. He moved forward, ignoring his discomfort. He could still hear the yowling.

He heard hoofbeats then, wild and panicked. They sounded closer, louder, and ringing in his ears. Miraak eyes widened when the dark animal crashed from the brush ahead. The stallion stumbled, but caught itself, turning. Its eyes were wide, glinting fearfully, head tossing.

"Here, steed!" Miraak shouted, waving his hand.

The horse spun towards him, prancing agitatedly. It cantered past him, shaking its mane. He could see a gash across its flank, bleeding openly. Fortunately, it had escaped death. Miraak was thankful for that.

Not far behind the horse, a snarling beast prowled from the bushes, powerful muscles rippling beneath its fur. The huge cat stalked from the darkness, the aura of the sky casting it in viridescent light, illuminating its golden-brown fur. Two, huge, dagger-like teeth jutted from its upper jaw, and its yellow eyes locked on the dragonborn, full of predatory hunger.

"Here, steed," Miraak repeated in a calmer tone.

He heard his horse slow behind him, but it was still scared, unwilling to move back in the direction of danger. He would have to remedy that.

Miraak raised his staff, focusing his power.

The cat paused, tensing and growling.

Miraak unleashed a jet of flame towards it. The response was a screech of pain. The bright orange sent the sabre cat racing for the woods, disappearing back amidst the trees. Miraak waited, making certain it would not reappear.

It did not.

He turned to the uneasy stallion, eyeing the bloody wound upon its side.

Miraak exhaled, "It appears that once again, I must use healing magicka..."

He disliked using healing magicka. Wounds could mend alone, and wasting energy on them seemed pointless. Still, just like before, he had little choice. If he wished to reach the temple sooner rather than later, he would have to heal both himself and his horse. With impatience, he set to his task.

Still, it wasn't lost on him just who had tried to kill him. If the man's words were anything, he'd been an agent of Hevnoraak's.

It seemed the lord of brutality heavily disagreed with Vahlok's decision of exile for Miraak.

They are all enemies now. I will have to be more weary.


It'd been three days, and Miraak was never so relieved to see his temple when he arrived. He guided his horse up the familiar path, sensing equal eagerness in his animal when it recognized the area. The steed trotted without hesitation, making for the stables.

I am pathetically grateful to see this place... Miraak admitted to himself silently.

He pulled back the reigns when he reached the bottom of the main steps, dismounting. He tried to hide the stiffness in his limbs, which was nearly impossible. He couldn't stop the grunt of discomfort when his feet hit the ground. He nearly stumbled, but managed to stop his unsavory momentum by leaning against the saddle for a moment.

He heard footsteps from behind and turned. The stable hand approaching averted his gaze quickly, looking upon the snow. The dragonborn did not recognize him - someone new to replace the old hand, apparently. Miraak seized the front of the unfortunate other's robes as he moved by.

"Why are you amused?" He snapped, forcing him to meet his angry gaze.

"I am not amused, Lord Miraak, sir! Why would I be?" The man exclaimed, looking upon him fearfully.

It is possible I imagined the amusement upon his face just now…

Miraak released him, scowling behind his mask.

With the clinking of the harness, the man hurriedly led his horse away, never looking back.

The dragonborn soon traipsed through the grand doors, his relief increasing with each step further into his temple. The corridor lead him into the former chant room. He saw a single man here, a book raised to his face. He lowered it and looked up. Instantly, he was on his feet, the book thudding on the floor uselessly.

"Lord Miraak!" He said, delighted. "You return to us!"

"Of course I do."

"Well," the man said nervously. "I have to admit, some of us have been uneasy since you left."

"Meaning you thought the fools in Bromjunaar Gaard would kill me." Miraak accused, his eyes narrowing. He felt angry. His inner dragon snorted, agreeing with him.

Before the other could respond, he spun on his heel and continued deeper into the temple.

It was not hard to understand why his followers had thought he might not return. If not for Vahlok, many would certainly have tried to make sure he met his death. Truth be told, he was not angry with his people for believing the Council would try to kill him. He was angry at the fact that they thought those fools could kill him.

I will not die so easily...

Miraak still remembered the strange fighter that'd attacked from behind, and even that man had failed to kill him. There'd been two of those 'shadows', actually. Another attack had occurred the night after the first. However, he had been far more prepared for it and had vanquished his foe much more easily. Overall, the occurrence had left him disgusted with Hevnoraak's cowardly men, and with the brutal priest himself for sending such worthless agents after him.

The dragonborn made a mental note of eventually returning the favor to the cruel priest. For now, he had work to do.

"Lord Miraak, welcome back," another man said when he entered the throne room. "Laana sends word. She says that more than twenty are following her now. We should have new arrivals soon."

At the very least, we are making progress.

"It is better than nothing," Miraak responded. "Any word from Kreniik's group?"

"No, my lord, he will most likely take much longer."

"Hopefully, the discontentment I created at Gaard will create...some defects. Gather the others. I have news to share."

"It shall be done."

It wasn't long before the others had filed into the chamber. It put a damper on Miraak's spirit, seeing that there were only a dozen or so. He still wasn't quite used to the emptiness of his temple, but he hoped to change that.

"My loyal followers," he started, showing none of his misgivings. "The Council is content to live in their lies! Nothing I said would change their corrupted minds… Obviously, we must strengthen ourselves. To protect our sanctum, we will guard it. We shall continue building and working. When our numbers soar, when the dragons fall, all shall see it us for our glory! We are the new order!"

The others nodded agreement.

"Soon," Miraak continued. "I shall start my hunt. I will begin killing dragons in the area, taking their souls. With each new soul, I will grow in both power and name. The false gods will learn fear... At that time, Nahlot will oversee in my absence."

Nahlot tilted his head respectfully in response.

"That is all. I have some research to do before I begin my hunt. Dismissed!"

"Nahlot," he said, turning to the man in question as the others left. "Keep an eye out when I am away. There were many dissatisfied Council members in Gaard. I do not wish to lose anyone to hostile dragon priests. Keep patrols to a minimum of three members at a time. I will not tolerate returning to a dead and empty temple!"

"Indeed, we will lose no one, my lord."

"Good. I am going to rest." Miraak turned away, leaving the room.

Yes, he needed rest, but he had a more pressing objective on his mind. He was intent on what he planned to do. He fixated on it, thinking of little else. The need to perform this action was great. Now that he was home, he felt his eagerness increasing. The walk to his chambers felt incredibly long. When he reached it, he entered a set of doors to his elaborate room of carved walls and ornate decorations. He closed the doors behind him swiftly. He activated the lock.

He checked his runes and wards around the door, pleased to find them undisturbed. Marching to the far wall just beyond the bed, he dropped to the floor. He knelt by a fancy woven rug with a dragon on it. A rune marked the rug, invisible without close inspection. He pushed the cloth aside, pulling back the dark, hidden doors beneath.

This secretive space had once been a place of safe-keeping for the very paranoid Liikriid when he'd been high priest of this temple. He had believed his followers were constantly plotting against him and had taken to hiding most of his possessions whenever he slept.

It made the dragonborn chuckle at such a memory. He stared at the dark cover of the black book that now occupied this space. He was surprised at how pleased he was to simply see it. The flash of excitement he felt was not lost on him either. He quickly grabbed the tome, pulling it from the safe nook. He took it in hand, leaning against the wall.

He hesitated only to gather his thoughts.

When he was prepared, he opened the cover.

There was a moment of darkness, and Miraak stood up, blinking away the dark remnants of the reading. Looking around, he found himself once again standing in Apocrypha which he had not visited for many days now, but it felt as if he'd stood here not long ago. Slowly, he took in his surroundings again, letting his gaze be drawn to the flying books in the pale green sky. It was different than what he had remembered. Had the realm changed, or had he just arrived at a different part this time?

All was silent except for the distant fluttering sound of thousands of pages like rain flooding the sky. He inhaled, but there was no smell other than that of the mask. It seemed Apocrypha was empty of all odors and most sounds. It was made for secrets, not to bombard the senses of mortals. He found the sound of the fluttering pages somewhat relaxing.

Miraak found himself thinking of his last visit. How the reading had showed him so much! It had lead to power and his release from the dragons' service. It should have lead to many others feeling the same, but the black book had scared many away.

"They are all fools," He announced into the emptiness of the realm. "They cannot see the truth. I did all I could to show them, but it was not enough. Sosvulzein's death did not persuade them, nor did hearing the truth from their overlord's very mouth. They are lost in their petty lies."

He registered the appearance of the daedra lord in the sky. The huge eye morphed into view, the smaller eyes surrounding it all locked upon him. Its dark tentacles swayed in the sky, claws curled, flexing, and the pincers clashed amidst themselves.

"Because of you," Miraak added, meeting the gaze. "They saw your mark, and fled like cowards. They believed it diminished my significance. They continue to refuse to understand such obvious truth..."

"Miraak," said Hermaeus Mora in his calm, assured voice. "You expect them to open up to another's influence so readily. Mortals that have served for so long...are not so easily swayed from such a path...unless they can see an obvious benefit for themselves. Time must always reveal fate."

The dragonborn crossed his arms. "I can understand that, but I cannot fathom how they can continue worshipping the dragons. What benefit is to be gained by it? They are not true gods. They can die by mortal hands..." his eyes widened with interest. "On the contrary, your power is unparalleled. If you wanted, all the dragons would surely fall!"

"And yet, they remain..."

"You are correct, but it is only a matter of time." Miraak stated in confidence. "I will bring them all down, but I need more...knowledge...and wisdom. I am not as knowledgeable in the thu'um as many of the dovah, and I prefer to have every advantage I can over my enemies. Here in your realm, I can find the skills I seek."

He cannot refuse me. I will change the destiny of the world!

"Miraak…" The daedra spoke almost agonizingly slow. "...I see that you have become...quite eager to learn...in your absence from my realm… However, I require something in return for the...knowledge you seek." His voice seemed to rise and fall like ocean waves.

Miraak didn't hesitate to respond, "Name your price, then. Lost knowledge to be found? Blood to be spilled in your name? Or perhaps a shrine in your honor. It matters little at this point." He could perform a deed, and it'd be done. It would be a small enough price in return for the power to change the world. Truthfully, he had expected this, more or less.

The large eye blinked slowly, shifting ever so slightly in the green light. "You are...quick...to assume."

The man stood there, trying to stifle his impatience.

The Daedra Prince continued, "however...since you seem very eager..."

"Speak it, then!"

"Miraak, I can make you the most powerful man in all of Tamriel. This however, is a very powerful gift. You cannot expect such power without...compensation. In return, all I ask, is that you pledge yourself to my service...as my champion..."

Miraak let that sink in.

"I would...serve you? This sounds familiar."

"Yes, really, it is a small price when compared to what you ask for."

"What would such...service require of me?"

"I would ask a favor every now and then... And I would also demand that you never go against my wishes or turn your back on me, Miraak. To do so would grant you...unparalleled punishment."

"How is this different than serving the dragons?" Miraak asked. "I do not wish to trade one overlord for another…"

"Overlord… a powerful word. One made by the dovah… No, Miraak, I would not be your overlord. I would be your mentor, ever guiding you to more knowledge and skill. That I expect you to return such a favor by lending me a hand every now and again… It is merely expected. I do not require worship, or sacrifices. I do not require temples or praises. I merely require loyalty…" He finished.

The dragonborn stood there, contemplating. He was trying to focus on the statement. He tried to analyze it, pick it apart for the faintest hint of treachery. Was it a trick? It was possible, from what he'd heard of these beings...and yet… What he'd heard had been stories relayed to him by those who served the dragons.

What Hermaeus Mora offered seemed fair. No power came cheaply. He needed more details.

"What favor could you need from me?" Miraak asked.

"I sometimes require a hand in Mundus to say…place a book...or entice another with knowledge. Or perhaps a death... Anything to encourage fate to a certain...path. But first, you must end your...battle with the dragons and their servants."

"You would give me all the power of the thu'um?"

"I will give you the knowledge, which you can turn to power. So...yes..."

Miraak nodded slowly. Maybe he was acting too rashly, but there was no denying the necessity of what he could be given. Now more than ever, with nearly everyone against him, he needed this edge. He needed this power. What favor would be too much to ask for all of that? What favor would be too much in return for the ability to alter the fate of the world?

He muttered, "I do not like pledging myself to anyone...there are no gods, I refuse to sing worship to another."

"I do not require worship...only favors."

There was a tense pause.

Miraak finally stated, "Fine, daedra. I need your knowledge, or you would not have me."

"Then you will serve as my champion, until your mortal death..."

"Until...my mortal death..." Miraak agreed slowly.

The deal was sealed.

"Then Apocrypha and all its secrets are open to you. My...servants will treat you without hostility. Make yourself at home...champion."

"Indeed, I will begin at once."

Miraak felt no different then before, despite the binding contract he'd just accepted. He could find no reason in his mind to regret what had just happened. Truthfully, he felt nothing but his eagerness to learn the secrets that would give him the advantage over those who opposed him. As the daedra had said, he would not even have to bother with the 'favors' part of the deal until after he had ended his fight with the Dragon Order.

He broke eye contact with the master of knowledge, looking around. He did not know the immediate area, but it felt somehow familiar. It interested him, since he was new to the endless library of the wisest of daedra; nothing should have felt even remotely recognizable. He walked across the grate before reaching the edge of the area. A dizzying plummet led to the dark green waters far below. He was on some kind of tower seemingly made of thousands of books interwoven in steel. He could see very far into the distance of the dull emerald horizon.

Not least of what he noticed, was the power that seemed to rise from the ground and linger in the air. When he concentrated, he felt he could very nearly call it to him. Focusing and tracing the remnants of the power, he could sense it under his feet like simmering lava underneath a plate of rock.

He couldn't believe he had just now noticed it was there.

"What is this place? This tower… it is different than the area I visited before." Miraak said. He turned. "I feel...magicka here, resonating very powerfully. Most of your realm saps at the strength, but this..."

"This is...the Summit of Apocrypha."

"What is its significance?"

"It is the entry of knowledge. This place resides... as the most parallel to Mundus, and is most connected to it. If you ever need to get your bearings within my realm, this is the place to do so." The huge eye blinked. "Oh, and if you do explore my library, do be cautious that you do not lose yourself to the darkness of my secrets. Many have wandered in to never return."

"I shall endeavor to be careful, then." Miraak said. "How will I proceed from here?"

"I believe...that book should lead you in the right direction."

Miraak turned to see the item the Daedra mentioned. He approached the book on a pedestal.

"Alright," Miraak felt undeniable excitement. What could he learn? Would it give him a greater edge than he expected? The lure of the unknown drew on him. "Let us see what waits within."

He opened the cover.


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A/N - I don't believe there's any Dovahzul to translate this time.