Morndas, 7:27 PM, 11th of Second Seed, 4E 202

Silent City Target Range

Three quick motions. Three throws. Thorald was getting to the point where he could do them all in less than one second apiece.

He'd placed the target at thirty feet away. For the usual crossbow practice, that was pointlessly close, but he wasn't using his crossbow. This was one of his backup weapons of choice. Not exactly a normal backup, especially not with a suit of heavy armor slowing him down, but that was what practice was for.

Three throws. The Nord made the throwing motion a couple times with his hand empty, aiming right at the bull's-eye of the target ahead. Then, once he felt ready for it, he went through the motions for real.

Thud. Thud. Thud. All three knives hit the target within the second ring out. He was definitely getting better.

After taking a second to relax from the throwing stance, Thorald walked up to the target and pried the dwarven metal blades free, one by one. Then he stopped and looked around the range. He was alone out here. Just… throwing knives for target practice, surrounded by the distant forest of giant glowing mushrooms, all beneath the starry ceiling of Blackreach. Life as usual, these days.

He was the only one in the range right now. Training had ended three hours ago. Dinner had been served an hour and a half ago. He'd done his scheduled business for the day. This was off-duty time. There was a gentle noise from the direction of the sun-orb's glow, where the people of the Silent City were going about their evenings. For all the dedication to war, things were actually rather peaceful down here.

Thorald was glad that he could help provide that for people. But he wasn't much for the whole business of drinking and singing and telling tales. Every time he tried to do that, it just felt like he was putting on a show for his squadmates. He preferred the steady burn of training, any day. And his muscles were actually burning pretty hard right now. Heavy armor all the time would do that.

Technically, this was an outdoor space, just outside what everyone thought of as the actual city, but the stand had been built into the side of one of the Dwemer buildings. They'd basically just knocked down a wall, held the roof up with some pillars on that side, and put a low railing across the opening. Then they'd put some rope targets in the dirt outside, like for any sort of archery. But there was still an actual door to get in, on the opposite wall from the open lanes. As Thorald turned back to the stand, he saw that door opening.

It was another Black Gear. One of Thorald's own. The numbering on the armor read 29 · 4. This would be Echallos. Breton fellow, probably a good deal smarter than Thorald was. Out of the members of Squad 29, definitely the most pleasant to talk to, and the most fun to be around during off-hours. But he didn't have a crossbow on him, or even a regular bow. He definitely wasn't here for the archery.

Thorald returned his fistful of knives to their sheaths as he walked on back to the stand. "Echallos," he called out. "What can I do for you?"

The armored Breton leaned against the back wall of the stand and folded his arms. That ruled a couple things out, then. Also, with his arms like that, the gear icon on his chest looked like a little sunrise coming up from above his gauntlets. He called back, "Just wanted to see how you are. You've been training like mad."

"Not exactly news," Thorald said as he stepped back over the low railing into the stand. While he was thinking about it, he casually flipped up one of the little square lids on his inner left gauntlet, and gave the button beneath a push with his thumb. The stamina potion flooded into his veins instantly. All that burning went away in a span of seconds. It felt like he'd just gotten up and put the armor on.

Most soldiers in Skyrim didn't include stamina potions in their daily diet. But it wasn't usually common practice to wear heavy armor practically all day, either. That basically summed up the Black Machine, Thorald thought. Doing a lot of silly impossible things, and having the magic to back them up.

"You're giving us a lot to live up to," Echallos said. "You keep training this much, Kamian's gonna extend our hours. Just so we don't all fall behind."

Thorald walked over to lean against the wall at his squadmate's side. They were just looking out over the target range together. "Well, there's not much to fall behind at. What I'm doing just takes quite a lot of practice to do right."

"Yes, I've been wondering about that. Why are you practicing this? Why knives?" The Breton gestured to the sheaths buckled on Thorald's thigh. "I'm sorry, I know everyone sort of takes it for granted around here that we do all different weapons, but…"

Echallos was actually the first person to ask Thorald that question. Which was saying a lot, since he'd had the knives on him for something like three months now. It was so nice to be able to actually supply the answer. He'd more or less been rehearsing it in his head this whole time.

"Well, it's like this. Here. Imagine you're facing someone who's too far away for your sword. Say, thirty feet out." Thorald pointed at the target he'd set out on the range, for reference. "You don't have your crossbow with you, and for whatever reason, you can't close in. Maybe there's an obstacle, or you're pressed for time, anything like that. What do you do to put them down?"

"Uh… Probably a lightning bolt spell," Echallos shrugged, before turning and looking at Thorald. He probably had a bit of a self-conscious expression right then. "Ahh. Sorry."

"And now you know why I'm practicing so much," Thorald said dryly. His squadmate, being a Breton, had a bit of a natural gift for magic. He was essentially the squad healer on just that basis. But that was a gift that Thorald didn't share. The Nord had never cast a spell in his life, and as far as he could tell, never would. He simply didn't have that magicka in him that spellcasting types all had.

Echallos started to say, "Well, we could always try making a more compact version of a staff of lightning bolts…"

"No, stop." Thorald held up an armored hand. "You're sounding like a mage. I'm losing the warrior I know and love."

"Or just beat their skulls in with your fists, mmmgh tear 'em all apart," the Breton growled in an impressively low register.

"There we go. That's it. Thank you, Echallos, you're forgiven." He didn't bother to hide his laughter. Sometimes his squad was just fun. Or at least Echallos was. "Oh, actually, that reminds me. I should check on that Telvanni mage I brought in."

Without missing a beat, Echallos pushed himself off the wall and started walking back to the door. "Yes. The Telvanni mage. Zaryth, right? That's her name?"

"Zaryth Velani, you may have heard of her," Thorald said in his best haughty-wizard impression. He fell in line behind Echallos as they stepped out.

The streets of the Silent City weren't exactly heavily trafficked. The two of them started on their way towards the sun-orb up ahead, and on the path ahead, Thorald could see only three other people walking about.

As they stepped out onto the pavement, Echallos was saying, "Well, I've read plenty about the noble Dunmer houses, but that was all before our time. I honestly sort of thought they were all dead."

Thorald was only half-paying attention. He was busy wondering about the Silent City. Mainly its name. It'd worked when the place had been an abandoned ruin, but the city hadn't been silent in nearly half a year. They were probably going to have to rename it sooner or later. Meanwhile, Jarl Noster was styling himself as the Jarl of Blackreach, which wasn't actually the name of the city he was ruling from.

That said, it was hard for him to think of a more striking title than 'Jarl of Blackreach'. For most people's purposes, that was about as mythical and prestigious as being the 'Jarl of Sovngarde'.

Echallos was talking on about some goings-on up in Alftand. Something about some ill-advised attempts by the residents to brew their own wine, out of flowers. That was new. Thorald didn't much care. Nords did enjoy their strong drink—he'd had quite a taste for mead himself, once—but that didn't feel quite right in the life of a Black Gear.

They passed by a whole lot of interesting buildings on the way through the city. Most of the buildings were uninhabited, just vacant structures waiting to be filled, but some were interesting. The new Temple of Mara, the Tower of Mzark, and then the Black Machine living quarters, just by the debate hall. At that point, Echallos split off, but Thorald kept walking, because Zaryth's lab was on the far side of the city.

He went by the workshop with the mimic machine, the warehouses full of random dwarven scrap, and even within a stone's throw of the Mzinchaleft shuttle platform. He'd never even tried traveling on that thing. He sort of had to wonder how he'd gone so long without exploring something so obvious. In any case, the walk was quiet enough. No one bothered him. It was a nice chance to think about what he was going to say when he actually arrived.

Soon enough, he was walking right up to the lab building's doors. The sun-orb was about as far behind him as it'd been at the target range. There weren't a lot of buildings in the vicinity—in fact, beyond this one, it was pretty much just an open expanse of dirt and rock. The actual road had ended a while ago. And this building was little more than a rectangular block of stone with a set of double doors on one side. It reminded Thorald of the field laboratory beneath Alftand, where the Dragonborn and J'zargo had done all their work.

In any case, the Nord pulled off his helmet, shook his hair out, and then gave the doors a gentle knocking. He knew Zaryth wouldn't want to open them and see a faceless visor staring at her.

There was a long pause. A very, very long pause. Thorald sighed and stood patiently where he was, looking at the patterns on the doors in front of him. He was sure Zaryth would have plenty of things to say about the metalworking on them. Still, no response. He was actually starting to wonder if maybe Zaryth was out right then, and he was just wasting his time. But then the doors opened, and there was the Telvanni mage, scowling irritably at the sight of him. "Yes, yes, what is it?"

Maybe a little less sunny of a reaction than he'd hoped for. But he'd probably just interrupted some important experiment or other. For all he knew, Zaryth might've spent that whole time just trying to put her work down without losing all her progress. He addressed her with as much of a smile as seemed polite right then. "I'm just checking in. It's been a little bit. May I come inside?"

"If you insist," Zaryth grumbled, throwing the doors open all the way and then walking off into the room. Thorald gently closed them behind him as he came in.

This was his third time in here. The first had been when he'd been showing the Dunmer around for a potential lab space, and the second had been a day after, to make sure the building was still standing. There hadn't been much to see, at the time. A mostly bare stone interior, with low shelves around the walls, a fireplace and basin against the back wall, and a stone bed on the left-hand side. He wasn't sure what had even been so interesting about the place. Probably its location. It was far away from everyone.

Now it was a couple days after the last visit, and Zaryth had clearly been busy. There was the obligatory alchemy lab and enchanting table just by the fireplace, but the alchemy lab had a whole array of extra bottles and tubes and strange devices around it, and there was an entire row of little metal bins on the shelf beside it, filled with different alchemy ingredients. There were some things in there that definitely had not come from inside Blackreach.

More strikingly, she had obviously been raiding the warehouses, because all the other shelves were full of… objects. Big objects, small objects, complicated-looking objects, simple-looking objects. The only thing they all had in common was that they were dwarven in make. Thorald had no idea what they were supposed to accomplish. Maybe Zaryth had just brought them back here to study, and then neglected to return them to the warehouses. He wasn't about to ask.

Plus, there were books. Just one row of books, lined up on the shelf right beside the bed. Honestly, in all seriousness, Thorald had no idea where those had come from. He knew Zaryth hadn't brought that many with her. They'd just sort of appeared.

At the moment, it looked like the Dunmer was going and fussing over some thing or other at her alchemy lab. There wasn't a lot to do but watch.

"Oh, damn it, I knew I did this wrong," she was saying. "Look at this. Just look. I was trying to work with a glowing mushroom base, and I… I don't know, I must have left it too long. It's fermented." She held up one of the round green glass bottles. Its contents looked to be opaque and bluish. And glowing. But rather than comment on that, she just wafted the air above it towards her face, and gagged. "Useless. I'll have to dispose of it straightaway. Excuse me."

With that, she started to walk past Thorald, towards the doors, with the bottle in hand. What a strange thing to have come in upon. Fermented glowing mushroom juice. That was all kinds of…

Thorald had been in the middle of setting his helmet down on one of the shelves. He held up a hand suddenly. "Wait. Hold on. It fermented? … Is it poisonous, then?"

"Uhh—Oh, uh… Well…" Zaryth stopped awkwardly in place, and gave the bottle a dubious look. "Not necessarily, no. I don't believe so. Not unless you drank an amount far greater than what would go into a potion, but—"

"Do you mind?" He held out his hands expectantly. "I just want to see for myself."

Zaryth handed over the bottle with a skeptical look. It was heavier than he'd expected. The liquid inside reminded him of milk, how it was all opaque but still as fluid as water. After a moment, he held it up and gave the contents a sniff.

The inside of his nose was promptly consumed in a fiery inferno. He couldn't stop coughing and gagging. He barely even managed to give the bottle back, it was hitting him so hard. "Wh—what? What?! Are you serious?"

"Well, don't look at me," the mage said flatly. "You're the one who wanted it."

"That's so strong! How did you…" Thorald turned around and buried his face in his hands for a few seconds, rubbing at his eyes silently, then turned back and blinked things into focus again.

Zaryth was still just standing there and looking at him. She looked more confused than anything.

Eventually, Thorald composed himself enough to finish his thought. "That's incredibly powerful stuff. An ounce of that could rival a whole tankard of mead. How did you make that? You could make a mountain of gold selling it."

"But who would… buy…" Zaryth frowned and stopped for a second. "Well, the process was part of what I had intended to be a greater alchemical procedure. Since it ended in an obviously abject failure, I have no intention of repeating it, but if you believe it necessary, I suppose I could write down the portion of the procedure that resulted in this… substance. As long as none of your Nord friends come asking me to make more."

"Sounds fine," Thorald shrugged. "I just know the people here would kill me if they learned I discovered this and didn't share it with them."

In all honesty, he didn't know which Nord friends Zaryth was talking about. Only two of his four squadmates were Nords, and none of them—not even Echallos, nice as the fellow was—were what he'd consider friends. But he could already tell that this 'substance' was going to go far, once people realized it existed. It was a wonder no one had discovered it sooner, considering.

"It's interesting that you picked up on this, though," Zaryth said, as she put the bottle back where it'd been. Oh, dear. She'd used the word 'interesting'. "This experiment was conducted using the glowing mushrooms that are encountered in many caves throughout Skyrim. While they bear some superficial similarities to the far larger mushrooms found within Blackreach, I've determined that the latter are an entirely distinct species, sharing more in common with the small tendril-less glowing mushrooms found growing in patches on the soil."

Thorald silently walked over and leaned his back against the wall by the fireplace. He wasn't in a hurry. As far as he knew, Zaryth didn't even have anyone else to share these ideas with down here.

"As this species has seemingly gone unnamed, I've been referring to it in my notes as the 'Blackreach mushroom', though this, of course, not intended as any formal name. The larger specimens of the mushroom seem to be the same species as the smaller ones, brought into greater stages of growth by what I must presume is some subtle environmental influence. The largest, which produce multiple secondary caps branching from the central stalk, have been at the focus of my attention since I first observed them, and I've been running some relevant experiments a short distance outside the laboratory. I had intended to run them in here as normal, but I quickly realized that the indoor conditions would be unsuitable for such delicate experimentation."

At this point, Thorald couldn't help himself. He started talking right as the Dunmer was taking a breath in for another sentence. Fortunately, he didn't have to make her wait long. He tried not to use more words than he needed. "What are the experiments for?"

Zaryth blinked and leaned her head back a bit, as though bemused by the question. Thorald wondered if she would've ever even told him if he hadn't asked. "Simply put," she said, "I need a better laboratory space than this. Rather than attempt to find one within any existing building, I'm electing to do something that no Telvanni has ever done before, and make one within Blackreach." A tone of pride had entered her voice. "The branching mushrooms look perfect for it. Imagine the possibilities. A fully grown mushroom tower, glowing brilliant blue, laden with hanging tendrils as thick as one's wrist. It would be an unrivaled wonder."

A mushroom tower. A tower inside a giant mushroom. Or, made of a giant mushroom. Thorald had absolutely never heard of any such idea before. He stared for a moment. "… You had mushroom towers in Morrowind?"

At this question, the Dunmer actually recoiled, her brow creasing in a sudden frown. "Well, they're all gone now, obviously," she said irritably. "Now, I'm going to need to monitor the mushroom's environmental conditions very closely—"

"Wait, wait a minute. Stop." Thorald waved his arms at her for good measure. That did get her to stop talking, at least. "What happened to all of the towers?"

Zaryth scoffed indignantly. "You can't mean to tell me that you're unaware of the Red Year. Are you really so childish? So uncaringly ignorant? Was that really so long before your time? The disaster that changed the face of all of Morrowind?"

The Red Year. That did make sense. Thorald knew that the Red Year was the disaster that had forced the Dunmer to flee Morrowind, starting around the beginning of the Fourth Era. He wasn't sure if it was why there was so much ash over there, or if that all had been there before. Or both. He found himself suddenly wishing he'd read more books about this.

Mainly because it just occurred to him that Zaryth must have witnessed it herself. The Fourth Era was only just over two hundred years long. That was far longer than a Nord's lifetime, for sure, but probably just easy adulthood for a Dunmer. She could have been a child when it had happened. This was starting to feel very, very bad.

"I'm aware of the Red Year," the Nord said, carefully. "How old were you when it happened?"

"Twenty-eight." The reply came instantly. "At the time, I was exploring a Dwemer ruin located in Sheogorad, which is an archipelago a short distance north of Vvardenfell. Fortunately, I was able to put my talents as a mage to use, and escape via boat to Solstheim." Zaryth was speaking very quickly, with an edge of agitation. It was visible on her face, too. She was rushing, hard. "From there, I was eventually able to make my way to Skyrim, where I began my travels throughout Tamriel, and which brings me to this laboratory with you now, Thorald Gray-Mane. Are you satisfied? Can we move on? Is—is that acceptable for you?"

Thorald squinted at her. After a moment's consideration, he took a step forward. "Look… Zaryth, I'm not trying to—"

"What do you want, Thorald!?" Zaryth snapped. Completely out of nowhere. She stepped back at the same time that Thorald moved forward. Her face showed anger, but her body was cringing. "Why do you keep asking me all these questions? What are you trying to get out of me? What is the point of—why? Why are you doing that? Why do you have to look this way?! What—"

Thorald was aware he was frowning. That was strange, just then. Now Zaryth was frowning too, but seemingly at herself. "Zaryth," he said again, "what's the matter with how I look?"

"I don't—what does that matter to—Thorald, why are you wearing that?" The words were tumbling out all at once. They were barely intelligible. Zaryth didn't look like she was even understanding her own words. "That armor, it's—it's insanity, you look like some kind of—how can you just go around wearing that, you're just showing off how much you're going to terrify everyone, can't you just—I—"

That was enough. Thorald held up a hand. She stopped talking again. It made sense, what she was saying. In fact, it made too much sense. Thorald knew he should've seen this before now. It wasn't just that his visor was hard to talk to. His entire appearance as a Black Gear was scaring her. The entire thing. It was just scary.

It was hard for him to keep track of, mentally, because everyone in Blackreach was so used to the Black Machine being what it was. The armor was just their work uniform. But to Zaryth, it was completely new. She was dealing with having someone who looked like pure inhuman destruction from the neck down, standing right here in her personal safe space. This was supposed to be the reaction Thorald got from his enemies.

When he realized that, the Nord felt a sudden, sickening rush of shame. He was standing in here intimidating an innocent person for no reason. He closed his eyes, and shook his head silently for a second, before saying, "Would it help if I weren't wearing all this?"

There was no reply. Thorald opened his eyes, to see Zaryth standing there, transfixed, in front of him. Still no reply. After a moment, the Dunmer gave him a tiny, silent nod.

Thorald sighed. He didn't know how he was going to do this. There wasn't much to do besides get out of all the armor, he supposed. Right here, on the spot. In Zaryth's lab. It was a strange thing to do, to make someone more comfortable. But he couldn't imagine leaving this conversation for later. There might not be a later time, with a topic like this one. So he just set about getting out of his suit.

It actually took less time than he expected. Zaryth was obviously in no shape to assist him, given that she was busy standing in the corner of the room and slowly looking over one of the dwarven gadgets on the shelf. But it was still quick enough. The gauntlets came off first, unbuckled and pulled off one by one, then the cuirass came next. He just laid it all out on the shelf by his helmet. Then he pulled off his armored doublet, not even bothering to take the plates off of it first, and then the boots went last. All on the shelf, all off his person.

He was sure it couldn't have taken more than two or three minutes, mainly since he skipped a whole lot of steps in the middle. But all the same, when he was done, he stood up, and he was dressed like any other worker in Blackreach. Short-sleeved shirt, plain off-white slacks, simple leather shoes. It was actually sort of nice to be out of all that armor for a change.

Finally, Zaryth looked up at him. A long moment went by, where she was just looking him over. Then, eventually, she said quietly, "I like this more. You look like a person now."

"I'm always a person," Thorald replied, as gently as he could. He walked over to half-sit, half-lean on the shelf across from the Dunmer. "Same as you. Now, uh… I'm not going to press, or anything, but if you wanted to talk about the, uh…"

Zaryth nodded, swallowing, and started to edge along the wall to be more across from him. "I was in the ruins of Mzuleft," she said. "Not… Mzulft, I know that's a ruin in Skyrim, this isn't that. When the eruption hit, I was still underground. I remember all the steam pipes bursting around me, all at once, from the heat from Red Mountain. And… I remember running outside, and…" She didn't finish the sentence. She was just staring into space.

Thorald was starting to get an awful, prickling feeling of foreboding. This sounded like a story that the Dunmer mage had never told anyone before. "… Zaryth?"

"Sorry." She came to attention right away. "Um… I came outside, and the sky was black. It was the middle of the day, but… the sky was black, and there was ash, and lava, everywhere. The island was tearing apart. The actual ground was splitting open, and moving, underneath me, and… I had to get out of there. I don't… I was barely able to do it. I used the Propylon Indices, the… like portals, to teleport, I just went from one, to another, and…"

There was another pause. She started talking again on her own, this time. Her voice was starting to tremble.

"I saw things, Thorald. People. The ash, and the lava, and the quakes, they destroyed everything. Whole towns and cities, all the buildings, just… just…" Tears were starting to run down her face now. But she kept talking, in spite of herself. "People… The people, I couldn't stand what happened to the people, they were just like all the debris—the debris, living debris, made out of people—I saw them get buried, right next to me, and they were crying and I couldn't save them and there were—burned people, they burned, like wood, they didn't have faces anymore, but they didn't all die right then, they were still… walking, and their voices were still working, I think, I could hear them, but I had to keep going and I couldn't…"

Her words caught in her throat. Now all she did was weep. And all Thorald could do was watch.

The Red Year. Ten minutes ago, it'd been a brief little note in his knowledge of history. Now it was the worst tragedy he'd ever heard of. The worst tragedy. Worse than anything he'd seen in the Great War or any of the wars that had followed. Those were wars. He understood wars. People did horrible things to each other. But Zaryth wasn't talking about that. She was talking about an entire race being smashed to pieces. Her own race.

For the first time in his life, Thorald wondered what would've happened if the Red Year had been centered on Skyrim, not Morrowind. The thoughts came all at once. He wondered how it would've felt, if it'd been the Throat of the World to erupt in flame and ash, not Red Mountain. If he'd seen his kinsfolk burning alive, heard their screams for help, and been forced to leave them all to die. If today, he couldn't talk about his home in Whiterun, because there wasn't a Whiterun anymore. Maybe he would be in Morrowind, enduring jeers from the locals for being a filthy foreigner, when he had no choice in even being there.

He didn't understand how anyone could look down on the Dunmer. He was feeling sick just from what he'd imagined just now. And here Zaryth was, standing in front of him, crying wordless tears of sheer grief, and it was all starting to make a horrible kind of sense.

Eventually, the Dunmer managed to calm herself down enough to speak again. She had to spend a while just sniffing and wiping at her face. When she did speak, her voice was steady again, but it sounded hoarse, more so than the usual raspiness. She sounded worn-out, in a bad way.

"I didn't save a single life that day, Thorald. I saw so many different people die. Even my… You would call him my mentor. I tried to save him, but he died, right next to me, in our boat on the water. Everyone I met that day, everyone else I saw trying to escape, anyone I could've saved… They all died. The only life I saved was mine."

Another long moment passed in silence. Zaryth's lips were tight. She looked about ready to burst into tears all anew.

This was going to break Thorald's heart. It was the threat of stories like this that had made him want to join the Black Machine to begin with. He'd been able to spare a great deal of people from some terrible experiences, during his service. But this had all happened two hundred years ago. And he couldn't imagine Zaryth had spent very long sharing this with anyone before, not with the distance she tried to hold people at. That meant she'd been carrying this burden inside her this entire time. And that was just… just sad.

Thorald pushed himself off the wall, and took a slow, careful step towards her. "You… are a good person," he said. "You know that, right?"

The Dunmer opened her mouth silently. She stepped forward as well, and then immediately started to stumble. Thorald closed the distance between them with a well-timed stride, and caught her in his arms.

It was a quiet, delicate embrace. Zaryth's body felt so small against his. He could feel the movements of her ragged breathing. Her arms wrapped tight around Thorald's waist, and stayed there. This was another silent moment. It was all right.

Thorald had never realized how much the Dunmer actually smelled like ash. He'd always thought that that was a bit of an exaggeration. But he had a Dunmer cradled against his chest right now, and he was definitely getting the ash smell. Mystery solved, he supposed. Zaryth probably thought he smelled like sweat and steel. Strange, that he was giving someone an unarmored hug for the first time in years, and the first thing he picked up on was what it smelled like. He had a feeling that he'd remember that part for far longer than the rest of it. Memory just seemed to work that way.

Eventually, Zaryth let go, and pulled back to look at him. "I … uh … I actually don't know what to say right now," she said, quietly. "Sorry about that."

Thorald just chuckled and gave the little mage another squeeze in his arms. Then he let go too, and took a step back. "That's all right. Not everything has to be full of interesting things to talk about."

It looked like at this point, she really was out of more things to say. She was just standing there looking at some corner of the room that Thorald wasn't in. That was certainly a first. But Thorald did get the feeling that he didn't need to be here for this. There wasn't really anything he had to get back to in the Silent City, but Zaryth seemed like she was in that sort of state where she'd need some time alone to process what had just happened.

So rather than try and get her attention with anything else, Thorald started to walk slowly back towards his armor where he'd left it all on the shelf. "I can stay for a while if you want," he said, "but otherwise I should get back out there. Are you going to be all right?"

Zaryth nodded absently. She was still wiping at her eyes a bit. Close enough, then.

It took a little longer to put the armor on than Thorald had needed to take it off. He didn't bother to do a very neat job of it. He just needed to get it all back to the living quarters somehow, and the easiest way was to wear it.

The last thing he said to Zaryth before leaving was, "If you ever want to talk, I'm happy for it anytime I'm in Blackreach. I don't really say this to people often, but I think you're worth my time."

Out of respect for her feelings about the whole Black Machine thing, the Nord kept the helmet under his arm until he'd walked out the doors. Only then did he finally put it on, and proceed to take a look around through its visor.

The sun-orb was floating out there as usual, waiting for him to come back to its glow. And… beneath it, on the road, someone was jogging towards the lab. Thorald recognized who it was instantly. He started off in the person's direction at a brisk walking pace.

It was Lenve. Wearing his usual work outfit, looking a bit bedraggled. "I've been looking for you," he said, once they were within speaking distance. "Is everything all right out here?"

Thorald nodded. "Everything's fine. What's going on?"

"It's Kamian," Lenve said. "He's back already. He wants to talk to you. Apparently something's gone wrong with the stars."