White-Gold Tower, Nirn. 0530 hours, Nirnian Standard Time.

Three soft knocks sounded through the Empress' bedroom.

Opening a bleary eye, she saw the orange-golden rays of sunrise filtering in through the narrow slit-like windows at the top of the cold stone room.

She roused herself from her luxurious spidersilk-lined four-poster bed with a growl. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to be up this early in the morning, least of all on a Sundas, when even the merchants in the Market District were prohibited from selling their wares until midday.

'Laas yah nir' she whispered, rubbing her eyes. There was a faint outline of a portly man beyond the door, the outline of which she recognised as her valet. Slipping on her nightrobe, she walked towards the door., yawning.

'Is there a reason you have woken me up this early, Joscelin?' she spoke, opening the door for the short Breton. He bowed and presented her with a vial of thick, greenish-yellow liquid, and a dataslate below it.

'Your ambassador on the Citadel has requested that you read this document. He did stress that it was for your eyes only, and it was of high urgency. Oh, and where are my manners. Good morning, Your Highness. I've also got the potion prescribed by the priestess of Kynareth. There should be enough for the next three days, at the end of which they say that you should have fully recovered,'

'Thank you, Joscelin. You may take your leave for the rest of the day, for I do not believe that I would require your services for the rest of the day. Though before you go, please inform Magister Indoril in the Arcane University that I shall be present to teach the advanced destruction magicks class in person today. Divines know that teaching using a projected shadow of myself is ineffective,'

After the Breton had excused himself from the room, she closed the door behind her. What in the name of Talos would the ambassador require of her? She sat down at the study in the corner of her room, and ignited the Dwemeri lamp above with a burst of lightning from her fingers.

Your Imperial Majesty,

It has come to my attention that a subject of the Systems Alliance is seeking permission to pass through Imperial territory. Under the terms of our bilateral treaty with the Systems Alliance, our troops are permitted to perform joint exercises near the border, but no such provision has been made regarding a mission outside our territories which requires their passage through our territory. Further complicating the matter is that the troops in question do not belong to the Systems Alliance military.

The ship seeking passage is a frigate class void-ship named the Normandy SR-2. Though it is under the control of Citadel Spectre agent Jane Shepard, it has come to my attention that this vessel also belongs to the human supremacist group Cerberus. Their motives and methods could be considered shadowy at best, and outright treacherous at worst, and as such I advocate utmost caution, should you accept this request.

There has also been an incident on the Citadel involving our embassy and several Batarians. They sought to place an explosive device inside a lunch delivery intended for our staff, but the plot was discovered when our resident Nord glutton decided to gorge himself before the appropriate time. Fortunately, none were injured after this shocking discovery. The deliveryman confessed to accepting a large sum of credits from the Batarians in exchange for his complicity in the failed attempt to murder more than a few of our staff, myself included.

I await your reply.

Your humble servant,

Kradus Tharn

She read the middle paragraph once more. Shepard. That Council agent with the nerve to even think that she would harm one of her subjects without good cause. More than a little anger rose to her mind at the mere thought of that meeting...

Though there seemed to be a strange aura about her. One of fearlessness, and of righteous determination. She had felt this before, a long time ago- was it a few hundred? No, it must be more than a thousand years ago. Back in her youth, when she wandered Skyrim as a fledgling vampire, slaying the wicked with bolts of fire and lightning.

There had been also a reading from the Scroll of Blood about two years ago, regarding the coming of a tide of flame, an ocean of darkest night – a void, eternal and unforgiving, swallowing all in its wake; and another reading from the Scroll of Kings but two weeks after that, proclaiming the coming of a star twice-born, brighter than a hundred blue suns, valiantly staving off the coming darkness. Was this woman the one that the scrolls had been referring to?

Perhaps she would amount to something yet. Perhaps she should consult the Scrolls one more time, to determine what the Nine had in store for her. Perhaps she could even lodge someone in that void-ship of hers, to determine their exact goals. Yes, she could do that; a simple charm, attached to a crewman willingly given to the Spectre. Given how oblivious these Citadel people were with regards to magicka, it would be nearly undetectable.

She set down the dataslate and drew out her scribing-needle. Vilren needed to know of her plans.


Normandy SR-2, Omega 2 Relay transit tunnel. 2000 hours, Galactic Standard Time.

The Illusive Man sat smugly in his chair, smoking a large cigar as he waited for Shepard to enter the communications room. When she had finally emerged through the doorway, he tapped the ashes from the tip of his cigar, surveying her with a carefully crafted expression of neutrality. It amused him to no end to watch her scowl with disapproval every time she saw him; as though he were a traitor, or an enemy. It would only be a matter of time before she realises the benefits that Cerberus brought to humanity. Just like Miranda.

'Shepard. I've heard that you have managed to secure access to Imperial territories,' he drawled, exhaling another cloud of smoke.

'What do you want?' she growled in return, crossing her arms.

'You have been in their space twice now – once during a rather brief war, and now, with an invitation from their newest administrator. It's a strange thing, how you've managed to convince these rather reclusive people to open themselves up to you. Not even the Asari managed to secure trading rights with their outermost colonies. And they are shrewd diplomats, much more so than our own on the Citadel,'

'Get to the point,' spat Shepard, noting the jab that the Illusive Man had made about Anderson.

'Very well,' he replied, a tinge of impatience creeping into his voice, 'As you are very well aware, these Imperials use completely different technology to what the rest of the galaxy uses – if we could even call it that. We've managed to recover some video footage and telemetry from stealthed Cerberus probes – just before they were destroyed in the crossfire over Omega,'

The Illusive man's holographic image vanished, replaced by the vast darkness of space. The hulking black hulls of the Imperial vessels were starkly silhouetted against the dull red giant in the background, and the assorted vessels of the pirates of Omega barely visible against the cloud of asteroids that drifted past the station. Violet-blue envelopes of mass effect fields wrapped around some of the larger vessels, though many remained unshielded.

Then the fighting commenced; streaks of blue-white light shot forth from the Imperial vessels, spearing through the pirate vessels, long before any of the pirate vessels could fire. Some smaller vessels unlucky enough to be caught in the larger beams were instantly vaporised, leaving nothing behind except for trails of superheated particles of metal. The pirates fired back, their mass accelerator cannons releasing three or four rounds apiece, before another deadly barrage of light shredded more pirate vessels; this time incinerating the larger, shielded vessels.

'Stop the video feeds. I assume the Alliance engineering schools have taught you about the workings of kinetic barriers, Shepard? Tell me about what you think of the telemetry,'

She remained silent, lost in thought. The infrared receivers showed an exponential spike in hull temperature for each of the destroyed vessels; well over the vaporisation point of steel in a matter of milliseconds, followed by rapid buckling of the ships' superstructures. Whichever ships possessed kinetic barriers were destroyed equally as quickly. Their barriers did not show as much as a ripple or a flash as when any solid object impacted upon an active barrier.

'That doesn't make any sense,' Shepard replied, crossing her arms, 'Is this a joke?'

'Do I look like a man who jokes when humanity is at stake, Shepard? No, this is not a joke. This is the footage from one of our spy drones, two minutes before it was destroyed by a stray mass accelerator shot. You have seen as clearly as I do that the pirate ships were destroyed by directed energy weapons,'

'But at that distance – no, that can't be right. GARDIAN lasers would not be able to cut a ship's plating beyond a few hundred kilometres even at ultraviolet frequencies. That has got to be at least thirty thousand kilometres. Before the Blue Suns' cruisers could even fire off a shot,'

'Exactly. To equip the Alliance navy with these weapons would give us an edge when the Reapers come, and an edge for humanity for a long time into the future. Think about the benefits, Shepard,'

'And how do you expect me to get this? I don't see the Empire being too keen on handing out their secrets,' Shepard retorted. Her brief encounters with their Empress had left a truly terrible impression upon her. The cat-woman was cruel to a fault towards her enemies, acting almost without pity or remorse; even going so far as to bombarding a space station filled with non-combatants.

'Steal it? Talk some of their officers into giving away information? There are ways to do everything, Shepard. I believe you're resourceful enough to find a way,'

'I'll think about it,' Shepard grumbled, walking away from the communications pad.

The Normandy shuddered as its protective mass effect bubble dispersed, having arrived at the Omega 2 relay.

'We're out of the mass relay tunnel, Commander. You might want to come see this,' Joker said through the intercom.

'On my way, Joker. Keep the ship on the shipping lane,'

'No kidding. There's probably enough firepower here to burn a planet to a crisp,'

The Imperial ambassador had reminded her that while her status as a Council Spectre granted her near-limitless power within Citadel space, she was a guest of the Empress while in Imperial space. Not that she had the mind to do anything stupid with the entire Imperial navy floating around Omega; a brief glance out of the Normandy's cockpit window revealed four dreadnoughts patrolling around the Omega 2 relay, while numerous small packs of frigates prowled shipping lanes.

'We're being hailed, Commander. Slowing down the ship,'

'Let's hear what they have to say,'

Joker nodded and pressed a button. The display screen in front of him changed to show a hologram of a grizzled old man, whose one good eye leered menacingly.

'Citadel ship Normandy SR-2, you have arrived in the Imperial territory of Omega. State your intentions,'

'We're passing through this territory to reach the Outer Rim,'

A brief silence passed as the grizzled old man disappeared from the display, but a brief moment later another reappeared. This man, she noted, had all the appearance of a snake; grey scaled skin, slitted eyes, and a sinisterly forked tongue. Strangely, however, he wore a strange crown of silvery leaves, and a richly-decorated robe made of a heavy scarlet cloth.

'Greetings, Commander Shepard. I am Archduke Arsinius-Vilren, lord of Omega. Her Majesty has informed me of your coming,' the man spoke in a low lisp, 'I will not obstruct your passage; your ship is free to pass through this territory. I do, however, have a proposition for you; one that Her Majesty herself has requested that I deliver. A frigate pack is en route and will escort you to the Omega void-docks shortly, if you wish to listen. There is much we should discuss,'

He nodded his head and slithered away, leaving the communications channel open. Indeed, four of the Imperial frigates had begun to approach them, their wedge-shaped silhouette barely visible against the darkness of space.

'What now, Commander?'

'Follow their directions and keep the weapons powered down. But make sure that you have the FTL drives hot, just in case. Tell Kasumi and Garrus that I want them suited up and ready to go in the next five minutes,'


'It is not much, but I hope that you'll excuse the damage done to the station. My artisans have been working tirelessly to repair the buildings, but it is proving a most troublesome task,' the snake-man said.

Arsinius-Vilren was his name - or so he introduced himself, from what she could understand through the thick accent that she could barely understand. His words seemed courteous and sincere - but there was something off-putting about the cunning glint in his eyes that seemed ever-present. For now, she remained at arm's length of him, quite literally. She had almost stepped on his weaving tail more than once.

'You've done a...good job...I guess?' Shepard replied uncertainly. The addition of stone – real blocks of stone - to buildings was very strange to her, especially on a space station. Whatever concrete had been cratered by explosions or pitted by tracks had been expertly covered up with smoothed flagstones in the parts that led from the docking bay. And if she was not mistaken – those were glowing crystal disks that they had fixed to the ceiling as a lights.

They had come to what was once the Afterlife nightclub, where Aria once ruled her criminal empire. No longer was the building covered in garish neon lights; every last one of them had been torn down. The concrete and metal walkways outside had also been removed, replaced with carved stone floors. Glass balustrades lined the edges overlooking the rest of the recovering station; and if Shepard was not mistaken, that was a real, living tree in front of Afterlife, covered in strange balls of green light. And if she was not mistaken – was that silver making up its bark?

'Please, do sit down,' he said, motioning to a bench beside the tree, 'It would not do to conduct business in uncomfortable settings, yes?'

She raised an eyebrow, though she sat down as he had asked, followed by Kasumi and Garrus. Satisfied, the snake-man squatted down, resting on the coils of his tail.

'I can see in your eyes that you are anxious to return to your mission, whatever that may be,' spoke Vilren matter-of-factly, 'As do I, Spectre, as do I; there is much to be done here and elsewhere. However, the Empress has requested that I convey her wishes. She speaks highly of you, though the reason why I know not. She believes that whatever your mission is, it must be important; for the Scrolls have dictated such,'

It was the most absurd thing she had read about from what little the Imperial Embassy had released for public viewing to the rest of the Citadel. To have their lives dictated by the 'future' described by a set of scrolls that purportedly foretold events to come - the rational part of her screamed to argue, but she halted herself from doing so. No, if they believed that supporting her was in their interests, who was she to argue against support that even the Citadel Council had been reluctant to give?

'To this end, she gives you her blessings. If you would accept, you may choose as many crew members as you will from my personal guard - and from the Legion men stationed here, if that is what you desire,'

More men would be advantageous in an open war, yes - but they simply would not work with quick insertions and extractions. But before she could respond, Kasumi stood up suddenly; her hand uncertainly raised as if to wave at a friend.

'Is there something I can help your companion with?' Vilren said, rising up. Tracing the hooded thief's line of sight, he beckoned to the two Legion soldiers by Afterlife's main entranceway.

It was the same cat-woman that Kasumi had arrived with on the Citadel, though she was barely recognisable. Her scars were still numerous, and several of her teeth were still missing. In armour, she was even less recognisable, though the markings on her light brown fur was still the same. And beside her was an irate, lightly-built woman with a ...crossbow... that was perhaps almost as long as she was tall; and even as they moved towards the snake-man, this woman continued to speak furiously under her breath towards the cat.

'I believe these two are...?' Vilren spoke, nodding his head towards the crossbow soldier.

'Centurion S'Tharra, Sixth Legion. And I am Centurion Caedwynn Dubois of the Sixth Legion,' the fuming woman spoke curtly, glaring at the cat-woman.

'Ah yes. I have heard much about your exploits. Re-enlisted with the Legion after serving with distinction, if my memory serves me well. As for your companion; for whatever wrong she has done to you, I would suggest that you refrain from striking her in public. If I may, what has she done?'

'Nothing, milord. She tried to kill a Batarian who we have captured with a broken-down gun in his hands, and I intervened. We've just...had a...discussion about right and wrong,'

'I see. While it is commendable to maintain your sense of justice, Centurion, I must remind you that the Empress' orders were to destroy any hostiles on sight, and no quarter is to be granted to them. I fear that your colleague is acting correctly-'

'With all due respect, sir. This was not the Legion I had joined fifty years ago,' she spat, unable to control herself any longer; S'Tharra raised an eyebrow as she watched on, 'These are civilians. Their weapons are barely able to scratch our armour. This is murder, nothing more,'

'Watch what you say, Centurion. I have no intention of pursuing the Empress' orders to the letter, as it would undermine my efforts at restoring stability on this station. But I cannot have you actively disobeying my orders, subverting morale from within. Stand down, and don't speak of this matter any more, unless you wish to be disciplined by your commanding legate,'

In response, Caedwynn lifted her helmet from her head and cast it to the ground before Vilren. She tore away the gold-striped cloth on her pauldron and threw it onto the helm as well, her eyes flashing in fury.

'In that case, I resign from my post. You can inform the Legate that he may take the rest of my pay, and issue a dishonourable discharge if he feels so strongly about my insubordination. Orders like these should never be followed, nor issued in the first place. Talos knows I have enough drakes to drink and piss away till I fall in a grave,'

Shepard smiled. This woman had more than a shred of conscience in her, and a streak of righteous bravery - or was it recklessness? that she had seen in very few men. Those were traits she could appreciate; someone with enough free thinking to do what was needed to get the job done, without causing needless harm to others. The same sort that became the heroes of the Skyllian Blitz. Maybe she would take the Empress' offer up after all...

Before Vilren could utter another word, Shepard placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to pause. Turning to the former centurion, she said, 'Soldier. I know what you're experiencing; I've been there as well. Issued orders that I did not want to issue had I another choice. Disobeyed orders that I didn't feel were right. How are you in a fight?'

'A bottle of Surilie wine says that I can beat your best sniper, shot for shot,' she spoke, eyeing the Turian beside the Spectre curiously as he shifted slightly on his seat, 'Why do you ask? It's what I've done since my recruitment, putting a shot between the enemy's eyes; and it's what I do now. Well...until just then,'

'Well, seeing as Vilren here has said I'm allowed to take anyone in from his bodyguards or from the Legion - I'd like to offer you a position on my ship,'

The former centurion crossed her arms and looked the Spectre up and down. Sighing, she bent down to collect her helmet from the floor.

'Beats drinking until Oblivion come, and you look like you've seen your fair share of battle - as have your companions,' She flashed a glance at Garrus' scarred face, 'I'm up for it. Give me a target to shoot and I'll have it nailed to a wall,'

Vilren briefly looked as though he was about to protest, though he recoiled when the Centurion shot him a deadly glare. Defeatedly, he nodded his consent.

'I suppose I can...overlook your misbehaviour here, centurion. I will not report your desertion to your legate, as you will technically be on a special mission on direct orders from the Empress herself. However, I do believe that another Legion soldier would benefit your attitude towards your superiors,'

S'Tharra looked at Kasumi briefly. She still owed the thief a favour, as distasteful as it was for a law-abiding citizen, a soldier no less, to owe something to a petty criminal. Yet she did save her from a life of servitude to some filthy Batarian. And perhaps this was the only chance she would ever have to repay her debt to the thief - and at least this time with a commander that seemed more respectable. Surely there was a way to make the Commander accept her into her crew as well.

Shepard looked at S'Tharra's pleading gaze, and then to Kasumi. This was the same light brown tabby that had followed the thief around on the Citadel, though now almost unrecognisable. With the suit of heavy-looking armour encasing her, and hefting a towering shield almost as large as she was tall, a longsword sheathed in a war-worn black leather sheath at her hip, she was far removed from the bruised and battered cat that Shepard had seen that day.

'Shep,' Kasumi said slowly, 'I think she wants to come along,'

'Alright. I suppose we do have some more empty sleeping space, and she's also a Legion soldier...' Shepard muttered, rubbing her head. Last she had heard, Wrex was busy teaching Grunt how to 'be a Krogan' on Tuchanka, and she could certainly use another close-combat specialist - if that shield and sword was any indication of the task she performs in the Legion, 'Lord Vilren, I'll also have her join my crew, if that is alright with you,'

'That is no object, Commander. Khajiit, you will protect this woman with your life. Serve her with distinction, as you would in the Legion. You are hereby dismissed from the Legion until such time that this Commander deems your service no longer necessary,' said Vilren, motioning the cat-woman to move forward. 'Now, as for other concerns. While the Empress has given you leave to pass through our realm for the purposes of...whatever it is you must do, that does not mean that you are free to come and go whenever you desire. Your vessel's markings match that of a group of undesirables in Alliance space; and while the Empress may trust your intentions, that does not mean that she trusts the intentions of the rest of your crew. I ask that you complete your mission swiftly, and that you will not permit the rest of your crew to wander without supervision,'

'Noted,' she spoke, biting back an angry remark. It seems that everywhere she went, the emblem on the Normandy seemed to attract unwanted attention and dislike. Not that she could blame them, of course; Cerberus did not exactly have a brilliant reputation, even among humans - and far worse among aliens.

'Now, I believe that is all that the Empress had bid me to relay to you, and thus I must return to the work of reconstructing this station. I shall order these two soldiers' belongings hauled to your ship post-haste. Good hunting, Commander. May you ever walk with the sun on your back,'


Engineering Deck, Normandy SR-2, Sahrabarik System. 0000 hours, Galactic Standard Time.

To say that the belongings of the two new additions to the Normandy crew were strange was an understatement. The Imperial porters had delivered a single large footlocker, and two smaller personal footlockers between the two of them, all crafted of a strange golden metal, which they had placed very carefully down in an unused corner of the cargo bay. A tall, dark-skinned human stood by, looking curiously at the various armaments that had been brought into the cargo hold. All of them seemed strangely archaic – and somewhat brutal; swords, both normal and in the shape of a handheld chainsaw, as well as what appeared to be a crossbow with a surprisingly large amount of eezo held in its body.

'Can't believe I'm saying this, but Akatosh be damned if being out of the Legion doesn't feel good,' Caedwynn sighed, opening the smaller footlocker with a silver emblem on it. Inside were a rather large supply of midnight-black crossbow bolts, each one and a half feet long; and a stash of several vials of murky red liquid, which Shepard assumed were some strange energy drink that the Imperials consumed.

'So why use bolts for ammunition - or crossbows, even? Don't you have mass accelerator rifles?' asked Jacob, picking up one of the crossbow bolts and examining it closely.

'Mass accelerator rifles? Like the ones the Batarians were using? They hardly scratched ebony plate and weave. Not enough punch, too much noise. These are silent and deadlier,'

'But you can't possibly carry too many of these around. They're at least half a pound each. Speaking of which, what's with the yellow-tipped one?'

At the mention of the yellow-tipped bolt, Caedwynn froze, her eyes widening in horror.

'Don't touch that one unless you want to be sent to Oblivion in pieces. Last time I've had a recruit touch the tip of one of those a little too hard, I scrubbed my armour for weeks to get his blood and guts off it,'

'Alright. Don't touch it, explosive. Got it,' Jacob said, backing away with his hands raised, 'Oh, and I'm the Normandy's armoury officer, Jacob Taylor. Nice to meet you, miss...?'

'Caedwynn Dubois. Used to have a rank and title, but seeing as I'm out of the Legion now, I might as well not use it. The cat over there is Centurion S'Tharra, of the Sixth Legion,'

'Miss Dubois. Well, it's been a...pleasure...meeting you. As an armoury officer, if you would leave any requests for gear and equipment, I'll try to get them if I can. Same goes for damaged weapons and armour; just leave them with me and I'll have them patched up,'

'Good to know, but I think I'll try to fix things myself. Don't think you can get any of these crossbow bolts or ebony plates anyhow, what with the Empress' regulations on where those things go. Say, do you have a stash of drinks anywhere on this ship? Got a few bottles to store. Just for that quick after-mission pick-me-up, you know,'

Jacob chuckled a little as he watched the woman lift a 'few' bottles of various spirits and wines from a hidden compartment in the side of the footlocker. After she lifts the ninth bottle out from the footlocker, she scooped them all up and proceeded out of the door towards the lift. Soon after the door closed, Shepard entered the cargo room, glancing over her shoulder.

'I see you've finally found someone that can match Engineer Donnelly in a drinking competition, Commander,' joked Jacob, smiling.

'I can see that. How are they settling in? Centurion S'Tharra?'

'This one finds this ship rather spacious,' S'Tharra purred. She placed the shield she had been checking against the wall and scratched her ear absent-mindedly, 'Last time this one was on a Legion troopship, this one had to sleep in a triple bunk between two stinking Orcs. All while having the cook's onions stored below the lowest one. It did not help with this one's mood for the whole deployment,'

She sniffed the air, her ears drooping in shame. 'If this one may ask, is there a washroom in this ship? This one wishes to clean herself,'

'Up one floor, on the crew quarters. Women's washroom. You look like you're my size; check my locker in there for spare clothes, if you haven't brought any. We'll need to get you some more...universal clothes when we can,'

'This one thanks you, but that should not be necessary. It would not do to borrow clothing from one's commanding officer,'

The cat flipped open the lid on her own footlocker, pulling from it a neatly-folded set of linen robes, and a small bag of what Shepard presumed were her personal items. She bounded off towards the elevator, a spring in her step.

'So, what do you think of them?'

'They seem to be good soldiers. I still think they need to be given proper weapons, though. The cat-woman - S'Tharra,' Jacob spoke slowly, grimacing, trying to get the sounds to roll off his tongue, 'Definitely needs new weapons. She's brought in nothing but a longsword. A longsword! She'll get shot to pieces before she can reach an enemy,'

Lifting up the longsword in question from its place inside the large golden footlocker, Shepard could see her reflection in the silvery blade, polished to a mirror sheen, as she removed its vermillion leather sheath. She'd seen these in history texts, of course, and fantasy simulstims - but never had she found or held a real blade. It was well-balanced, for certain; easy to handle and lightweight for its size, easily allowing her to twirl it around with little effort.

There was, however, something strange about it. The moment that she had touched the grip, a faint crimson glow seemed to emanate from the blade, and the outlines of undecipherable glyphs danced along its surface. She was also certain there was a soft warmth radiating from the blade, but the moment that her hand reached to touch the metal, the heat had dissipated as quickly as it had come about.

'Uh, Commander?'

Seeing a box of old armour plates from discarded and damaged suits of armour, she decided to swing the blade into the nearest broken suit.

The effect was immediate. The sword cleaved cleanly through the armour plating of the nearest Turian-made chestplate, its blade now glowing white-hot. There was a molten gash where the blade had carved through the armour plate, molten ceramic now dripping to the base of the metal crate.

'I...I didn't expect that,' Shepard mumbled, now eyeing the sword warily. She carefully replaced the blade inside the box where it once rested. Surely there wasn't enough space inside the blade to project a magnetic containment field for plasma?

'Hmm. What about the crossbow?'

The crossbow still sat on the ground, leaning against the footlocker. It seemed to be a sniper's weapon – or perhaps it had been turned into one by Caedwynn. She ran a finger over the top of the battered scope on top of the weapon. On the weathered polymer of the weapon's stock were hundreds of lines etched with some sharp implement – and if she was not mistaken, there were teeth embedded in it, and a telltale blackish-brown smear where blood had splashed it across the metal buttplate of the weapon and dried before it had been washed off.

'I hear you, Commander, and I would ask that you keep your Divines-damned hands off Skullsplitter!' an angry voice called from behind the locked door. A loud thump resounded through the cargo hold, followed by several loud bangs and cursing.

'Miss Dubois. Damaging the doors of this ship is ill-advised,' EDI's smooth voice intoned from the broadcasting system.

'Let her in, EDI. I'm sorry, Caedwynn, I didn't mean to-'

The centurion burst into the room as soon as the doors had slid open. Her face was red, and her hands balled into fists; though her shoulders relaxed as she saw the crossbow was still inside its cradle at the bottom of its locker.

'I'm more than happy to show you how it performs, Commander, if you want,' Caedwynn growled, lifting up the arbalest from its resting place and stroking it softly, 'But I would ask that you do not touch my weapon. It's been with me for close to forty-five years, and I've spent more than half my time tuning that weapon to perfection,'

She sniffed the air. Her nose wrinkled as she smelled the acrid stench of burning plastic and ceramic, eyes locked on the destroyed armour in the corner. Her mouth curled upwards in a knowing grin.

'You've just tested the cat's sword on the armour, haven't you. How many strikes did it take? A dozen, maybe?'

'Actually, only one,'

At that remark, Caedwynn raised an eyebrow. Surely the cat's old longsword wouldn't have cut through armour plate so easily – last she had seen, the enchantment upon it had been barely hot enough to char the paint on armour, let alone cleaving straight through. It would have taken a chainsword at least, and if it were a chainsword, she would have heard its ear-splitting grinding from outside the room.

'Wait, this isn't hers,' spoke Caedwynn, as she picked up the sword from the footlocker, 'Her one's chipped and dented to Oblivion, and this one's as smooth as if it had never been used at all. Sheath's also not the same. Was this the only one inside the crate, commander?'

'You tell me,' Shepard replied, shrugging, 'There were several in that locker. That sword, two chainsaw-bladed swords, and a shorter chainsaw-bladed knife,'

'Well, I can't see any names on it – and it definitely smells new. Handle hasn't got that telltale smell of dried blood and sweat. What else is in here,'

Roughly shoving aside boxes of bolts with her free hand, she finally found a small dataslate at the bottom of the crate. On its surface, it displayed an Imperial dragon in silver, with the Khajiit's name written below in dark red lettering.

'A lesser seal of the Empire. And a message addressed to the Khajiit. This is getting more interesting, I wonder what it is,'

'I don't think you should read it, soldier. It's addressed to her,'

'A peek wouldn't kill,' Caedwynn whispered, touching the draconic sigil.

The image glowed an angry red, and Caedwynn shrieked as a burst of lightning struck her square in the chest, hurling her across the room and into a wall with a sickening crack.

'Caedwynn!' Shepard yelped, rushing over to her side. The centurion groaned and fell limply to one side, twitching uncontrollably, 'Great. She's still breathing, at least. EDI, bring the elevator down to the engineering deck. Tell Chakwas that we've got one unconscious crew member needing immediate treatment. Jacob, pick up that pad. Use your biotics if you have to. Just don't touch it with your bare hands,'


'She'll be alright. Just a light concussion from being thrown against the wall,' Chakwas said, raising an eyebrow, 'I never thought that reading a datapad could be so dangerous to one's health,'

'Well, not the datapad itself, doctor. Burst of...electricity...threw her against a wall,'

The strange datapad lay on the doctor's table, now blank and seemingly harmless. She'd notified the cat-woman to come to the med-bay as soon as she'd finished drying her fur, a good ten minutes back; and only now did she come through the doors, still somewhat damp. She'd put on what looked like a black-and-red bathrobe, with an extended skirt-like flap on the rear, under which her tail peeked.

'This one wonders. What happened to the centurion?' asked the Khajiit, tilting her head to one side.

'She tried to read a message addressed to you. The pad's there; just...make sure you don't get killed reading it,'

The cat laughed a little, shaking her head. Sometimes those messages were trapped in case they fell into the wrong hands; and this was something that even the recruits were told fairly early in their training. Still, one could let their curiosity get the better of themselves. She touched the sigil and it flashed an emerald green. A holographic image of a familiar snake-like face burst forth from the surface, staring aimlessly into space.

'Ahem. I certainly hope that you were not intending to take a damaged blade into battle, soldier. It would not do to have the Empire ill-represented with soldiers that are not equipped with the very best of what we could offer,'

'That damaged blade was this one's late husband's own sword,' hissed the cat angrily, baring her teeth, 'It has served him well for years,'

As all our chainswords are the property of the Legion, I have taken the liberty to requisition the Imperial Armoury on Nirn for a replacement blade for the purposes of arming a legionnaire on a special mission outside of the Legion. They have obliged by supplying a...Sunshard, delivered by a Dremora but ten minutes before the departure of the Normandy,'

The Khajiit's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates at that statement, and nearly dropped the dataslate in shock.

'A Sunshard. This one...knows not what to say,'

'I do not know if it is a suitable enough replacement, as I am neither a warrior nor a soldier. As there was insufficient room in the box intended for your equipment, I have ordered your old sword to be removed to make way for this one. Rest assured that we will not dispose of it; it still remains with the rest of your belongings on the Wrath of Talos' hold. Talos guide your hand, soldier; we have great expectations of you, and you shall not disappoint us. Please inform your fellow errant legionnaire that she shall also be held to these standards – and that we expect her behaviour to improve significantly before she returns,'

The snake-man performed a small bow and his projected shadow faded away. Shepard gasped in shock as a blue-white flame engulfed the dataslate in S'Tharra's hands, reducing it to ashes in a blink of an eye.

'Well. That was...odd,' Shepard said uncertainly, looking at the smouldering remains of the dataslate on the ground, 'Anyway, listen up. There's a mission that needs to be done, and I need you to be groundside with the rest of my team. Maybe along the way I can ask you about what this Sunshard is. Suit up and meet me at the hangar bay in five minutes for a briefing and a weapons refit, soldier.,'

S'Tharra snapped off a quick salute, and begun to walk to the door.

'S'Tharra,' Shepard called after her. The cat stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised.

'I heard from Kasumi about what happened. I'm sorry for your loss,'

She tensed up visibly, her fur standing on end. Her hands clenched into fists, though she managed to force on a half-smile.

'This one...thanks you,' she growled, not even noticing that the stubs of her claws had extended and dug into her own palms.


Shepard was thankful that the inner walls of the cargo bay were reinforced. Another slug whistled overhead and bounced off the hardened reinforced steel walls, courtesy of a Carnifex held by a particularly inept gunner.

'This one can't use any of these,' growled S'Tharra in frustration, as Shepard passed her gun after gun. Her aim was incredibly poor, missing targets slightly further than fifteen metres away.

'Try to relax. You're getting there,'

In truth, Shepard was not sure at all. Jacob had recommended that the cat not use her shield as it was large and cumbersome, potentially preventing her from moving fast enough to keep up with the rest of the squad. However, she seemed to reach for it every time that she reached for a new thermal clip.

She glared angrily at the Locust in her hands before placing it back on the table none too gently. There was a pile of every single type of gun in the armoury stacked beneath, and none of them felt the same as throwing an explosive dart or grenade - or swinging a sword. Each one felt strange; some too light, some too bulky, others too long.

'This one has tried every single gun. This one likes none of them,' hissed the cat, 'This one was trained as a legionnaire, not as a skirmishing auxiliary,'

'You have specialisations, I understand that. But you should be able to pick one of these up and learn how to use it,' Shepard replied with as much patience as she could muster.

To the Spectre, it was very strange how much emphasis the Empire seemed to place on close combat. The Khajiit wielded the guns presented to her as though she had never used anything other than a hammer or a sword, and missed even the closest targets presented to her. The shotguns had been close to hitting their mark, but the recoil from every shot threatened to knock the Khajiit flat on her back.

The Khajiit huffed as she picked up her sword and shield again. 'This one only knows how to use swords and shields, and powered hammers,'

As if to illustrate her point, she rushed at the nearest practice drone. Putting all her weight behind her shield, she crushed it against a cargo crate, flattening the drone to a pile of scrap metal. A quick underhanded slash with her sword left another drone in two sparking pieces, while the last drone circled around her to try and find an opening to attack. Before it could do so, the Khajiit roared and rammed the spike on the pommel of her sword into its core, disabling it.

'Where's Grunt when you need him, Shepard?' Garrus said, barely containing the amusement in his voice, 'He'll be thrilled to know that he has a sparring partner on the ship now,'

'Let's just hope that Wrex taught him to control himself,' groaned Shepard. The last thing she needed was a cargo bay that was littered with pieces of shredded, crushed, or otherwise destroyed objects. She could not remember just how many things she had to eject out the airlock because the tank-bred Krogan decided to sleep or sit upon it - or punch it for amusement.

'We're at the destination, Commander. It looks hot out there - hot enough to give a Turian a good tan,'

'Turians don't get tanned,' Garrus remarked drily.

'Alright. S'Tharra, I still want you on this mission. Forget about using guns for now, we'll have to get you to learn how to do that another day. Get into the shuttle with whatever weapons you want, and let's go. I'll brief you on the trip,'


Haestrom, 1200 hours, Galactic Standard Time.

Shepard looked outside and grimaced as she saw the air shimmering in the blistering heat of Haestrom. Not a single moving creature remained to be seen, and every crate and vehicle left in the open was bleached white by the intense radiation from the enormous yellow star in the sky.

'Shepard. This planet's weak magnetosphere has been overwhelmed by the sun's expanding influence. Radiation while in direct sunlight will interfere with shield operation,' informed EDI through comms broadcast.

As they stepped off the shuttle onto the sun-scorched rocky ground, there was an almost imperceptible flicker of kinetic barriers on all of the team. Even in the thermally insulated hardsuits that the team wore, every one of them was sweating profusely as the environmental controls struggled under the harsh sunlight.

'Stay out of direct sunlight. Radiation's interfering with our kinetic barriers,' Shepard spoke, beckoning the team to follow her. The planet seemed abandoned; what paint was on the walls of the towering buildings on their right was bleached almost white. Only the whistling of the wind could be heard on the otherwise silent planet, which at its peak would truly have been a thriving colony of Quarians.

'This one thinks something is wrong. This one smells...blood,' growled S'Tharra, sniffing the air, 'And burned flesh. From the ramp in front of us,'

Shepard nodded and lifted up her shotgun. She threw a combat drone to the front, which burst to life; it beeped in confusion when it had found nothing to lock its weapons on to.

'Looks clear. Move down, and keep your eyes open. S'Tharra, take point,'

At the base of the ramp, S'Tharra was almost tempted to clamp her nose shut; the stench of burning flesh had become overpoweringly strong, and judging by the expressions on the other squad members' faces, they had begun to notice it as well.

'Check behind the door. Keep your weapons up,'

The scene that awaited them inside shocked Shepard. A squad of Quarian marines lay dead. Some still clung on to their weapons, slumped against consoles. Other, unarmed marines were sprawled on the floor, blood oozing from numerous bullet wounds. Several destroyed Geth units were scattered across the room, the largest one surrounded by half a dozen burned corpses - and a flamethrower, with its pilot light still lit, lying in front of it.

'Geth. I shouldn't have been surprised that these Quarians were found. They must have been doing something here; search around,'

'You know, I'll be amazed if we even found anything,' Garrus replied. He shifted aside a few bodies that had been slumped over the consoles, shaking his head as he found nothing but dried blood.

There was not much to be found. Many of the datapads had been shattered by bullets, or destroyed by radiation. Only one datapad remained active, a flashing green light barely visible under a thick layer of dried blood and brain matter.

'Think we've got something. A recording,' Kasumi said, tapping the datapad, 'Unencrypted. Let's hear what it says,'

A brief burst of recorded gunshots and panicked screams assaulted their ears. A male Quarian's shaking voice uttered 'We fought a few of the damned Geth, and held them off for a few minutes. The data found here is valuable. Get it to the Fleet, now!'

The rushing noise of a high-pressure jet of flame overpowered the recording, followed by a high-pitched squeal of agony.

'Damn it. They got our comms. There's no way we can hold them any longer. If anyone's out there, listening to this; get to Tali'Zorah's team. That data needs to make it back to the Fleet-'

Another burst of flame overpowered the recording, followed by the scream of the Quarian marine.

'Damn the Geth,' hissed Shepard through clenched teeth, 'We've got to get to them quickly. If the Geth know that the Quarians are here, they won't last long. EDI, do you have any readings on where the other Quarian teams are?'

'Three other transponders are detectable. You are currently at one, and the other two are close to each other, due north of your position, approximately one kilometre away,'

'Good. We haven't got any time to lose. Eyes front,' Shepard barked, tapping the door controls on the blood-spattered console in front of her.

The gate outside the room slid open with a hiss, revealing a wide open space before them. Several more destroyed Geth units lay strewn on rusted catwalks and weathered concrete, among numerous ancient cargo crates. A loading dock of sorts, by the look of the large crane on the left.

'If there are Geth snipers hiding in that building, they've got a clear shot at us if we're in the open,' Garrus said, eyeing the ruined building to their right.

A Geth dropship flew close overhead, the heat wash from its exhaust scorching as it flew overhead. Several Geth units dropped from its underside, quickly unpacking themselves and bringing their oddly-rounded rifles to bear.

'This one thinks that these 'Geth' you speak about already have a clear shot at us,' S'Tharra shouted at Garrus, crouching behind her shield. The others had dived behind fallen pillars and cargo crates, waiting for the pulse rifles to stop firing. She continued to walk slowly forward, flinching whenever a bullet ricocheted off the eyeslit of her shield.

'Drone out!' yelled Shepard, tossing her combat drone in the middle of the nearest cluster of Geth. Momentarily distracted by the drone's quick shocks, they never saw Garrus landing three consecutive shots through their optics. Seizing the chance, S'Tharra lunged forward and slashed through a Geth's torso, splitting it into two sparking halves. A strange blue haze surrounded the Geth she killed, a mist of sorts; absorbed by the sword as quickly as it had appeared.

'There is no end to these automatons. This one thinks we must take the building to the right by storm if we are to survive,' hissed S'Tharra.

Another dropship flew overhead, dropping yet another dozen of silver-armoured Geth troopers on the other side of the loading dock. Along with a red-armoured platform bearing a rocket launcher, and a much larger platform, the heat haze in front of its large gun marking it as a flamethrower.

'Noted. Kasumi, stealth up and move. Garrus, keep us covered. See if you can hit that Geth's fuel tank,'

'Give me more of a challenge, Shepard,' he replied lazily, firing a shot downrange and puncturing the Geth's fuel tank. The blast promptly vaporised the Geth platform, along with six others that were beside it; the remainder had been hurled forcefully against the walls.

'Impressive shot. This one thinks that Caedwynn may have something to learn yet,'

'Come on. Your turn now. Move up that ramp and make sure it's clear. We'll keep the Geth down from here,'

As she dashed up the upwards-leading ramp on her right, the Khajiit noted that there was no shortage of debris and crates for cover. Concrete pillars cast broad shadows on the dusty stone floors, allowing the shields of the rest of the squad to recover. The slugs of the Geth troopers still impacted on the concrete walls with dull thuds, though far less threatening with a thick concrete wall in between.

'Looks clear. Safe to move here,' called the cat back to the squad, who followed her under a torrent of energy-coated rounds.

'Alright, you heard her. Move up and keep your heads down!' barked Shepard.

Another squad of Geth had moved into the far end of the tunnel, their electronic chatter audible over the din. The Khajiit hissed in surprise as another storm of rounds struck her armour, though they shattered harmlessly against the reinforced ebony plate. She slammed her shield onto the ground; the spikes at the bottom glowing white-hot before they bored into the stone floor, securing it firmly in place.

'Handy. I could use that extra protection,' Garrus said jokingly. His rifle boomed once, and two Geth crumped to the ground on the other side, their heads missing. 'One shot, two kills. Nice,'

'Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Garrus. My drone's still getting some right about-now,'

The tiny orange ball-shaped drone had halted in front of a red-armoured Geth bearing a flamethrower. Beeping angrily when the little drone would not move, the Geth pointed its weapon at the drone. Immediately, it vanished; reappearing a split-second later behind the flamethrower-wielding machine. There was a brief flash of electricity, before-

'Spirits, that's not fair, Shepard,' groaned Garrus, shielding his eyes from the enormous fireball that had erupted on the far side of the tunnel.

'You did it too, big guy. Now we're even,'

'If that's all there is, this one thinks that we should keep moving,' growled S'Tharra.


Arch-Mage's Quarters, Imperial City, Nirn. 2000 hours, Nirnian Standard Time.

Those machines.

They were not Dwemeri automata. They were nothing like Dwemeri automata.

She could see the faint aura about them. With every strike that the Sunshard landed upon those...machines...she could see the spark and flash of a minuscule soul being absorbed and sent to Aetherius as its power was drained away. This went against everything that she had known about automata; that they were constructs given motive power by a captured soul. That they were intelligence crafted by an artisan, or representing that of its original creature, if so desired. These were living, thinking creatures - of some strange communal form, bound to a crafted shell, perhaps - but still living.

'I must visit the Soul Cairn and see for myself if what I suspect is true,' muttered the Empress. She picked up the recording crystal, and walked towards the swirling purple mists in the centre of the room. Perhaps Durnehviir or Valerica would have seen something odd fall into the realm of captured souls.


A/N

And so the (unwitting) spies are inserted. Had they been trained as mages, or had a lick of sense, they should have been suspicious indeed. But as they say in the Empire, never look a gift horse in the mouth.

Chaosrin: Much as I want to create an exposition on how radically different the Empire is from the rest of the known galaxy, I also don't want to bore readers with a pages-long description of everything. The differences will be highlighted a little at a time, but rest assured that there is always more than a little culture shock.

Tylermech: As dragons are (essentially) immortal, they make for great overseers. To a despot/tyrant/autocrat, an underling that is unflinchingly loyal (dragons only listen to dragons) is a great asset. Though dragons do oversee the Imperial senate and Elder Council, they don't actively enforce rulings. They merely act as eyes and ears of the Empress in the open, or in extreme cases, her adjutants and judges, while the Inquisitors act as the eyes and ears of the Empress in covert acts, as secret police or for high-risk wetwork.

Melfice-Sama: It is good that you do not view the Empire as likeable; for what good is it for me to write a story so single-sided that the reader is forced to adopt my viewpoint? The Empire is designed to be polarising. While it establishes order and general stability as well as prosperity, it does so with unspeakable acts of mass destruction and terror which in today's world would be unacceptable. So if you do say that you do not like the Empire much, that is a sign that my current plans are working :D

As for Valeria not being able to wear the Septim name; in the original lore for Oblivion, yes, Martin did not have a child and therefore the Septim line should have been extinct by the start of the Fourth Era. However, in this case I've taken a bit of liberty with the contents of Racial Phylogeny and made Valeria an illegitimate child of the Champion of Cyrodiil and Martin Septim. Which casts a rather...illegitimate claim...on the throne of Tamriel, doesn't it? A bastard child of a bastard child of an Emperor.

Emile-A239: Quarians would not necessarily gain a world nor citizenship from the Empire. Given that they have had initial contact with the Council first, any ruler would question the wisdom of allowing in a race that was exiled. That would be akin to say, sheltering a group of terrorists hostile to an equally large nation that you happen to have just met. The benefits of such an offer must greatly outweigh the potential damage that it would cause.