A/N: I'm on a roll here, people! Because at last, some interesting stuff is happening...thanks for all who reviewed last and had the patience to see me update...!

I also had a few Moria references in previous reviews...then Sky posts me my Random Moment of the Day:

Balrog: RRRAAAGH!
Dragonborns: You! Shall not! Pass!
Balrog: Haahaha! That's hilarious!
Kajsa: Uh... what is?
Balrog: You shall not pass!
Alyssa: What of it?
Balrog: You shall not PASS! Get it? It's funny because we're in Pass!
Dragonborns: ...
J'shana: *facepaw*

Anywho...

Chapter Twenty-One

Reality reformed, ever so slowly...after a few moments, gasping, panting for breath, the woman managed to get her eyes open, just a sliver. It was enough. She groaned and shut her eyes again. Small miracle she was still alive...

Opening her eyes was too much for her. She let them roll back into her head, slipped into sleep, hoping she'd wake up. She still felt like she had so Gods-damned much to do here...

...then she was blinking some more, and there was strength in her veins, and she could lift her head. Sweat beaded her skin, and she wiped it away from the top of her brow. Moving felt like lead. Her skin still burned beneath her touch. I must've been like this for a while.

She couldn't understand it. The orange flare...she could only remember a haze of red, a feeling like fire eating her from within...she'd been unable to take it. Of all the trials that she had passed through in her life, she hadn't been able to take this one...damned...moment...

It had to be some serious magic to have conked her out, and kept conkering her in the waking world. She groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position, rubbing her head with the air of one who had been trying to teach oneself how to read. Not that she hadn't been taught in her youth...still...she wasn't much of a reader, even amongst her family...

After a few moments she recollected where she was. She looked around, suddenly cautious. Had she cried out at all, in her pain? She couldn't remember. Her hand went to her sword, but there was no life around her; she'd sense it if she did. Had the head of a trueborn adventure, Father had always told her.

She levered herself onto her knees and the world swayed. She waited until it didn't, then lifted herself onto her feet. She lost balance, fell, waited until the black spots faded, tried again, fell, tried a third time, managed to stay up with support of the cavern wall. Her stomach churned; thank goodness she didn't need to eat in this madhouse of a realm, else all the contents of her last meal would've introduced itself to the cave floor...

After a few minutes of careful breathing, the woman stood tall without aid. She approached what remained of her fire, still feeling significantly queasy. It was only as she stirred the cooling ashes that something red flashed before her eyes.

Her body trembled in memory of the flare, but the woman kept her consciousness steady. The orange light continued to glow, much mellower than the harsh light had been. After a moment it flickered out...then returned, growing just a little brighter, more solid. It was stretching out...forming a trail...with amazed eyes, she followed it, watched it slowly reach out across the cave...wind its way back up the dark, sloping tunnel...back out into the world.

The woman frowned. She hesitantly lowered her hand to touch the mysterious trail...and as her fingertips connected, she immediately wished she hadn't. She lost all sense of herself—something was jolting her forwards, pulling her into a half-state. Dark figures moved beyond, but their voices rang clearly in her head. Nords, Khajiit and Elven. For a moment she stiffened, disconcerting the scent. Could they find...? No, surely not...

She relaxed a little. Dunmer. They weren't so aligned with the Dominion as Bosmer were.

The woman retracted from the gleaming trail, blinking hard. These strange figures...who were they? Didn't they realize how unsafe it was to traverse the surface in the manner they were doing? They were probably the last ones left outside, all the others must have surely perished by now...she'd gone to the mouth of the cave before the red light, listened to the ghostly dogs howling, howling...they hadn't done it like that for so long. They were looking for blood, and there was no blood to be found...

And I'm not going to give them the bloody satisfaction. She shivered at the thought of going out into the rugged, deceitful landscape again, but also aware that she'd have to leave this cave eventually—no way was she going to hole up in this pit with a scratched wall for company forever—she hardened her resolve, grasped the hilt of her longsword, and followed the gleaming orange trail up the winding corridor, back to the mist-veiled, treacherous world she had so come to detest.

Quill had not really considered herself to be one who feared the dark...but there was something unnatural about this place, something that made her skin crawl, goosebumps rise on her skin. Already she was missing the scents and winds of the world above—even if the mists harboured the treacherous Drainwraiths.

She felt along the walls with the tips of her left hand. They'd discovered there were walls, rising up ever so gently, perfectly rounded, but the roof of the corridors seemed endless. Morwyn had cast a Magelight aimed at the ceiling—the light had gone on and on, vanishing into the darkness.

It spooked Quill, every time the short-lived Candlelight spell went out. The faint light would abruptly disappear, leaving her and her fellows in total darkness, even if it was just for a few moments. Each time the light vanished, she froze, and Shouts-at-Sun would walk into her. He never got angry, though; just rested a hand on her shoulder, and when the Candlelight spell was reignited, she'd see compassion gleaming in his mysterious blue eyes, as though he understood the way she felt.

Quill felt a flash of warmth for the Argonian Dragonborn. The sound of his heavy dragonbone armour, clinking softly just behind her, comforted her even when the light disappeared.

She wasn't sure how long they had been walking, the Priests gliding soundlessly around them, their blue eyes far colder and brighter than stars. But then she heard Morwyn remark, somewhere at the front of the line, 'Is there anything we should fear in the Underpaths?'

Tattered robes brushed past Quill; somehow she knew them to belong to Volsung, and the mask gave a small shudder, trembling with energy. 'Many things, too many to list, indeed,' the Priest whispered. 'But stay silent, stay together...then, perhaps, Sunvaarseyollokke, you may find your way from this place...stronger than ever.'

Morwyn narrowed her deep red eyes. 'That was no answer.'

Volsung's expression didn't change. 'That was no question.'

'Hush, zeymah,' growled Hevnoraak, and Volsung slid back. He turned to Morwyn. 'I shall say this unto you, Viing se Yol,' he said, 'what you must fear above all else...is fear itself. The darkness will play with you. Morokei's magic lay neglected, forgotten; it has changed, developed a mind and heart of its own. It senses your awakened powers; it will try to stop you from leaving.'

Quill frowned. 'What haven't you told us about the Underpaths?'

'There was no time above,' hissed Volsung, glaring at her, 'and little here. Do not lose your wit or skill in the darkness, little dovah. The tunnels are endless to the hopeless.'

J'shana's voice rang from the shadows behind Quill. 'Can we rest, at least? We've been walking for hours. My feet are dead.'

Quill suddenly realized that her own feet ached in her boots, and she was walking slumped, her shoulders sagging, the Nightingale armour suddenly too heavy on her body. She'd never even noticed she was so tired, and yet it felt too soon since they'd left the Temple.

The Priests hissed huskily, but Alyssa interrupted, 'We're all tired. We should rest. I'll go on and scout ahead.'

'Are you mad?' Morwyn roughly grabbed Alyssa by the shoulder, crimson eyes flashing. 'You have no idea what's in these forsaken tunnels...'

Alyssa pulled herself free, green eyes spitting fire. 'You of all the others should know that I have my ways.'

Quill looked curiously between them. Alyssa and Morwyn rarely argued; they'd known each other longer than any other Dovahkiin had.

'Aren't you tired?' asked J'shana, sounding concerned. 'You didn't sleep at all last time...'

'I'm fine,' Alyssa insisted. 'I was already dead when I came here. I don't tire as quickly as you.' Her gaze rested on all the other Dragonborns, who filled out the tunnel. In the dulling Candlelight, Quill could see weariness flashed in their eyes. 'Rest here, set a sentry and keep your weapons close,' Alyssa instructed. 'And keep the Candlelight burning. Is there another who can cast it...?'

'I can,' said Kajsa quietly.

Alyssa gave a small nod. 'You and Morwyn both are responsible for it, then. Whatever happens, don't let the light go out. I should be back soon.' She turned to Hevnoraak. 'I suppose you'll have to tag along?'

Hevnoraak sneered. 'Not if you don't wish me to, Dovahkiin.'

Quill looked closely at Alyssa. She was fingering the hem of her Cloak again, almost impatiently. She stepped forward—maybe it was something to do with the other world? Distinctly aware of the weight of the Hidden Blade pressing down on her wrist, she stepped forward. 'Alyssa, are you sure—?'

The Candlelight spell winked out and she froze as the heavy, heavy darkness came crashing down. As Quill felt Shouts-at-Sun move behind her, Morwyn mutter something under her breath and the sound of a sword ever so slightly being pulled from its sheath, she swore she felt a much different kind of chill sweep past her—a growl of a breath, a soft, serpentine hiss, unnatural footsteps on the floor...light bathed them once more as an orb of light rose above their heads, and instinctively Quill turned towards where Alyssa had been standing. She was gone, and hard as she listened, she couldn't hear her footsteps.

Morwyn met Quill's gaze with a guarded expression. 'Thief, remember,' she said, as though she'd read Quill's mind. 'Always was good at the stealthy stuff; now that I think of it, she could give Avalon a run for her money.' She sat down on the floor with a sigh.

Kajsa was staring angrily into the darkness where Alyssa had vanished. She turned to Morwyn. 'I'd swear...'

'Swear what?' Morwyn demanded, unusually sharply.

Kajsa blinked, taken aback by the tone in her voice.

'I think,' whispered Krosis, floating between Morwyn and Kajsa, 'it would be best to heed Alyssa's rotte—settle and rest, regain your energy. My zeymahhe and I shall stand watch in the blackness.'

Kajsa met Krosis's penetrating blue stare with one of her famous sarcastic expressions. 'Wonderful. I'll sleep easy knowing a band of dead Dragon Priests for once aren't going to try and kill us in the dark.'

Vokun glided soundlessly behind her. 'As we have said before, it would serve to no purpose to kill you here,' he rasped, sounding as cynical as the bearer of his mask. He held her gaze for a moment, then disappeared into the surrounding dark.

'Come, Kajsa,' J'shana coaxed. The Khajiit appeared beside her friend, her deep amber eyes perplexingly bright. Kajsa didn't argue, and the two settled down against the opposite wall.

Shouts-at-Sun gave a soft, low Argonian chuckle near Quill's shoulder. 'That Khajiit can tame even the wiliest of hearts,' he remarked under his breath.

Quill smiled. 'I guess she can.'

She and Shouts-at-Sun sat down a short distance away from Morwyn, who was absently running the edge of the Ebony Sword of the Blaze along the floor, testing its sharpness. As Quill settled, relieved to take the weight off her legs, she realized that one of their number still hadn't settled. Jon still was on his feet, looking into the darkness with blank blue eyes. He was absently stroking the disquieting scars that tore across his face, bleak and red against his pale skin and dark hair.

'Are you okay?' Shouts-at-Sun asked.

Jon jumped and glanced at the Argonian, as though he'd forgotten they were there. 'N-nothing, it's nothing,' he stammered, and sat down quickly beside them. He gave the scars one final, fierce rub, then lowered his hand.

Quill frowned. 'Are they troubling you?'

Jon was silent for a few moments, then gave a short, terse nod.

Shouts-at-Sun looked levelly at the fearsome Nord warrior. 'Come, fahdon, it won't do you good to shut away all the secrets forever,' he coaxed. 'We all have stories of our scars we share...have you played Scars or Stories before?'

Jon forgot his unease for a moment. 'What?'

Quill gave Shouts-at-Sun a nudge. 'He hasn't been a part of the Thieves Guild.'

'Nor have I,' Shouts-at-Sun replied mildly. He turned back to Jon. 'I can sense there's a story behind those marks.' He paused for a moment. 'By chance, are they from Alduin?'

Jon looked faintly surprised, then nodded. He rubbed them again.

'They've just started...itching, really,' he murmured, and a hollow expression befell his pale complexion. 'And furiously, too. Won't stop biting me. It's like...they're reopened. Or about to be. Half-healed, you know?' He stared into the darkness. 'They started itching the moment we fell into the Underpaths. Something broke my fall. Something I felt like I've faced before...and yet, not.'

Quill tilted her head to one side. 'I don't understand.'

Jon blinked, then shook his head with a small, sad laugh. 'Nor do I, I'm afraid. I'm speaking nonsense, aren't I?'

'Between Banes of Alduin, we wouldn't say anything to do with scars and that demon is nonsense,' Quill replied, tucking her knees into her chest. She could picture the wound Alduin had delivered her, weeping crimson blood to the soft, icy snow of the Throat of the World, remembered watching the snowflake falling, falling...dying had been a curious thing. It was so much more peaceful and sad than she'd ever fathomed it to be.

Jon shrugged. 'Fair enough.' He turned back to Quill and Shouts-at-Sun, having turned away to fumble the hilt of his magnificent sword. 'Alduin gave me the scars on the Throat of the World,' he began in a low, troubled voice. 'I lay there, bleeding, dying, watching through dulled senses as the brothers fought.' There was no need to ask who these brothers were; they had all been there, every single one of them. 'I was too weak to do anything...only watch as Paarthurnax was given a mortal blow. As Alduin fled...he came to me, the white, wise master.' He ran his fingertip over his dark jaw. 'It was his soul that saved mine. But even so, one does not escape a battle with Alduin unscathed.'

Quill nodded mutely, and realized she was shaking. The memory of her duel with Alduin was fresh in her mind...she could hear the screams...feel the heat of his Thu'um, knocking against hers...

'Since I received these marks,' Jon continued, his voice stern and uncompromising, 'the slightest memory of Alduin is enough for these scars to hurt. I can sense they'll give me a lot of trouble in the future. And yet I cannot help but feel as though...' He broke off for a moment, then muttered very, very quietly, as though ashamed the other would hear, '...as though he's close, very close. Waiting for something to happen, waiting for his chance.'

Quill blinked. 'But Alyssa has told us, over and over, that she knows Alduin is not here.'

'And so she should.' Morwyn's low voice interrupted the conversation. Quill jumped and glanced towards the Dunmer, who had shuffled over with a peculiar expression in her eyes. Jon narrowed his, clearly uncomfortable. Had she been listening to the talk all this time?

'What do you mean?' asked Shouts-at-Sun.

Morwyn gave a small sigh. 'How to explain? That woman's had a pretty rough tangle with Alduin herself. No less rougher than the experience you had to go through.' She met Jon's gaze steadily. 'She's told me about it, what happened with her encounter of him on the Monahven. Alduin ripped her face apart, and I don't speak figuratively.'

Quill gaped at her. 'Then...then why...?'

Morwyn gave a sour laugh. 'She told me the story the first day we met. The Cloak she wears hides no secret than what Alduin gave her. The scars make her look barely human. While she wears the Cloak, she was restored to what she looked like before Alduin marked her as his. Brown hair. Green eyes.'

Jon frowned. 'If the Cloak was taken off...'

'...then her scars would show,' Morwyn replied shortly. 'Hence why she doesn't like to remove them.'

'Then why to you?' asked Quill carefully. 'Why does she trust you?'

Morwyn paused for a moment, mulling over the question. Then she shrugged and replied, 'I'm still trying to figure that out myself. Perhaps so another can share the burden. She's not ready to let the others know yet...though Kajsa's getting suspicious, you've seen the way she looks at her.'

Jon traced the scars across his cheek. 'Do you know if any other had to suffer a similar ordeal? Scarred so terribly by Alduin?'

Morwyn shrugged. 'Not on the Throat, I don't think. I nearly got bitten in two in Sovngarde, but given I was already dead when I came here, and the scars were just memories and nothing more to me, they hardly bother me.'

'We would've gained scars from fighting Alduin, but not to the same extent as yours and Alyssa's,' Quill reasoned softly. She thought back to the day, returning from the Time Wound...the knights of the other world on the mountain, making that treacherous deal to Alduin...her Thu'um, breaking into the sky, the knights defeated, and...and him, sent back, sent away without even the chance of saying goodbye...

'It's possible,' said Shouts-at-Sun quietly, 'that you and Alyssa share something more than ancient blood. Maybe your scars twinge when you're near each other—memories and echoes of Alduin's claws or teeth or tail-blade.'

Jon looked carefully at the Argonian, contemplating his words. Then he nodded. 'Maybe,' he murmured. 'Though it hasn't acted like this before. Not the first time we met, or anytime in the Temple. It's like...like something brazen's set it off.' He paused. 'It's stopped itching now.'

'Brazen how?' asked Quill, slightly alarmed. Morwyn wore a similar expression.

Jon frowned at them both. 'As I said, I don't know. Perhaps the darkness holds shadows of our pasts. You all saw the carvings in the Temple...'

'The Temple...' Something hit Quill. 'Wasn't Alyssa's carving the one of the half-sided dragon? That looked half dark, half gold?'

'They call her the Yuvon Dovah, Golden Dragon,' Jon whispered. 'But why isn't she whole?'

Morwyn said, 'Maybe she's more scarred by Alduin than most other Dragonborns could ever conceive.'

'How much can one woman be scarred by a God?' asked Shouts-at-Sun.

Jon fingered his scars again. 'She says her bloodline traces to Akatosh,' he said. 'Like, really to Akatosh, and to Talos. And mine goes back to Ysgramor, the first human to step on the shores of Tamriel.'

Morwyn looked closely at Jon, as though contemplating something in those deep scarlet eyes of hers. 'You remember the orange flare?'

'The shard of ancestor magic, Alyssa said it was,' Quill remembered.

Jon's eyes narrowed. 'She said it was impossible...Aedric magic...'

'Aye, impossible,' said Morwyn. 'The Gods had no part in this before...but clearly, it seems they do now.' She eyed Jon's scars. 'More than we want to believe. Should they burn again, Stormcloak...don't ignore it. The shadows play games with your mind, but not with what's left of our dovahsille.'

She spoke with the air of one who knew far more than she was letting on.

Arela was cold, colder than she had ever been in her life. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn't stop shivering.

She glanced around at the others, wondering if they felt the same. Serrah walked stoically, the mist rolling smoothly off his battered Glass armour, fiery eyes glinting beneath the rim of his tan hood, but he walked stiffly, uncomfortably; Ei'rahza's fur was bushed up and the Khajiit's eartips and whiskers were trembling, and her eyes were darting around nervously, searching for a sign of the beasts; Revak strode just behind her, looking just as uncomfortable as Serrah but refusing to show it, though every so often he'd rub his arms and roll his shoulders.

Only Eliana seemed unaffected by the chill. She strode on ahead, flames shimmering from her palm, following the trail only she could see. Arela tried hard not to stare at the orange aura surrounding the little fire for too long; it only vividly reminded her of the furious orange flare that had knocked her off her feet and into senselessness. She didn't ever want to go through that experience again.

They had been walking for what felt like eternity. Arela's legs were aching, but she didn't want to let on how exhausted she was, even when she could see plaintive signs of it echoed in the others, Ei'rahza especially. The vampiric Khajiit made no fuss, however; she walked on, as stubborn as Arela. The thought made the latter smile.

'Do you get the impression somebody's watching us?' Revak's voice broke the silence that had spanned between them since they'd left the flare site.

Arela glanced back at the burly Nord. 'What?'

'Or something.' Revak glanced over his shoulder, his face narrowed into a frown. 'Something that isn't friendly.'

'It's nothing,' Arela murmured. 'Just keep going. Hopefully Eliana would've found what she's looking for soon enough.'

Revak gave a short, frustrated sigh. 'This is getting ridiculous. We've been walking for hours. What's there to find?'

'The flare killed the beasts, remember.' Ei'rahza glanced at her fellow Dragonborn. 'It's our only chance, I think, of finding some way of getting out of this nightmare. I'll take any hope we get.'

At the word, Serrah stirred, and he caught Arela's eye. Buriis, he'd said. It had been what encircled the remains of the rune that had produced the great orange flare. It had spelled hope in the tongue of dragons. 'We must trust Eliana,' said Arela simply.

Revak gave a short nod. 'Of course.'

Arela glanced between him and the half-Elven woman, and wondered over the close friendship they seemed to have. It was certainly close, similar to the bond she shared with Serrah. Ei'rahza was friendly with everyone. The Khajiit was a good fighter, and a better companion, always willing to contribute when she could.

The discussion ended for a few minutes, and Revak walked on in silence. Then, suddenly, abruptly, he stopped and the great katana was swept from its sheath.

'Revak!' Serrah stopped and whirled around, alarm edging his stony voice. 'What's the matter?'

Revak's face fell into a battle-scowl. 'We aren't alone.'

Eliana froze just beyond. The flames spluttered and died in her hand.

Arela didn't sense anything, but she remembered that it had been Revak who had saved her, Serrah and Ei'rahza from the knights and the wraiths that had ambushed them. She pulled the bow from her shoulder and set an arrow to its twine, waiting. Serrah drew his crossbow, Ei'rahza her axe, and Eliana let fire and frost flash in her palms.

Suddenly the mist parted. Arela stifled a small gasp of horror, and in unison the Dragonborns backed against one another, pressing shoulder to shoulder. Figures stepped from the fog, bipedal, dangerous, senseless, barely understood. The knights who Arela could not kill. They walked forward like phantoms, steel blades resting in their gauntleted hands.

'Your journey is ended,' one intoned. 'The Well awaits.'

Well? Arela frowned; the Khajiit was bristling.

'Never!' spat Ei'rahza, lashing her tail.

'Fools,' the knight breathed. 'All of you.' He nodded once, and the others, in unison, raised their swords.

The blow came and Arela closed her eyes, but suddenly she heard Eliana cry out, and the strike never landed. Arela opened her eyes to discover a protective ward had been cast before her—indeed, it was over most of them. All but Serrah and Revak, who—to Arela's horror—had stepped out of the protection of the circle, their weapons parrying with ease and driving into the hearts of two of their assailants.

One knight fell, smoldering, one of Serrah's crossbow bolts embedded in his heart. Revak had implanted his katana straight through another's helm and head. He wrenched it free with frightening strength as the knight dissolved around the gleaming blade.

He can kill them, Arela realized in amazement, staring at Revak in a whole new light. How? Why?

'Destroy them!' roared the first knight, who seemed to be their leader.

They charged as one. Arela raised her weapon but Eliana gasped, 'No! Revak—'

Arela saw what she meant before Eliana could even finish her sentence. In the blink of an eye, Revak had sidestepped the dangerous blow, twirled the katana in his hand and slashed hard across the knight's back. He lifted it to parry the strike of another offending sword.

Arela turned her eyes to Serrah; he rolled and dived out of the way of the attacks, firing with deadly precision. One knight's leg was shattered from the impact of the bolt severing flesh and bone; he fell with a grunt of pain. Another prepared to cleave Serrah's head from his neck, but with more speed than she thought possible, Serrah had reloaded, aimed, and shot the knight clean through the forehead, the metal splintering around the force of the bolt's impact.

If only Enden could see this! Arela gave a little start as the astonished thought raced through her mind. She hadn't thought of her brother in so long...and that was unusual. They were closer than clouds to the sky.

She wanted nothing more than to help them, and she restlessly tugged at the string of her bow, but she knew she'd just be wasting a good arrow in a fruitless attempt at aid. Ei'rahza lashed her tail, watching them with a strained look on her pale face, but Eliana watched Revak calmly, focusing only on maintaining the ward that shielded her and her fellows from the dangerous blows.

Yet the battle could only be short; there were more knights, and they had taken them by surprise. Eliana's strength was waning quickly, the ward weakening under the volley of backhands the knights flung at it. Revak was fighting three at once, intense concentration plastered on his face. Breathless, Arela turned to Serrah. The Dark Elf was on his knees, breathing heavily. It looked like he'd taken a bad fall, even as the corpse of a knight dissipated into the heavy mist around them.

Suddenly a shadow befell the exhausted Dunmer, and Arela opened her mouth to cry a warning—

Serrah twisted around, but by then it was too late. His body moved, but not fast enough; the blade still struck, sinking deep into his right shoulder, slicing through the Glass pauldron as though it were nothing but softened butter. Serrah shrieked as the blade twisted through his body, the bloody tip being thrust between his ribs and out again so the whole sword was sheathed in him, the hilt against his shoulder.

'Serrah!' Arela screamed.

The knight dragged the sword back through Serrah's body, then swung it round to cleave the Dunmer's head from the rest of him—

Suddenly something, or someone, grabbed him from behind. The sword was flung from his startled hands. A newcomer burst from the fog and shoved him away. She didn't hesitate; she grabbed Serrah's crossbow, loaded with a fresh bolt, swung around, and shot the knight dead before he'd even had a chance to see who his new attacker was.

'You!' The roar had come from another knight. The mysterious stranger whirled around at the sound of it; if Arela wasn't mistaken, a sneer played on her weathered face.

'Hello again!' she jeered, and swung the crossbow into his gut. The knight gasped and doubled over, winded. Instantly the woman drew the longsword at her hip, raised it above her head, then drove down without mercy. The knight died at once, vanishing into smoke before his body had even fallen to the ground.

It was then that Arela realized the battle had ended. Revak had finished off the last and stood, breathing heavily. With a sigh, Eliana let the ward flicker into nonexistence and fell to her knees, drained of energy—without pause Arela ran to Serrah's side, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

'Serrah!'

The Dunmer was unresponsive. His eyes were dull, and as Arela fell beside him, he slumped sideways. She caught him and rested him gingerly onto the snow, stunned with her horror.

'Serrah!'

The others fell around her. 'Oh, Gods, no...' Ei'rahza whimpered.

Arela anxiously pressed her hand against his neck, checking for a pulse. For a moment, she couldn't feel it, and the worst leapt in her heart. Tears welling in her eyes, she pushed harder, willing it to beat, to stir, to show any sign of life...

And then, a feeble pulse—but a pulse nonetheless.

'Serrah...'

With horrified eyes, Arela looked over the dreadful wound he had obtained. It seemed to have gone right through the right side of his body, piercing bloody holes in his Glass armour. Dark crimson welled from there, and the Dunmer was barely breathing, catatonic in the agony Arela could only guess he was feeling.

A shadow befell her and Arela jerked up, suddenly afraid. Was it the...? No. A pair of fiery leaf-green eyes burned into her own copper red.

'You can't save him.' The voice was hard, worn as the rest of her immediate appearance, yet shockingly clear, thrumming with a hidden energy.

'Who are you?' Ei'rahza demanded, grasping the handle of her axe warily.

'Patience.' The woman knelt opposite Arela and rested a hand against Serrah's cheek. 'He's too gravely wounded to survive such a blow. As we speak, his soul's energy seeps from his body, gathering in the fog and transported to the Well of Souls.'

'No!' Arela nearly shouted. 'He's stronger than most!'

'I'm sorry.' The woman almost sounded sympathetic. 'They'll be back to finish the rest of you off.' She rose abruptly to her feet—something flashed against her collarbone, and she hurriedly stuffed it out of sight before Arela could really see what it was. 'We'll have to leave him if we'll make it—'

Arela cut across her, ferociously. 'No. We're not leaving him.' She was so caught up in her grief, her terror for the kindly Dunmer, she could barely make sense of this woman, who she was, what she was offering, what she was even going to do with them. It felt as though with Serrah rendered helpless, the group, who had subconsciously followed his lead, was vulnerable, lost and alone. He can't die! She gripped his hand. Not now!

'They'll be back, and this time there'll be too many for us to stop!' There was a bite in the woman's voice, a fire in her green eyes that warned Arela she was not one to be trifled with. 'There's no point dying for him when he's already dead. What good would that accomplish?'

Far beyond, there came the sound of a phantom, howling.

'The hunt's begun already,' the woman hissed, angry and afraid. 'Now come on, you bloody fools. Do you want to die, after coming so far?'

Arela stared at her in a mixture of confusion and rage. 'We will not leave Serrah!'

'No, we won't.' Revak's growl silenced the words forming on the woman's tongue. He brushed Arela way and lifted Serrah into his muscular arms as though he weighed nothing more than a sword. A soft, nearly-inaudible moan fell from Serrah's unmoving lips. He was deteriorating, and alarmingly fast.

The woman stared, then shook her head and hurriedly backed away. 'Run with me,' she urged. 'Run, now! As hard as you can!'

The howls were getting closer. Arela ran. The others followed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ei'rahza snatch Serrah's crossbow from the ground.

They ran, and they ran. The woman led the way, moving surprisingly quickly for someone clad so heavily in metal and what looked like bear fur. A shield was strapped across her shoulders, the longsword at her hip that somehow could kill the knights, and she ran as nimbly as Arela, swathed in nothing but her Guildmaster's dark leather.

'Who are you?' Arela demanded of her, trying not to pant.

The woman barely spared her a glance. 'A friend, let's say!'

'Where are you taking us?'

'Somewhere safe!'

They sped across the snow. The howls were drawing nearer. Arela tightened her grip on her bow, fighting to keep her terror in check. What would happen if they were overwhelmed? She glanced back at Serrah. Please, she prayed, hang in there...we still need you!

The howls were so numerous...the ground shook beneath the thundering of countless paws... 'There are many this time,' the woman shouted over her shoulder. 'They know we're out, vulnerable. You're probably the last wandering the hunting grounds of those vermin beasts; but we can lose them! I have a place they can't enter!'

Faster and faster they ran. Arela thought wings had sprouted on either foot; she'd never run so swiftly in her life...or death...or half-death. The others were keeping up, but mostly on adrenalin. Eliana's eyes were round and scared, Ei'rahza struggling beneath the weight of the crossbow, Revak running as quickly as he could, cradling the unconscious Serrah in his arms.

Then the mist broke, so suddenly that Arela was amazed. She had a brief glimpse of a dark, yawning mouth of some kind of cave...and then she and the others were immersed in the darkness. The snow changed to stone beneath her feet and she nearly slid on the sudden change of texture. 'Keep running!' the woman's voice called from just beyond. 'They can come into the entrance of the tunnel, but—'

Suddenly the tunnel, pitch-black before, opened up; the air was cooler and Arela could sense they'd burst into the beginnings of some small room. Fire leapt from nowhere; the woman skidded to a halt, breathing heavily. Arela stumbled to a standstill, Revak slowed his pace, Eliana stopped at once and Ei'rahza fell clean over, breathing huskily and heavily, her chest heaving.

Shrieks and howls and caterwauls echoed beyond, resonating down the tunnel. The woman didn't even go for her sword; she stood confidently, gazing back into the tunnel with content glinting in those fierce green eyes of hers. 'They can't come here,' she said. 'I'm amazed we managed to get back here in time. They were snapping at our heels.'

The howls grew angrier, more frustrated. Arela shuddered. There sounded so many...

Then she realized that Revak's face had paled. He gently lowered Serrah to the ground, but his gaze was trained on something behind her.

Arela turned. Her jaw dropped.

A Word Wall. There was a Word Wall here. Its runes were growing a fierce, bright blue, the same way they had done in the cave that seemed so far behind them. The woman gazed at it nondescriptly, then turned back to the small fire she had started.

'Serrah...' Eliana fell beside the injured Dunmer, golden light flaring in her hands. 'Serrah, I can help you...can you hear me, Serrah?'

He didn't respond. Arela's thoughts immediately turned back to him, and she knelt quickly beside her wounded comrade...her friend...Again, her eyes drifted to his horrific wound. How could he still live from such a blow?

Clearly the woman was wondering the same thing. She crouched down beside Arela and remarked, 'That's one hell of a soldier, right there. Not many could survive that blow, or the journey here. I would've thought he'd have joined the others in the Well by now.'

'Well?' Revak echoed. 'What are you on about?'

The woman met his gaze with surprise. 'You don't know?'

'The knights...mentioned a Well,' Ei'rahza rasped. She set the crossbow aside.

'Yes...' The woman heaved a sigh and leaned back, in plain exhaustion. 'Looks like I'll have to tell you that story from the beginning...and since we seem to be protected from the beasts, we have some time.'

'You know,' said Revak cautiously, 'we never got your name.'

The woman smiled wryly at him. 'Of course you didn't. It's Sarja, but you can call me Sarry.' She said her name proudly, and extended a scarred hand. 'Charmed, I'm sure; I've a lot of respect for you, setting off that flare, whoever did that...'

'F-flare?' Arela stammered uncertainly.

'The red light, orange fire-burst, that fiery explosion powerful enough to knock me clean out,' Sarry dismissed impatiently. 'That was strong magic, really powerful. I bet the others would've felt it all the way in the Well—which reminds me, I still have to tell you what it is, and why all we happy little Dovahkiinne are gathered here.'

'Wait—you know why we're all here?' Eliana, concentrating on casting golden light over Serrah's unmoving body, jerked her head up in shock.

Sarry gave a quick, dry laugh. 'I'd say I know enough to sate some of your immediate curiosity, girl,' she said. 'But even I still have questions I'd like answering just as much as the next Dragonborn. What I'd really like to know at the moment,' she continued, her brow furrowing, 'is how in the good name of Akatosh you've been surviving travelling aboveground for as long as I suspect you have.'

It was strange, how uncannily dragonish she appeared in the firelight, how deep and fiery those green eyes seemed in the scarred Nordic face.