A/N: Hi everyone! If you're reading this, I congratulate you for following on despite my absolutely appalling lack of motivation to get this chapter up and over the dreaded W.B. hurdle! This chapter just wanted to be stubborn, but through use of persuasion, intimidation and bribery it finally came together, and my speechcraft skill gained a point!

This chapter is a smidgen different from previous; I don't claim 100% credit for it. Boys Do Like Girls and I co-wrote the second half of this chapter, which, of course, is in Jon's perspective. I won't keep you any longer, so enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Five

'Are you sure you know what you're doing?' Despite Sarry's pronounced experience in the black tunnels, Arela could not hold back her doubt.

'Course I'm sure.' Sarry sounded mildly annoyed. The fire from her torch spun harsh yellow light everywhere, bouncing off the smooth black walls. 'You'd have been lost long before I.'

Arela shivered. The air in this place was so cold it was freezing in her lungs. Her throat ached. She was shivering violently beneath her black Guildmaster's leathers. 'Why is it so damned cold?' she hissed.

'Because it is.' Sarry smirked. 'I thought vampires didn't mind cold. It was fire they feared.' She swept the torch teasingly in front of Arela's face. She blinked and flinched from the red light that flashed and spun across her vision.

'If you haven't noticed,' she said coolly, 'our powers don't work here.'

'Serrah's did. To some extent.' Sarry started moving again, and Arela had little choice but to follow on. 'The only plausible conclusion I can come to, how that lucky bastard managed to survive through a wound like that.'

Arela shivered, thinking back. 'It was a good thing he did, else we wouldn't know what to do. We'd still be stuck in that cave, waiting for more of those knights to ambush us.' She thought of the others, and she itched, quickening her pace. 'Let's just find this Word Wall and get out of here.'

'Word Wall?' Sarry stared at her. 'Only one? He mentioned several. In fact, he mentioned a lot of strange things. And it was you who backed him up.'

'I'd be a fool not to.'

Serrah had woken at long last, after what felt like years in his injured sleep. No doubt the first sight he'd awoken to was Ei'rahza's whiskery snout and auburn eyes blinking down at him. It had taken a few tries, but at length he sat up without passing out, and of course Arela asked the first question that had been plaguing everyone's minds.

'Are you feeling all right?'

Serrah groaned in answer and rubbed his head. 'Almost,' he'd muttered, and Arela's heart had sung. It was good to hear his Dunmeri growl again.

Eliana knelt at his side. 'You were asleep for so long, and none of my healing spells could work on you.' Her concern was unhidden. 'Words can't express how relieved I am to see you awake at last.'

'Peace, Elf-sister, I will be all right.' Serrah gritted his teeth, one scarred hand going to touch his Glass-plated shoulder. He flinched, then sighed in a strained sort of way. 'Though peace was something I did not have as I slept.'

Ei'rahza's tailtip shivered. 'Did you dream?'

Serrah frowned. 'I suppose so. I don't know what else to call it—but while I was unconscious, at any rate, I...saw things.' He massaged his temple. 'I'm yet to understand how, but I saw things.'

'Like what?' Revak demanded.

'Darkness.' Serrah's fiery eyes scanned the cave with a slightly bemused air, though he didn't drift from his story. 'It was a strange place, full of cold and shadow, and watching eyes—but I realized that wherever I was, I did not appear to be asleep or awake. Instead, I was...observing. I heard voices all around me. At first I thought I was simply hearing what was happening around me, the chaos that enfolded you all after I passed out. I heard an accent that could have only been born in Elsweyr, and humans, a Dunmer's...her voice was the clearest to me. It was strange. I heard her as though she were...inside. Some part of her resonated within me. I suppose this is what it is like to share a bond with some other living thing beyond the mundane.'

'You heard other Dragonborn?' Eliana whispered.

'Yes.' Serrah rubbed his skull. 'But I kept hearing something. A prophecy, almost, speaking about...many things. Seeking Dragonborn. A Vostrunmahsille. The Sleeping Enemy. Wings of Fire...a dragon, I wondered at first, though there is a chance it might be something more; dragons can be more than flame. Frost and lightning and many other unearthly forces are theirs to command...no, I didn't understand...but there was something more. I found myself searching for answers, sifting through her experiences as though searching among ashes...'

His auburn eyes brightened. 'And then, there was darkness; the kind found in dark reaches, caves, caverns, passages...where no light is found. I could see. There was ash all around me. Then, I discovered something where there was no mistaking; a Word Wall, every single rune on its stone face glowing, whispering to me. I couldn't read the runes...but then there was a voice, speaking. Some part in me, perhaps the part that once was the dragon, was giving me...or my kinswoman...a message.'

Arela clenched a fist. 'Do you know what it was?'

Serrah closed his eyes. 'Give me a moment...'

He was silent for a few heartbeats, and then, as if he were reliving the memory, he murmured, 'Dreh ni kos voth faas...zu'u faal Zii do faal Vedod. Zu'u hi alok nol...Hiu lost sizaan hin dovahsil. Faas ni. Nii fen kos siiv, daal wah hio. Dahmaan dii...zu'u hin vahlok.'

'It's Dovahzul,' Sarry muttered. 'Is it dovah?'

Arela glanced at her in surprise. 'You speak it?'

'To some extent.' Sarry knelt. 'I learned it alongside my mother tongue. My family was nuts about the dragon language. I've lost a lot of my knowledge, though there are fragments I can make out...Dreh ni kos voth faas...well, faas means fear, and ni means not...kos, what does kos mean?'

She rubbed her temples. 'Dreh ni kos...voth faas...with fear...not...with fear...do not be with fear...do not be afraid. Well, that's bloody useful. Zu'u...I am...faal Zii do faal Vedod, wasn't it? Faal...the...this fellow's precise with his talking...Zii...spirit...do faal...of the...Vedod. What the heck's Vedod? I didn't think there was such a word!' Sarry rolled her eyes. 'The dov are such a poetic race. They wouldn't say it straight out.'

'You're doing brilliantly,' Ei'rahza assured her.

'It's the spirit of something,' Serrah murmured. He closed his eyes, then murmured, 'All around me was ash. Is vedod something to do with ash, or fire?'

'Maybe.' Something occurred to Sarry; her green eyes lit. 'Vedod...ved od...I think od means snow, I can remember referencing od to my mother's fatherland...'

'Maybe it's talking about dead snow,' Revak suggested suddenly, 'like what's on the surface of this accursed plane right now.'

'Dead snow?' Sarry shrugged. 'It might work. In any case...what else did it say?'

'Zu'u hi alok nol,' Serrah suggested.

'I am your not a clue,' said Sarry. 'Next?'

'Hiu lost sizaan hin dovahsil,' said Serrah. 'I guess if dovah mean dragon...perhaps it speaks of a dragon soul. Dovahsil. I'd swear that seems familiar...'

'You're probably right; that rings a bell,' Sarry told him. 'Still, none of this is making much sense...anything else happen in your dream state?'

Serrah gave a small sigh. 'I don't know. The Word Wall felt very important.' He looked over his shoulder, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Perhaps that's why. There's one right behind us.'

'Is it the same one?' Arela asked, heart skipping a beat.

Serrah struggled to rise. Arela hastily supported him, though Serrah did better leaning against Revak's broader, stronger frame. He limped to the Word Wall, struggling with every step, though before he'd even reached it his face was furrowed again. 'No. This one is different.'

'Which only means there must be more than this one, and the one we found in the tunnel some time ago,' said Eliana quietly.

'There are more.' Serrah closed his eyes and brushed his palm over the inscribed rock. 'There are many more.'

'He's right,' Arela added. 'Sarry told me while exploring these underground passages she had the fortune to happen across, she discovered at least four others.'

'And you failed to mention this...?' Revak asked.

Sarry shrugged. 'You never asked.'

'Underground?' echoed Ei'rahza. Her tailtip quivered. 'Maybe the one Serrah found was underground.' When the Dark Elf glanced at her, the Khajiiti vampire said, 'You said you were in a darkness where there was no light...well, underground can't have any light, can it?'

'You mentioned there were other Dragonborn as well,' Eliana added. 'Perhaps they're in the underground, looking for these Word Walls.'

'If they're still alive,' Serrah murmured darkly.

'If there are Word Walls underground, the specter wolves can't enter,' Sarry pointed out. Her eyes flashed. 'But the knights can. They aren't affected.'

Arela's hand closed around the hilt of the knight's sword. It quivered gently in her palm, the metal warm and lively.

'The knights said they were looking for a gathering of Dragonborn,' she remembered suddenly. 'They had us mistaken with them. A Khajiit, a Dunmer, and a green-eyed Nord.'

Realization crossed the faces of her fellows. 'So we know now that there are others,' Sarry murmured, her hand lightly tracing the hilt of Summerfrost. 'We also know that they're alive, for now.'

Serrah frowned. 'What knights?'

'They attacked while you were still asleep,' Ei'rahza explained. 'They can pass through the protection of the Word Walls.'

Serrah scowled. 'Damn them to the Deadlands.'

'So what do we do with this newfound, enlightening knowledge?' asked Revak.

Sarry straightened. 'Quite simply, we put it to use.'

'Doing what?' asked Eliana.

Sarry thoughtfully measured the half-Elven. 'Simply put, there are answers in these Word Walls we never realized,' she said. 'Which means to gain answers, we're going to have to find them, and do what Arela was wisely doing to this Word Wall while you all slept; record the message, and patiently transcribe them to the answers we need.'

Arela sheepishly displayed Serrah's journal. 'Sorry. I just had to know.'

Serrah eyed her carefully, then shrugged. 'It's a good thing I write all my personal entries in Dunmeris,' he rasped. 'You can take it. I'm not fit enough for travel just yet, but I can definitely feel my strength returning. Give me time, and explore these underground passages Sarry mentioned. These Word Walls are important. I feel it.'

Arela nodded and tucked the journal safely away. 'But you can't wait here alone.' She looked at the others. 'Sarry and I will go ahead; the rest of you should stay here and guard the cave.'

'Just the two of you?' Revak snorted. 'I don't think so.'

'It's sensible,' Arela urged. 'If the knights attack, you, Eliana and Ei'rahza will have to hold them off on your own, until Serrah's strong enough to fight. Don't forget,' she added, with a hint of relish, 'we've figured out their weakness. If they don't realize it yet, they will soon.'

Eliana's eyes gleamed. 'Sure, Arela.'

'I know these dark corridors well,' Sarry added. 'I'm fairly certain I can retrace my steps with little trouble—and with Arela with me, it'll beat walking them alone.'

Revak's frown finally lifted. 'All right. Take care, you two. We'll be here when you return.'

'Good luck,' Serrah added.

Arela grasped his hand. 'Thanks. We'll be back soon—hopefully with some more answers.'

Serrah nodded. 'And if you see those other Dragonborn...'

'We'll figure something out,' Arela promised. Then she and Sarry had left, and found and entered the dark, freezing passages the Nord warrior had discovered. The group was soon behind them, and they were in the blackness, heralded by Sarry's fiery torch, and bored from the walking and seeming lack of life.

'So,' Arela murmured, recounting her and Sarry's earlier conversation, 'are we anywhere close?'

'Let's hope so.' Sarry rolled her shoulders. 'I'm getting worn out. My feet are kil—'

She vanished.

Arela's heart leapt into her throat. Shit!'She hurried forward, almost immediately to feel the ground drop beneath her toe. She reeled backwards, heart racing, in time to see Sarry's torch go spinning into darkness—and Sarry herself snatch at an obsidian ledge and gain a swinging grip. Her scarred face was bloodless with fright.

'Hang on!' Arela called, dropping onto her front.

'Arela, dear, I'm not about to let go and join my torch!'

Arela thrust out a shaking arm. 'Grab it!'

Sarry grunted and extended a hand. Her fingers were nowhere near Arela's. 'Damn it...' She swore as her grip skidded, and she snatched at the ledge with two hands. 'You'd better think of something, quick!'

Arela thought fast. She rolled onto her side, withdrew Vérité, and extended the blade down. Sarry's face paled further.

'That the bloody best you could think of?' she yelled.

'Grab it, now!' Arela shouted.

Sarry eyed the sword with deep dislike. Her grip was nearly lost in her indecision. She swore again, tiny stones raining past her into fathomless depths, and flailed. Her heavy gauntlets grasped the sword's tip. Arela climbed onto her knees, and with all the strength she had, dragged her gasping companion onto solid ground.

Sarry released the blade the instant she was up, and stayed on all fours for a moment, calming herself. Arela sheathed the knight's sword and gave Sarry a hand up.

'Bloody...Oblivion...' Sarry gazed at her hand, lip curled. 'You might have offered something a little blunter, perhaps?'

'Oh...' Arela stared, dismayed. The blade had sliced clean through Sarry's padded gauntlet and through the flesh; blood wept freely from a deep cut. With a curse, Sarry tore off a strip of fabric from her armour and bandaged it.

'I suppose I'm lucky I'm still alive,' she grunted. 'Bloody paths...' She spat. 'I forgot how treacherous they can be. I nearly skidded down it the last time I came down here.'

Hope leapt into Arela's heart. 'You know this place?'

'Of course.' Sarry's disgruntled expression was replaced with one of satisfaction. 'The Word Wall isn't far at all. Follow me.'

'That...might not be a great idea.' Arela took the lead. 'Vampires can see in the dark. That much remained with me, at least.'

Sarry stared at her, and grinned. 'At least your hunger didn't.' She waved her bloody hand.

Arela cracked a smile, then looked carefully around her. The path didn't just stop at a drop; there was a narrower one winding up the side, leading into the mouth of another tunnel. 'Down here, I guess,' she muttered, and edged along it, Sarry cautiously following her step for step.

The path felt as if it wound more deeply and coldly for a few heartbeats—and then suddenly, Arela saw a faint silver glow up ahead.

'Ah, here we are,' Sarry murmured, blinking hard. 'Finally. I thought I was blind.'

They quickened their pace, and the light grew stronger. They stumbled at last in to a vast cave; light flooded in from some point in the ceiling, which rose up, its height unfathomable. It outlined a massive shape that hulked like a sleeping beast in the centre of the room.

'The Word Wall,' Sarry announced, pleased. 'I said I knew where it was.'

'Thank the Gods you did.' The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, but Arela was breathless. She approached the Word Wall slowly. Even by sight, she saw the runes upon it were different to the one they'd sheltered under. They scrawled across the rock face, an entire story, answers, in the dragon's tongue.

Arela gazed. She felt reassured by its presence. The shadows had a malevolent feel to them.

'Record it,' Sarry reminded her. 'We want to get back to the others as soon as possible.'

Arela nodded, but she'd no sooner reached for Serrah's journal when a dire thought struck her. 'I don't have anything to write with.'

'What?'

'I broke the charcoal, remember?' Arela clapped her forehead. 'Damn it, damn it! Now how do we write something?'

Sarry was silent for a moment, then asked, 'Do you have a dagger?'

Arela turned around, confused. 'What?'

'Wait, never mind—an arrow should do.' Sarry withdrew one from Arela's quiver before the latter had a chance to register what she wanted. The Nord warrior held the sleek projectile between thumb and forefinger, examining the pointed arrowhead, then lifted her bandaged hand and peeled the cloth back. The blood still wept freely from the gash.

'So it's not the most tasteful of solutions,' Sarry remarked, and gritted her teeth as she tipped the arrowhead in her own blood. She handed it back to Arela. 'But try that.'

Arela gaped at the bloodied arrow, then at Sarry. 'What—?'

Sarry sighed. 'You've heard of a quill and ink?'

'Yes, but—' The connection formed in her mind. 'Oh. Really?'

Sarry nodded. 'Get on with it, before I die of bloodloss.' She grinned reassuringly. 'It's just a cut. I won't die from it, but you might as well start writing, before the wound clots. I'm not cutting myself open for the sake of a Word Wall any day.'

Arela glanced back at the slate of inscribed rock, then nodded. She positioned herself directly in front of the Word Wall, cross-legged on the smooth black floor, opened the journal to a fresh page, took the bloody arrow in hand, and began to write.

Jon missed Ysold. He tried to bring her face to mind, the feel of her hands on his, but the underground of the tunnels seemed to have swept that all away. The dark mists writhed around his hands instead, and he shuddered involuntarily. Angry and ashamed at his unconscious sign of weakness, he fell back further in his place with the group. They still moved slowly, Krosis soundlessly leading them deeper and deeper along the sightless trails, Morwyn's and Kajsa's Candlelight spells warding the blackness around them at bay, though most were still uneasy at Alyssa's extended absence. Jon himself didn't much care about her; the mysterious woman had far too many secrets, and a pride in her bloodline he considered far too arrogant. He resented the idea there might be two of them who shared a connection to whatever ancient magic was bound with such old blood, and annoyed that Alyssa and Morwyn seemed to be on their own quest, the undecided leaders of a suicide mission that only they seemed to understand. As such, Jon thought himself understandably prickly. No doubt Ysold would have calmed him down by now, told him to relax, not to care, but she wasn't here, so Jon took a savage pleasure in being miserable.

That said, he found he was growing somewhat fond of the rest of the Seven. Quill was young and gave the misleading aura of innocence, but smart and feisty. Shouts-at-Sun was strong, capable, and calm as a dovah; Jon had to admit, while he wasn't particularly fond of Argonians in general, Sun was okay. J'shana was an exception too, for a Khajiit, but the last member of their band was a difficult one to place. No doubt Kajsa and he had not hit it off well. She reminded him too much of himself, and of Ralof; just as Jon had been somewhat annoyed by that other Nord, he was starting to like her wit and sarcastic nature. If only Ralof was here; they'd make a perfect couple.

After what felt like hours, with what also felt like no progress, they stopped to rest. Jon made his way to the edge of their makeshift camp, staring out into the blackness beyond, thinking and finding the withering scraps of his memory. There was something deeply unnatural about this place, something that chilled his bones. Every whisper made his blood tingle, something in him stir, and a soft growl throb in his ears.

He looked over his shoulder. The rest of the Seven were gathered together in their little groups, speaking in hushed voices. Oddly, Jon felt lonely. J'shana had Kajsa, Quill was always with Shouts-at-Sun and Morwyn and Alyssa had known each other the longest. Only he, the Seventh, the odd one out, had no close companion. No, he had only been a messenger, a courier of the trapped Priests. He'd resented the task, though he'd understood the importance of it.

Even he barely understood the mysterious prophecy the Priests had cast over Morwyn and Alyssa. Looking darkly at Krosis, he hoped they really did know what they were doing.

Then the echoes of his dragon sight began to notice the mists, writhing and twisting. He watched them warily. They melded together in the darkness, roiling and fighting, but when chills pricked his skin he realized they were reaching out to him.

Stormcloak's hand went to Kodaav, the weapon of his family, wielded by the second son of Ysgramor all those thousands of years ago. He grimaced; why was it all so much more complicated here? Noticing nothing, he made to turn, but suddenly the shadows lunged, a solid mass, sending searing pain across him.

His gasp was cut short as his throat tightened; the black dragon's face burst from the mist, snapping at him. Jon fell to the ground in a haze of utterly nameless fear. Desperate, limbs leaden, he tried to crawl away from the beast that towered over him. His scars were white-hot against his flesh.

There came a bout of wicked laughter somewhere above his head, but the guttural whisper sounded at his ear.

You will fail, Dovahkiin, and you were doomed to always.

'Get out,' Jon muttered weakly, 'get out.' But Alduin remained. He always remained.

It does not matter how many of you there are. You will still lose. The red eyes burned, and Jon tasted blood in his mouth. His scars had reopened, sending silver-specked scarlet down the side of his face.

He thrust aside as much of his fear as he was able, his hand trembling as he drew Kodaav but the blade flew from his sweaty grasp, clattering to the ground some feet from him. Alduin laughed again. Mey, Dovahkiin, you were only ever so strong as I, he snarled, his icy breath and rumbling growl filling all of Jon's shrunken world, mingled with his own frantically beating heart—

'Bovu, thuri.' The hiss was real, as was the sickly green flash. 'Your place is elsewhere.' Jon gasped as something was forcibly ripped from his consciousness, and then it was over. Petrified, he drew rattling breaths until the terror fled his bones, his face coated in sweat.

There was a nasty laugh. 'Scared, dii kaal?'

Jon turned to see Rahgot looking down at him, blue eyes glittering with spite.

'He's gone,' he said defiantly. 'It was sorcery, nothing more.' He stood to retrieve Kodaav, and slid the silvery blade back into its sheath, glowering at the Priest in the process. Like all good Nords, Jon despised magic. 'I've nothing to fear from him anymore; what do I have to fear from a dead enemy?' He spoke firmly, addressing his doubts as much as the Priest hovering before him.

'Then believe it,' Rahgot snarled. 'The darkness will poison you if fear presides in your sil, mal dovah.'

Jon gave him a dark look. 'Why don't you go and haunt someone else, maybe someone who actually does fear you?'

Rahgot drew amusement from this. 'So much anger, Kruziikstrun. So much,' he chided. 'Truly, you deserve my mask more than I do.'

Jon scowled. 'If I knew any other way, you'd already have it back.'

'But there is none, and so here we are, reluctant grahzeymahziinne in this ridiculous plight.' Rahgot smiled nastily. 'You detest me, and rightly so; you fear the darkness, and so you should; within it lies the horrors of every unwary sil, such things that will make your spirit bleed.' The priest let out a choking sound that sounded like laughter. 'You are right to be scared; the night is closing in. Soon we will all be dilon.'

'I saw Alduin in it,' Jon confessed, and his hand went to brush the cloying wetness on his face. They still ached, and he didn't understand. 'And then my scars were aflame, and were torn open by...' He shook his head. He didn't even know. 'This accursed dark magic in these Underpaths did that, didn't it? Those creatures down here you warned us about...'

Rahgol stared at him a while. 'Luv,' he muttered at length. 'Soul tearing. It was always the World-Eater's way, to bind all to him, aazze ahrk hokoronne, slaves and enemies, mahfaeraak—forever.'

'What does that mean?' Jon asked bitterly.

'What it means, Dovahkiin, is that just as my zeymahhe and I are bound into this...eternal undeath, so are you bound, but to your foe, to feel his anger, his pain, in the afterlife—even in this...violation.' Rahgot spat. 'It will never end for you, not while you are so full of irkbaan ahrk ahzidiir, hate and bitterness, worthy of a dovah. From this Alduin draws his strength, for it matches his innate desire to al, destroy, all you have ever won.'

'It doesn't feel like I've won.' Jon looked back into the shadows, remembering how they'd stung when he'd first fallen into the Underpaths. It felt like an age ago. 'It's getting worse. Never when I was home, only here.'

Rahgot smiled a sickly smile, hinting he knew far more than he'd dare let on. 'You are closer to Alduin than ever before, in this twisted plane between laas and dilon. How he will haunt you, Kruziikstrun; dog your steps, prey on your weakness. Alduin in other Certainties is fierce, perhaps stronger than he in yours, but few are as relentless, as intent on seeing you aag, suffer, from this scarring victory.'

'So you're saying in my passage of events, I was lucky enough to win the most evil Alduin of the bunch?' Jon fixed the Priest with a dry smile. 'You know, Rahgot, you're not all that useless. I think I may even be starting to like you.'

Rahgol made his weird clacking laugh. 'How ironic; after all we have been through, this Dovahkiin finally names me fahdon.'

Jon furrowed his brow, but before he could say anything, Kajsa was there, frowning. The glow of her Candlelight spell was a welcome relief from the pressing blackness beyond. 'What are you two talking about?' she inquired.

Rahgol made that clacking sound again and glided away, leaving the two Nords to stare at each other uncomfortably.

'What do you want?' Jon asked at length, cautious.

Kajsa hesitated, then shrugged. 'Thinking back...I suppose it's only common courtesy I thank you for saving my life earlier.'

He hadn't expected this from her. 'What?' His eyes were as hidden as ever, but his curiosity must have shown.

'You used your Shout to kill that Drainwraith on the surface, which otherwise would've introduced itself to what's left of my vital essence.' She explained this in annoyance, frustrated he wasn't grasping the gist of her gratitude. 'If not for you, I'd be worse than dead.'

'You wouldn't be dead,' Jon said awkwardly, trying to get his head around the praise—from this Kajsa Red-Blade in particular.

She snorted. 'You're absolutely right. Forget the Well of Souls; I'd be like these bloody Priests, all undead and rotten, following you around moaning, 'Thankkkkss for nothiiinggg, Joooon.'

Despite himself, Stormcloak smiled slightly. She'd done a good impersonation of them. 'Then I'm glad I saved you.'

They lapsed into silence again, then Kajsa moved to sit down. Unconsciously he followed.

'That Shout you used,' Red-Blade began, attempting to restart a conversation, 'what was it? I've never encountered that one before.'

Jon shrugged. 'Just something that came to me when I was alive. The Greybeards taught me the Thu'um, but each word is powerful, so I started Shouting "break" at my enemies.'

'Break?' she repeated, frowning.

Stormcloak smiled wryly. 'Just "break". At first I intended for that Shout to break bones, which it did easily, but then it developed to breaking an enemy's mind; it's a Shout sired from the worst kind of rage, raw and powerful; no mercy, no fear. You must want to utterly destroy your opponents' will and sense in an act of cruelty that could rival any trueborn follower of Alduin.'

Kajsa had one eyebrow raised. Uncomfortable all over again, he reflected on his words and grunted. 'I must sound like some kind of scholar.'

She nodded to that, propping her chin on a fist. 'You're a regular Shalidor,' she remarked. She was, of course, referring to the mage who'd founded the College of Winterhold, who was supposedly very well-read. He hadn't been able to read, of course, not until he learned how, after his Dragonborn journey began.

'You know, I couldn't read before I met Ulfric,' Jon admitted. 'I was just a peasant.'

'Really, now?' Kajsa smirked, eyes glinting. 'My, my, Jarl Jon, be glad our illegitimate princess isn't around to hear this. I wouldn't have guessed, seeing as you seem so knowledgeable on all this lore and magic.'

Jon scowled at her. 'Yeah, thanks.'

'Lighten up a bit,' she said, grinning. 'Even Ulfric Stormcloak could take a joke.'

Stormcloak was reminded painfully of Ysold and just scowled harder.

'So, why did you bother saving me?' Kajsa prompted, returning to the point of their original conversation. 'You hate me.'

And you've just reminded me why. 'Isn't it obvious?' Intrigued, she shook her head. 'We're all in this together now.' He paused. 'Besides, you fight well,' he added grudgingly.

Kajsa blinked, but Jon wasn't interested in saying more. He distracted himself, noting the blackness pushing hard against Kajsa's relit Candlelight. Taunting whispers sounded in his head; his hand went to Kodaav, gripping its hilt tightly. The Nord woman noticed this.

'What do you see?'

'Nothing,' he replied shortly.

Kajsa narrowed her eyes. 'Sure you don't. Whatever's out there's already laid into you good and proper; have you noticed the fact your face is red with your own blood?'

Jon couldn't answer; his throat suddenly constricted, and shivers touched his lips and tongue. The ceiling was beginning to shift and heave, something it had never done before. He rose in alarm. There was something seriously wrong...

A hand clapped his shoulder. He spun around in alarm, heart skipping a beat when he met red eyes. When he registered they only came up to his shoulder, he relaxed, though no doubt the quick-witted Dunmer had noted his momentary panic.

'Let's keep moving, Stormcloaks,' she said. Jon didn't miss the determinedly passive expression on her face as she stalked to the front of the group. The rest of the Seven had risen, following Krosis through the Underpaths with weapons drawn and furtive glances. Magic danced around the Priests' decayed hands as they thrust the shadows back. Jon and Kajsa hastened to follow, the former's throat growing steadily tighter, accompanied by an unshakable feeling of dread.

They hadn't gone far when it happened.

A huge earthquake ripped beneath the ground, and the haunted world turned into one of chaos. Jon and the rest managed to keep their feet and earned from it nothing more than a bad shock, but when a second came the roof shifted again, more violently, and huge chunks of blackness fell to the ground, smattering into bitterly cold smoke that stung worse than fire. And that was not the best part; the rain developed into a smothering fog, rising to devour them as they stood stunned and bewildered in the trembling passages.

'The Underpaths are losing their shape,' Krosis hissed in alarm as an aftershock rippled through. 'Hurry, Dovahkiinne; the Necromancer's powers are waning.' His fellow Priests closed tighter around the Seven as more disintegrating ceiling tumbled down.

'Brilliant,' Morwyn growled, fire leaping into her palms. 'Just what we need. Nahkriin, if we don't pull through this and you do, would you kindly inform Morokei he's an absolute asshole?'

'With pleasure, Viingseyol.'

Jon's throat was unbearably tight as it wrapped around him; he slashed at the impeding night with Kodaav, sending the darkness reeling from the silver glow of the blade.

'Run!' he roared, and for once they followed his order without question. A third earthquake trembled through the walls and floor and the downpour of dark magic strengthened, rising and flowing after them in a dreadful black wave. The Priests' hands began to glow with greater power and they cleared the way united, murmuring Draconic at a rapid pace.

Suddenly Kajsa grabbed at his arm. 'Do you hear it?'

Adrenalin forced an answer through. 'The collapse? Of course I—'

'Not that—' He was bewildered to see a haunted expression on her face. '—the...his...voice...' She stumbled. 'Oh Gods, no...'

He wanted to ask who he was, but suddenly his ears were full of malevolent laughter. He spun around in shock; Alduin's presence followed him, gaining. His scars burned. Panicked, he stumbled, almost over the massive drop they'd stumbled into. He teetered on its edge, heart pounding wildly; then a hand caught him and yanked him back.

'You're one heavy Nord, Jon,' Shouts-at-Sun remarked, releasing him.

Stormcloak nodded his thanks, aware how close he'd almost fallen into the massive chasm. The tunnels had ended, opening up suddenly into a huge underground opening with a fathomless bottom. A narrow footbridge spanned from one side to the next, slim and foreboding, while the icy mists widened and tumbled over the edges, freeing them from the deathly pursuit.

Nonetheless, with the Underpaths growing more unstable by the minute, it was folly to stay suspended over certain doom.

The Priests crossed first, followed by Shouts-at-Sun, Quill, and J'shana. Kajsa gave Jon a quick glance before racing after her Khajiiti companion, while Jon and Morwyn brought up the rear. Their unsteady crossing began reasonably smoothly, Kodaav pushing back the darkness around Jon, but suddenly his throat tightened again, straining his breath. 'Watch out!' he warned as loudly as he could as another earthquake shook the Underpaths, far more violent than its three predecessors. J'shana, for all her feline grace, nearly fell, but Kajsa was quick to steady her. When Jon made note of Morwyn's sudden absence at his side, he spun around; concentrated on holding back the evil mists with flashes of fire, Morwyn lost her footing in the new quake and stumbled over the edge.

'Fuck me,' Jon growled, throwing Kodaav aside.

He leapt forward and seized Morwyn's arm just as she began to fall. For a short woman, her Dragonbone armour was heavy as hell. Jon was dragged across the bridge before his foot found a grip and he could suspend her. His throat tightened again, heralding an impeding aftershock. Perfect.

Growling with the effort, he hauled with all his might, dragging Morwyn up from the abyss as the aftershock roared overhead. Unsteadied, he lost balance, his grip lost in the rough stone. Jon went over the bridge, shocked into silence, as the mist rose beneath him; suddenly a hand seized his wrist in an iron grip, stopping his fall completely.

He took a stunned second to thank his unexpected fortunes before reaching to grasp the bridge and pull himself up. He heaved himself over onto flat ground, trying to quell the shaking in his limbs. At length Stormcloak looked up to his rescuer, bewildered and grateful. Kajsa?

It wasn't her. Beneath the rim of a hood a pair of fiery green eyes stared out at him, bright as Ysold's own.

A/N: Okay, I know you're going to absolutely hate me for it, but: due to the holidays only being a lull in a storm of looming NCEA (exams), I'm going to call an official hiatus on this story, in favour of finishing my other novels, because quite frankly, I need to drop a ball in my juggling act.

If you're thinking of flying to New Zealand armed with a chainsaw of FanFiction fury, please don't. When I finish my other online novel, I solemnly swear to finish Torn before I publish another work. I'm desperate to see both completed and I'll be done much faster if I can solely devote my mental energies to one fanfiction at a time. I already have plans to write thirteen chapters in the space of two weeks - so hopefully, by the time the exams roll around, I can get round to working on Torn during study breaks.

I have not given up on this story! I have NOT! If things go well, I'll be back on this story in a month! Thank you for reading and sticking by, your support means a lot to me :)