Barging through the doors, the band of warriors were taken off guard when they mysteriously floated into the air, their wrists and ankles restrained by unusual magical energy. Struggling was futile as the bindings simply seemed to tighten their grip.

"I'm so glad you could make it."

The triangular room was spontaneously illuminated by braziers containing purple fire, banishing the darkness and allowing the speaker to be seen. A man stood on a slightly elevated platform at the opposite side of the room. He was particularly tall at around only 5'8". He wore a lighter variant of the armour the Order's soldiers were equipped with. An ebony mask, featuring one lone, glowing, artificial eye shielded his face from view.

"I'm Prophet," the man stated, "but you probably guessed that already."

"Let us go you milk dri-" Vilkas exclaimed before literally being muted by Prophet's magic.

The others tried protesting to find they had also been muted, their words coming out simply as formless breath. Titus, still dazed by the constant mental torture he was experiencing, didn't mutter a word, simply welcoming the silence.

"God I hate Nords," Prophet sighed in annoyance. "You though Titus. I can stand you. I respect you."

Titus remained silent, not offering Prophet the power he wanted.

"No words in you then. No final words. Too bad. It would have made a mighty tale." Prophet raised his hand, using a spell on the drained Titus. He felt Prophet's power wrap around his mind, sending him into an unnatural sleep. "Enjoy your life one more time before your death."

-Kvatch, Cyrodiil, Twenty Years Ago-

"Diomedes, take care of him now," Flavia pleaded, squeezing Titus's hand.

"I will," Diomedes replied. "Now come on you."

Diomedes guided the young Titus outside, into the unusually quiet street. He threw him one of the wooden swords he had brought, aiming it where he could easily catch it. Titus fumbled it all over, eventually giving up and letting land ungracefully on the ground.

"How did you not catch that?"

Titus grabbed the sword, lifting up off the cobbled ground, "I'm only five."

"Doesn't affect anything," Diomedes mocked. "Think fast!" Diomdes launched a swing at Titus, making sure it was easy enough for the youngster to block. It was simply parried away, wood clashing with wood. The two boys continued their juvenile clash of fun, occasionally pretending to be a famous warrior from history to make the whole thing even more exciting.

"Can I play?" asked a boy standing near them, watching intently.

"Sure, I'll go get another sword," Diomedes accepted, entering the house.

The boy was around the same age and height Titus was. His light brown hair ran down to his shoulders and his sharp chin protruded slightly.

Titus swapped his sword into his weaker left hand, offering the boy a handshake, "Hi, I'm Titus."

The boy returned the handshake, smiling gently, "I'm Quintus."

-Kvatch, Cyrodiil, Fifteen Years Ago-

Titus ravenously consumed the food before him like a starved wolf, polishing it off in mere minutes. Bouncing out of his seat, he rushed out through the door. Quintus stood, arms folded, leaning on one of columns protecting the forge. A wooden bow and a set of blunt practice arrows were resting by his feet.

"So that's what you were talking about," Titus realised, eyeing the equipment with a wild glare in his eyes.

"Yep. What are we doing with it then?" Quintus questioned.

"I have an idea." Titus grabbed the bow and quiver and walked to the opposite side of the street. Pulling an arrow from the quiver, he knocked it back, aiming at the front door of his house. Lucia opened the door and was instantly greeted by an arrow to the forehead, slightly knocking her head back as it bounced away.

"Titus!" the young girl screamed, her face turning every possible shade of red.

"It could have been worse. It could have been an arrow to the-" Lucia's rage cut Titus off. She persistently chased him in circles, trying to teach her older brother an important lesson. Quintus watched from a few metres away, laughing excessively at the amusing goose chase taking place.

-Kvatch, Cyrodiil, Ten Years Ago-

Titus, Quintus and Albus sat in the town square on one of the finely crafted benches. The three had been pulling silly pranks all day and had decided to take a not so deserved break.

Quintus sat in the middle of the three, flipping his 'lucky coin' constantly. Albus leaned forward twiddling his thumbs as Titus sipped a bottle of mead they had supposedly 'borrowed' from the inn.

"Hey Titus," Albus pointed out, "there's Morina."

Morina glided along close by with her perfect olive skin and blonde hair blowing daintily in the wind. Titus couldn't help but focus his gaze on her.

"We know you like her," Quintus confirmed.

"So what?" Titus mumbled.

"Just wondering if I could help," Quintus grunted, intertwining his fingers together and stretching them in front of him. "I am the love doctor after all."

Titus sighed in disagreement in perfect synchronisation with Albus, who had his face deep in his palm.

"Please don't say that again. Ever," Albus requested.

-Kvatch, Cyrodiil, Seven Years Ago-

"Are you sure where you're going?" Marcius asked nervously.

"Do you have everything you need?" Flavia added.

"I'm eighteen. I'll be fine."

Marcius patted his son firmly on the shoulder, "You get going son."

"I'll write whenever I can," Titus said, hugging both his parents. Releasing his hold, he turned towards the front gate and his future.

-Imperial City, Cyrodiil, Six Years Ago-

"Come on Borwen," Titus shouted, banging on the door, "we'll be late for class."

"She's always like this. Everyday the same," Jonah commented. He was a Redguard, a few inches taller than Titus. His shining copper skin along with his shaved black hair defined him. His muscle made Titus look like some weak peasant.

"Give me a few minutes," informed Borwen, her voice being muffled slightly by the door and the wall.

Titus and Jonah waited rather impatiently outside, pacing around, tapping their feet and huffing at the amount of time the Wood Elf was taking. Their boredom was finally relieved when she emerged from outside her room. Her long, braided, black hair ran down her back, contrasting the pale brown colour of her skin perfectly. Titus and Jonah made her look like a dwarf. She certainly wasn't known for her size. Her eyes glistened, almost resembling pure gold.

"Let's get going then," Titus said, leading his two friends towards their lecture.

"Enjoy those sweet memories? Sweet sweet memories," Prophet patronisingly said, brandishing a dagger from his side.

Titus found himself strapped securely on a sacrificial stone altar, the play thing of the man stood before him. Behind Prophet was a soul gem, nearly as large as a fully grown man. It spoke in a deep, menacing voice, lighting up with each word it said, "Kill him and restore my personal influence on Nirn."

"I will master."

"So you're the master," Titus remarked.

"It doesn't mean anything to you," Prophet mocked. "You're a dead man anyway."

Prophet prepared to plunge the dagger into Titus's face, two hands gripped around the hilt.

"TIID KLO UL!"

With time slowed down and the dagger moving at the speed of an injured slug, Titus had time to wrestle with the leather straps, breaking their grasp on him, allowing him to escape his capture.

Prophet snorted in anger, sending a stream of lightning towards Titus. He barely had any time to block the incoming magic with his shield. He was sent plummeting onto the stone floor, overpowered by Prophet's magical ability. Striding towards him, Prophet conjured a bound sword, preparing to end him once and for all. Before Prophet could strike, Titus used his legs to kick him in the gut, sending him sprawling on the ground.

Forcing himself off the ground to carry on, ten of the armoured husks appeared suddenly as Prophet's protection. Charging forward, Titus danced the bitterly entrancing dance of death, flawlessly ending each of the warriors lives.

"I underestimated you. My master speaks highly of you," Prophet said, using his sword to assist him in standing back up.

Titus deflected the comment, focusing on the ensuing battle. That was when the voices started in his head, taunting him relentlessly.

"You can't win."

"Accept your fate and die."

"Give up Titus."

"You have no hope."

"It's over."

Titus bent over in pain, crippled by the assault on his mind. He was now utterly defenseless as he twitched, writhed and winced in agony.

"What's wrong? Can't control your own mind can you?" Prophet maliciously cackled, using his hidden strength and picking Titus up by the neck like a rag doll. "Who knew that the great Dragonborn's mentality would be his downfall? I certainly didn't."

"And who knew your arrogance would be yours." Titus, who had made his sword arm look spiritless in an attempt to deceive his enemy, thrust it into his chest, twisting it to add more satisfaction. Prophet released his grip on his Titus's throat, staggering back, clutching at the sword stuck deep within him.

"You have failed me," the master bellowed from the other edge of the room. "There will be a reckoning one day. It clearly isn't today."

"But master," Prophet pleaded, before his body disintegrated into a pile of ash.

It was done. The Order of the Black Diamond was no more. That word however hung in Titus's ear.

Reckoning.

Personal Comments:

It's over. The Order is dead. Yippee! Anyway, there's one more chapter to go before the big day. Just to let you know, there'll be about a week long gap between the time a post the next chapter and the start of the wedding arc because I'm going to Spain for a week. Plus, it's good time for me to finalise the plots of the wedding arc and the arc after. Not much else to really say, apart from please review, I love to know what you think. See you soon : D

Characters:

Morina: Titus's teenage crush. Might appear in a later story.

Jonah: One of Titus's university (college, whatever it is called in the TES universe) friends. Will appear in later stories

Borwen: One of Titus's university friends. Will appear in later stories.

Dragon Language Glossary:

TIID KLO UL: Time Sand Eternity (Slow Time Shout)