Vivec Temple, Library of Vivec.
Like everyone else, Mehra Milo had been anticipating the Feast of St. Rilms with zeal.
More specifically, she was looking forward to not attending.
While everyone else in the city was carousing outside, Mehra could have a rare moment of quiescence in the library, alone with the familiar scents of ink and old parchment.
Vivec City boasted the largest library in Vvardenfell, perhaps even the largest in Morrowind, and travelers from Necrom to Daggerfall visited daily.
As exhausting as working with the myriad of patrons could be, the Dunmer priestess was proud to call herself librarian, keeper of countless millions of words printed in 189,000 volumes resting on 571 shelves. Mehra did not see it as merely a library, no. It was a palace of opportunity, a realm of information in each tome.
"Muthsera."
The voice made her jump a little, which was a bit precarious seeing as she was currently shelving books on the third level whilst perched atop a ladder. However, she managed to finish her task without incident and descended safely to solid ground.
Goodbye, solitude.
"Brother Sarethan," she said, forcing a smile at her young colleague who had replaced his priestly attire with comfortable traveler robes. Or party robes, as he might have liked to fancy them for lack of anything more extravagant. "I'd imagined you were off to enjoy the celebration by now."
Sarethan nodded. Mehra watched him shift the weight between his feet clumsily. When he drew closer, she wrinkled her nose at the smell of sujamma. Not that she was inclined to pass judgment. Tonight, even priests were allowed to set aside their ascetic lifestyle to mingle with the common folk. Holidays such as these were undeniably important in engaging the people of Vivec from all walks of life, and Mehra could forgive a priest for indulging in too much drink if it meant that she didn't have to.
The priest even seemed to be enjoying it, and he proceeded to explain this to her with gusto:
"Oh, it is a beautiful night. They've got all the food you could possibly dream of, and meat. Not just rat meat, but hound meat and crab meat and you don't have to spend any of your tokens. You know, sister, you're allowed to have fun. Dance under the stars... eat like royalty... maybe share a jug of sujamma with a stranger or two? It's the only day we're allowed to do this. You deserve it. Tonight, no one has to work except for the Ordinators."
Earnestly as Sarethan was trying, Mehra did not know how she could explain herself to him.
She never imbibed a drop of liquor, nor did she dance, and her opinion of holding a feast was soured by the food shortages across Vvardenfell due to the Blight. Her idea of "fun" was not standing awkwardly while a brouhaha of sweaty strangers ebbed and flowed around her, attuned to a social rhythm that she could never understand.
"I don't mind staying here. I'll... erm, I'll try not to work too hard," was her eventual response.
Sarethan chuckled, patting a heavy hand on her back.
"You are so devoted to the Temple, I'm beginning to grow suspicious of you."
Mehra stopped blinking. Was that an implicit warning disguised as a stupid joke, or was it really just a stupid joke? How much did he know? She tried to speak, to laugh, react in the natural way that a not-suspicious person might, but her mind had suddenly been wiped clean of any normative thought and all she could do was stand stupidly with her mouth agape.
"W-what-" she warbled, her throat feeling like it was coated with sand.
"Oh, don't look at me all fish-eyed. It's called a joke. Maybe you've read about them in your books?"
Mehra laughed nervously.
"I don't know, perhaps I ought to read the Yellow Book of Riddles again to understand," she said, then immediately regretted her idiotic attempt at a joke.
Sarethan shook his head at her, then chuckled again, pulling some food item from his robes.
"Here. I thought you might get hungry, so I brought this for you. It's delicious."
Mehra didn't really want to take the sticky bun he was offering her either, but refusing it would be rude.
Sarethan was standing there still, and Mehra realized she ought to oblige him by taking a bite of the damn pastry. It was filled with some cloyingly sweet cream that nearly made her gag. She would curse the day that she ever became desperate enough to eat something like this.
Perhaps she would take a walk later and break it into bits to feed it to the scavenging nightjars along the shore. Just so that it would not have to go to waste.
After Sarethan and his asininity had finally departed, Mehra hoped to try again for her own private serenity.
Sitting at the table, when she opened her book a carefully folded piece of paper fluttered out onto the table, thinned from being pressed inside of a heavy tome for so long.
Ah, the letter. Mehra had read it so many times already, but she read it again with a wistful smile.
My dear friend Mehra,
Just last night I was reminiscing on our carefree days together at seminary. I still remember that time we replaced Master Llaren's sermon with a copy of that dreadful stage play by Crassius Curio! Oh, I do miss those days, but the both of us have gone our separate paths, and I understand your decision to stay in Vivec, for it is where you can best serve the Dunmer people.
With the success of our respective careers, one wouldn't believe what sort of antics we had engaged in during the innocence of our youth. However, those days are long past. Mehra, you are most dear to me, and I could not bear it if I heard that you were in trouble. Especially during these turbulent times, it is important that we remember our duty to the Tribunal when they need our support more than ever.
Although I mention this in every letter, yet again I extend my invitation for you to take time off to visit the Abbey. Not only do we have so much to catch up on, our new friends are eager to see you. However, I'm afraid my recollection is not what it used to be, and some of the older memories have eluded me. If any of them drop by Vivec to partake in the Benevolence of St. Rilms, do share with them what you can remember of the halcyon days. For the best memories are the ones that remind us of how rewarding our unwavering faith to ALMSIVI has been. It pains me to say it, but the youngest initiates are not nearly as devout as they ought to be. Through no fault of their own, of course; they have grown up in a red-ash world of blight and misery and these troubled times are all that they know. We have the privilege of knowing that our faith in the Three will be our salvation as it always has, but some of our newer friends could use your guidance to work towards a better future.
Humbly yours,
Amaya.
Mehra had no friend named Amaya.
This letter had been written by Gilvas Barelo, a former curate who had galvanized the Dissident Priest movement about nine years ago. They had not been classmates; he had been her teacher some thirty years ago.
It had taken her less than an hour to decrypt the message. Obviously he wanted her to come to Holamayan where she would be safe. He told her that every time.
In the last few paragraphs, the important words she picked out were "new friends" and "old memories." she was certain he was telling her that an ally of the dissident priests would arrive soon to collect some books, and she was supposed to help them however she could.
Mehra closed her book again with mild annoyance, frustrated that she couldn't focus on the words with that in mind.
This would be the extent of her seditious behavior. She needed to tell Gilvas to stop writing her, for if she were in danger it would all be his fault.
Mehra took a deep breath, exhaling through her teeth. Gilvas wouldn't ask something like this if it wasn't important.
It had to do with that Peakstar; she knew it did. When she and Gilvas had their last hurried meeting, months and months earlier, Gilvas had mentioned he would try to seek her out, wanting to work with her. It made sense, really; he and the other dissident priests had a strange fascination with the Nerevarine prophecies, principally because it was another supposed blasphemy the Tribunal attempted to suppress. Mehra herself never had the luxury to peruse all of the apographa, but much of what she did have access to made oblique reference to the idea that the Nerevarine would not only drive the foreigners out of Morrowind, but herald the very downfall of the Tribunal. It was no wonder these stories were denounced as heresy and the Nerevarine cultists viciously persecuted. No tool of dissent was more powerful than the printed word, according to her old friend Gilvas Barelo, yet the illiterate Ashlanders managed to terrify the Tribunal through word of mouth alone.
The door opened, interrupting her thoughts yet again.
She clenched her fists in annoyance, about to reproach whomever had entered, yet stopped herself when she saw who the visitor was.
Almalexia's emissary, that priestess who received her "blessing" of silence stood in her doorway. Naturally everyone was curious about her, especially after she had been summoned to Lord Vivec's palace, but Mehra did not wish to jump to any unfortunate conclusions like so many had already done. Mostly, the girl kept to herself. Her condition did not allow her to socialize. Mehra wished she had that sort of excuse not to have to engage in conversation with people.
"Alma? What are you doing here?" Mehra asked, before realizing that Alma could not respond. The younger priestess looked down, and only then did Mehra notice the light-skinned Dunmer she had in tow. A male, with wavy dark hair and a soft, nonthreatening face. Without a doubt he was handsome, but he looked like such an outlander that she could practically smell it.
"Care to explain yourself? Did you merely wish to browse the collection or was there something in particular that you needed?" Mehra asked sternly, eyes narrowed.
Somehow Alma managed to slip away unseen as Mehra spoke, leaving her alone with this stranger whose ambiguous smile she could not decrypt.
The foreigner arched an eyebrow.
"Muthsera. Pardon my intrusion. You are Mehra Milo?"
"Librarian of Vivec, yes. To whom am I speaking to?" she asked stiffly, crossing her arms as if to guard herself against his glib speech.
"Nils," he replied, his arms outstretched at his sides in an expression of openness. "It is a pleasure to meet you, after all that I have heard."
"And what is it that you have heard?"
"Well, our friend Codaesa wanted me to meet with you. She's leaving to visit family in the mainland in a few weeks, but I was told that you could help finish what she started."
Oh, that was just great. Another coded message.
Codaesa. Who was Codaesa? Mehra scoured her brain for what that could possibly mean. Re-arranging the letters in her head for the thousands of possible combinations, she realized that Codaesa was one letter off from being an anagram for Cosades. Caius Cosades... that old Imperial? That was a surprise. Here Mehra nearly assumed this Nils was going to be one of the "new friends" referenced in Gilvas Barelo's letter.
"Finish what, exactly?" she ventured.
"My religious education, of course. I wish to serve ALMSIVI in the best way I can, but as an outlander it is difficult to convince others that I am serious about my convictions."
He seemed to be improvising. Remarkably well. This half-mer came across as charming, yet not oily. He displayed aplomb without arrogance. Mehra wanted to trust him, but she didn't know if she should.
What she gleaned from this brief interaction was that Caius expected her to tell Nils all that she could about the situation with the dissident priests and the hidden writings of the Temple, of which even Caius knew very little about. She could have allowed him to continue improvising a while longer, but Mehra decided to acquiesce to him.
As dangerous as this territory was, she did owe Caius a tremendous favor.
"Very well, sera. We'll speak in my office."
Perhaps "office" was not the proper word to describe her quarters, for she also had a bed and small dining table in this room attached to the library. Mehra wasn't sure why she called it an office, but if anyone happened to be listening outside it definitely sounded better than if she invited him into her bedroom. Thankfully, Nils was polite enough not to mention her misapplication.
She poured both of them tea from a kettle that had cooled hours ago.
It wasn't until she took a sip herself that she realized it may have been inconsiderate to serve cold tea to a guest.
At least she gave him the mug that didn't have a chip in it.
"Why aren't you wearing any shoes?" Mehra suddenly asked, looking down at his feet for the first time. The rest of him didn't look like a rapscallion. Why forgo shoes?
Nils thought her question was hilarious and burst into laughter.
"Ye gods, I thought you were supposed to know these things." He then took on a throaty, pompous-sounding voice in an uncanny imitation of the Archcanon. Tholer Saryoni was privately lampooned by the tenacious for his turgid speeches and soporific voice, and she imagined Nils had already experienced a sample of that from his speech at the festival.
"During the Feast that marks the end of the Benevolence of Saint Rilms, this period of fasting all of us have dutifully undergone, it is customary for those who can afford it to donate a pair of shoes to the Temple, to be distributed to those less fortunate than they. This symbolic practice represents the generosity of Saint Rilms, who-"
"Lived among the poor and gave away her only pair of shoes to a beggar, yes, I know. Erm... I haven't actually been to the Feast of Saint Rilms before. I forgot about that practice." She bit her lip, trying not to be too embarrassed that this outlander knew something about the Temple that she didn't.
They had quite the varied discussion; Nils seemed particularly interested in the Nerevarine cult and why the Temple reviled them as heretics. He claimed that he was in contact with the mysterious Peakstar, though he wouldn't divulge much information about her.
When he told her that she was on a mission to steal "secret books" from the Library of Vivec, Mehra did not need any more convincing that Peakstar was the "new friend" that Gilvas Barelo referred to. What a bizarre coincidence that the two would meet on the way to Vivec, both seeking assistance from Mehra Milo for different reasons.
"I know which books your Peakstar is looking for, but they're not exactly accessible. Not even to me. The Hall of Wisdom is not the only place in the Temple canton with a library. Hidden beneath the Hall of Justice is the secret library of Vivec, where the canons keep an archive of the apographa, or 'secret writings' of the Temple, along with other books that are in defiance of the strictures. I'll show you how to get there. I can even lend you my key. That's all I will do for you. I will not be implicated in this ordeal. Now listen up, because I'm not going to write these titles down for you. You're going to have to remember this. Nerevar at Red Mountain. Nerevar Moon-and-Star. Kagrenac's Tools. The 36 Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 29. Miscellanea Ald Resdaynia."
Nils blinked at her with some incredulity obfuscated beneath his polite manner. He took a sip of tea.
"Wouldn't it be easier for you to steal the books? I mean... you're the librarian. You're actually allowed down there. If someone finds me, I'm doomed. Oh, and I'll have your key, so you'll be charged as an accomplice. Now, if someone sees you, you could just tell the guards that you were making sure that none of the revelers found their way to the secret library. Or something like that. You probably know better than I do. More importantly, you actually know where these books are. Imagine someone as clueless as me down there, shuffling around aimlessly and taking books out and putting them back where they don't belong. I might spend an hour down there just looking for these titles, whereas you can locate them in minutes and be out of there while I'm still distracting the Ordinators with fascinating conversation."
Mehra stared at him. What he was saying did make a lot of sense. Years ago she had vowed never to do anything so egregiously traitorous such as this. A librarian like her was not equipped to be a spy. She did not have Gilvas Barelo's wit as sharp as his pen, nor Caius' legerdemain, and she definitely did not have Nils' power of persuasion. Mehra preferred to leave the skullduggery to the people far more capable than she. But in her heart she knew this was the right thing to do, no matter how many strictures she would be violating.
Her personal sentiment regarding the Temple was complicated to say the least, but she supported the dissident priests because they were the ones brave enough to search for answers to their questions.
"Alright, Nils," Mehra said, conceding to him finally. "You're right. I'll go and retrieve the books for you."
"For Peakstar, actually," Nils corrected.
Not like any of that mattered to Mehra. It was all for Gilvas Barelo in the end, but even Nils did not seem to fully understand the extent of his involvement. Was he blindly helping Peakstar without knowing anything about the dissident priests or what they stood for? Perhaps he was a fool. A charismatic, affable fool acutely skilled in appearing he knew what he was talking about.
He was on their side, though, so perhaps that was all that mattered now.
Vivec, Hall of Justice.
Stealing the books would have been easy, if both entrances to the secret library didn't happen to be located in the headquarters for the Ordinators in Vivec. Thankfully, security was practically skeletal in the Hall of Justice as most of their numbers were busy watching the revelers outside.
Just outside the Office of the Watch, Mehra hid behind a pillar, thankful that no one could see the petrified look on her face as she dropped eaves on the conversation between Nils and an Ordinator. She twisted the chain of the silver pendant around her neck nervously.
"You're not supposed to be in here," lambasted the Ordinator, heavy voice muffled by his bonemold mask.
"Oh. Where am I again? I've been looking for someone to ask about the shrines in the High Fane, but it seems that all the priests are out celebrating."
Nils obviously didn't have to practice to sound like a clueless outlander. At least he was taking the "humble newly converted pilgrim" approach. Though usually openly hostile to outlanders, even the most hardened servants of the Three could not resist an opportunity to spread the word to any foreigners displaying showed genuine interest.
But this Ordinator was not budging. His voice lowered to a dangerous rasp.
"I know what you are. You're a pretender, like the other foreign-born scum. Mocking our traditions, indulging in a feast undeserved. I'm only going to tell you one more time that you're not supposed to be in here. Go on. Get lost. Go and be merry as long as it is out of my sight."
There was a pause. If Mehra had been in Nils' situation, this would be the part where she would keep her eyes to the ground and slink away.
But clearly he had a bit more resolve than she.
"I don't know if it's right, sera. For me to be partaking in the feast. That wasn't what I came here for. I came to Vivec to learn more about the Temple. I'm not a pretender. I may be a new initiate, but I just want to learn," said Nils, his voice still gentle and unshaken. He paused for a beat, to make certain that the Ordinator was at least willing to hear him out, and not lose his temper and exercise his divine right to beat up anyone he didn't like.
"Go on," the gruff voice replied, after several more seconds of silence.
"You're right. I am a foreigner. I grew up in Cyrodiil, you know. It's so different there. People don't care for their own."
"Imperials, you're speaking of?" Now the Ordinator actually sounded engaged. Mehra rolled her eyes. Any chance to spew vitriol about the Empire, of course.
"Unfortunately, sera. My father was an Imperial, but I've since rejected the sanctity of the Nine Divines that were forced upon me. The Imperials are a... decadent race," Nils lamented.
"At least you recognize their damnable greed, though it does not excuse the crimes of your people – it's true, isn't it?"
A pause followed the Ordinator's anacoluthon before he elaborated.
"That an Imperial would steal a crust of bread from an orphan's hands if they thought it would turn a profit?"
"Worse. I've seen agents march into an orphanage and repossess the bread because the folks in charge couldn't afford to pay their taxes."
"And yet they still insist that they have souls," muttered the Ordinator. Mehra heard the crackling of bonemold armor, as if the guard were stretching. Was that a yawn she heard? The Ordinator quickly disguised it with an "Ahhh," and lowered his voice again to emphasize the ash-worn grit, attempting to reassert some kind of authority."But I must remind you again that you really shouldn't be here. You are standing in the Hall of Justice. These offices may only be accessed by members of our sacred order, and those on official business. Now, move along."
"Ah, my apologies for the intrusion, sera. I'll be out of your way. As I said, I meant no harm. I was only looking for someone who could teach me about the shrines in the High Fane."
"The shrines, you say? Hm. I'm going to show you the way out of here. I'll tell you a thing or two about the shrines if it means you won't go wandering off again in places you don't belong to look for someone else to bother."
Mehra already had the trapdoor key in her hand as the clunk clunk clunk of the Ordinator's boots disappeared down the hallway. It was time to climb down below...
Vivec, Hall of Justice Secret Library.
Just as Nils had said, Mehra had no difficulty navigating through the claustrophobic corridor that was the secret library, even in this darkness. It was much less organized than the grand library in the Hall of Wisdom, but this was a secret library, and even Mehra was not allowed down here without an Ordinator escort.
Erstwhile someone must have arranged the books roughly by subject. Likely, that someone had been Mehra's predecessor, a mysterious librarian that the others avoided speaking of. The Temple could do that to people; nullify their existence. She wondered what that person did to deserve their name being erased from history.
Probably something similar to what Mehra was doing.
What multitudes of subjects there were! From Ashlander legends to "myths" of vampire cults in Vvardenfell, the Temple didn't like to admit that certain things existed, so they hid them away in the secret library.
With rugs covering every inch of the floor and tapestries lining the walls, the cold blue from her lantern was the only source of light to guide her through the enveloping dark jade and indigo fabric. She wasn't certain whose design choice that had been; it wasn't like anyone was going to be down here very long. Really, all it did was make the place smell like musty carpet, which overpowered the scent of musty books. Whose idea was this? Maybe, in addition to being the Temple's repository for apographic material, this room was also where they stored the extra tapestries.
Mehra's eyes scanned the spines of books with sharp efficiency. Her memory of the exact color, width, and height of these volumes helped her far more than this halfhearted organization.
First book: The Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 29. Though officially part of the Hierographa, or priestly writings, Mehra had good reason to include this volume on her list. Sermon 29 had become scarce as grass in the Ashlands in recent years and the circumstances were bizarre. With the book curiously disappearing from library shelves and bookstores, it was difficult to say anything about the rumors circling its contents when no one actually had it in their possession to prove it.
One night, someone had even broken into the Hall of Wisdom and stolen all five copies that they had.
That might have something to do with why there were exactly five copies of that book down here in the secret library.
Mehra slipped one off the shelf and placed it in her satchel, moving quickly to locate the other books. As she did this, she made certain that any gaps made by the missing books were filled in an attempt to cover her tracks slightly better.
Two of the titles were actually scrolls, and the scroll shelf was a nightmare to sift through. It looked like someone had just shoved them into the square cubbyholes and forgotten about them. Reams of invaluable, gossamer-thin parchment being handled by someone with the gentleness of a barbarian. Unbelievable.
Mehra was running out of time. Carelessly, she pulled one scroll out too quickly, and an avalanche of twenty more tumbled to the carpeted floor.
Oh, what luck. Mehra dropped to her knees, scrabbling to tidy up her mess.
Keeping the two scrolls that she needed and shoving the rest back into the shelves just as haphazardly as they had originally been placed, Mehra was ready to get out of this dingy burrow. She could thank ALMSIVI for that.
… No, that wasn't right.
Who was she supposed to be praying to now?
It mattered not; she was getting out of here.
Vivec, Temple Underworks.
Nils was late in meeting her beneath the High Fane.
Mehra could think of two reasons.
One, he was still engaging the Ordinator in 'fascinating conversation' as he had put it.
Two, he had been arrested and was already on his way to the Ministry of Truth for re-education.
For his sake (and hers) she hoped it was the former.
Even though she had her handkerchief pressed to her face, the fetid odor still permeated. Every shadow that flickered across the tunnel walls and every water splash made her jump a little. Rats and slaughterfish, she reassured herself.
Finally, finally an elongated Nils-shaped shadow approached, followed by Nils himself, who must have picked up a pair of old boots along the way, though neglected to tie the laces. His gait was slower than the confident strides he had displayed before.
"Am I ever glad to see you," breathed Mehra, thrusting the satchel towards Nils before he could say anything. The sooner the evidence was off of her, the better.
He took the satchel, mumbling a "thanks," and went to staring at a forgotten fresco on the wall. The faded mural on the wall depicted a tall robed mer walking with a line of several others behind him.
"That's Saint Veloth, leading the Chimer into Morrowind. Or Resdayn, as it was known then. Did the Ordinator tell you about him too?" asked Mehra, trying to nudge him into telling her what happened, or maybe explain why he took so long.
Then Mehra realized that Nils wasn't really looking at the fresco, but staring blankly in its general direction with oneiric eyes. He blinked several times and looked up at Mehra.
"Hm. Among other things, yes," he said distantly.
"That was really great," she continued. "What you did back there, with the Ordinator. You made it sound so effortless! I see them every day, and I still get nervous when they look at me with those emotionless mask-faces."
Nils shrugged.
"They're just people," he said. His voice sounded heavy and his brow had a sheen of perspiration. Nils was pale – well, a paler shade of wood-ash than he usually was.
Mehra brought the lantern closer to his face, but all it did was make Nils squint and turn his head. "Do you feel ill?" she asked.
Nils took a deep breath, placing a hand to support himself against the stone wall. He really did not look well.
"What? Oh, I'm alright. I ate a sweetroll earlier. Maybe it didn't agree with me," he said. "Just... maybe if I sit down..."
His eyes rolled back and his body suddenly started to drop like a sack of ash yams.
Mehra caught him by the shoulders before he fell.
Well, that was unexpected.
She stood there dumbly for a few seconds with Nils' dead weight leaning against her before she gently lowered him to the ground.
Dark splotches began to cloud her vision. Then she remembered to breathe.
Mehra told herself not to panic. But that wasn't going to stop her hands from shaking and her heart from pounding.
She was even having trouble detecting his pulse with her own heartbeat hammering in her ears. But he was still very much alive, because when she nudged him his dry lips began to vocalize nonsense words.
Oh, what was she going to do now? He was supposed to get out of here with the evidence, the books, these gods-forsaken books that were going to get them both killed.
Mehra desperately wanted to calm herself down, to think of an escape plan. But her mind was already swarming with the worst possible outcomes. A swift execution would be a blessing, but the punishment for heresy was rarely merciful. Would they be flayed? Tossed into the lagoon from the top of the Ministry of Truth with their arms and legs bound? Tortured until they betrayed the secrets they held about Peakstar and the dissident priests, and then burned alive? How long would she be able to last under torture?
Not very long. This, she knew.
She could not beg for assistance with this incriminating evidence in her possession. Did she still have time to sneak into the Hall of Justice and put the books back where they belonged? No, of course not, what a foolish thought that was. Destroying the books was out of the question – they were worth far more than she was.
Nils' eyes flitted agog in a frisson of phantasmagorical fervor.
"The flesh is the divine," he murmured.
His body erupted with violent convulsions.
No matter how many healing spells she used, the effects appeared to be nugatory.
Mehra buried her face in her hands and leaned her back against the wall.
This wasn't what she thought she would be doing, thirty years ago during her time in seminary. She loved the Temple, or what they once stood for. Charity, compassion, education as a right afforded to everyone instead of a privilege for the wealthy.
And yet here she was, sitting down here in the sewers with no gods left to pray to.
How could Nils do this to her?
'Don't worry,' he had said with insouciance. 'Just get me the books, and I can handle the rest.' That n'wah and his bombast had ruined her, ruined her!
Treacherous thoughts invaded Mehra's dithering.
There was nothing preventing her from absconding with the books, abandoning Nils.
To avoid punishment for her perfidy, it appeared the only viable option.
How long until someone noticed her absence? Should she leave now?
Certainly, this was the most sensible thing to do...
No.
She wasn't about to leave him to die. What kind of degenerate priestess would she be?
But... as cruel as it was, perhaps she could save more lives by getting these books to Holamayan...
Footsteps. Not the unnerving thunk of Indoril bonemold against stone, but a light pitter-patter barely echoing against the walls.
Mehra opened her eyes.
A figure clad in white was approaching, eyes owlish with curiosity.
She identified the person immediately. But it took a few moments before Mehra could properly form words.
"Alma? What are you doing here?"
