AN: Hey everyone. Sorry this one took longer; I had it a bit ready already but life is getting hectic. College just began and homework is already crazy, so these chapters will not be on the usual quick fire pace that they usually are. Also, we are entering Dawnguard proper, as you'll see at the end of this chapter, so I'll be taking more time in order to spread the questline out.

As I have learned from the reviews, everyone hates Thera. Good, cause if you sympathized with her that would be scary. For everyone that likes Lucius, I'm sorry. But, hey, he's not in the worst place right now, right?

Finally, thank you for reading. I love all the reviews. Please leave more.

Jul Lahzeyro Mindaziir

Lucius

Apparently, when Kodlak had visited the Mage's College in Winterhold to search for the evidence that would support – or disprove – my hypothesis regarding the Curse of the Glenmoril Coven. During his tenure as Harbinger, Kodlak had met Savos Aren a few times; a clever man and brave Mer, though as any other Companion would say, "Too bad he's a damn wizard." While inquiring about the Curse with Archmage Aren and the Arcanaest Orc named Urag, Kodlak had been kind enough to mention my name as the author of the theory.

About half a month after Kodlak's death, a messenger from the College showed up. It was a rare thing, apparently, to send out an invitation to the College; it is open to any who would take it upon themselves to enter the College should they merely make the trip. That they would alter their standard method of recruitment showed that they believed me to be one of the greatest Mages in the hold. My grasp of Magickal theory and Mage warfare is pretty good – I'd say I'm in the running for top Mage in the Tamriel.

I, having the luck of someone cursed a thousand times over, immediately became embroiled in the most dangerous things ever. Trouble seemed to follow me like it followed the Nerevarine or Hero of Kvatch. Maybe worse. I, along with the rest of the recent entrants of the College, were chaperoned to Saarthal.

Saarthal was the first city of the Atmorans in Skyrim. The first few hundred that fled the freezing of their homeland with Ysgramor had made camp there, a few decades before the founding of Jorvasskr. Saarthal was also the site of a terrible massacre, the opening salvo in the war between Atmoran and Falmer that would eventually end in the devolution from Snow Elf to eyeless beast. Over time, the tragedy and passage of Akatosh's domain would cause the location of the crypt to be forgotten for millennia, until a powerful Magickal force began to pull every Mage in the college towards it.

In the furthest reaches of the crypt, I was greeted by a yellow clad Mage-Monk. A Psijic. The Psijics were an ancient order of Magicka users. The best analogy would likely be to call it the first Mage's Guild, but more elitist. The Psijics had been an order of Altmer living on the Summerset Isle until the rise of the Dominion about two hundred years ago. As soon as the Thalmor took over the Altmer race, the Psijics disappeared, recognizing the insanity that had become prevalent in their brethren. They didn't get out much anymore, so when they decided to warn me that opening Saarthal had brought a great threat to the world, I listened.

I was soon introduced to a level of Magick that terrified me. Deep within Saarthal was a Magickal artifact. The higher ups at the College were quick to deny the rumors that had sprung up around the green orb that had been discovered, but they could do little to prevent the spread of the name. The Eye of Magnus. Magnus, the et'Ada who had broken through the Planes of reality during creation to forge the sun of Nirn. The same god who was the very source of Magicka itself, and we had found one of his most powerful artifacts, something on par with the power of the Wabbajack, stronger even.

Tullius has been doing his best to keep things stable in Skyrim. High Queen Elisif's respect for the man and his loyalty to her during the Civil War had gone a long way to keeping some measure of loyalty to the Empire. Still, with the Emperor dead and the Elder Council struggling to even keep the day to day of the Empire moving... Things were looking bad for the Empire, and I was terrified of what that could mean. Tullius hadn't even heard from the Council in weeks; Cyrodiil had gone silent.

That is, until the news of the Eye spread beyond Skyrim's borders. A crazy group of Political Lobbyists called the Synod from Cyrodiil marched into the province, asking for help from the College to perform some sort of experiment. College turned them away, but it turned out they hadn't left Skyrim. Archmage Aren, the Psijics, and a puzzling creature that seemed to know everything yet be completely useless at the same time, all sent me on a goose chase around Skyrim.

And, on top of all that, there was a damnable Thalmor at the College. Ancano was a tall, yellow-skinned bastard. Milk-drinker, as my Nord friends would say. The Mer just had a slimy, conniving, begging to be killed face. Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to kill him. Thalmor bastard...

Of course, not being allowed to kill the jerk had a definite downside. He found a way to unlock the power of the Eye of Magnus, and suddenly Ancano had enough power to destroy the world. In his mind, specifically the human parts of it. In reality... all of it. The fabric of Nirn itself began to degrade around the College, drawing what I believe to be incredibly weak et'Ada – stars, if you will – into the mortal world. These beings, likely unnerved and in incredible pain from being displaced forcibly from an entirely different reality, began to assault mortals wherever they found them. Mortals, it is believed, are the descendants – physically and spiritually – of the Aedra. This means that the Magicka of the Souls our frail bodies house are like Aedric Magicka, in a way. The et'Adic beings... devoured it whole. A terrifyingly large percentage of the ailing Hold Capital died in the attack before the College was able to destroy the rift. And one of the older Mages disappeared, an Elf named Enthir.

And Archmage Aren was murdered.

Ancano's usage of the Eye, in its earliest stages, was incredibly unstable. Powerful, but unstable. Magickal power rolled off of him in waves that nearly shattered the ancient stone of the College itself. The resulting explosion opened temporal rifts in reality around Archmage Aren, his second in command, and myself. Aren didn't make it back out alive, Mirabelle Ervine, his Second, was injured, and I was knocked unconscious. And then... I was sent to the Labyrithian, an ancient Magickal tomb, to obtain the one thing capable of neutralizing the Eye. Again, Magnus himself was playing in Mortal affairs – I had to obtain his Staff.

And, I learned, I was following in the footsteps of the Archmage. He, as a student, had attempted to find his way through the Labyrinthian with his class of peers. One by one, an ancient, cruel Mage murdered them. A Dragon Priest named Morokei, who wielded the power of the Staff in conjunction with that of the Voice to devour the Magicka of the Students. Aren, in a terrible move, killed his only remaining friends in order to set up a Soul Barrier that would prevent Morokei's escape.

I was starting to understand why he did that. "You are not Aren," the blue masked monster snarled as the barrier holding him disappeared. Magickal energy poured from him like a waterfall – perhaps more accurately from the staff. The Draugr landed on the ground and stared up at me from across the room. The staff, which had an orb not unlike the Eye atop it, crackled eagerly. "Where is he?"

"I'm surprised to see you care," I told the monster. My Breton blood gave me an edge against the creature: I was resistant to Magick. Combined with the enchantments done on my armor, I had a chance against the Dragon Priest. Miniscule, but I take what I can get. "The Archmage is dead."

"Archmage?" Morokei asked, laughing in disbelief. "Peh tey hi sook. That child could not be Archmage!"

I snarled. "Tol kiir viik hi," I retorted. My grip on the Daedric blade tightened.

Morokei stared at me. The mask hid his emotions, if he even had any, but his body language was intrigued. His gaze scanned across my body. "Ah, yol do dovah nahkip hin sil, Dovahkiin," Morokei said. He laughed savagely. "That you are alive informs me of your cowardice. Run, Dovahkiin, and wait for the king of all to end you."

"King of -" I shook my head as I began to understand. "You mean Alduin? Oh, I put him in the ground almost a year ago. Died like a coward, he did!"

Morokei shook. "No! You lie, craven fool!" the Dragon Priest shrieked. He began to hover above the ground. "Zu'u fen miik hin sil fah ok daal!" The Dragon Priest flew through the air, across the gap between us, and collided with me. I was thrown backwards by the force of the hit and collided with the stone wall behind me. I barely raised a ward in time for a lightning bolt to bounce off of it instead of through my skull. "Why would you claim such a thing, meyye!?"

"Well, I'm not usually the boastful type, so... because it's true?" I suggested. The wall of energy in my hand changed form, becoming a stream of fire that caused the Dragon Priest to shriek and stumble backwards. "Besides, once I kill you too, you'll get to see him again. You can start an afterlife club about how much you hate me. You should make matching Dragonhide cloaks to really sell it!" I jumped to my feet and ran towards the undead being. He shrieked and summoned a Storm Atronach to attack me. I ignored it, running instead towards the Dragon Priest. The monster's ability to absorb Magicka, as he had often done while I traversed the tomb, would be negated by my skill with the blade. And it was.

I often become surprised by how far my strength has gone. Though, to be fair, I did kill Alduin, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised. It merely took a single swipe of my blade to carve through Morokei's neck and end the fight. The Storm Atronach disappeared as its master's remaining life force faded away. I grabbed the ritual Mask and the Staff of Magnus and turned to go. "Meyye."

Jul Zuspein

Lucius

The wind whipped violently around Winterhold. I squinted and covered my eyes, as the snowflakes in the air snapped violently about in the wind and cut through flesh. The et'Adic Magicka that was causing the frenzied blizzard froze any attempt I made at generating a flame to protect me from the flames. It was terrible, and I wasn't even in the Hold's capital yet; I hoped the – and, forgive the pun, please forgive the pun – eye of the storm would be a place more amenable to Magicka usage. "What are you doing?"

With a jolt, I turned and glared at the source of the voice. My vision was blurred from squinting and, you know, the blizzard, but I knew who it was. "It's you..."

The black-clad warrior shrugged. His silver ring of hair ruffled lightly in the screaming wind. "That is indeed who I am. Me."

I growled and brought my hand down from my face. My hood whipped around, nearly coming off of my head multiple times. "Who are you? Why were you at the Palace of the Kings?"

"Are these really questions that need to be asked right now, boy?" the man asked. He stood there, eyes into the wind without blinking. The wind even seemed to quiet down around him, the blizzard not even present on his skin. One of his dark eyebrows was raised. I stood stone still. "The world's falling apart around you and you want to know about an old man? Eh, wouldn't expect anything different from a Mage. Knowledge is in your blood, as it were."

I glared at the man. The Staff of Magnus in my left hand glowed, the eery green conveying a sense of familiarity. "Well, okay. I'll tell you who I am. My name is Wulf. It's a pleasure to meet you."

I would have narrowed my eyes distrustfully if they weren't already almost closed, pained as they were from the storm. "Not good enough. But It'll have to do," I stated. Then I turned from the man and began struggling once again towards Winterhold.

"Wow. You really like taking the hard road, don't you?" Wulf asked, now from in front of me.

"Wait, how'd you –?"

"I mean, for a Mage, you do not have a great memory," Wulf continued through my question. "Let's see, you were in Windhelm... then you weren't. Sounds Magickal, doesn't it?"

I hissed and continued to walk past Wulf. "Ugh, this is going to take forever," Wulf groaned. He cracked his knuckled and sighed. "Is something wrong? Do you not want me to help you for some reason?"

"Magicka isn't working in this storm," I responded. Wulf didn't move as I walked towards him. The glow from the Staff was nearly blinding now. "Move."

Wulf shook his head and snapped his fingers; the storm stopped. "What in Oblivion?" I asked the air. I looked around in disbelief, then back at Wulf. He had controlled the Magicka from the Eye. "A-are you Magnus?"

"W-what?" Wulf asked. He laughed heartily. "No, I'm not some god that ran away from Nirn with his tail between his legs. I'm a Man."

"An incredibly powerful one, I suppose," I remarked.

"Magick is pretty powerful if you understand it the way I do," Wulf replied quietly. He frowned and stared at the ground. "Get going. The Staff should be able to clear up any other weather or Magickal walls you come across. One last thing – don't die. There's too much in this world depending on you making it out, including Magnus' sphere of influence." Wulf snapped his fingers again, and he was gone. Just a Man, eh? I wasn't completely sure of that.

Fahiil

Ancano

The Altmer was ecstatic as the energy of a god flowed into his veins, granting him intense Magickal power that was changing him by the second. No longer was he some mere mortal, no, Ancano had become so much more. He had achieved what the Mer had sought since their birth: Immortality. He had become akin to the Aedra, to the Ancestors. With such power he was a god, truly apotheosized. He would show the foolish Men that their god was false – he was Talos now!

And the Aldmeri Council? The slow moving fools would be swept away. An Empire on Nirn was a position only truly fit for a Divine, after all. Yes, Ancano would first claim the White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil, then exterminate any who would oppose him within the Dominion itself. Yes, soon it would all belong to Ancano, god of Mer!

"Ancano!"

The Mer snarled. Disgusted, he replied, "You..."

Jul

Lucius

The Staff of Magnus virtually contained a small lightning storm within and around its focal crystal as I entered the main hall of the College where the Eye was being kept. Tolfdir, one of the senior wizards at the College, stood next to me, ready to fight. I glared past the Eye at Ancano, and my sword trembled with rage in my hand. "Ancano!" I screamed as I entered, my voice filled with retribution.

The elf snarled uninterestedly and glanced over at me. "You... The Psijics' pet wizard," Ancano said, disgusted. He hadn't stopped channeling the Eye's power as he talked to us. He was over confident. "It's too late, you cannot stop me."

"Then stop yourself," Tolfdir begged. "Tamriel is falling apart! Daedra are slipping through the cracks, Ancano!"

"Be quiet, fool," Ancano snapped. A tendril of the white lightning channeling from the Eye branched off and Tolfdir was thrown across the room. I looked worriedly over at the man's crumpled form. I'd have to help him once this was all over. Ancano smiled and looked at me again. "You have the Staff. Good. Saves me the trouble of hunting it down."

"I'm going to stop you," I told the insane elf. He laughed in response and continued absorbing the energy of the Eye. The crystal on the Staff was whining audibly now, vibrating against its restraints. I raised my sword to Ancano's throat. "Surrender or die. Your choice."

Ancano glanced down at the sword and smiled haughtily. "I doubt that," he said. He stopped channeling the Magicka of Magnus and turned towards me. He took a step forward, his neck touching the sword... and I moved back. I was being pushed back by a wall of pure Magicka, as if there was nothing I could do to harm the elf. He had achieved, I posited, Immortality. "Yes, I have. Achieved Immortality, that is."

My eyes widened in fear. He could – "Read your mind? Yes, the power of a Divine is an incredible thing, fool," Ancano spat. He raised his hand and launched a fireball towards me. I was only barely able to move out of the way. "I must not have taken enough of its power to alter your mind, however. Oh well, I'll guess I'll settle for killing you."

I gasped and threw myself to the side, barely escaping the ball of lightning the would be god threw at me. The stone where I had stood sizzled, melted in the shape of Ancano's Magickal attack. I doubted Ancano's assertion he had not taken enough of the Eye's energy; if he was immortal, he could alter mortal's minds. The only thing keeping me alive and free was the Staff, I later thought. At the moment, all I could do was run and try to come up with a way to stop Ancano.

"You cannot survive forever, slave!" Ancano shouted. I ignored his comment and continued to concentrate while I fled his attacks. The Staff was the answer, the Augur of Dunlain had said as much. In order to survive the onslaught I had to understand why.

I considered things for a moment, then smiled. Ancano's eyes widened in fear. "The Staff..." he whispered fearfully. I smiled and pointed the beam of wood at the Eye. "No..."

"Yes," I responded. The Magicka of the Eye began to disappear, slowly being neutralized and drained by the Staff itself. Ancano stumbled as the Magicka flowing through his body began to disappear. I smiled and walked around the Eye, still draining its power, until I stood before Ancano. "Did you know they call me Atmoran? Do you know why?"

Ancano stared in fear, deathly silent. He was shivering in terror. "I am what's left of the Thalmor Assassination division. I killed the rest," I told the elf. His eyes widened in fear. "And now I kill those who can't be trusted with freedom. I am not without mercy, though. Aren and Ervine, from what I hear, died quickly. So will you – Talos have mercy on you.." Ancano's head suddenly was no longer connected with his shoulders.

Ogiim

Durak

The air around Durak Yarzol crackled from the dying embers of the fire. The Orcish man was surrounded by bodies, some dead. Others dead twice. "Dammit. We weren't fast enough," the old human beside him grunted. "Damn fools should have listened."

"Isran..." Durak began. "Does this mean –?"

"Yes, Durak," Isran said. The human sighed and pulled his warhammer from his back. "This means war is about to begin." The head of the hammer slammed through the skull of a wheezing Vampire, and its undead life was no more.