She stabbed at a pile of dung with her shovel, groaning as she hefted it up, throwing it off to the side.

Was he cute? Kind of. Was he worth this? Not at all. Were there other boys? Meh.

Perhaps it was best that way, anyways. Her arms were sore, and she grimaced with each flex of her muscles. The gate swung open and latched, and she looked up.

"NO."

She turned her back to him, leaning over to attack a new pile of dung. He had a bucket and shovel in his hand. His Uncle said it was poor taste to let someone take the full punishment for actions you had a hand in. He also said he would tan his hide if he didn't get out there and help the "poor girl".

He heard her grunt, as a large pile of dung was tossed over the fence into a bucket. A guar walked to her, nuzzling her shoulder. She tried to ignore it.

"Go away and quit eating so much."

It had been well over a month since their last adventure. Her grandmother was quite strict with her chores and related punishments. While Llorys had gotten off with a slap on his wrist, he saw that Lucia bore the brunt of it. He frowned, throwing his bucket down and taking a stab at a pile of feces.

"Thanks to you, I have permanent guar duty every day." Her voice was bitter and strained, as she scraped some more dung off the dirt floor.

"I'm sorry. I promise I will help."

She snorted. "I have been out here for weeks, and this is the only time you showed up…after your uncle yelled at you."

He stopped, mid shovel. "How did you know?"

She stood, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. "I found out that you don't need pointed ears to overhear things you are not supposed to."

She looked over at him. He had a grin on his face, as his eyes locked with hers. The intensity made her nervous, and the butterfly feeling came back in her stomach. She looked away, staring off into the distance, her cheeks a little red.

The grounds keeper had quit, due to a dispute with the gardener. She was only punished to clean the guar pens for a week, but it had been extended, indefinitely, until a new tenant was hired. Her grandmother was called for an urgent meeting with House Telvanni a few days ago. A land dispute, of sorts. It was on the island being contested. This was not the first time she had left for something similar. It usually took a week, nor more than two.

However, in the mean time, she was left to upkeep the animal pens, the best she could.

Something flashed in the rocky terrain. She squinted her eyes. A chill ran down her spine.

Llorys noticed her rigid for, and stood up, and turning out to face where she was. He didn't see anything…

"What is it?"

It flashed again. Something felt...off.

"A flashing. Something isn't right." It flashed again. This time an image popped in her mind, and she dropped her shovel. She grabbed Llorys, pulling him with her, as they jumped the fence, sprinting back to the house.

She opened the cellar door, and pushed him in, then shut the doors, barring it. She grabbed him, pulling him back in the corner. They sat there, holding onto each other; Llorys was greatly confused as much as Lucia was terrified.

He heard a footstep. She grabbed him, putting a finger over his lips to signify the need for silence. The pitch blackness of the cellar robbed them of almost all light.

The steps multiplied, and they held on a little tighter. A sinister voice cut through the intensity.

"Come out, little ones. We mean no harm."

His eyes narrowed, as he rolled them. Yeah, right…

"We feel you, girl. Your magic is too strong to hide. We will find you, and when we do, not even your pathetic excuse for a god will save you."

Lucia started to shake, and he held her tighter. A shadow blocked the few rays of light leaking in from the cellar doors. They startled when the doors were yanked, harshly. The latch strained under the force.

"We will feast upon your corpses. None live that defy our Lord!"

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to detach from Llorys. Her hands worked together, as she tried to calm herself, focusing on her summoning. A bright light formed, as fire swirled between her hands. Llorys watched, amazed.

The latch gave out, and she let the fireball fly into the damp soil. A fire atronach arose, twirling as it lobbed a large bolt into the first man's face, turning him to ashes. Llorys jumped forward, tackling the next one that appeared. The man was twice his size, and easily overpowered him, slamming the boy on the ground, rendering him unconscious. He raised a sharp, dagger over his head, readying to bury it in the boy's chest.

His dagger was forced to the side, right before it contacted skin, and the man felt himself being thrown off. He regained his bearings. The girl had casted a strong protection spell. His sights turned to the small Nord in the corner. Her atronach was outside, already being reduced to ashes.

She did not possess the blood of dragons, but it was just as valuable, albeit diluted. How she had remained unnoticed to them all this time had to have been the work of those meddlesome Aedra. However, she had made a grave mistake the last time they interfered in affairs not concerning them: she had healed the boy.

He was the one standing above them, as he pretended to let them think that they were hidden that night. Afterwards, he sent word and quickly had the body of their Lord moved. Her magic though, it was strong, as well as unique. His interest in her paid off, and his research yielding something ancient, something powerful. They had discovered another source for blood, should that of the Monahrel fail.

He jumped up, lunging towards her. She only had to come back alive, her condition wasn't a concern. He pinned her down, bruising her arms, as she squirmed. He gathered her wrists in one of his large hands. His other hand smacked her across the face, causing her nose to bleed. He rammed his knee in between her legs, as he started to tear at her clothes.

"The more you squirm, the worse I'll make it." She held back a sob, as her eyes glazed over. She knew what was going to happen.

He felt something grab his shoulder, pulling him back in one swift motion. He looked down. A glowing, red daedric blade was punctured through his chest. He watched it turn, as it cut downwards, a hand over his mouth to muffle his blood curdling screams.

Miraak pushed the dying corpse off, letting it hit the wall. He saw the two children before him. A Dunmer boy was unconscious on the ground. In the corner was a wide-eyed Nord girl, staring at him with intense curiosity, but not fear. She shakily went to sit up, wiping the blood from her nose.

He closed his eyes. Her aura…it was familiar…

"Valdras' daughter, I presume, although that is not all that you are, child." He knelt next to the boy, lifting him up with ease. "Come."

She jumped up, following close behind, as Miraak lead them out, into the woods, towards the back of Counsilman Serules' property. Corpses were everywhere, some completely severed in half. She saw the old mer run up and meet them half way, taking Llorys from his arms.

"How many?" They rushed inside.

"A dozen. I saw two runners head back. My intuition tells me there are more positioned at various points of the city."

They shut the door and latched it. She watched as the large Nord casted a strange spell she had never seen. It slowly grew from his palm, and as he placed it on the door, the low, yellow glow seeped into the wood, spreading outwards. He stepped away, as the spell continued to weave itself into the door, skipping to the walls.

She stepped up, daring enough to touch it. A warmness spread on her hand, and another image flashed in her mind.

"Dethl."

He watched her. She was young…she had not learned the necessary skills to control what she possessed. While he detested any form of training from mer, it was the best this new era could offer. Unfortunately, it had almost gotten her killed, among other things.

She went over to Llorys, who had been placed on a bed. He was still unconscious, and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it. It was times like these when she wished her real mom and dad were still alive. She wiped her nose, realizing it was still bleeding. A tear fell, as she started to come to terms with what recently transpired.

Despair not, child.Such atrocities are not woven within your fate.

She turned to him, her eyes widened. He nodded, confirming that what she heard was correct, subtly gesturing that she attempt to communicate, as well. He walked to her, gently grabbing her chin to look at her nose, casting a healing spell. She closed her eyes, focusing on her thoughts. She strained, envisioning what she wanted to say: how is this possible?

Because no less would be expected from a daughter of Jhunal.

"Lucia, my dear, are you okay?" The touch on her shoulder snapped her out of her concentration, and she looked up at Counsilman Serules. His red eyes looked over her face, concerned. She shook her head slowly, and turned back to his nephew on the bed. The old mer squeezed her shoulder, remaining behind her. He glanced at her torn shirt, his heart aching as he held her a little tighter.

"She will need to stay here, until I clear them out. None are to know. I have casted a powerful spell on your home to assure this. It will dissipate with time."

We shall meet again.

The Counsilman walked with Miraak towards the back entrance. He stood, at least, half a head taller, his ominous armor casting bizarre shadows on the illuminated walls.

He brought the old Dunmer closer. "Your nephew owes her his life. I expect you to protect her with yours." Gurear nodded in understanding. It was what he would do, regardless.

He stepped out into the damp air, casting an invisibility spell, as he slunk into the shadows of the trees. His mouth formed a wicked smile, as his eyes narrowed in on his target in the distance.

(-)

His eyes slowly opened. It was dark, with only a lantern light flickering. His vision was blurry, and he blinked a few times. A raging pounding started in his head, and he groaned, wincing.

A low glow sparked, and he felt the soothing feeling of a healing spell, except it was much more calming than what he typical received after training with the guards. He moaned slightly, letting a deep sigh release.

His eyes shot open. Brown curls came into view. He blinked a few times. He went to sit up, and felt her push him back.

"Lie still." She narrowed her eyes, focusing on her casting, as she moved her hands to cradle his temples between her palms. The trick was to go slow, and intermix it with a calming spell. It was good practice, but she wished it would have been on better terms.

His hands snaked around her wrists, and lifted them. "I'm fine, you can stop now." The pain immediately started again, and he winced, letting go of her hands. "I changed my mind."

She giggled, resuming her healing. Her mana was lowering, and she began to breath heavy. He was taking a lot more healing than the little baby guar needed, the last time she practiced this.

He was feeling phenomenally better. "Where are the healers?"

She stopped, her eyes looking hurt. "Am I not doing it right?"

"No, you are. Just surprised."

She took a few deep breaths, trying to let her mana replenish. "We are to stay here, until your uncle tells us it's okay to go outside. No one can come in the house. I guess that makes me your healer."

She started again, this time scaling back the calming. It was taking too much to control the dual cast.

"How'd we make it out?"

"We were saved."

His mind recalled the last images he had, before his head was slammed on the ground. "How am I not dead?"

"Protection spell."

He grinned, grabbing her wrist again, squeezing a little. "I'm glad you're my best friend."

She smiled, continuing her casting. "Me too." He noticed her grimacing as he squeezed her wrist. He lifted it to find large bruises covering half of the skin. He looked at her shirt, seeing her breast band poking through the dirty rips in the front.

"Oh Azura…Lucia…"

Her spell failed, as her concentration broke. Tears started to form, and he sat up, pulling her into an embrace. She lifted her legs up and curled into him, sobbing into his shirt. He rocked her a bit, like he remembered his grandmother doing when he was a child.

Gurear watched from the shadows on the other side of the doorway. He hung his head in shame. How could he had failed to protect them? He had grown too trusting and complacent in his old age. Is this what his race had been reduced to? Fanatics and traitors. The disintegration of the Tribunal had left the populous lost, wandering without purpose, without guidance. Now with the White-Gold Concordat, religious upheaval seemed even more ripe for the picking.

He turned away from the two, casting his gaze out through the windows, as his mind wandered…

[-]

He knelt in front of the alter. The body of his Lord lain, wrapped in the finest cloth known to Tamriel, before him. They had mummified his remains, preventing the further deterioration of his blessed body. The candles burned bright, illuminating the cavern walls. The jewels adorning his body shimmered, giving his fragile corpse an ethereal form. Such was his god-like nature, as it was, even in death.

They were awaiting the blood of the Monahrel. The means to resurrect him into something to rival the Numidium were lost. The digressions of his fellow Dunmer were paid for in blood. Failure was not tolerated.

He reached out, touching the wrapped brow of his Lord. Yes…he knew his death was imminent. For he had failed, as was planned. Yet, he would not idly sit back and accept the fates that were handed to his people. The Chimer would rise, once again.

The Aldmeri Dominion…he cursed that name. Those fools, who dared to claim the same graces as the gods themselves. They were weak, only bolstered by their remote, cowardly islands in the southwestern seas. They were too weak to destroy the Chimer when they were mere dissidents and nomads, they would stand no chance once their Lord arose.

He had dispatched the local regiment onto Blacklight, to obtain the Nord child of Aedric decent. This was a safe-guarding measure. They would need every drop of her blood, but it would be enough for their Lord to breath the Nirn air, once again. Other sources of powerful blood could then be sought out, and given, slowly bolstering his strength. If more shreds of the heart could be obtained, then his rightful divinity would be at hand.

One of the prophets burst through the chamber doors.

"Do I need to remind you the punishment for your transgressions on this blessed chamber?"

"Master, something is wrong! You must see…"

He sighed, standing up. He would punish this prophet later.

They hurried through the cavern corridors, heading up ramps, nearer and nearer to the surface.

The aired, dry mountain air permeated his senses, and he stepped out into twilight. Torches around the entrance were kept low, illuminating barely enough light to see within the immediate area. He glanced up; a Dunmer man was standing in the clearing, deadly still.

He turned to the prophet next to him. "This…you drug me away from our preparations for this?"

The prophet signaled the archer positioned on the top of the cave. He pulled an arrow, and it flew, embedding itself into the man. He didn't flinch. The master's eyes narrowed, as he walked to the figure, a fireball readied in his right hand.

The closer he got, the more it seemed off. The fireball in his hand flickered, and as he approached the man, recognition followed from the features he saw.

"Ambarys?"

He walked closer still, until he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.

His eyes were voids.

He let the fireball loose, and it singed Ambarys on impact. He did not flinch…he did nothing. The skin began to burn away, and he saw something that shocked him underneath: it was just his skin, stretch across wooden planks.

He yelled, signaling for an imminent attack. A few of the spotters outside rushed in with him. They would need to evacuate and move the body. There was still time, even if they had to do the ritual on the back of a carriage, it would be done before the planets misaligned.

They sprinted down the various ramps and passageways, grabbing the most important items, leaving everything else. A loud cracking echoed through the corridors, and he felt the tremors of stone moving. Some screams sounded from the entrance.

"Cave in! We're trapped!"

He smiled to himself. He knew of another passage, deep within the heart of the mountain. Only he was aware of it, which was well enough. He could slip out with their Lord, leaving the rest as decoy, keeping their attackers off his trail.

He ran into the blessed chamber, checking to make sure that his Lord was still intact. The candles slowly flickered from his rapid entrance, as the still air moved lazily about. He heard more shouts behind him, and glanced around, his hand on the heavy, ornate doors.

He saw a Daedroth come around the corner, as the far end of the hall. The prophet which warned him of the outside tripped, in his panic to get away. A large, razor lined snout, hovered over, as the creatures long, clawed arms pulled the prophet up. It sniffed, then opened its jaws, sticking the prophet's terrified head in and bit down, pulling on the torso. His horrific screams bounced off the walls, as the sound of tearing flesh and bone filled added to the chaos.

The master slammed the doors shut, barring it across. Other began pounding on the doors, desperately trying to gain entrance to the only safe room left, as the shouts and begging became louder. He dropped to his knees, putting his hands over his ears, as the sounds of them being slaughtered tore through the cavern depths.

Moments, hours…he did not know. Eventually, it was all silenced. Through the cracks of the ornate doors below, he saw blood seap in. Everyone was dead…

He stood, turning towards the alter. He would need to carry their Lord himself, through the secret passageway, and attempt the ritual alone. His own blood should suffice.

Yes, of course.

He grinned, grabbing some blankets, and swaddling the mummified corpse. He carefully lifted it over his shoulder, and proceeded behind the alter, pushing a hidden button behind a torch stand, mounted on the wall. The stone creaked, lifting back and sliding to the side. He stepped through, not even glancing back as he hit the switch on the other side, closing the secret entrance.

Darkness surrounded him, and he crept forward in the narrow passageway. He had never been down this route, but had sent a believer to scout it out, creating a map for him. As his reward, he slit the scout's throat.

He stumbled out of the narrow passageway, into a larger chamber. Moonlight from above poured through some cracks. He had no realized how close to the surface this portion was. There were items left over from a previous residency, many centuries ago. He pushed forward, coming to a dead stop.

In his path, he saw a large figure, sitting prostrated like the Jarls of Skyrim. Moonlight reflected off a black, metallic surface, and he saw the glowing eye of a dragon, casually glancing over him.

"I was expecting a God, yet all I see is a pathetic corpse, holding decayed and forgotten bones."

The accent was thick, and he knew at once who had found him. He carefully laid his Lord's remains down, standing back up straight, as he readied a powerful fire spell. He positioned his arm back, and swung it forward, releasing the large bolt.

In the blink of an eye, the Dragonborn had disappeared, and the bolt shattered the chair, sending pieces of wood and splinters flying. He felt hands wrap around his neck, as looming figure stood before him. The large Nord straightened his fingers, and thrusted upwards into his chest, reaching around his heart and yanking it out.

His eyes watched in horror and despair. His Lord…their plans…his race…

"Nothing withstands Time, velothi. We are all subject to it, and we all change, as result. Your race, in particular, should understand that."

He fell to his knees, his eyes casted upon the wrapped remains of his Lord. His eyes glazed over, as his nervous system went into shock, and his brain began to shut down. The last thing he saw was his still beating heart, thrown on the ground next to his face.

Miraak walked to the wrapped figured on the ground. He hefted it up, throwing it unceremoniously over his shoulders, and proceeded towards the exit he recently made in the ceiling. He easily carried the carcass up, throwing it on top as he pulled himself out of the forgotten chamber below.

He continued down until he circled back to the entrance of the cave. There he threw the corpse of Dagoth Ur in one of the basins, tossing in some wood and relighting the brazier. The fire roared, and the mummified remains quickly disintegrated. A wind picked up, and ash swirled around, scattering the last remnants of something best left in the past.

His sights turned to the mountain tops in the distance, glancing at the tallest peak, barely visible in the moonlight.