The waves shattered against the coast, damping the black sand and then drawing back in a foamy backwash. A strong gale blew from the North, from the unknown expanse of the Sea of Ghosts, bending the small plants that grew at the edges of the freezing swaps. The surface of the sea reflected the light of the moons, creating strange shapes when the waves broke the reflection. A few fishes jumped in and out of the water every once in a while, never getting too close to the shore. On the black sand roamed some mudcrabs and three horkers, and father away there was a Troll that kept to the woods. A few paces away, a river flowed gently into the sea, and above it hovered entire clouds of dragonflies, looking for smaller insects to eat.

Over the gigantic stone arch to the Northwest was Solitude. It was the heart of night, and the city was still sleeping peacefully; the weak light that got out of the walls and the strong brightness that shined from the Lighthouse barely reached the coast, but their bright was immediately noticeable against the dark horizon. The faint artificial light was too few to shroud the bright of the stars, which shone weakly in the firmament. Alongside the moons, they gave everything a pale tint.

A perfect equilibrium. Soon to be broken.

Nothing noticeable came at first, just a strange vibration that traversed the air. Nothing significant happened. There were no people there and none of the animals noticed it. They did notice the second quivering though, and this time some mudcrabs turned around in that direction. Something was not right, even from an animal point of view. Something was changing, someone was drawing closer and closer.

Then, suddenly, out of apparently nowhere, came a loud neigh. The equilibrium was broken.

The Troll that kept to his small grove retired even deeper into it, groaning and breathing heavily; the mudcrabs and the horkers immediately moved towards the water and entered it, scaring the fishes and making them move even further away from the coast. The dragonflies dispersed, went in all directions, scattered and fled. Nothing remained on the black sand of the shore. A silent desolation took over.

After a moment, between two trees, a dark shadow appeared. It had the shape of a colossal horse ridden by a grim horseman, cloaked in black. The monster had two pairs of eyes, two higher up and dark red, while the two lower ones blazed with a hellish red flame. The shadow galloped towards the shore, in the general direction of Solitude, leaving shallow hoof tracks on the ground. The figure stopped on the line that divided dry land from the sea, standing straight, looking forward.

There was something, something big, that floated between one coast and the other. It was a ship, a pretty big one judging by the distance between the light of the stem and the one on the stern. Katariah, that was the name of the vessel.

'This is it…' whispered the upper part of the shadow. 'All scores must be settled. Maro received what he deserved, now it's the turn of someone else.'

There was a moment of silence; the only noise other from the voice of the shadow was the shattering of the waves.

'Maro… By Azura, I've grown crueler. He got something neither best nor worse than death. But he accepted, that's what's most interesting.'

Almost two hours earlier, the two had a discussion at the harbor. Azrael had arrived covered by the shroud of night, and overheard the commander talking to one of his soldiers. What he heard had changed the outcome of their unfortunate meeting.

'And the outpost at Dragon's Bridge?' asked the soldier. His worried tone made the Dunmer very curious.

'It'll be shattered by the end of the month.'

Planning to leave, are they? guessed the Elf.

'Very good. And you'll be returning… Well, if you don't mind me asking, where exactly will you be going now, sir?'

'Now there's an excellent question. An excellent question, indeed. Truth is, as soon as the Emperor sets sail, I'm resigning my position.'

'Oh… I see. Well then, let me just say that it's been an honor serving under you, Commander Maro.'

'The honor has been mine. You should be proud of what we've accomplished here. The Dark Brotherhood is no more. And the Emperor, finally, is safe.'

'Mind if I interrupt?'

The Commander and the soldier turned towards the voice, which had come from the shadows. A vague shape emerged from the dark, and once brightened up by the torchlight it was immediately recognizable.

'By the gods… you! But it can't be. You're dead. You…' said the Commander. His breath was so heavy that it looked like he was about to suffocate on his own anger. 'You can't be alive!'

'I must be immortal, then. And I also think you should check Castle Dour's banisters. I left some of your men there,' said the figure, cryptically, but the Commander knew of what he was talking about. 'You,' the shadow said to the soldier beside the Commander. 'This doesn't concern you. You don't have the blood of my Siblings on your blade, so you're free to go. Your Commander is the one who interests me.'

'No, this concerns me,' replied the agent, quaking but beginning to comprehend the situation. 'I will defend Commander Maro to the death.'

'Don't be a fool,' replied Azrael. 'Another death will mean nothing. I'll have no remorse about killing you, I'm just giving you an option.'

'A pointless one.'

'You think you can take me, do you?' sighed the Dark Elf. 'You still think that? I escaped the trap your Commander prepared from me, I survived the flaming tomb that my Sanctuary has become, and you still think you can face me and live?'

'You're not invincible! You can be stopped!'

'Nothing can stop death in its tracks.'

'Liar! Arrogant murderer! Draw your blade, and face your end!'

The agent drew his sword, and stopped, awaiting for the murderer to pull out his weapon. Azrael, however, did nothing of that sort. He just waited, patiently.

'Come on! Kill me, if you can!' screamed the soldier.

'As you will it,' hissed the Elf.

It all happened in a dark flash, as per usual. Azrael dashed forward, ducked under the swing of the soldier and drew a large sweep while without even raising. The Blade of Woe continued its arc to the back of the Dunmer, and it was dripping red.

The soldier fell, his abdomen cut deeply by the swipe.

The Commander did not wait, and attacked immediately. He sprinted forward, lowering his blade from above his head from the left to his right side. He only hit thin air, as the Dark Elf dodged to the left, disorienting the man. Maro turned, searching for his opponent, but his guard was slightly opened because of the turn. A sharp blade blinked and hit his wrist, and then the whole shape of the murderer appeared in front of him. He took a fist to the jaw, a kick in the ribs, but he forgot about it as he felt a piercing flash of pain coming from his shoulder, where Azrael had stuck the blade. Even though he could not keep track of what was happening, Maro realized one thing. That killer wasn't actually trying to kill him, only to neutralize him.

The Commander fell to the ground; his forearm got bent by the edge of the harbor foot-bridge. He loosened the grip on his sword to the point that it escaped from his hand and fell into the water.

'I feel like there's a moral to this story.'

Maro looked at Azrael, who stood just ahead of him. His blade was already back in the belt. His eyes were completely inexpressive, even if they still burnt of a red glow.

'Yes…' replied the Commander, trying to understand if the stabwound on the shoulder was lethal or not. 'That in the end the wicked have their way.'

'Oh, yes… Justice,' murmured the Dunmer. 'Well, justice is something that doesn't have a place in this tale. You were trying to kill me to prevent the Dark Brotherhood from rising again, which is your duty and not justice. On top of that, you were trying to avenge your son, and vengeance is as far away as you can get from justice. Nevertheless, we are at the end of it all.'

Maro looked past the Dark Brother, at the body of his soldier. Blood was flowing beneath it. Azrael noticed that the corpse was distracting the man and pushed the body in the water with his foot, causing a big splash and coloring the water with red blood.

'Look at me,' he said to the Commander. 'I've got an offer for you.'

'The offer of an assassin? Never. You still plan to murder my ruler… Damn it, our ruler, and I should accept your offer? Are you serious?'

'Well, you either accept it, or you die, so… You get it. The Emperor is not one of your biggest concerns right now. He can't be helped in any way.'

'You don't even know…'

'He's on the Katariah.'

Maro remained silent for a ling time.

'Listen, dearest enemy,' said Azrael, 'there's no way, no damned way to save your Emperor. Think as if he was already dead, because it makes no difference. Will you hear me out, now?'

'Say whatever you want, I'll not give up.'

'I'll take that as a yes. Like all offers, it's an exchange. I overheard that conversation you were having with your fellow… over there, kind of,' the Elf said, pointing at the red pool of blood that tinged the sea. 'So, even if your goal has not been achieved, I propose you keep to your decision. You'll resign, and you'll be able to go wherever you please and live the life you want.'

'And the catch?'

'You'll not tell about our meeting here to anyone.'

Azrael climbed the chain that held the anchor, and found himself into the lower parts of the ship. The amount of crates, barrels, sacks and chests confirmed him that he was in the deeper spaces of the hold, probably the main storeroom of the ship. Azrael smelt the scent of different foods and even some wines, mixed with the disgusting smell of rotten wood and saltiness. The Elf spied a small, round bottle on a barrel nearby, and moved towards it, but stopped suddenly upon turning the corner.

There was a man, probably a sailor and not a soldier, standing near the entrance. He hadn't heard anything, he just leaned against the wall near the door. Azrael slowly sneaked up to him, reached for him mouth and covered it as quickly as he could. The man kicked around, moaning, but the Elf pressed more intensely and dragged him back into the room. As soon as he was in a good spot he put his other hand on the back of the head and quickly rotated. The neck snapped with a muffled crack.

The Dark Elf stepped back, recalling his original intent; he took the small bottle and untapped it, sniffing what it was.

Frost Mirriam… Damn, some kind of mountain flower.

He put a single drop of the mixture on his tongue.

Purple, purple mountain flower. Hmm… This could help me.

Thieves and assassin use a large variety of mixtures to make themselves less noticeable, and every single one has different effect depending on the ingredient used and the characteristics of the concoction, but the standard issue mixture that was sold was similar if not identical to the one he had found. Specifically, it both enhanced sight by warming the colors and made the sinews more flexible; it allowed the user to better spot dark areas to hide and move more swiftly and silently. Very useful when indoors.

Well, thank you I guess. You could not have left me a better present.

The Dunmer drank the full content of the bottle and left it on the barrel. He drew the Blade of Woe from his belt and raised the mask again on his face. He went out of the door, silently.

The next room was bigger, and had more doors that connected it to other parts of the ship. He tried to listen, but not a lot of noises could be heard. Only… The sound of a hammer clanging against an anvil, maybe someone working metal.

You can't possibly move a crafting station… That noise will guide me, should I get lost.

With light foot and aware senses he moved forward. The ship immediately took a more linear look: a small corridor began at the end of the room, and on its wall there were several closed doors. Azrael went ahead, flattening against the wall and looking if there were any enemies. He heard footsteps and some other noises, and so he assumed there were more people ahead. Just after the door there was a corner with two chair and a table, with one more sailor sitting.

A shame he was facing the wrong direction.

Azrael left the corpse lying face down on the table and continued thought the corridor.

If there's a possible comparison with what was about to go down, the thing that best resembles it is a nightmare. Bad dreams where shadows creep at every edge of the dreamer's field of view, grim whispers and sinister hisses echo in the empty air, and a freezing grip strangles the cursed one with the strength of his own mind. That's a good resemblance of what the men on the Katariah would have remembered of that night, had they survived. It was just past midnight when Azrael grabbed the anchor and entered the ship; at the crack of dawn there was not a living soul left in the vessel aside from the Dunmer himself.

'Something's not right,' said one of the agents to his fellow. 'Adrion stopped forging those spears and Gialicus stopped patrolling the corridor.'

'Yes, I noticed. We should warn the Lieutenant. I'll go, you check what happened to Adrion, fine?'

'Fine.'

In the brief time between the appearance of Azrael and the utter extermination that was unleashed in the ship, stories of specters and shadows circulated in the crew without ever halting. Those two soldiers would have been the first to tell them, as they went each to a place they would not have liked to visit.

The first one went to the main room, that had a balcony overhead that allowed to see the inside. There were usually two or more of his fellow agents that stood guard. They were still there, sitting on the chair, and completely still.

'Are you lads sleeping?' the soldier sighed. 'On duty? With the Dark Brotherhood dead you've taken your spaces, have you?'

However, a sad surprise awaited him. He approached, put a hand on one of his colleagues' shoulder and tried to wake him up. The soldier didn't wake, but two drops of blood fell down his mouth.

'What in the…'

The agent turned the corpse around and backed off immediately. Its throat had been slit, a straight red line that went from one side to the other. The eyes were half-opened, his mouth twisted as if someone had pressed it very hard and prevented the poor man from screaming.

'No, no, no… This can't be happening… Adrion! Adrion do you hear me?'

No one answered, neither Adrion nor his forge. The soldier ran at the edge on the balcony and looked down, stunned. Beside the forge there was no one, but on the wooden floor there was a splash of blood. No corpses in sight, but one of the chairs had been trampled and broken, and its shattered remains were also splattered with blood. Now that he thought of it, he had heard noises come from that direction, but never he would have imagined something like this. Two other soldiers were supposed to be down there, but the as no trace of them aside from those hints.

The ghosts of the Brotherhood have come… This is no living being.

Meanwhile, in the upper part of the ship, the other soldier was going to see Lieutenant Salvarus. He usually spent his time in the small library aboard the ship, reading and looking at his maps. The agent opened the door carefully, minding not to disturb him.

'Lieutenant? There's an emergency. Lieutenant?'

No answer.

'Lieutenant!'

The soldier bolted in, looked to the right and froze solid. Officer Salvarus lied prone on the floor, dead, with his armor torn and a thin stabwound right on the spine. The strange position of the legs made it clear that whoever killed him first knocked him down by tripping him and then executed the spinal stab while he was on the ground, possibly stunned by the fall.

'By the Gods… How?'

Only Vaermina could have unleashed more terrifying dreams on those men. The two soldier reunited after a bit, and they were so scared they took a bit before setting the alarm. However, only one of them managed to do that. The other was struck down by an arrow with black vanes while on the way. The agents that were still standing scattered through the ship in groups of two or three to search for the killer, but the number advantage didn't look like a difficulty to the mysterious assassin.

The group of three agents that had been tasked to check the way that went to the deck learned that the hard way. Azrael realized that he had created a perfect situation for fear and terror to spread, and that was the time to let that feed itself. It was time to disappear truly for a moment, but his only option was the deck, and there were those three agents checking the stairs.

The soldiers heard a noise that came from the corridor, and advanced towards it with their shields raised. Unfortunately for them, they had to pass beside a corner, and that was not good.

'Matmus, you check that bend and cover us. Hold formation.'

'Understood.'

As the passed by, Matmus did as asked, but he prepared to face the corner thinking to see nothing. When he turned and caught a glimpse on the outlines of the Elf, he panicked and stopped. Azrael grabbed him by the shield and pushed him against his two other comrades with great strength. The agents tumbled and fell to the ground, in disarray, but it was already too late to run. The Blade of Woe traced a low sweep, slashing the back of Matmus, then thrust downwards and impaled the second one to the ground. The third man managed to turn supine, only to see the shadow's dagger coming from the left and severing his head with surgical precision.

The tactics got switched over a bit as Azrael emerged on the main deck. He climbed the ladder, looking if anyone had noticed him, and crouching out of the trapdoor. He stood on the opposite side of the Lighthouse, so that his dark armor melted with the darkness of the night. However, the deck on that ship was huge, and he could not have walked all the way to his targets. Besides, every soldier there held a torch, and if even one had gone out they would have all become suspicious. Nevertheless, that thing was also an advantage: all the soldiers were really far from each other, and if he was to use a tactic that required some investigation to thwart… It would have been good.

The Elf grabbed his bow and nocked the first arrow, kept it horizontal as Aela had taught him, drew the string until his arm was strained and the nock of the arrow was beside his cheek, and then released. The muffled twang wasn't even heard, but the hiss was. The agents turned around, until the man holding the helm fell to the ground. His forehead had been pierced by the black arrow.

'Alarm! Alarm! There's a killer about!'

'Torches, get the torches!'

'Where did the arrow come from? Where in Oblivion did it come from?'

Azrael shook his head and aimed again, sneering terribly.

"Mara's Mercy, the One Man Ambush is so hard!" and so on…

Another arrow downed an agent.

'Gods… No!'

A third shadow pierced the dark of night and sank into the breastplate of yet another soldier, crushing the ribs and piercing a lung. The cracked armor bent and grazed the flesh it was suppose to protect.

'Find that sneaky bastard! Find him and kill—'

The talking agent's life got harvested by yet another arrow. It was incredible how fast they came and how precise they were. A literal hail of them was raining on those poor sods.

Azrael was never found. What was found several day after the massacre were several corpses with arrow injuries and two without. One had its neck broken and the other a stabwound right beside the ear.

'Ghosts! Phantoms!'

'Shut up and keep looking!'

'They're coming for us!'

The mental state of the troops in the lower deck had done everything but improve. As if often does, fear had become paranoia and paranoia had become insanity. Trained soldiers were fleeing shadows like children. Expert agents were murmuring like raving lunatics. Every once in a while a new corpse turned up, and that only amplified that noxious mood. No one dared venture into the darkness, the sailors had already stopped two fires made by torches brought too close to the wooden wall and utter madness was the only ruling inside there. With the Lieutenant dead and the Captain found slain some time later, no one was in charge. The attempt of one of the agents to gain the upper hand ended up in a duel and a comrade slaughtering his fellow.

'He's coming… He's coming.'

'And we will be ready for him.'

'Death can't be stopped… Ghosts cannot be killed…'

'Stop moaning, Mara's Grace! He is a living being, he can be killed!'

'No he can't…'

The two men stopped. A shadow was standing between them. His hand swiftly gripped the hand of the frightened soldier and took his blade. He held the Blade of Woe in the other.

'I hope you don't mind…' said the figure.

He raised both blades, and slashed.

The remaining agents were there, but could do nothing other than look. The figure that had appeared was dark, intimidating. His black armor shined threateningly, his eyes blazed crimson. A black shroud of torment and despair followed his every step, death seemed to keep a hand on his shoulder and shadow seemed to embrace him softly. He could not be stopped, he was the very image of Destiny.

He was Fate's Left Hand.