Hieronymus Lex lounged on his throne in the White-Gold bored out of his mind, wondering if the Lady Flyte's topics of conversation could possibly become more inane. If Chancellor Ocato, the only other person in the room, felt similarly, he certainly wasn't showing it. The Altmer seemed to be deeply engaged in discussion that seemed to become more and more trivial by the minute. "Clearly, we should send more invitations to the Elswyer delegation," he insisted.

This was clearly unacceptable to Lady Flyte. "No!" she passionately insisted, "I think repairing relations with Sentinel would better suit the Empire's needs."

"Perhaps they would suit Anticlere's," Ocato quipped, "But I see no reason to snub an important and delicate ally so that we might extend a hand to a vanquished enemy."

Lady Flyte shook her head vigorously. "Elswyer is chaos, though. They won't become any more organized because they received an invitation to a gala! Lord Hieronymus," she said, turning to Lex, "Please, do you support Ocato or myself in the matter?"

"I agree," Lex said, still staring off into space.

The lady gave him a humorless frown, but before she could comment, a royal guard burst into their chamber with such speed and urgency that Lex himself was startled into paying attention. Ocato gave the man a concerned look. "What's happened?" he demanded.

"Erasmus Servius had turned against us," the guard said quickly, "And he's gathered an army of… My lord, I think you ought to see for yourself."

Lady Flyte turned as white as a sheet. "Servius has gathered an army?! Preposterous!"

Ocato clenched a fist. "I figured as much. Come," he said, gesturing to Lady Flyte and Lex, "Grasp my wrist."

The two complied. A moment later, they heard a spell being cast, and Lex felt as though a hook had been shoved into a his chest and suddenly yanked forward. Colors blended and there was a great whooshing sound. Everything was suddenly very bright, not to mention cold. The trip didn't seem to agree with the lady, who had fallen to one knee. Lex moved to help her to her feet. Rather than being thanked, he could hear her mutter under her breath, "This is below your station."

Glancing around, Lex realized that he was at the pinnacle of the White-Gold tower. Around him the angry wind howled, envious of the structure that pierced the heavens. Ocato was at the far end of tower, looking off into the horizon. Lex walked towards him, still helping Lady Flyte to stay upright. The view was nothing short of majestic: in every direction lay bare the miles of Tamriel that in a few short days he would rule: from the shady glades of the Imperial Reserve to the challenging crags and spires of the Valuses. He stood next to Ocato, who was staring intently out into Lake Rumare. "What do you see?" he asked the Chancellor, trying to make out something in the distance.

Ocato said nothing, but his face revealed that his thoughts were indeed grave. "Servius," he muttered, "You've really outdone yourself this time."

Lady Flyte looked concerned. "What is it? Please tell me!"

"Keep watching," Ocato said, deathly serious, "You'll see soon enough."

Lex saw it first. Rising up from the sea it towered like a bronze mountain, larger than anything he had ever seen before. There it was, the legendary weapon from myth that united the Tamrielic Empire. He heard Lady Flyte suddenly gasp, and grabbed her to keep her upright when her legs gave out under her. "Numidium…" she breathed.

Lex shook his head in disbelief. "It can't be. I thought it was destroyed after the Warp in the West."

"You are correct, Highness," replied Ocato, "What you see before you is not Walk-Brass, but a simulacrum of it: Akulakhan, the ghost of Dagoth Ur."

Lex felt the hair on the back of his neck stand as a shiver passed through his body. Lady Flyte's mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in horror. Lex looked to Ocato, trying to stay resolved. "Did you know about this?" he asked.

"I knew that Servius wouldn't simply give up when we selected you. That isn't in his nature. Our intelligence coming from his camp was erratic—he was aware that he was being watched—so the most detailed news I received was that he was smuggling Dwemer weaponry into Cyrodiil. I thought it would merely be centurions. I was wrong."

Lex looked back at the towering mechanism. He could see a billowing cloud of steam following it as it walked hip-deep through the lake, making sure to keep one of its herculean palms out of the water. As it walked, Lex noticed something else behind it, exponentially smaller, but in huge numbers. Lady Flyte gasped, connecting the dots before the imperator. "The recreation fleet!"

"That's why he funded such a spectacle! The fleet wasn't to impress the masses, but to ferry… He means to assault the City," Ocato concluded in a sudden realization, "This is not a bluff."

Lady Flyte looked at Ocato disbelievingly. "He can't," she said, more trying to convince herself than anyone else, "We're too well fortified. I mean, no one has ever taken the Imperial City. It's just not possible…"

Ocato scowled and held out his arm again. The two gripped it, and the trio was torn away from the tower's roof to once again jaunt through reality. When Lex's vision, returned, he realized he was back in the Imperial Palace. Ocato was barking orders to a pair of guards. "I want every man who can hold a weapon to do so! Alert the watch and the Mage's Guild, and send word to the battlemages! Every second counts here!"

As the chancellor was doing this, Lex spotted a familiar face coming towards him. General Sigrdríf Battle-Singer stopped near him and looked to Ocato curiously as he finished his orders. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"We're all going to die," Lady Flyte whispered, trembling like a leaf.

Lex frowned. "Servius has tipped his hand. We're all in danger."

"I see…" Sigrdríf mused, apparently not too surprised at this course of events.

Ocato approached the group, looking more harried than ever before. "Now comes the issue of what we do, Your Highness."

"Do you need me to lead the men?" Lex asked, instinctively reaching for where his claymore once rested.

"No," Ocato replied, "I want you to come with me. I believe that General Sigrdríf should accompany us as well."

"What about me!?" Lady Flyte nearly screamed.

Ocato looked her over a moment, hesitant about what to do. Sigrdríf smiled. "I think it might be quicker if she just comes with us."

The chancellor put a hand to his forehead. "But I… Oh, very well. Come, Your Majesty," he said, "We have much to do, and very little time."

"What is our objective?" the Imperial asked, falling in alongside Ocato.

"Servius believes that he knows what defenses we can muster," Ocato explained, "And he is probably right for the most part. But this is an ancient city which hides more secrets than he can imagine. We are going to go to one of them. Deep beneath the Imperial City we have our own weapons to combat Servius. Soon the Man from Argonia will realize just what power the Empire of Tamriel is truly capable of…"

Maro didn't know exactly how it had happened, but his store had been mobilized for war. No more than one hour ago had the soldiers come, barging in and declaring the property of the store to be confiscated for the purpose of fighting the traitor-general Eramus Servius. Varnado had protested, of course, as this was hardly legal—he bore a swollen purple eye for his efforts and a threat that any more obstructions would lead to much worse than that. The shopkeeps that had consigned themselves to this new fate were frantically trying to pass out whatever armor they still had to the hundreds of conscripts that were filing in. The noise of the shuffling of feet and murmurs of dozens upon dozens of suspicious voices distracted Maro, who was now positive that it would be impossible to outfit this many soldiers. Several would have to defend the city with only the clothes on their backs. Varnado was still trying to keep them in line. "Everyone will get armor," he called out, trying to maintain some semblance of order, "Just keep a calm line to the front."

Maro had no idea how many sets of his armor he had passed out. Gin-Wulm was somewhere in the basement, trying to find something, anything that could be remotely passed off as armor. The young Imperial noticed a moment too late that the suit of chainmail he had just given to a frightened looking Breton had two left gauntlets—but a split-second later, a new man had taken his place. There was no time to correct that mistake. Suddenly, the already crowded mass attempted to make room for a figure entering, clad in the regalia of a Knight Bachelor of the Imperial Legion. "Servius is within sight," he hollered into the room, not even bothering to enter in his hurry, "Every able body, get to the walls!"

The horrified crowd trembled in unison, but the grim, impersonal guards began shepherding the men to their fate. The Best Defense had managed to outfit maybe an eighth of them. The vast majority would be totally defenseless: mere distractions to be killed as opposed to the grossly undermanned Imperial Watch. Maro gave a concerned look across the room towards Varnado. He was about to say something before one of the guards grabbed at his wrist. "You, too," the man growled.

Maro tried to resist, "I don't even have my armor—"

"There's no time!" the soldier barked before throwing Maro towards the river of conscripts.

Varnado received similar treatment, able to get off a sole, "Is this how you treat veterans?" before also joining the damned ranks.

The two were forcibly filed outside. The streets were populated only by the citizen-warriors who were being forced towards the walls in a last-ditch attempt to defend the capital of the Empire. Maro tried to keep him mind away from such observations and to remember his training. He still had his swortsword at his side, which was at least one positive point in this worst-case scenario. And, as luck would have it, he was healthy. That was about all that was going well. He tried to think of some of the fights he was in back at Sphinxmoth—none came to mind.

He began ascending the large, stone stairs leading up to the walls. Varnado had worked his way to Maro's side. "Rufus," he whispered, "This is the southwest wall. How do they expect we'll be attacked from there?"

Maro didn't have an answer. They reached the heights of the ramparts, where the salty breeze of the west wind mixed with the sweaty fear of the conscripts. The two took a position where they could overlook the bay. Varnado shook his head, staring out to sea. "If there really is an army out there, it must be invisible, because I…"

He trailed off when he saw it. How couldn't he? The Walking God forded the ocean as a normal man does a stream, leaving a billowing cloud in its wake as though it had just clawed its way from the furnaces that rage beneath the world's surface. Varnado stood trembling, finally succumbing to terror like all the other men around him. Maro furrowed his brow and put a hand to his sword. 'Julia,' he thought immediately. 'Lynette…'

A man to Maro's right took a step back in fear. A firm hand clasped the would-be deserter's shoulder. Maro glanced to see a knight looking down at the man stoically. "Hold the line, son," he said in a firm, yet understanding voice. "Hold the line."

Then, an explosion as Maro saw the pair reduced to ash before his eyes.

Akulakhan lowered its right arm, a thin billow of black smoke still trailing off from its finger. Servius surveyed the blast from afar. Even from this range, his god could still create an impressive blast. He looked up at his creation approvingly. "Well done."

The general stood in the open left palm of Akulakhan. The unfettered, refreshing wind of the bay blew about him, to the point where he felt as though he were flying. In contrast to his freedom, the scrambling, unorganized 'soldiers' opposing him were breaking apart in panic. The general glanced over his shoulder to the fleet sailing behind him. A small grin nearly emerged upon his face.

But this was no hour for mirth, he reflected. This was war, and one who fails to take war seriously will die, that was a lesson he knew all too well. Moreover, this battle was not one that he particularly wanted. Much like the sack of Narsis, he was going to attack this city out of pure neccicity. There was no real reason to revel in that, even if it did mark the fruition of his life's goals.

Steeling his heart and tempering his resolve, he looked back soberly to the Imperial City. Akulakhan shot off another fireball to the ramparts, sending the soldiers flying into the air. They scurried away from the blast site like a throng of ants, fleeing in stupid, communal panic. They would need to be hardened upon his victory. 'Better they learn this lesson from me,' Servius reflected grimly, 'Than from the coming threat'.

Akulakhan pressed on, totally unable to be stopped. 'That,' Servius thought once more, 'Is my duty'.

Methredhel entered the Arboretum, absolutely shocked at the measures being taken by the Imperial Legion. Throngs of untrained and unarmored men were being led to the walls like lambs to a slaughter, all apparently to rebuff Servius. Never in the City's history had it mobilized like this for a threat—this was history in the making, but an extremely bloody one. Even now, before the fighting had started, an air of terror and despair had settled over the district with dread so condensed that she felt as though she could wipe it off her skin.

Out of the corner of her eye, however, she made out one figure that seemed confident, focused and determined. Turning fully she saw who it was—the Khajiit who Christophe had worked with. Methredhel jogged over to meet the aging woman before she got away. "Hey!" she said, trying to still seem inconspicuous.

The Khajiit turned and looked at Methredhel critically. "This one has no time for you," she said bluntly before trying to move onwards.

"Don't leave!" Methredhel replied, "Please, don't! This is madness! What's going on? You know, don't you?"

Habasi flared a nostril and tried once again to continue. Methredhel gave an exasperated sigh, and then her eyes suddenly flashed with insight. "Hey!" she tried one more time, "I'm a doyen now, you know. So I command you to tell me what's going on!"

The Khajiit stopped and slowly turned her head. Methredhel could make out the woman's profile, which seemed extremely exhausted for the drive she possessed. "Follow," she said simply. With that, she continued to move across the district.

Methredhel frowned but kept of up the pace. Habasi was central to whatever was going on, and with this penetrating fear striking the City, she absolutely had to find out what exactly this was…

Hieronymus Lex arrived in the Elder Council's meeting chambers, following the agitated Ocato. The Altmer shook his head somberly as he looked about the room. "So it has come to this…" he muttered, gesturing for the remaining guards to leave.

Lady Flyte and General Sigrdríf entered the room in turn. It was a large stone chamber, with its only impressive feature being a colossal table which occupied the center of the room. Lex furrowed his brow. "Why have we stopped?"

Ocato turned around and looked at the Breton and Nord. "You are not to tell anyone," he said in a tone both firm and exhausted, "About what I am about to do. Understood?"

The two nodded, and Ocato turned to the table. He took out his staff and began chanting in a language that Lex wasn't familiar with. Several seconds passed with no result. Lex glanced towards his unlikely companions. Sigrdríf seemed confident, if a little on guard, but Lady Flyte was still trembling like a leaf caught in a breeze. Lex looked to the general. "Are you sure we should—"

Sigrdríf quickly nodded before he could finish his sentence, gesturing silently towards the lady. Apparently, she didn't want the noble to panic. Before Lex could respond, he turned his attention to a loud grinding noise coming from the center of the room. Ocato had stopped chanting, and the fruits of his efforts were coming into view. The large table in the room was starting to slide under the ground in small sections, to the accompaniment of the harsh sound of granite rubbing on granite. Some pieces descended at different rates than others, ultimately creating a long, spiraling staircase where the table once was, leading down into a dank, musty pit. Lex took a step backward in surprise, and even General Sigrdríf looked shocked. As the rocks halted, Ocato looked to Lex. "We move now, Your Highness. We haven't much time."

Lex took a step towards the newly formed pit. "What's down there?" he asked, attempting to make out anything amid the darkness.

"I'll explain on the way," Ocato replied, handing a torch to Sigrdríf, "For now, time is of the essence."

Without delay, Ocato began his descent down the steep, spiraling stairs. Sigrdríf followed him, giving a single, surprisingly serious glance to Lex. Lady Flyte turned and looked to him nervously. "We can't go in there," she whispered harshly, "I've heard terrible stories about the tunnels below the Imperial City—some say that they're haunted, or worse!"

Lex closed his eyes and reflected for a moment. "I understand your reservation," he admitted, "But frankly, if the city is to be attacked, this might actually be the safest place to be now."

With that, Lex walked over and set his foot down on the first step and started the slow, belabored climb down the difficult, perilous stairwell. He could hear Lady Flyte abandon her elegant shoes behind him and start her barefoot journey as well. The group soon vanished out of eyesight, leaving the Council Chambers silent and empty.

Moments later, a black-cloaked figure materialized from the shadows. It slowly walked towards the stairwell and looked down the pit. A moment later, it began gliding down the stairs in pursuit of Hieronymus Lex.