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Epilogue

The world was calmed, moving, silent. The breeze ruffled the trees making leaves hiss and boughs groan. It carried the promise of an oncoming storm. The rain would come and wash away the day's sin and life grew anew. The forest floor squished with discarded flora and millions of insects scoured feasting on what fell from the towering trees above.

The roof of the Grahtwood forest lit up with the bioluminescence of Y'ffre's light. A soft, spiritual green glow lighting the path. The darkness never truly consumes us here even as the twilight left the sky bruised with indigo and violet hues.

I came out into a clearing, one of the only few in Grahtwood. How long has it been since I've returned here? Two, two and a half years? The thought of visiting crossed my mind, but my war—my revolution—has kept me away. The skies were clear for now with the threat of dark clouds bubbling to the south, traveling northward. The storm will come with the night.

I approached Spring Garden manor like a soft whisper. Nothing's changed. Half covered by the crest of a hill, the grandeur snugpod protruded from the ground like a growing welt on the world. A thick webbing of phosphorus vines lined the exposed face of my old home. Father wasn't home; he truly was never home even during his sporadic visits that only last for a day or two, his mind was always absent. The rear of the manor held my mother's garden. At this time of year, it was in full bloom. Narrow avenues of flowers traced stamped paths towards Ara High-Arrow's resting place.

My stomach twisted in knots when I approached the front leaf-veil. This sensation caused by anxiety, exhilaration, and a tinge of fear. I paused a moment before I reached to open it. Lightning traveled down my spine and rose the hairs on my arms. I pressed my palm against the sensitive node that controlled the leaf-veil. Now or never.

The entrance peeled open painfully slow, revealing how little it has changed. Nothing surprising. I didn't know why I felt as if I would feel anything more than a smidge of nostalgia. Probably because of old memories I had of the place. Although, it's not as if I've been here much during childhood. Most of the time, I was thousands of miles away training with Rollyn.

The front entrance opened up into the foyer. Just on the inside, there was a docking area for boots and shoes. I swore we were the only family of Bosmer that wore shoes. I pressed on, keeping my foot wraps. A twirling staircase led to the second story where father's chambers were, probably untouched for months. Leading towards the back of the foyer was the kitchen, mine, and my brothers' rooms. I made my way over. Not much had changed in my room either. It had been untouched since I left. My simple bed of yak wool bound by threaded covering with two wolf fur blankets made neatly sat centered in the room. A vanity sporting a tall mirror made of sanded corundum metal stood adjacent to the bed. I had a station for all the weapons I gathered during my training adventures with Rollyn. Looking back on those days now, I could see how simple they were. How the times had changed.

I sighed and crossed the room over to the window just over my old bed, wondering when was the last time I slept in something so comfortable. The window looked out into the garden. Two paths led into the small forest of flowers and exuberant plant life and ended just before a tall oblong tombstone. My mother's resting place.

I noticed something peculiar along the stony ledge of the grave. A large wine bottle laid tipped over the edge. Someone was there. My spine tingled as I searched out with the small bits of power fed into me from Nocturnal's Talon to meet with a cavernous basin of power that shoved me back.

'I made sure to dust as much as I can in case you ever returned.'

I pushed myself away from the window and spun on my heel. Standing in the frame of the doorway was a lanky old Bosmer. Deep-set wrinkles littered his face. A shock of gray hair was combed back away from his eyes. His eyes were a pair of deep-set green peering through squinting eyelids.

'Wendell!' I said, not believing who I saw.

I nearly toppled the elf over by pushing my entire body into his. His arms wrapped around me, and I gave him a tight embrace earning an "oof".

'My word, you've certainly earned a great deal of strength in your absence, milady.' He said, trying to pull away.

I buried my face in his sternum. 'I thought Father might've dismissed you of your duties here.'

'Well now, this is my home, Lady Leila.'

I pulled back to get a good look at him. He smiled revealing a row of pearly white teeth. Wendell had been working for my family since before Milkar was born. He was Spring Garden's housekeeper and was around even when my brothers and I were out with our respective masters, training. Even when my father was out with his duties as Ambassador, Wendell kept with the upkeep of our family home.

He patted my head twice. 'You've grown taller as well!'

'It's been two years!'

'Only two years?' He let out an exasperated sigh. 'Feels like an entire decade had passed since you disappeared.'

I frowned. 'I'm sorry, Wendell. I just… I just couldn't stay here.'

Another smile tugged at his lips. 'No need to explain to me, young one. You and your brothers always had an air for adventure. Nothing would've kept you three behind these walls.' He looked at the window he caught me peering out of. 'That begs the question… Why did you return?'

I didn't answer right away and let the silence linger for one small moment. Before I could say anything a crash of glass resounded from the garden and Mother's grave. I sighed and turned slightly to the window where the sound came from. 'How long has he been here?' I asked the old Bosmer.

Wendell's forehead wrinkled as he raised his grey-flecked eyebrows. 'Two, maybe three days now?' Wendell pondered. 'I offered him Veal and cheese, but he merely opted to raid your father's wine stock instead. Such a pity.'

I searched out with my senses and was met with another unending basin of his magical powers. Even now, even several months after I defeated Monsotar in single combat, that elf was more powerful than even Monsotar.

'I did ask him if he wanted me to send a bird to retrieve Faeden, however, he merely shot me a murderous look. I left him at your Ara's grave ever since.'

I shook my head. 'He's waiting for me.'

'For you?' Wendel inquired.

'A lot has happened since I left. A lot to do with him, with my brothers, and with my mother.'

Wendell opened his mouth to ask something but opted not to. 'Ah,' he said, instead.

We walked together towards that back leaf-veil through the kitchens. I could feel Wendell's eyes assessing me. I could certainly say, I did look different. My black armor and cloak, the ten or so throwing knives crossing my chest in a bandolier, the two knives sitting above both ankles, Elren's Osseinium dagger holstered over my heart, and Nocturnal's Talon in its scabbard across my back; I was a walking warpath. But Wendell knew what I would've become. It was what my father had me trained for. Despite my goals and unsavory methods to achieve them, I'd become a fighter, like everyone knew I would be.

I opened the leaf-veil. A path led into the gardens and before I left my old home, I turned to Wendell. That solemn look nearly brought a sob to my throat.

'Should I boil some water for tea, milady?'

'That would be unnecessary, Wendell,' I told him.

He nodded and said nothing more. He knew this was the last time I would see him. I turned, and the thick leathery skin of the leaf-veil squeeze shut behind me.

I took a deep breath and let out the air into the night. The sky still held the violet hues of twilight. Stars sparkled into existence in the black. The moons shone as two beautiful gems; a ruby and a diamond.

At the end of the path through the garden, I stopped in the small clearing. My mother's tombstone was a large obelisk marking the very position of her grave. A stone bench circled the black tomb where offerings were made in old Aldmer style, but it empty and broken wine bottles were littered everywhere as if drunkenness extends to the afterlife. My eyes focused on the one person sitting at the center of the whole mess. His black inquisitor robes were entirely tattered, the buckles were completely tarnished and bent, and mud soiled whatever was left of the prestigious overcoat. I looked upon the Altmer's face. Unlike the pristine, golden face that defined him, fine blonde stubble carpeted his chin. His golden eyes look sunken in their sockets, and the sweet smell of red wine wafted through the air. But even now, they seem to glow in the dark like two little suns.

I adverted my eyes from Aridiil. My focus taking me instead to the figure standing only a few meters away. Florentine stood doll-like; her arms down by her side, her head was bowed with eyes blankly staring at the ground. There were no inquisitor robes accounted for however, she still wore padded clothes with thin quicksilver plates. Florentine's beauty was still a thing to behold. In this state, she was but a living statue. I touched her skin, but it didn't feel right. I didn't feel the elasticity of normal skin but the wet powdery feel of clay.

Not clay.

My eyes widened. Dirt.

I came with a foot's length before Aridiil. Slowly, his eyes met mine. 'How much blood did you have to take from her before you could control the Terramancy?' I asked him.

His face was too blank to read. 'She loved me, you know?'

I scanned the area. 'Who? Florentine?'

'Symmone Flowers,' Aridiil said, shaking his head. He must've sensed someone else here other than me. 'It wouldn't have worked. She was a Bosmer and I was an Altmer of high station. The world would have laughed.'

'But you needed to steal her blood, even though she carried your seed.'

His eyes widened. 'She was powerful. A Bosmer with limitless magicka. I couldn't pass that up.' Aridiil let out an exasperated sigh. 'Separate, we were nothing, but together…'

'You killed her,' I said. 'And left your son to die.'

He stole a glance at me. 'I loved Symmone. But I couldn't… I just couldn't.'

Symmone Flowers was the seventh member of the Circle of Seven. Her abilities were astounding to say the very least. She was a hero on the level of my mother and father. A lover to Aridiil and he killed her, stole her abilities through blood transfusions. It seems he'd done the same to Florentine.

'You did the same to Florentine, then?' I asked him. 'Did she love you as well?'

Aridiil's eyes grew glossy in the low light. He nodded. 'If you're here to kill me, I won't hesitate to turn you into red smudge at my feet.'

I smiled at him and slowly shook my head. 'You're not for me to kill, Aridiil the Nefarious. Frankly, I don't think you're even worth it anymore.'

The old Altmer sneered. I stepped to the side as Esmond crossed the garden path. Esmond was born two months before the Oblivion Crisis ended. With an Altmer father and a Bosmer mother, he inherited innate magical abilities. He's waited for this opportunity for over a century.

'Hello, Father,' Esmond said. 'Been a while hasn't it?'

'Father?' Aridiil seethed, trying to shake the shock of surprise. 'You're no son of mine. I have no children!'

Esmond nodded solemnly. 'Ah, well… Not for long.' Esmond turned to me and gave a silent thank you. I nodded back.

I turned away from the two most powerful mages I have ever met. It would be wise to stay clear of them. On the roads at the far side of the clearing, well away from Spring Garden Manor, Wendell was riding Father's carriage towards Elden Root. Crossing the field of targets bought a good pang of nostalgia. The countless hours spent launching arrows at the hundreds of circles engraved on flat bone planks showed me how much I've grown.

As I reach the start of the treeline, a pillar of fire rose into the air. I supposed Esmond decided to end it in one large show of love. I didn't bother giving it a second glance. The light illuminated the many shadows in the thick forest. Silhouettes of dark-cloaked figures approached me.

'Are we almost done here, Raven?' An impatient voice asked.

'Seems so.' I shrugged.

Larethia jumped down from her perch on a ridge. 'Good 'cause I'm ready to start training.'

'You and me both,' Orc added. 'Say, are you gonna teach me how to use that pole of yours?'

Tutor Rollyn narrowed his eyes but didn't take them off the pillar of fire billowing into the night sky. 'It's a quarterstaff, and only if you think you have the discipline to do so.'

I chuckled and pulled my hood over my head. 'Let's head out then, shall we?'

The others gathered their belongings and stood at my back. I felt free at that moment, stepping onto a new path that I myself have forged. I wanted to think that I've done right by Valenwood and perhaps I did. Things were changing rapidly, and we all needed to grow stronger for the night that was fast approaching.

I was once just a weak bird trying to find my wings, but now I've grown and learned to fly. I did terrible things and wondrous deeds. I paid for my sins and bare them fully to the world.

Night is coming and with it, revolution. I have flown through the twilight without directions. Mortals like me never have a direction to follow. It cannot be beaten into us nor can we be pushed along. We may only trust ourselves and start walking. We are alone in the dark, but our path unfolds as we move along.

The raven has become a symbol of my shadow; my sword a symbol of my darkness. I believe it might have been the same for my mother. She lived by her sword, her bow, and her flame. No one offered a hand to save her from her darkness. No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may.

It's dark; it isn't bright. It isn't clean, nor is it easy. You hold a torch to the darkness like a sun entering the new world, piercing through to illuminate what we must become. That is life, that is the flight of a raven ushering the night.

My life, my shadow, my darkness, my destiny. It's never easy for a rogue. But it is my way; a complicated path that has led me… through the twilight.

The End