I write this from my home in the Mechanical Fortress, where I have been for the last three weeks in self-imposed isolation. These trials have been a test of my faith and resolve, and though I succeeded, I fear I have only become more embroiled in matters that were never meant for mer. So it is for the mortal with the favour of the gods.

But, of course, I'm getting ahead of myself.

When last I wrote, I spoke of a shadow that spoke my name. Well, I was frozen, unable even to squeak in response, and all the while those footsteps came closer and closer – like the toll of a bell that heralded my death. I thought on all I hadn't done, all I wanted to do. Lamented how unfair it was that I was to die when I had only just completed my mission. But then he rounded the bend, and I felt tears well up in my eyes.

Aem'uvus.

He was as beautiful as I remembered. More so, perhaps. There was a halo of light around him more brilliant than any I had ever seen. He looked at me with that quiet sort of sympathy, almost an apology, and in a moment I knew – I knew he had been watching me ever since I had first stepped inside the Deep Deck.

"So now, you know," he said. He held his hand out to me. Within his palm, another, smaller star sat, pleasant and peaceful, but I had the distinct sense of melancholy as he showed it to me. "You have withstood my tale, and the mind magic I put you through. Though you wavered, you persevered. Paced yourself and succeeded. There are but two more memories for you to record; this one, in my hand, and the one that has yet to be made."

"Sotha Aem'uvus," I fell to my knees, and he bade me rise.

"No," he said, "not yet, Relarise. Like your mother before you, your will to serve is great, but do not lose sight of your mission before it's finished."

"My lord," I said, "why me?"

It was the question I had asked since the beginning, and Aem'uvus frowned when he looked at me; this soft curve of the mouth that spoke volumes. At once I felt damned and uplifted. Blessed and cursed. The star in his hand vanished so he could reach out and clutch my shoulder.

"Because we all have our roles, Relarise," he told me. "For now, all I can tell you is that our fates are entwined."

The manner in which he said it caused my heart to tremble. When his hand released me, I felt as though I would fall and never hit the ground. But somehow I remained on my feet, watching as he walked a little further down the hall and marvelled at his own destruction.

"I must see my father," he told me. He turned to look at me, and his stare impressed upon me that a time of change was soon on the horizon. "Then I have preparations to make. He will call on you after we're finished. Relarise…I thank you. For what you have done, and what you will do. Farewell, my friend. Until we meet again."

Then, in a haze of golden light, he vanished. But he left with me that little star, and now, as I sit in my home, I am prepared to write all within – and the final star, which Lord Seht has had delivered to me.

Memory One-Hundred and Forty-Seven: (Aem'uvus)

Vvardenfell's air smelt of ash and sea spray when Aem'uvus appeared on the Palace Canton.

He recalled his first arrival, when Sotha Sil had stood beside him. In his mind, he wished for that comfort; the illusion that his father would be with him, always, and he would never truly be alone. Baar Dau looked even larger when only he stared upon it.

But he had little time for thought.

Aem'uvus went through the doors of the palace, dipping his head to the guards who stood, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and made no protest of his entrance. In a moment he was surrounded by the beautiful blue walls, the reliefs on the uppermost strip of the palace that demonstrated Vivec's past and the Dunmeri present. It was all so familiar, but he viewed it now with new eyes. The child that had once been so eager to see it had withered inside his chest.

"What—"

He heard a voice and looked towards it. Vivec hovered above his throne, the divan with its cushions and throws, while around him a small huddle of worshippers turned to see what had caught their god's notice. An image of the Anguish burned in the lord's mind, and he saw himself crushing the people before him, their screams a song that would fuel his hatred. With a shake of his head, he pushed the thought aside. Instead he focused on the Warrior-Poet, so divine, his face warm and affectionate, and his heart hurt. In all of his life, he had wanted to know his mother. But now that he was before him, so close to relief, he was not certain of his emotions. If he felt anger, or if he felt release. Love, or unease.

"Aem'uvus?" said Vivec. "My, it's been quite a time since I've seen you, little one; though, not so little now, I see. I always knew how beautiful you would grow."

The worshippers stared, apparently stunned, as he drew further into the room. Aem'uvus' hands were clasped behind his back and his spine was straight, so much so that he had the air of a learned scholar when he came to a halt on the patch of stone that sat in front of Vivec's throne.

"Lord Vehk," he said. "I apologise for my sudden arrival, but I must speak with you. It concerns a matter that means a great deal to me. If you would?"

The Warrior-Poet looked to the crowd around him. "My friends, it seems as if I am needed. If you would leave us for the moment, I will call on you again as soon as I become available."

It was odd to Aem'uvus, as the Dunmer moved past him. He was not accustomed to their open stares, nor the colour of their clothes or the ever-so-faint smell of sulphur that clung to them. The ardent veneration in their unfamiliar faces, at least, meant that none dallied to follow their lord's command. Light burned on the floor as the doors opened, and then, after the worshippers had stepped through and shut the entrance behind them, a sudden silence settled over the dimmed receiving room.

"Such a welcome surprise, Uvus, to have you in Vivec," said the Warrior-Poet. The lord was turned from him, for he had watched his followers depart into the hot air outside, but he did not look at him immediately. "I only wish I had had time to prepare. But, no matter. I'm simply thrilled to see you."

There was a pause. Aem'uvus' head lowered, and he felt Vivec's eyes bore into him, how his joy fell slowly into concern.

"Uvus? Are you alright?" He asked, his voice soft. "What is it you have to speak to me about? Is it Sotha Sil? Is he well?"

Still, he was silent. Then by degrees he turned, and Vivec saw tears welled up in his eyes, sparkling golden in the dim light.

"Mother?" He murmured. The Warrior-Poet's joints stiffened, his mouth opening for one moment as if to protest, before he deflated and looked sadly on his son.

"Aem'uvus," he breathed, "you know?"

"That my life is a lie? That the man I thought was my father is an imposter?" He nodded and lifted his chin, forcing the tremble of his bottom lip to still. "Yes. I know."

Vivec hung his head low. "I had hoped you would never learn the truth."

"I should have been told. Of all the people who had the right to know, I should have numbered among them. Why did you keep this from me?"

"You were happy."

"You are my mother," he stepped forward. Those tears that had threatened started to fall. "I have wondered about you all my life. And when I find out who you are – when I can finally put a name and a face to this mysterious figure that made me – I find out I have been wrapped up in a lie. That my own father had built an illusion around me, studied me, feared what I would become. How is this better than telling me the truth?"

"Seht never feared you, little one," the Warrior-Poet said, and his tone was sincere as he lowered himself down to sit upon the divan. "He loves you dearly. As do I. But you were never safe here. The Clockwork City was hidden from the world, and so Sotha Sil put his most precious treasure inside of it, where no one would threaten it."

Aem'uvus closed his eyes. His cheeks were wet, and his throat choked to the point that he had to force the words out of it.

"But they did." He whimpered. "I—I'm so ashamed, Mother."

"My son, come here."

Vivec held out his arms. Despite imagining that moment a thousand times before, the lord hesitated. It was as if when he embraced him, that reality became undeniable. There would be no return to the life he had before; to the world of clockwork and mechanical parts that had woven itself into his heart. But he could never unlearn the truth. So he stepped forward.

Then, he was running.

His mother's arms were warm and strong, and when he enveloped him against his chest Aem'uvus felt as if he were protecting him from a fatal blow. He smelt of ash and fresh lava blooms. It was an alien scent, and yet the lord was comforted by it. He buried his face further into Vivec's skin, so much so that the poet felt his hot tears and the stutters of his heart.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low, soft whisper. His mother's grip tightened over him.

"It is I who is sorry," he replied. "Had I been more cautious, or practiced more restraint…ah, but that is my burden. You, my dear one – it is enough just to hold you now."

Aem'uvus yearned to remain forever in Vivec's embrace. For a while he indulged himself, held him tightly and thought on a different life, different circumstances; but soon, and with much hesitation, he raised his head and felt his mother's arms loosen around him. The poet allowed him to separate, though his touch lingered and his lips formed a gentle frown.

"I can fix this," he told him as he straightened and composed himself. Once more the erudite scholar appeared, and Vivec watched the frightened child ebb away from the surface. "I need only time to do so."

"You don't mean to venture into Tamriel alone, I hope?"

"That is precisely what I mean," the lord replied. "There are magics lost in Tamriel that can set all of this right. To stop the Anguish before he…I…ever has the chance to live. I must search for them, scour every Dwemer and Ayleid ruin I can find, and learn how to control them."

Vivec shook his head in shock. "That sort of meddling would end your own existence, Aem'uvus."

"If that is the price to pay so that countless others may live, so be it," he said. He stood once more before him, his posture prone with an expression of steely determination, and the poet saw he would not be swayed from his course. Indeed, his son would be spurred on by his protests, he mused, for what right did he have to command his obedience?

"You have many enemies, and not all of them your own," he pointed out. The lord closed his eyes and sighed.

"Perhaps. But I have the teachings of Sotha Sil behind me, and with Molag Bal unaware that I live again, I must capitalise on this opportunity." The look he offered him was filled with sympathy, but he still did not waver. "I must do this, Mother. If I can reverse what happened, or alter the flow of history entirely…I can save those I slaughtered. What else can I do with this stain on my conscience?"

Vivec hung his head and considered his words. Aem'uvus had realised before he even arrived that his mother would have his son only for a short while, and that was a new pain to put upon him; but if he were to erase himself, none of those pains would have happened. When he was swept out of existence itself, no more would his name cause agony, and no more would he watch as all he ever loved turned to cinders before his eyes.

"Then, if you are determined," the poet murmured after a while, "it would not do for you to travel without means." Aem'uvus tilted his head, his brow furrowed, which prompted him to explain. "The love of our people keeps our coffers full, dear one, and I would much rather some of that gold finds itself in your hands rather than the wars that rage to the west. Never will I allow for you to be without."

"I don't need to take from the Dunmer, Mother," he replied, but Vivec waved his hand.

"Tamriel is unfamiliar to you. Gold will open doors, provide comforts; help you, and sometimes even protect you. If I must lose you again, at least allow me the simple pleasure of knowing, just for a moment, that I fulfilled my duty as your mother."

There was a pause in which Aem'uvus wondered if it was somehow a trap. But the sincerity in Vivec's eyes and the deep, bitter regret that lined his divine features assuaged his fears, and he fancied that gold would help him – at least, in the short term.

"Very well," he said. "As long as it never means that the people of Vvardenfell go without, I accept your offer. And…I thank you for it."

The poet's lips curved in a smile, soft and sad, barely-there on his thin lips. "So do I, my dear one."

And now, for the last memory of Lord Seht, given to me to record and, somehow, understand.

Memory One-Hundred and Forty-Eight: The Final Star

He had known, even when his son had first left the Fortress, that he was destined to return. Seht had watched for the signs; a vigil that he feared would stretch on for centuries, but Aem'uvus' nature called for decisive action, and centuries were far too much for one as impatient as him.

He felt him, first. An occasional spike of familiar energy, located always in the ruined Deep Deck. It had appeared older than his son was, more experienced, and touched with a certain quality he could describe only as aetherial. But he had no doubt, no doubt at all, that it was him.

And so, he had set the wheels in motion.

Just as Avonase had once served them faithfully, so too did her daughter demonstrate the same aspirations, the same keen intellect and necessary hardships. Her devotion rivalled her mother's, but his concerns laid with her disposition; too naïve, too eager to serve and please without a clear idea of the toils that laid ahead. But he was confident that she would achieve the feat – that she and no other would further the events that were to transpire. Relarise needed only understand the past to comprehend the future.

He waited at the Throne Aligned. Protocols had been deactivated, factotums set to new guidelines, and as Sotha Sil watched the entrance he felt a queer sense of finality wash over him. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him. The darkness of the Cogitum did not stir for some time.

Then, as if the cog had started to turn, a ray of golden light appeared in the centre of the room.

It was a collection of strands at first. A thousand thin ribbons that twisted and tied together, a lattice of complex shapes that soon started to form the image of a mer. Seht was silent in the face of it. In a matter of moments, the light dispelled and fled the room, and left in its place a visitor that he had longed to see again.

"My son," he dipped his head forward, a hand laid flat against his heart. Aem'uvus, wreathed in a divinity not unlike his mother's, stood with a staff that was Dunmeri in design. The lord met his gaze, and in his eyes sparked a wisdom far advanced from what Seht recalled.

"Father," he said. His voice conjured memories of better times. "You knew this day would come. Of course. You have always known, haven't you?"

It was not an accusation; more an acknowledgement, or even, to Sotha Sil's mind, a search for comfort. He lifted his chin and pondered on his words.

"I recognised it was probable," he conceded. "The circumstances are…unpleasant. But reality is rarely pleasant. It doesn't alter the fact that I'm pleased to see you."

Aem'uvus paused. He appeared uncertain, his features tight and his eyes full of hesitation, but soon he let out a low breath. "I am as well. I want to tell you all that's happened and hear your opinion; but I must be brief. There's so much that must be done."

"As I have foreseen." Seht laced his fingers together. He looked down on him, a wistful, almost mournful expression on his face. "Fear not, my son – your quest is of vital importance to Tamriel, and thus I will not delay you. But I find myself wishing for time to slow, so that I might spend more of it with you. How different you are now. How many experiences you have had, challenges you have overcome. Hardships you have faced. I feel we would have much to discuss. Alas – you found Relarise?"

"Yes," he nodded. "She takes after her mother. She will do well. I'm pleased you were able to decode my signals, even though I'll never understand your methods."

"Mere calculation. The probable and the improbable. The fact that you didn't appear to me yourself alluded that you were asking for someone, or something, else. Your traces were few and fleeting, such that only I would notice them. And the brevity implied that you were either pursued or concerned that you would be."

"And the Deep Deck?" He questioned.

"The place where you discovered the truth of your existence. When one takes into account all that I have said, it quickly becomes clear that the reason behind these peculiar signals had to be linked to what happened before – to your past."

Aem'uvus shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. "It still amazes me. Time has distanced me from this place. I see it all with fresh eyes now. It's so…breath-taking." His eyes softened. "I have one more request to make of you, Father. An important one, such that I fear Tamriel's fate is dark and terrible if you were to decline."

"I imagine so," he said.

"I have a device. A brain scanner. I perfected it – or, to be more accurate, a version of me did. But you don't need me to explain that, do you?" Aem'uvus analysed his face and found no hint of bewilderment. His father thought perhaps the confusion he was meant to feel was reflected in the lord, but he quickly shook his head and continued. "There is a change racing towards Tamriel. Something is coming. I cannot stop it. It's been set by powers far greater than I. I have to scan you, for what's to come. I need to preserve you as you are – at least, your mental state. Will you permit me?"

The architect did not respond for a moment. He had foreseen that, soon, he would meet his end. That some force that would upset the balance of the world would rear its head and peer out over the horizon. The thought stirred a troubling disquiet in his mind. It was a simple matter to observe the cycle, but to be within it was the fate of all things; and he and his fellow gods, he had realised centuries before, were no exception.

"Of course," Sotha Sil descended the steps to his throne so that he stood before him. Aem'uvus held up a hand, and in the centre of his palm a small, triangle-shaped device sat, as if embedded in his skin.

"I'm uncertain what this will feel like," he admitted, almost nervously. "I'm sorry, if it hurts."

"Pain passes, my son. I won't begrudge you it. Go on."

The lord closed his eyes. Seht watched as energy percolated as a mauve light in his palm, and how the device itself seemed to spark with sudden life. It opened, all three sides clicking outwards like the petals of a flower, to reveal a single cog within, spinning and spinning as Aem'uvus cast his spell.

In a moment, the light concentrated into a thin beam, and Sotha Sil felt it invade his head. It was a peculiar sensation; a cold wave that started from the nape of his neck and reached up, his skin prickling as if he had been submerged in ice. He could have sworn that he felt it crawl across his very brain, and for a few seconds a crushing headache overcame him, so much so that he was forced to put his entire effort into remaining upright and on his feet.

When that cog started to slow and the metal sides began to close shut, it was a bittersweet relief. Aem'uvus slowly retracted his hand, and his eyes opened to look up at his father. He was searching him for signs of pain, but Seht, practiced in the art of blank faces, did not reveal emotions so easily.

"Did it…?" He ventured, his voice trailing before his father nodded his head.

"Yes," he admitted, "but it passed."

The lord paused. Once more that uncertainty descended over him, mixed this time with regret, as if there was much he wished to tell him and yet could not find the words for. His golden skin and beautiful eyes were radiant in the light, and Seht's heart yearned, implored, even, for time to stand still – just for one moment.

"Then, I suppose…" A portal opened behind him, though Aem'uvus never took his gaze from his father's face. It was a curious one, however. Time bent and snapped around it, warping and weaving out of existence. "This is farewell. For a long time."

"Yes. I shall await your return, Uvus, as I must. It's curious, no? Here we are, preparing for the end of all we know to be fact, for safety to fall apart and the bindings of our world to alter; and yet, despite the hardships to come, I find myself almost eager for it. It means I will see you again. Even if just briefly."

Aem'uvus tilted his head, and nodded. "I…I must leave now, Father. To set everything in motion."

Sotha Sil dipped his head. The lord turned towards the portal, and he watched as he put a reluctant foot forward, preparing himself to step through it and disappear.

But then he turned, and he was suddenly running full force towards his father.

Seht crouched to meet him in a fierce embrace. He felt his arms slip around his neck and cling tight while his went around his waist, and he held him there, allowing small tears to drip and soak into his robes. Aem'uvus buried his face into his shoulder, as if to memorise his familiar, comforting scent and how it felt when he hugged him.

"I love you." He murmured softly, and Seht's grip tightened.

"I love you as well."

Despite never wanting to release him, soon Sotha Sil set him down on the floor and watched as he started back to the portal. The lord wiped his tears with his sleeve, pausing to roll and straighten his shoulders in preparation for the journey ahead. Once he stepped inside, the architect watched the light begin to engulf him, and he heard, quietly as he began to fade, "I'll miss you, Father."

"And I will miss you, my little lord."

The portal's soft colours intensified, becoming brighter and brighter, until, with a wheeze of magicka that filled and darkened the air, Aem'uvus was gone.

So, that's it. Like Dirith before me, I have come to the end of the tale – but unlike him, I must prepare for a new one. One day, before I'm old and withered, Aem'uvus will return; and while I don't know all the details yet, it's clear that he has plans for me, in some way or another.

This has been a harrowing ordeal. I want to sleep for a hundred years, but there's no time for it. I wish I could speak with my mother and tell her all that's happened, or even just trust one friend enough that I could break Lord Seht's confidence and be assured it would never be known. But that's not the Sathler way.

To that end – Relarise Sathler, the Mystery of Morrowind's most trusted collector, servant of the Clockwork God and future aide to Lord Uvus, the Master of Small Wonders, has fulfilled her duties, and closes this off with a promise that no word shall ever pass her lips. For the Tribunal. For Morrowind. For Tamriel.

For Sotha Aem'uvus.