It took several days to reach the monastery, longer than I'd expected. Blatta Hateria sailed her little boat east, past Vivec City, and through the chains of craggy islands beyond. The constant overcast to the sky cast a gray light over the already desolate landscape. Crumbling ruins jutted out of the overgrown fungi, some of which seemed to be occupied, judging by the fires glowing in their murky shadows.

"This area isn't well patrolled by the Empire or the Great Houses," Hateria explained in an undertone as we floated out of earshot of the latest campsite. "So bandits like to use them as hideouts. Or smugglers. Mabrigash. The occasional Ashlanders. Better not to wander off into them if you know what's good for you."

It was hard to tell through the cloud cover and the light rain that pattered down, but it seemed to be nearly dawn when the Imperial moored the ship at a dock built onto one of the islands. The spire of an old stone ruin rose out of the crags, but other than that there didn't appear to be anything noteworthy about this particular spot. Was Holamayan really there? To be fair, the spot was both well-hidden and far from reach.

An elderly womer waited for us at the end of the dock. Her hooded robes were plain and her skin was as gray and cracked as the rocks jutting up from the island's surface. She held out a hand, helping me onto the wooden planks.

"Mehra Milo told us of your coming," she explained. Nodding to the steep hill behind her, she said, "The monastery's entrance is at the end of the trail."

I said a quick goodbye to Blatta Hateria and began the trek up to the monastery.

The trail the waiting monk had mentioned was hidden in the crags and the undergrowth, only visible when viewed at just the right angle. Its stairs were cut into the island's natural stone, each step slick with rain. I took them slowly so as not to slip on the wet rocks. By the time I made it to the top, the clouds were just starting to lighten as dawn approached.

Waiting at the end of the trail was the stone spire I saw from the docks. Upon closer inspection, it didn't seem to be a ruin after all. The stone was maintained too well, carved into a curved, segmented shell like that of a kwama. There was no entrance that I could see, but Milo had said before she left that Holamayan was only accessible at dawn and dusk. Azura's hours.

To the east, light broke over the cloudy horizon. Sunrise. With a low rumble, and the grind of stone-on-stone, one of the shell segments folded back to reveal the monastery's entrance.

The interior of Holamayan was carved directly into the island, with hole chambers scooped out of its bedrock. Candles flickered from iron stands and alcoves around its entry chamber when I stepped inside. The light wasn't quite strong enough to banish the shadows of the high, recessed ceiling above.

A lone monk tended to the shrines that formed a semi-circle along the room's back wall. He looked up with mild interest when I entered.

"You are Talise, yes?" he asked, and I nodded. "Welcome. Mehra Milo has been waiting for you. At this hour, she should be in the library."

He gestured to the passageway to the right of the entry. I thanked him and followed his directions through the hallway and down a narrow flight of stairs.

At the bottom was a square chamber filled with rows upon rows of bookshelves. Another passage off of this chamber appeared to be filled with even more. Books filled the shelves. Some newer, some so ancient they looked as if they would crumble the instant someone laid so much as a finger on them. A few of the larger tomes rested, open, on wooden stands. In the corner, a few threadbare cushions were arranged in a circle as a space for reading. A lute rested against one of them, obviously have been left there by its distracted owner and left unclaimed.

In the middle of the library stood two figures, conversing in hushed tones over one of the texts. One was Mehra Milo. The other Dunmer with her was unfamiliar to me. His tall frame was swathed in burgundy robes and he had his long white hair pulled back into a loose braid.

Milo glanced up from the pages and caught my eye.

"You made it," she said, her shoulders sagging in relief. "I was half-afraid you'd been caught. Talise, this is—"

"Master Gilvas Barelo, abbot of Holamayan Monastery," he said, clasping my hand. "Thank you for helping Mehra Milo. She has said you are interested in the lost prophecies. I believe we can help you."

While he spoke, he beckoned to another monk just down the corridor. There was a short stack of pages in her hands.

"I have reviewed the Apographa," he went on, "and have singled out two passages of particular interest. Thank you."

The other monk had handed Master Barelo the notes. She then bowed and left. The abbot tapped the top sheet with a gnarled finger.

"Many are familiar with the two Nerevarine prophecies called "The Stranger' and 'The Seven Visions'. We have two others. 'The Seven Curses' and what is simply known as 'The Lost Prophecy'. They may offer additional insights into the riddles surrounding the coming of the Incarnate. We've made copies of them for you."

He handed the sheets over to me in turn.

"We have also prepared a document for you called 'Kagrenac's Tools,'" he went on. "This will explain to you, and to others, the terrible secret concealed by the Temple regarding the true history of the Tribunal and the corrupt nature of their divinity. It is to conceal this secret that the Temple persecutes both the Nerevarine and us. This persecution must end. We must be united against the true enemy, Dagoth Ur."

I inclined my head to him. "Thank you, sera."

"One more thing. Before you leave Holamayan, remember you can only the monastery entrance is only accessible at dawn and dusk. But please, until that time, make yourself comfortable here. Now, if you will excuse me."

I nodded and he went back to perusing the shelves. Once he'd stepped away, Milo approached me.

"Everything was so chaotic, I never got the chance to ask; how are you? How is Caius?"

"Cosades is gone," I told her.

"Gone? Caius? But—" She shook her head, for a moment too startled to speak. "Gone Where?"

"He was recalled to the Imperial City. He stayed in Balmora long enough to pass his orders on to me. By now, he'll be on his way back to Cyrodiil."

She shook her head again, her flame-colored eyes still wide with shock. "I was hoping he might help us. Now he's gone, and I don't know what to think."

"We'll figure it out without him. Are you going to be all right?"

She waved off the question. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm staying to assist Master Barelo with this library. I'll be safe here."

Milo, too, went back to work, leaving me to finally look over the notes the Master Barelo gave me.

The top sheet was labeled with the words The Seven Curses. Annotations were scribbled in its margins, which I expected were from the abbot himself. I started reading.

...through the doors of the unmourned house

where scoffers scoff and schemers scheme

from the halls of the oath-breaking house

rings seven curses of gods blasphemed

I squinted at the associated notes left by the abbot.

Ambiguous. May refer to the impiety of the god-mocking House Dwemer, or the treacherous diplomacy of the subtle House Dagoth. It may, however, refer to unspecified broken oaths of peace between Lord Nerevar and Lord Dumac. They were loyal friends until the disagreements between the Dwemer and the other Great Houses broke out in open conflict.

I turned back to the text, which listed off the titular seven curses. The first two, "Curse-of-Fire" and "Curse-of-Ash", were noted by Master Barelo as the earliest reported threats from the volcanic Red Mountain. The third, "Curse-of-Flesh", was suggested by him as being blight diseases, including corprus. The rest — "Curse-of-Ghosts", "Curse-of-Seed", and "Curse-of-Despair" — he noted as unknown. All save the last. "Curse-of-Dreams."

Beside this line, the abbot had written:

Recent reports of soul sickness and disturbed dreams come from townsfolk and Ashlanders alike. That the seventh and final curse has begun suggests the threat is about to reach a crisis.

I thought back to my own visions, which had been equal parts intriguing and disturbing. Moving these notes to the bottom of the stack, I checked the next page. The Lost Prophecy that everyone had been searching for. Its text was shorter, but were covered with plenty of annotations.

From seventh sign of eleventh generation,

Neither Hound nor Guar, nor Seed nor Harrow,

But Dragon-born and far-star-marked

Beside this were the notes:

Of ancient family, but not of the four great Ashlander clans. Born under foreign stars and the Imperial sign.

Outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain,

Blessed Guest counters seven curses

'Outlander Incarnate' appears as a formal epithet, stressing the linkage between the words. The Outlander Incarnate is a 'blessed guest', one not born of the tribes, but accepted as a guest with rights of hearth and hospitality. Under Red Mountain he will confront and balance against seven curses. Also, Dagoth Ur is served by his seven kin, called 'ash vampires' by the Ashlanders.

Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade,

To reap the harvest of the unmourned house.

'Star-blessed' suggests Azura. 'Thrice-cursed blade' may refer to a weapon called Keening, associated with the Battle of Red Mountain and Dwemer craftlord Kagrenac. 'Reap the harvest' is a reference to the proverb, "You harvest from the seeds you plant." The 'unmourned house' could be either or both of the lost Great Houses — House Dwemer and House Dagoth.

I turned this page over as well and checked the last of the notes. The third and final set were entitled Kagrenac's Tools. These were not annotated like the other two before them. Instead, they seemed to be a summary of part of the Apographa by the Dissident Priests.

Beneath Red Mountain, Dwemer miners discovered a magical stone. Lord Kagrenac, High Priest and Magecrafter of the ancient Dwemer, determined it to be the heart of the god Lorkhan. Determined to use its power to create a new god for the Dwemer, Kagrenac forged three enchanted artifacts. Wraithguard is a gauntlet serving as protection for its wearer when tapping the Heart's power. Sunder is a hammer to strike the Heart and produce the exact volume and quality of power desired. Keening is a blade used to flay and focus the power rising from the Heart as a result.

When he used these Tools on the Heart during the Battle of Red Mountain, the Dwemer race disappeared entirely. Lord Nerevar and Lord Dagoth retrieved the Tools, but did not know what to do with them. Nerevar asked Dagoth to guard them while he consulted with his counselors: Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil. They decided to return together to Red Mountain.

But while Nerevar was gone, Dagoth was tempted and confused by the Tools' power. When Nerevar and the counselors arrived, he refused to give them up, claiming he had sworn to Nerevar to protect them. Dagoth fought with Nerevar and the counselors. He was mortally wounded and driven off, and the Tools were recovered.

Nerevar and his counselors all swore a great oath never to use them. However, after Nerevar's death, Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil yielded to temptation. They went to Lorkhan's Heart and gave themselves divine powers.

But Dagoth had not died. We do not know what happened, but this is what we believe: his experiments with the Tools joined him to the Heart's divine nature in some way, and he learned to draw power directly from the Heart.

We conjecture that Dagoth Ur, driven by anger and greed, used the Heart without caution and restraint. He has in the process become both terribly powerful and terribly mad. The Tribunal showed great care and restraint in their use of the Tools, so they were not driven mad, and they did many good things as a result. Nonetheless, the Tribunal, too, appear to have been corrupted by the heart's power, though more subtly.

Kagrenac's Tools are cursed. Stealing power from the Heart of a god is a terrible folly, and fated to disaster. The Tribunal are losing their battle to control the Heart. They are sustained by the same tainted power that drove Dagoth Ur mad. They grow weak, and cannot protect us from him. But even if they could, would we be wise to worship gods such as these? They conceal the truth from us out of shame. They persecute the Nerevarine and the Dissident priests out of shame, when they should be welcoming them and enlisting their aid against Dagoth Ur.

The Tribunal have done much good for Morrowind and the Dunmer, but they succumbed to the temptation of Kagrenac's Tools. Though these tools once may have seemed the instruments of salvation, now they must be seen as instruments of doom.

I finished reading and continued to stare, unseeing, at the bottom of the page. Sunder, Keening, Wraithguard. The crystal and bronze I remembered. The thing Dagoth — Voryn? — had tried to warn us about. The Heart of Lorkhan, Kagrenac's Tools, and a god being constructed by the Dwemer deep beneath Red Mountain. Even though the memories were piecemeal at best, I could still remember all of that. But there was something else about the text. Something felt… off. Wrong. I read through it again, but was unable to pick up on exactly what it was. It remained a vague, hazy sense of unease.

I tugged on my ear and looked up from the page. My gaze fell almost instantly on that lute again. Although perhaps that wasn't the right name for it; it didn't look like the same style found in Cyrodiil. I was sure I hadn't picked up that instrument before. Yet, at the same time, something about it was familiar. Master Barelo noticed my interest.

"Do you play?" he asked.

"I…" I hesitated, unsure of how to explain. "I think so. At least, I did. May I—?"

The abbot nodded and gestured to the lute. I took it up and carefully ran my fingertips over its strings.

Its weight in my hands seemed right in a way I couldn't explain, but no songs came to mind. I'd never learned any Imperial ballads, and I didn't know what songs the Dunmer favored, but fingers itched to play something. With a sigh, I took a seat on the cushion and closed my eyes. I cleared my mind and let my hands play whatever they wanted.

What I heard emanating from the instrument wasn't the discordant mash of notes I expected. Instead, a tune issued forth, a bit slow and sad, but also hopeful. I recognized the melody a little, as if from a long-ago dream. I kept playing. So long as I let my fingers do the work themselves, and didn't think too hard, they didn't fumble.

The song meant something, I was sure of it, but what that meaning was I could not tell. It was like the answer was hidden behind a shadowy curtain I could not part.

My fingers stopped finally stopped. As the last notes faded out to silence, I opened my eyes to find myself face to face with a crowd of monks. They had come from all over the monastery to listen while I'd played. Many sported the same wide-eyed expression. A few seemed to be praying. My gaze skipped from face to face before landing on Master Barelo. He stood at the front of the crowd, just as slack-jawed as the rest of them.

"What is it?" I asked.

He swallowed hard and looked at a few of the others gathered around while he struggled to form an answer.

"When Nerevar fought to unite the Great Houses and the Ashlander tribes," he began, "a song was composed. An anthem, of sorts, for his cause. It is largely considered lost to time. As far as I am aware, this monastery contains the only surviving notes on the tune, and only mere fragments remain. The whole song hasn't been heard or performed in centuries…"

Until that moment. Judging by the looks on the monks' faces, that was the whole song, missing sections and all. Now that I was finished, I wasn't sure if I could recall its tune, even if I tried. I doubted I could even hum along.

Out of an equal mix of curiosity and longing to break the tension, I asked him, "What was it called? The song?"

"The original Chimeri title is unknown. But, in the aftermath… well, it came to be known as Nerevar Rising."