37

.~~~.

Ysadette staggered through the streets leading to the center of the Imperial City, wishing she could numb her heart to the reality of her situation and find solace in what would be her last moments. At times, she would. Her eyes would drift closed, and the stinging in them due to a lack of rest and of crying too many tears would be gently taken away. Memories of simple pleasures would hurry to her mind, blending the world into something it no longer was, but what she wished it could be.

The soothing sound of waves lapping against the shore of the Gold Coast, bringing with it the scent of salty seawater. The thump of hardy sailors traipsing down the planks and onto the Anvil boardwalk to reunite with their families after spending months at sea. The clanging bell atop the Chapel of Dibella, calling out to her at midday so she could lend her hand to the priestesses in their never-ending campaign against the woes of the city. The taste of a fresh apple pie. A book in her lap.

His arms around her. His kisses on her neck. His breath caressing her skin as he told her the three words she treasured the most, the sapphire on her necklace sealing their truth for all the world to see.

The shout of a Justiciar ordering the crowd to clear the way would always rip her from her secret place of tranquility. Without fail, it always would, and then she would see their faces. The rankness of a city in turmoil would fill her nostrils. The aches of her battered body would return in haste, and tear marks that had only just begun to dry on her face would become wet again. Just as it was within her grasp, the world would fall to pieces.

Every. Damned. Time.

Was this moment what she had feared the most? She couldn't tell anymore. For the past few months, during the restless hours of each night, she had told herself it was. As she was now being made to face it, Ysadette could not understand why her body hadn't stopped reacting with the defiance of a wounded beast slowly bleeding out. She could barely stand anymore, let alone fight. It was utterly stupid.

No, she was stupid. And refusing to quit when it was clear she ought to do so was the very manner of action that had dropped her into the Thalmor's clutches in the first place. Unlike her body, though, Ysa's spirit had long decided the fight was over. It hardly stirred. The runes on her handcuffs had spoken to it in a language that ensured any resistance she may have put up was quashed while it was still a flickering, unrefined wish.

The bones of her wrists were sore under the weight of the steel cuffs. Her arms were too tired to do anything besides hang limply, and her shoulders could scarcely lift enough that she no longer felt she was going to split down the middle and fall away. By her own decision or not, Ysa's body demanded that she not walk a single step more. But each time she crumpled to the ground, the Justiciar behind her would catch her by the upper arm and thrust her forward. Though he didn't strike her, his refusal to heal her further was no different than if he had. The deep shroud of falling comatose haunted Ysadette, luring her closer with every moment she didn't receive proper care for her injuries. The Justiciar surely knew that.

Every so often, Ysadette would hear Ulpo's chattering voice. So far away and yet so close to her, the Justiciars had done little to restrain him. They had simply promised him something sweet and a good nap if he followed along and didn't misbehave. She wasn't sure if he had knowingly agreed to the terms. What Ysa did know was that he had not cast a single spell in her favor. Ulpo had only whipped his head back and forth and fallen silent at times. Her only glimpses of his face were that of a witless grin or a maddeningly blank stare.

Each time she met his eyes, it would break her all over again. Couldn't he see her? If he could, did he not care? The other Ulpo was in there somewhere. His bottomless contempt was no doubt ripping at the surface, lusting at the prospect of freedom. But would he have broken out for her good? Did she dare even ask if that side of him cared, knowing that the answer was probably no?

The Justiciars came to an abrupt stop at an intersection. The two conversed for a little while, momentarily engaging in what seemed to be a rather heated debate based on the body language of the one ahead. But Ysa didn't bother to listen. After a while, they relaxed. Sharing a laugh like they were sitting around a tavern table in the evening, their conversation dried up and came to an end. Ysadette stumbled along as they began to move, thanking the gods for the small comfort that was the two Justiciar's voices no longer being part of the noise in the city. Unintelligible rumblings, she had decided, were what she wanted right now. She could easily retreat into her thoughts and not be removed.

When they proceeded through the massive gates into Green Emperor Way, Ysa knew that their trip across the city was soon to end. The White-Gold Tower stood high over the district as one of the few buildings in it, finally allowing her to see the Emperor's Palace in greater detail than ever before. The design of the Tower was otherworldly. It was pristine and shined brilliantly as if neither dust nor wind had ever been allowed to touch it. Had she the strength, Ysa would have raised her head to see if the top of it one more time, to see the clouds and pulsating magic as both swirled around in a way not even her dreams had been able to create.

That wild, inconceivable magic – it was so close now that it frequently brushed against her skin and caused it to erupt in goosebumps.

Ysadette looked across the cultivated gardens as they marched down the thoroughfare, approaching a circular street that connected itself to five others leading away from the center. Occupying the gaps between them, there was almost a miniature forest inside the city.

Ysa had never seen such a beautiful place before. Even the leaves appeared to be cast in a brighter green than anywhere else. The budding tips of the branches and blooming fields of flowers saturated the grounds in every color of a rainbow as they waved gently in the wind. It didn't matter that autumn was at full strength or that winter was on the horizon. Spring was seemingly eternal in Green Emperor Way.

The muscles in her face aching, Ysadette found that a smile had pushed up her cheeks.

Suleh would have been screaming with glee if she was there. If she hadn't gone frolicking through the flowers in a fit of laughter first, that is.

She would have begged Ysadette to come and join her, which she would want to do, but would have declined for a reason she wasn't sure of. With a twirl and a tease, Suleh would've bounded away, taking deep breaths through her nose like she aimed to suck all the scented air from the world and hoard it for herself. She would have asked Ysa if she could smell all the flowers. Ysa would've told her that she could and that they were making her nose tickle, and Suleh would have continued to leap around, resembling a doe in the grace of her movements.

Isro, stern as ever, would have let out a sigh as he stood next to Ysadette. He would have watched in what Ysa imagined was, for his limited outward display of emotion, complete horror. He would have probably called out to Suleh once or twice, pleading with her to come back or to "act her age." Puffing in frustration, Isro would have gone after her, only to come back with her slung over his shoulder like a sack. Grimly, he would have spent the next few minutes apologizing to everyone who had observed the scene unfolding, assuring them that Suleh wasn't as insane as they may believe.

Suleh would have watched him going about. Her tongue would have been worked between her teeth in an adorable way as she giggled at his expense. Her eyes would have cut over to Ysadette. She would have nudged her in the ribs with her elbow.

And then they would have both laughed. They would have laughed until their faces were red.

Though Ysadette's smile persisted, tears filled her eyes again as she felt how sorely she missed them both – her two dearest friends – and how she wanted to spend one more day with them.

And to have it be perfect, all she would need was for one more to be there.

He would have walked up from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, perhaps charmed her with a whisper in her ear, and smirked as she blushed. She would have looked him in the face. The soothing gray of his eyes would have caused her heart to flutter as she stood on her toes, her lips drawing closer to his.

Then, not wanting to spend another second apart from her, Andard...

His name violently shook Ysa from her day-dreaming. Reality again settled its debilitating weight onto her, causing her to shiver. She couldn't go there. Not to that place. Not with him. Not now. And not ever.

As she rounded the base of the Palace, Ysadette saw a gathering of Legion soldiers just around the bend. They had formed a wall, and a commotion was going on in front of them. Her ears pricked up in curiosity.

"I had been wondering what all that noise was," the Justiciar behind Ysadette said flatly, grabbing her by the back of her neck to keep her still. "What in Auri-El's name are they doing now? An entire army at his disposal and the Emperor cannot keep his city under control for even a single day?"

The guards ahead had their large shields placed firmly on the ground and were huddling behind them. The shouts of the swelling crowd as they pushed against them broke apart the serenity of Green Emperor Way, but such a thing may have only been part of Ysa's imagination anyway. More Legion soldiers rushed by to join the rest, their armor clanging as they passed by in full sprint.

"It looks as if we'll be needing to take a different route to the headquarters," the one ahead called out over his shoulder, turning on his heel. He pushed Ulpo into walking, prompting him to twitch in a strange manner, even for him. "These riots have caused enough of a headache for us these past few days. Truly shameful. It would hardly be an issue if we could use magic in this gods-forsaken place. What kind of madman restricts that which makes us divine?"

"One you would do well to not question the authority of while standing on his doorstep," a voice called out.

Ysa turned.

A Gilded Sentry with a vaguely familiar face was strolling up from behind. Three others tailed him. When the one leading regarded Ysadette's presence with a glance in her direction, it dawned on her from where she knew him. He was the same Sentry she had fought in the sewers.

"How you cannot see the benefits of the edict is beyond my understanding," the Sentry added. "A mild inconvenience to you is nothing compared to the orderliness it has brought to our city."

The Justiciar restraining Ysadette laughed. "Yes, because this 'orderliness' of yours is truly a sight to behold! And I am of course very eager to obey a dog we have heard only the bark of and seen not a single bite from."

The Gilded Sentry mumbled something. "I'm afraid we don't have the time to exchange insults with you today, gentlemer, although perhaps we will another time. Those prisoners of yours belong to us. We'll be taking them."

Both Justiciars looked at each other, their eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"There must be a mistake," one said. "The Sentry who was keeping watch at the Arcane University had nothing to say to us when we took them into custody a little while ago. What reason do you have to speak up now?"

The Sentry removed a rolled-up parchment from his robes. "Besides the authority that has already been granted to me by my position, I have a warrant," with a flick of his wrist, he presented it. "From the desk of Lord Marceau himself. That woman you have in your custody is wanted for the crimes of illegally entering the city, unauthorized spellcasting, resisting arrest, the attempted murder of a Gilded Sentry – which is to say myself – and as a possible accessory in the murder of one other Sentry. The dunmer will be coming with us, too, as he is an accomplice to her crimes."

The Justiciar's eyes flicked down at Ysadette and he chuckled. "You truly do bring trouble everywhere you go, don't you, Miss Ence?" He turned again to the Sentries. "I'm afraid I cannot pass her along to you so easily. She is wanted by the Aldmeri Dominion for crimes that I am not at liberty to disclose. Rest assured, they are far worse than any charges you've drummed up."

"I won't be acting on things I'm not aware of," the Sentry said, returning the warrant to his robes, "least of all any shady dealings and potentially fabricated evidence your kind are keen on creating at your leisure. The city and any rogue mages within it are under our jurisdiction, so stand aside."

"Did you not hear me?" the Justiciar asked. "She and this dunmer here have committed crimes against the Aldmeri Dominion itself. According to the terms of White-Gold Concordat signed by your Emperor, she is actually under our jurisdiction," he explained, emphasizing his words. "If that bothers you so much, perhaps you would like to take it up with Mede himself? Or perhaps Her Majesty Queen Andralia of Alinor? Either would be willing to listen to your complaints, I'm sure."

The Sentry scowled at the Justiciar. Behind him, the firm stances of the others suggested they were eager for a conflict with the Dominion. All they needed was the proper excuse.

Ysadette glanced over her shoulder at the multitude of people as they came close to overwhelming the Legion soldiers. Armed with civilian weaponry – cheaply made swords, kitchen knives, stones and bricks, anything they could bludgeon someone's head with – and an ever-increasing number, they were pushing the Empire's guardsmen to their limits. They were perhaps only seconds away from bloody conflict.

Terror ensnared Ysadette like a hungry serpent. The words of the Sentries and Justiciars as they debated to whom she belonged blurred together. Her head throbbing, smearing her vision with each pulse, Ysa tried to remain steady on her feet. Her eyes watered as she looked back to the Sentries, then to the Justiciars, feebly watching them argue to whom she belonged. At the crowd and Legion soldiers, she was met with the sight of some fleeing. Still more headed opposite of them, joining the fray. Their efforts would accomplish nothing. The vicious mob would only want their heads.

Ysadette sank to her knees. A sob slipped out of her mouth, realizing she wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball where she might be forgotten by the chaos. Her stomach squeezed, burning her throat with whatever it wanted to empty on the street.

She never should have come here. Every step she had taken that wasn't leading away from the city was one in the wrong direction. It was all for nothing. She should have died during that night in the woods. The gods made a mistake sparing her. It would have all been over.

The Justiciar yanked Ysa to her feet. Pain blazed across her body, and she tried to keep from yelping.

"I'm getting rather tired of dragging you around, Miss Ence!" the Justiciar roared, getting in her face. "Compose yourself immediately!"

A sharp cry erupted from among the crowd, snapping Ysadette's attention away from him and toward the source of the noise.

A man had kicked off the shields of the soldiers, throwing one to the ground as he sailed through the air and over them. The gathering of people seemed to collectively hold their breath at the display. His coattails flapping from his quick and precise movement, the man came to a rest behind the line. He had a sword buckled on either hip, and both blades were thin and subtly curved. As the man stood up, the soldier he had used to bolster his leap scrambled to his feet and charged. Sword drawn and held low, shouting as he ran, the soldier prepared to run him through.

The man in the coat, without even looking at the soldier, twisted in a way that made Ysadette flinch.

The people burst into cheering.

The soldier flopped down and skidded across the ground. A trail of blood was left in his wake.

Standing above him unharmed, the man in the coat had just one sword unsheathed – Ysa wasn't sure when he had drawn it. He brushed his dark hair back with his free hand, revealing the gray at his temples. His mouth moved as he spoke in the opposite direction, taunting the soldiers as they were forced to choose between him or the encroaching riot.

Another two soldiers chose him. One opted to run straight at the man in the coat, crossing their swords. The other flanked him. The first soldier received a kick in his gut and the hilt of a sword to his face. He stumbled away, dazed.

Turning his attention to the other one, the man in the coat spaced his feet apart and ducked. The other soldier's blade swooped where his head would've been. The man in the coat shot back up. Staying in motion, he slashed across the soldier's neck and kicked him away. The soldier's hand flew to his neck, but Ysa knew the moment she saw the first spurt of blood that the wound was fatal. He fell to the ground dead within seconds.

The other regained his bearings. Yelling, he rushed forward.

The man in the coat parried his strike effortlessly. Leaving the soldier off-balance, he stabbed his blade directly into the open face of the soldier's helmet. With a showy spin, he removed his sword and let the man's body drop at his feet. The crowd, already whooping and shouting in glee, roiled in excitement, egging on the soldiers to throw more of their numbers at the man.

Apparently satisfied with cutting down the two of them, the man in the coat stepped away from the carnage. As he walked fearlessly toward the Justiciars and the Sentries, his strides were long and proud, and the unruly crowd and soldiers behind him were of no concern anymore. All that interested him was straight ahead. Drawing his other sword in a fluid motion, his weathered face molded into a smug grin as he approached. The coated man's gaze bounced over both Justiciars and across every Gilded Sentry, noting them with a cock of his head.

Until finally, his squinted eyes leveled on Ysadette, and his smirk grew into an arrogant grin.

.~~~.

Mytho knew from the moment he saw the Justiciars strutting through the city that it was Ysadette they had in tow. The poor girl looked half-dead and scared out of her wits, but he figured that given the correct timing, it would make him appear as an even greater savior than he would have otherwise. A dashing rogue coming to rescue her during her darkest moment – it was almost storybook. He couldn't have asked for a better way to begin earning her trust.

The Thalmor agents were already glaring down their noses at Mytho. They were always so haughty even when they were horribly outmatched. The Gilded Sentries behind were only regarding him as a curious upstart, he was sure. They didn't bother to aid the Thalmor. They likely wouldn't if word of their mutual animosity was to be believed.

"Fine day, isn't it, gents?" Mytho called out, dangling one sword between his finger and thumb. "You all seem to be in quite the difficult position, aye?"

"Come no closer!" the Justiciar closest to Ysadette said, shoving her behind his back. "You're interfering with…"

"Official Thalmor business," Mytho interrupted, mimicking their accent. "I know, I know. I've heard it a hundred times before." He shifted his eyes from side to side. Were they all in position yet? It didn't matter. He could draw this out a little longer. "But you see, the gods above have given us all talents. My talents, strangely enough, happen to be a combination of things best suited for interfering with official business."

The look in the Justiciar's eyes gave the impression he would have roasted Mytho alive had the Sentries not been watching their every move, waiting for them to slip up. "I'm giving you one final warning. Take one more step, and we will not hesitate to use force."

Mytho stopped in his tracks. He raised his hands, bringing both swords into the air. "Have you ever tried asking nicely?" He looked at the girl's face. It was red and puffy from bawling and smeared with dirt, grime, and flecks of dried blood that was clearly her own. She truly was a desperate looking thing.

Evidently noticing him watching her, Ysadette winced and looked down at her feet.

"Ah, I suppose not," Mytho continued. "You've built all those damned prisons, so you may as well use them, eh? But a word of advice. Be sure your jailers aren't so easily bullied by the inmates. Made my escape from that one near the Gold Coast far easier."

The Justiciars paused for a moment, confused.

"You mean Darkstone?" one asked, growing tenser than he was before. "Do you mean to say that you're the Phantom of Bravil?"

"Aye. So you've heard of me?" Mytho bowed. "I would thank you all for your hospitality during my stay, but alas, I've been in outhouses with finer amenities than that hovel had on offer." As he raised up, a glint from behind the Sentries caught his eye.

Excellent work,lad. And without a second to spare.

"Now, I suppose that since we won't be wasting time getting acquainted with each other…" He took a step forward. "We ought to get to the fun part."

A clap of thunder rocked the district. Gusting winds blew Mytho's coat against legs as he walked. The ground beneath his feet quaked, and he picked up his pace into a light jog. Thrown into a panic, the tumultuous mob fled from the billowing smoke cloud behind them, overtaking the Legion wall and fanning their presence out in every direction. In mere seconds, the street was awash with a horde of rampant people. Mytho ran with them, bridging the remaining gap between himself and Ysadette. But before he could reach her, the crowd obscured her from his view.

He didn't lose sight of her captors though. Not for even a second. Mytho advanced on the Justiciar that had been standing in front. He put all his strength into swinging both swords at once. Grunting from exertion, Mytho severed the elf's head from his body and splattered the road in crimson. The other Justiciar didn't have time to react before Mytho drove his sword through his chest. Knowing that the elf was still very much alive by his howling, Mytho removed his sword from the Justiciar's body and left him to be dealt with by the frenzied populace.

Bursts of air rushed over and through the crowd. Twirling almost in unison, the Gilded Sentries leaped high above everyone and latched onto the pillars along the walls of the Palace. Mytho took note of their positions as worked his way through the mob, fearing that with both their better vantage point and use of magic, they would sniff her out before he could.

Then he saw her.

Ysadette was being tossed back and forth by the horde as a large portion of it proceeded down the roundabout. Her eyes were big and fearful.

The doors to the Palace were on the other side of the Tower, and Mytho was sure that was where the people were headed. They wanted blood, and by the gods, they were intent on having it before sundown. But with them gone, he would be left to work without his carefully planned cover. Mytho forced himself to stop thinking of anything else as he shoved aside everybody in his way. To Oblivion with grabbing her and disappearing among the confusion, he couldn't risk losing her trail due to wanton rebellion.

Ysadette spotted him just before she was within his grasp. Growing paler than she already was, she took off in the other direction.

Mytho cursed under his breath. Why had he not expected her to run? As small as she was, she could slip through the gaps and vanish with ease. He stopped for a second to get his bearings. Nothing. Again cursing aloud, Mytho changed course. Barely having taken a step, a pair of arms wrapped around his hips and pushed against him. Mytho nearly ran his sword through the person until he saw that it was only a wiry old dunmer.

The elf looked up at him. A dumb grin split his lips open. "D'oh! I'm sorry for getting in your way," he said, giving Mytho a slight squeeze. "My eyesight isn't quite what it used to be!"

Mytho blew out a mirthless chuckle. It was her Mentor, lost and searching for her. It had to be. Ulpo was his name. Mytho sheathed a sword and took the old elf by the wrist.

One down. One left.

"Have you seen that silly girl around here?" Ulpo asked, jumping rather spryly for a mer of his advanced age. "We're supposed to be leaving soon, and she's dawdling around with those tall friends of hers, d'oh yes!"

Mytho scanned the crowd for Ysadette, wondering if perhaps she had already escaped on her own.

Then, the blonde of her hair peeked out from a space between the people. A moment later, her frantic expression revealed itself as well.

Mytho dragged the jabbering elf by his arm, already beginning to wonder how the girl had made it so far with such commitment to dead-weight like the elf. As he swept up from behind Ysadette, she was completely unaware of his approach. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Mytho snatched her up. She kicked her legs and writhed as he tossed her over his shoulder.

"Calm down, lass!" Mytho shouted as he jostled her. "I'm trying to get both of you out of here! Stop fighting me already, would you?"

"Put me down!" she screamed. Hearing no response from him, she squealed again and weakly beat her fists on his back.

Mytho shook her around a bit more. "That's a funny way to thank a man who just risked his life to save you."

Ysadette cautiously stopped wriggling at that. If he didn't know any better, Mytho would have assumed she was going to make things easier for him. But no, she was surely only biding her time. He couldn't consider her captured just yet. As he carried her on his shoulder, following the mob going around the Palace, Mytho waited for the first path leading out of the district to arrive. The moment he had a chance, he held both of them tightly and sprinted as fast as he could away from the rebellious masses. With just a sparse number of people left to hide away in, it would be only seconds before the Gilded Sentries picked the three of them out and decided to make themselves an issue.

Toren sprang out of the dense foliage in the fields and made for him at full speed, almost whooping in excitement. "That was incredible, sir!" he said, belting out wide as a group of people moved in the opposite direction before he weaved in close again. "That explosion was enormous! I've never seen anything like it! I had no idea alchemy could do something so amazing!"

"Aye, Luciros is a right evil one when he's not busy being stuffy, isn't he? And if you want to see something even more incredible, take the old goof here." He slowed down and passed Ulpo's hand over to Toren. "Now, where did Hallie go? She was supposed to be with you. We need to be getting ourselves out of here."

Toren raised his eyebrows. "You mean you didn't see her anywhere in the crowd? She ran off right after I got settled in the flowers over there. She told me she was going to help before you did something stupid and got us all killed."

"Of course I didn't see her!" Mytho stopped abruptly. No matter which way he turned, Halora wasn't in any of them. "Damn her, we had a plan!"

"What do you mean 'a plan?'" Ysadette asked, shifting on Mytho's shoulder. "Who are you people, and what do you want with me?"

Mytho rolled Ysadette down into his arms. Behind the dazed look in her swollen eyes and underneath the fear on her bruised face, her anger was a boiling threat ready to explode. Memories of the Gray Forest flashed before Mytho – the reek of death, buried by endless ashes. Not knowing what to make of the feeling the imagery wreaked on him, he hastily set her on her feet.

"Will you be able to walk?" he asked

Ysadette backed away, her lips pursed as she tentatively scanned him over. "I-I think so. For now, anyway. Thank you."

"A bit early for gratitude, don't you think?" Mytho said, smirking as her eyes flicked down at her feet, then sheepishly raised up to meet his. "You can save it for when we're out of this mess. I think we've all got more to…"

Ysadette's sudden gasp deadened the words left on his lips.

The hairs on the back of Mytho's neck stood up. A shadow spread over him, blotting out the sun. He spun and raised both swords before he could tell what it was. Sparks flew and steel shrieked as a single blade slipped down into the cross of his two. A Gilded Sentry – suspended in midair – stared intensely into Mytho's eyes.

The Sentry kicked Mytho in the chest and flipped backward through the air, landing safely away.

Making his intentions clear with a flourish of his sword, Mytho readied himself for a duel with the man. But when he saw a flock of Legion soldiers amassing themselves at the gates opposite to him and to the left, his heart wavered for a moment longer than he wanted to acknowledge. He tried to turn and run, but more soldiers stormed through the gates behind. Clearly, the rallying call had been sounded across the city for them to gather at the Palace. Quickly being surrounded no less than twenty men, Mytho crept away from the advancing forces. He found himself back to back with Toren. Ysadette and Ulpo were huddled closely between them.

He knew then that it was too late to escape.

"Um, sir?" Toren said, turning his head this way and that. "Which way are we supposed to go?"

Mytho's eyes darted from one face to the next. They were all eager. Eager for their claim to fame. None of them were going to have it. Not if he could help it. Mytho gripped the hilts of his blades, rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension knotting them tightly, and exhaled slowly. "Through them," he said, nudging Toren's back with his elbow. "No rules, no running, no mercy. Time to show me what you've really got, lad."

"You can't be serious!"

"Come on, then!" Mytho shouted at the top of his lungs, circling around the girl and her Mentor. He twirled both his swords, daring them all. "Who wants to take their first swing at the Phantom?"

Their answer was a raised battle cry. A handful of soldiers banged their swords on their shields, encouraging those who were foolish enough to stake their lives on the battle to start it properly. The rest lifted their weapons and rushed forward.

Mytho shut out every worrisome distraction that threatened his resolve. Toren, the girl, her Mentor. None of them existed anymore. He was ready to meet every man before him with more tenacity than he had ever given a fight before. Death or glory, this would be a day where Mytho would make his name into more than just a flimsy rumor.

He would make it a legend.

Mytho slashed in any direction he sensed movement, meeting steel as often as he did flesh. He drenched himself in their blood before the scent of it reached his nostrils. An unbroken clanging of metal, of grunts and groans of pain, left him deafened to all other sounds. In ten strikes, Mytho claimed half as many men's lives. Swirling and pivoting, he never stopped or even slowed his movements. Their poor attempts at taking his own life did little more than leave tears in his coattails. Out of the corner of his eye, Mytho saw Toren giving his all in the fight. The boy's footwork was precise and purposeful – every thrust of his rapier was lethal.

Maybe he wasn't such a lout after all.

When he saw an opening ahead, Mytho ran and vaulted over the shield of one soldier. Upon his descent, he brought the man to the street with a sword through his neck. Quickly searching, Mytho found his dagger. He threw it to his left, burying it in the lone Gilded Sentry's chest, delaying him but surely not stopping him.

One soldier made it farther than the rest, bringing his sword against Mytho's. Whipping his other blade around, spinning with it, Mytho sliced the man's hand off. Continuing the motion, he went for his neck. The cut was deep and clean.

Two more began their assault before the soldier could fall.

Mytho parried the strike of the first. Dropping low to kick the feet out from under the second, the swish of a third soldier's attack forced Mytho to stay down. As he launched back up, Mytho spun and rammed his blade into the third one's gut, lifting him into the air. Shouting to match the soldier's pained cries, Mytho threw him onto the ground and stood over his twitching body. The other two's faces paled as Mytho grinned wildly at them. The rest of the soldiers behind their shields, still alive but already beaten, started to back away.

Toren drew large circles with his rapier as he drew close to the girl and the elf. "What's the matter?" he yelled breathlessly. "We're just two men! Surely the Empire's finest warriors can handle that much!"

Finally joining their wounded comrade, the other Gilded Sentries leaped over the crowd from afar. One by one, they landed with some manner of spells already in hand. Mytho expected them to have flames or sparks. Instead, they enclosed themselves in bubbles of solid magic.

They could color themselves purple for all he cared, they were all going to meet their ends the same way.

A flash from above caught Mytho's eye, but only for a moment.

Cascading sheets of green light spilled down from the sky and washed over the crowd, dropping both rioters and guards alike. Even their voices were suddenly choked into complete silence. Churning and growing, the wave rolled fast toward Mytho, engulfing him with at a speed that left him aghast. He tried to move his arms, an instinct naively demanding that he block the incorporeal force, yet they remained still. When he tried to move his legs, he did little more than tilt. Hissing in frustration, Mytho lurched forward like a tree being cut down. He landed hard on the ground and was left to stare helplessly at the Palace and White-Gold Tower above it. Pain ran down from his shoulder and along the arm trapped underneath him. It was magic holding him down, that much Mytho was sure of. But there was only one man in the Imperial City that could mire an entire district in his spell.

Mytho's heart skipped a beat. He wouldn't dare.

Breaking through the clouds, as small as the eye of a needle in the distance, a figure descended seemingly from the pinnacle of the tower. Mytho tried to squint, but couldn't. His eyelids were paralyzed as well. As the figure continued their slow fall to the streets of Green Emperor Way, Mytho knew it could not have been anyone else. As much as he wished to be wrong, he knew from the stories alone that he had to be correct.

When the figure reached the ground, they landed just behind the Gilded Sentries. The sound of some peculiar metal colliding with stone echoed direly throughout the district. The Sentries dropped their magical barriers and each fell on one knee, revealing the man standing behind them.

He was clad from head to toe in armor as black as the Void. Mytho knew it was made of ebony, one of the rarest materials in all of Tamriel, and a dark mantle bearing the insignia of the Empire billowed out behind him. The details of his armor were done in gold, an intricate addition only a sinfully rich individual could afford without first selling their soul to the Daedra.

Or someone of great enough importance to have the ear of the Emperor himself.

"Lord Marceau," one of the Sentries said, "you've arrived just in time."

Marceau regarded the Sentry with a dismissive gesture. His face hidden underneath a sleek helmet, the Battlemage's presence was almost inhuman as he surveyed Green Emperor Way in silence.

"Sir, what would you have us do?" another Sentry asked, his voice sounding concerned.

Marceau paused for a moment before turning toward the Sentries. "Gather up the inciters and take them to the square in the Temple District," he said plainly. "Allow the Legion to do as they wish with the rest. This rioting has gone on long enough, and it's come too close to the Ruby Throne. It goes no further."

The Sentries did not hesitate to begin carrying out his orders. Mytho expected Marceau to then launch back up to the tip of the White-Gold Tower never to be seen again.

He didn't.

Marceau lifted his arm and held it straight out. Shards of light gathered at his curled fingertips, amassing into a vague shape. With a slight pull, he drew a ghostly sword from nowhere and ran his thumb along its ethereal edge. "It is time we set an example," he said, the lilt of his accent causing his words to purr. "We are bringing order back to this city. Today will be the last of these senseless uprisings."

Mytho didn't need to see the Battlemage's eyes. He knew by Marceau's understated motion in his direction that he had just been marked for death.

Fuck.