Skathi and Serana turned Valerica's laboratory over, looking for some sort of clue. There was a library where they could find plenty of information, but it was useless if. Judging by her books, she could be with the Psijic Order, Dawnstar, in the Crystal Tower of the Summerset Isles, deep within the ruins of Kemel-Ze, within an incredibly tolerant Orc stronghold, hid in a Whispmother's den, among the Companions of Jorrvaskr, or in the company of a lust Argonian maid. Such strange reading tastes.

Eventually, Skathi came up a book with no title. The leather cover was that of a journeyman's journal instead of a scholar's tome. She knew from the very first word that this was Valerica's, as it was "Harkon".

"I've found your mother's notes.," Skathi reported, walking over to Serana as she was checking to find well preserved books.

"You did? Let me see them," the vampire turned away from her task to read the book with Skathi.

How close Serana stood to the Dragonborn tensed the senior vampire. She seemed perfectly fine on her own, but she shrank a few inches even half an arm away from Skathi. Whether this made Skathi special she couldn't say, but she did note how Serana was rarely ever at arm's length of anyone. Skathi wondered if herself was like this since she never thought about it like that.

Eventually, they came a passage mentioning where Valerica would hide, "What's this 'Soul Cairn' that she mentions?" Skathi asked.

Serana stepped back like the Dragonborn spoke too loudly. "I only know what she told me," the vampire admitted, "She had a theory about soul gems. That the souls inside of them don't just vanish when they're used, they end up in the Soul Cairn."

Skathi never considered a soul gem much. Granted, hunters that soul trapped animals had more profits than mere poachers, but it seemed an unneeded complication. Granted, without soul gems, there wouldn't be enchantments on things. Black soul gems though turned her stomach, as they should. The soul of a Man, Mer or Beastfolk was more powerful than any mere animal or monster, so they needed more powerful soul gems, ones that had a certain stigma on them. Why? Well, that's a person's soul you stole; what else did you expect would happen?

"Why did she care where used souls went?" Skathi asked, softening her voice on the assumption it was her being too loud.

"The Soul Cairn is home to very powerful beings," Serana explained. "Necromancers send them souls and receive powers of their own in return. My mother spent a lot of time trying to contact them directly, to travel to the Soul Cairn itself." She didn't seem to react badly to the lowered voice.

"If she made it there, we'll find her," the Dragonborn suggested. She didn't know how to get there, but she was riding the high of catching something.

Serana looked upon the design on the floor. "That circle in the center of the room is definitely some type of portal," she speculated, "If I'm reading this right, there's a formula here that should give us safe passage into the Soul Cairn."

Well, that made Skathi feel less stupid. "What do we need?"

Serana took the journal and read off what she saw. "A handful of soul gem shards, some finely-ground bone meal, a good bit of purified void salts." She stopped and looked on the page with a frustrated gaze, "Oh, damn it."

"What's wrong?"

"We're also going to need a sample of her blood. Which," Serana trailed off. If they could get their hands of that, they wouldn't be doing any of this.

And that would be that. They couldn't get their hands on that last Elder Scroll and Harkon's schemes couldn't be fulfilled. But at the same time, he wouldn't stop trying. If this, which occupied his time for centuries, maybe millennia, became impossible, what he would do to Skyrim was too unpredictable to think about. But then Skathi remembered something her sister told her so long ago.

"We're family. Family is blood."

"You share her blood," Skathi noted.

Serana thought on it a moment. "Hmmm. Not bad," she remarked, "We'd better hope that's good enough. Mistakes with these kinds of portals can be," she paused, "gruesome. Anyway, enough of that. Let's get started."

Skathi hoped that wouldn't happen. "Are all of those ingredients here?" she asked.

"Oh, definitely," the vampire nodded, "Mother would have plenty of those materials in her laboratory, you just need to find them."

Never was Skathi ever an alchemist if you'll remember. She couldn't quite figure out how to do it right, resulting in her being banned from Arcadia's lab for lacing the entire workplace with poisonous nightshade. At best, she could identify herbs and materials from their taste, but void salt was new to her. She would do her best still.

She searched over the pick and mix of ingredients around the study for what she could recognize. There were dusts of many colors, but the one's she was interested in was yellowish white. There were two bowls of the material, one of common pottery and the other of iron metalwork. They tasted the same bitter taste, but the one from the metal bowl was a fine powder, not the salt-like substance in the pottery. This was definitely the bone meal she needed.

After she took the bone meal, Skathi looked around for the other two ingredients. She found another metal bowl, but this had a purplish material like gravel. It was transparent like stained glass but had a discomfort at the touch that went beyond physical, but spiritual. If there was any doubt these were the soul gem shards that she needed, she would put the faith in those disbelievers.

Lastly was the purified void salts. She was sure what a void salt was, nor did she know how they could be purified. She searched around until she found another metal bowl, one that held a salt-like substance that was as black as both vampire's hair. At the taste, it was clear it was salt, but made Skathi's skin feel like being touched could send her flying. Well, more than usual. A nod from Serana and she was certain this was what they needed.

"Get the ingredients in the vessel and let me know when you're ready," Serana said holding a knife. She was going through with this.

After Skathi put a vessel at the center of the lab, Serana noted, "Then the rest is up to me. Are you ready to go? I'm not entirely sure what this thing is going to do when I add my blood."

"Can I ask you something first?" Skathi asked. It was a question that she couldn't shake since they entered the catacombs.

"Of course. What is it?" Serana replied.

"What will you do if we find your mother?"

The vampire sighed. "I've been asking myself the same thing since we came back to the castle," she admitted, "She was so sure of what we did to my father, I couldn't help but go along with her. I never thought of the cost."

Skathi wasn't sure where this conflict came from. "It sounds like she did everything for your sake," she remarked.

"Possibly," Serana noted, "I guess even a vampire mother is still a mother. She worried about me. About all of us. But she wanted to get me as far away from my father as possible before he really went over the edge."

"We won't know until we find her."

Serana nodded. "Yes, yes, you're right. I'm sorry. I just didn't expect anyone to care how I felt about her. Thank you. Are we ready then?"

Skathi nodded back. "Let's get that portal open."

Serana braced herself as she held the knife under her palm. "All right. Here goes."

She cut her skin and the blood fell into the vessel. As it mixed with the ingredients, an invisible fire melted them into an inky substance you wouldn't put your hand in. As it boiled, the circle design sunk into the ground and broke apart to reveal a void of purple with crackling lightning of the same color bursting out. The remaining stone formed a makeshift staircase into the void, but where it ended was beyond their sight.

"By the blood of my ancestors," Serana muttered, "She actually did it. Created a portal to the Soul Cairn. Incredible." She turned to Skathi and said, "I'm ready when you are," a warry expression on her face.

Skathi drew her bow and descended into what could only be a gateway into the Soul Cairn. Divine preserve them, such as they were.

It was late when Agata returned to Fort Dawnguard. She rode strong from dawn to dusk to reach the fort, even past the sunset, even with Bran draped on Kili's back. The want to be safe was strong.

All the while, Agata relived the events of Forebearers' Holdout in her head. She was so close to killing Skathi and she could've done it there and then, but she chose to run. She was a coward to herself, even if she stayed off Molag Bal's prophecy for now. She let her comrades die because she didn't want to kill her only family left. For the sake of Skyrim, she cursed herself, let that sentimentality not get in the way again.

After she dismounted and entered the fort, she let Bran run to his kennel and snuck herself as best she could to get to the barracks. She didn't want to be confronted by Isran when she was tired, cold, and hungry. If she could get some stew and some time to sleep in a warm blanket, she could figure out how best to explain the events of the patrol.

"Wolf-Runner!" Isran barked from his quarters, "Report!"

Agata was shocked, wondering how exactly he did that. Never mind, she would need to figure out her report now. As she climbed the stairs, she remembered how hard it was. She knew everything but it might be hard to explain it all and still be respected. She was a coward, a deserter, a little girl that played a soldier until someone drew a sword.

On the cusp of Isran's quarters, she hoped he wouldn't repeat what was already going on in her head. He was rough with everyone to the point those who knew him didn't join the Dawnguard because of him; they joined because of a threat that went beyond personal feelings. That sort of person wasn't to be sought out for their understanding.

Upon entering, Isran was stood with his undisturbed bedding behind him. Considering how late it was, the question of whether he slept or not natural found its way into Agata's head.

"You've returned alone," the guild leader asked, "What happened?"

The poor Nord calmed her nerves as best she could, even if it weren't much. "We were wiped out," she explained, "The vampires have the Moth Priest."

Isran's crossed arms became firmly held in place by himself. "Dammit," he muttered, "I should've kept them in training longer."

Agata knew that wasn't the issue. The Dawnguards' numbers were few to the point that six scouts in the nine holds left only a handful to keep the fort. Their training was fine enough to cut down the vampires at Forebearers' Holdout; it wasn't their fault they died.

"What happened?" Isran inquired.

Again, Agata collected herself to give that report. "We tracked the vampires had taken the Moth Priest," she explained, "We tracked them to a cave, where they were slain without a single casualty on our end."

The guild leader raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Then how did they die?" he asked.

The poor Nord did her best not to let herself cry. "We should've gotten him out," she continued, "had Skathi not taken us from behind."

Isran's ever-present frown deepened. "It's bad enough the Dragonborn left us to become a vampire," he nearly growled, "Now, she's actively working against us. If you ever spot her again, kill her. Dismissed."

It wasn't any chewing out that broke Agata. She ran from Isran's quarters in tears because it was becoming quite clear she would lose her family. Molag Bal's prophecy was becoming common sense and her superior's orders. The only thing she couldn't justify was the fact they were still sisters. She didn't know who Skathi was, not really; they had been separated for around twelve years. But you can't tell her to look at her sister's face and say that was the face of her enemy.

She ran and hid somewhere she'd never been in the fort's north wing. She found some corner and started crying. When she thought it was over, she just started crying again. So long had it been that she cried in grief. Maybe if she let it all out now, she would get used to the idea of Skathi dead and accept when she took her sister's life. But that inspired more tears, not some solemn resolve.

"Excuse me," a familiar voice asked, "are you alright?"

Agata looked up and saw Sorine. "I'm fine," the poor Nord assured, "I'm fine."

The Breton stood her comrade up to see that this wasn't some abandoned corner of the fort; this was Sorine and Gunmar's workplace. She could see a wooden pen with what sounded like troll bellowing in the background. She had heard Gunmar had a knack for taming whatever he wanted; she just didn't think they meant trolls.

"What are you doing up so late?" Agata asked, "It's hours past nightfall."

They looked surprised. "Wow, they should really have built windows in this place," Gunmar remarked.

Before Agata could agree, she felt a gentle poke at her hand. It was Bran, whining to his partner. He didn't seem like he wanted food. Instead, he was concerned for the tears in Agata's eyes. The poor Nord started petting and scratching the husky, almost reassuring him and herself that things were okay. Not great, good, bad, or terrible; everything was just okay.

"Do you have a moment?" Sorine softly interrupted, "Gunmar and I have been talking and, well, we're slightly worried. We both realized that if Isran's even allowed us in here, he must be really concerned. And if he's that concerned, the situation may be pretty bad. Make sense?"

Agata kept her hand on Bran's head as those who knew their paranoid leader best "You're worried about what we're up against?" she asked.

The Breton nodded. "These vampires are a new threat, and a truly deadly one," she explained, "Gunmar and I agree that we're going to need Florentius to help. Gunmar and I have a lot of work to do here, so we were hoping that maybe you could track him down."

It was good that these two were showing dedication, but "Who is Florentius?" Agata asked.

"He's a priest of Arkay. Well, he was. It's" Sorine sighed, frustrated at trying to explain this, "it's complicated. He's a little eccentric, but we can trust him, and we could definitely use his skills."

An eccentric priest? Either of those things conjured certain ideas in your head, but both was an interesting combination. That didn't mean it was good or bad, but it could be either. To Agata, this felt like they were trying to skirt around the issue of him enjoying the company of men over women. She could be wrong, but that was her working theory.

"Where can I find him?" she asked, sighing at their awkwardness.

Sorine frowned at the noise. "Well, that's the thing," she admitted, "We don't know where he is. Haven't seen him in years. I think he had regular contact with the Vigilants, and I know Isran kept track of them," she shrugged, realizing it seemed ridiculous to ask Isran for a favor he probably didn't want, "So maybe you could ask Isran if he knows anything? Just keep in mind that he, well, he might not like the idea."

"Alright," Agata agreed, "but let me sleep first."

They did and Agata left to the barracks. She found sleep hard, maybe because Bran was laid on her torso, maybe because of the week's events. But she did find the husky's presence a comfort eventually and found what sleep she could with what state she was in.

The Soul Cairn was a strange place beyond Skathi's own imagination. The sands before them were littered with blackened ruins that she couldn't be sure were ever whole. Trees that may never have been alive hunched across the dead plains. The skies were a storm of blue and purple light, the gray cloud descending on the ruins to hide what creature may, as inappropriate as these words may be, alive there.

But there's a difference between what you see and what you feel. Skathi couldn't help but feel uneased. The very air was foul, and she could accuse it without defense for trying to kill her. What skin was exposed to these unknown elements felt aflame and frozen at the same time. The smell all too familiar to Skathi: the open gut of a freshly killed human.

"I'd heard stories about the Soul Cairn," Serana remarked, "but never thought I'd see it myself. So far, it's about what I imagined."

Skathi knew this was an unfamiliar hunting ground, incredibly so. If she were to find her quarry in this strange territory, she would have to know this land better than she could. She would need a guide, and the closest one she had was Serana.

"Do you know anything about this place?" Skathi asked.

"Just what my mother told me," the senior vampire explained, "I've also studied a little bit on my own, but there's not much. When something is trapped in a soul gem, and then the energy is used for powering an enchantment, the remnants are sent here."

"Any soul gem?" the Dragonborn asked.

Soul gems were something Skathi never thought about. They were something hunters brought in with their pelts and fresh meat to sell in her parents' store and sold to whatever mages would pass through town. All she knew personally about the varieties was their costs, and that her parents always brought the guards in when someone tried to sell them a black one. Those, of course, were filled with the souls of people, not animals.

"Well, I think it's specifically the black ones," Serana replied, not soothing Skathi's nerves about this, "I don't know if the Soul Cairn takes just any leftovers."

Skathi looked out on the planes. "Does anything live here?" she asked, fiddling with her knife.

Serana rolled her eyes. "Look at this place," she snarked, "Do you think anything would want to live here? The only things that can survive here are the Ideal Masters, the undead and the souls themselves. Well, if you want to call that 'living.'"

Hardly comforting. "Do you think we'll meet the Ideal Masters?" Skathi wondered.

The vampire shrugged. "I don't think anyone's ever met the Ideal Masters," she doubted, "I'm not even sure anyone knows what they look like. They could be underground, flying above us," she looked toward the crackling sky, "They might be the ground. I have no idea."

"Why are they collecting these souls?" At this point, Skathi just asked to be safe, rather than genuine curiosity. Wait, it was all just to be safe.

"Lots of theories," Serana explained, "Some say they feed on them like I feed on blood. Others think they use them as payment to an even higher power, almost like a currency. A very strange currency. Whatever they're doing with them, they've been harvesting for millennia. No telling how many souls are trapped here."

The change in the vampire's mannerism were subtle enough that Skathi was surprised she noticed them. It wasn't that she was happy to say any of this, but she did seem far more comfortable saying it. It was like talking about such macabre things was just a thing to her. Skathi didn't think of this as a bad thing or that she lack any morality; she was just reminded of her own expositing when she was a child. Not that Serana was a child, but that she was reminiscent of when Skathi had someone to talk to.

"Why would a necromancer want to deal with them?" the Dragonborn asked.

Serana gesticulated to draw attention to the wasteland. "Look around you," the vampire stated, "There are some extremely powerful undead here. Even a necromancer as seasoned as my mother would be willing to spend years trying to gain access to them."

"Summon them you mean?"

The vampire nodded. "Exactly. It's a lost art," she said with a small smile, "Most necromancers just raise up whatever bodies are nearby. A simple trick, really. Child's play. But bringing something from the Soul Cairn gives you something much more powerful."

"How do the necromancers communicate with them?"

"Well, that's usually the trick," Serana continued, "It's possible to do it through a simple portal. But to finalize the deal, you have to travel here yourself, and most of them never come back."

At that point, Skathi was tired of hearing about the topic, despite the simple pleasure it gave Serana to talk about it. She felt she had everything she could possibly know from the vampire about the dangers of this place, along with some irrelevant material. If they were going to move out, there was no point to prolonging their travels.

The first step Skathi took on the Soul Cairn's sands, she was certain it wasn't that. The grains were wrong for it to be that, as well as the color, even in this lighting. At the taste, this was unmistakably bone meal. As macabre as that was, she was glad she didn't eat sand. A small consolation for the horror of this place.

Walking through the narrow path, she was the occupants of the forests. They were black skeletons, aflame, but not burnt. Their flame was blue, but their bone's color was like the void you see when you close your eyes. These creatures were nightmares made fleshless.

Such a cheerful start to their travels in the Soul Cairn, to know those unliving here didn't worry about blankets.

To begin with, Ravani felt like shit. Completely. She didn't subscribe to the Dunmeri pantheon or any other god, so she supposed if she opened her eyes, there would be some horrible plane of Oblivion some Daedric Prince decided to whisk her to. Or she was just in Aetherius, like most every mortal upon death. That would explain why she felt like shit; the Divine suddenly gave one about her.

When she opened her eyes, she was laying under a starless sky. She felt a snow underneath her and the smell of horker and rotting dead horse filled the air. Her first thought was that she was just that unlucky to end up in the one plane of Oblivion that was exactly like Skyrim to await the ending of all things. Or she was still alive. That was far less terrifying, all things considered.

The revelation that she may still be alive made her shoot up, even though she still felt like shit. Her misguided efforts were halted by a hand to her arm keeping her still. Ravani looked to the source of the hand and found a hooded Dunmer in leathers with violet eyes. Every Dunmer Ravani had ever met had red or pitch-black eyes, not violet. And it was a genetic trait that did this; it was a curse across their race. Who was this?

"Easy, easy," the violet-eyed Dunmer begged, "Don't get up so quickly. How are you feeling?"

It took a moment to recognize her voice, but when it did, Ravani's distrust was instant. "Hold on," she remarked, "you shot me!"

"No, I saved your life," Karliah was quick to say, "My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Perhaps that was true. Though even if the arrow didn't kill her, Mercer would. "Why save me?" Ravani questioned.

"My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer," Karliah explained, "but I never had a clear shot. I made a split-second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death."

The idea of that was pretty stupid. "You should have shot Mercer instead," Ravani snarked. If she wanted to take out Mercer, don't waste the special arrow on the unimportant one.

"I promise you, the thought crossed my mind," the archer retorted, "The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for a single shot. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive."

More stupidity. "Why capture Mercer alive?" Ravani questioned. If he were a murderer and opportunist to the guild's woes, surely killing him would be the most efficient way to deal with him.

"Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he's done," Karliah claimed, "He needs to pay for Gallus's murder."

Undoubtably, Karliah's moral fiber was different from most thieves, and dumber. She believed that under pressure of his peers, he would confess. The naivety would be funny if it wasn't such a serious issue. Did she really not consider Mercer wouldn't lie? How did this moron survive as a thief, let alone on the run for decades?

"How will you prove it now?" Ravani asked with no small amount of snark.

Karliah surely noticed that. "My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn't simply for irony's sake," she stated, "Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus's remains. I suspect the information we need is written inside." She took out an old book with a strange symbol on it.

A book of that age, if it hadn't gone moldy, would prove much more than the word of a liar. "Well, what's it say?"

Karliah hid her lips in embarrassment. "I wish I knew," she admitted, "The journal is written in some sort of language I've never seen before."

Ravani herself checked the book to see if she knew it. She knew a bit of ancient Nord and a few Elven words, so maybe she'd be able to identify it. Sure enough, she overestimated her ability. It wasn't even in the same written text as any language she'd seen. She tried to see if she remembered something, but it was about as unintelligible as Old Hag Manse.

"Perhaps it could be translated," Ravani suggested. She had no clue who would even be able to read this.

"Enthir," Karliah noted, "Gallus's friend at the College of Winterhold. Of course," she paused, as though she had gone through revelation, "he's the only outsider Gallus trusted with the knowledge of his Nightingale identity."

"There's that word again, 'Nightingale,'" Ravani snapped. They kept throwing that word around, but she was certain they weren't birds and the Nightingale thieves didn't actually exist.

Karliah sighed. "There were three of us," she stated, "Myself, Gallus, and Mercer. We were an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild in Riften."

Ravani didn't want to believe it. The Nightingales had to be a myth. The gods didn't care what anyone did day to day; only if they could advance their own agendas would they descend about Tamriel. To think even the Night Mistress would even care about such thieves was unbelievable. No god cared that much, not for thieves.

"Perhaps I'll tell you more about it later," Karliah continued, perhaps noticing Ravani's incredulity, "Right now, you need to head for Winterhold with the journal and get the translation. Here, take these as well, they may prove useful for your journey."

The veteran thief handed her kinswoman a few vials. Poisons. One Ravani could identify as one that would bring a cold and drowsy haze upon its victim. Another was a simple poison, but incredibly weak from the size of it. The last would disrupt one's magicka enough to hinder their use of spells. They were fine poisons, and Ravani believed her fellow Dunmer would carry them, but there was one more thing she wanted to ask.

"Why are your eyes violet?"

Karliah looked embarrassed by the question. "I don't know," she admitted, "They've been that way for as long as I remember. My mother had red eyes, definitely not my father. Everyone talked about them, but I could never answer why. I just don't know."

That was fair. A lack of knowledge isn't something to blame on anyone, but it was still pretty significant. The only Dunmer she ever met who didn't have red eyes and pitch-black eyes, and the only one who didn't have either of those were blind. How this could happen was something Ravani wanted to know, if only because that might mean the curse was being lifted. The sooner the better, in her opinion.

Ravani went looking for where she left her horse, knowing not tying it down was foolish. However, she didn't expect it to be dead. Mercer likely killed it.

"Faen!" Ravani gasped.

That caught the attention of Karliah, who was headed for the road. "Sorry for your loss," she remarked, "Mercer took the same measure as he did with mine."

Ravani cursed Mercer Frey's name. Did he know how hard it was to save up for a horse just to call it the ancient Nord word for "fuck"? He would pay with his life for this!