Chapter 29: The Path of the Lost

Yrith walked slowly, cautiously, over the rustling floor. In a way, it reminded her of the autumn grass, yellowed and crumbling on its ends. She took in the air, but it smelled nothing like Urag's cozy Arcanaeum. Its scent was heavy, not foul, but not pleasant either, sweet and lingering. Inviting. The scent of hidden secrets, both wonderful and terrifying.

Stepping out of the first bridge, she eyed the nearest column of books for a moment, wondering if she was allowed to touch. The moment her hand reached out for the topmost tome, Yrith heard a rumble. She froze, turning after the sound. The path leading onward, away from the platform where she now stood, had shrunk. She pulled her hand back, letting out a deep sigh. So this realm was built upon choices. Following her temptations was not an option.

Hesitantly, she took a step forward. An eerie feeling overcame her as she approached the pond in the middle of the platform. Something was lurking inside. She felt a presence, something strong, an aura of imminence seeping from the dark water. She took a step away from its edge, treading lightly around the perimeter. Her body, or whatever vessel it was that she steered in this world, felt stiff, her breath hardly there. The pond slowly passed, as if she was not moving, but it was the world that moved instead. Then, it was behind her. And just as she was about to step on the next bridge, something shot from the pond and wrapped tightly around her chest.

Her knees hit the pages underneath her with a painful thud. Her hands sprang up and gripped the thing, trying to free her from its grip. It was smooth and oozy, filling her with cold upon the touch. The more she tried to tear it off, the more its hold on her tightened. The image before her eyes twisted and faded behind a palette of colors. She gasped for air. A voice sounded within her, reverberating through her every bone.

A wanderer strays into my realm. How quaint. You do enjoy consorting with beings of power, do you not, Yrith Ravencroft? Or Zulvahzen, is it now? The One Who Speaks True.

Yrith fought for her breath, wheezing as the pressure on her chest increased. Then, it let go, sending her to the ground. Panting, she vaguely registered a thick tentacle, dark as the water it had come from, reflecting the greenish haze around, as it receded back into its pond.

She lay on the ground, feeling too weak to stand up, simply letting the air in and out. Red marks covered her hands where they had made contact with the creature, as though it had burned her. She wanted to speak to it. To ask how it knew her name. But she was too afraid of its touch. Too afraid of its cold grip that took her breath away.

The pond went still. She watched it out of the corner of her eye. Then, she rose, slowly, keeping her magic ready just past her fingertips lest the oozy tip of the tentacle came at her again. The surface of the water was dark and smooth like a mirror. She put a foot forward. Silence followed, filled only with the ever-present rustle of the pages. The other foot followed. Nothing.

Yrith walked sideways, trying to keep her eyes on both sides. Only when she was halfway through the next bridge did she turn to face fully what was ahead. Still, she attempted to send her magic out to see what was around.

The impact made her stagger, until she nearly fell off the bridge, into the depths of the ocean below. She gasped, clutching the ornate banister. The power guarding this place mingled with the magic, filling her mind with a presence so intense she felt like bursting and imploding at once. She groaned, forcing the being out, her eyes nearly closed and teeth gritted too strong. The presence glided away, leaving a strange feeling behind itself, like the quiver of the air left after the flutter of a butterfly. Yrith had no doubt that it had left her willingly, playing with her, caressing her hair through the ghostly green haze. No, perhaps it never left. Perhaps it simply turned its attention elsewhere. She covered her mouth. Whatever it was, it pervaded the place, filled every corner of it, scented the air. Whatever it was, it was not only outside of her, but inside as well. She was walking on it. It tingled on her skin. She was breathing it.

She felt her body tremble as she stepped further. The bridge took her to a fork, each way leading upward, to a different platform. She scanned them thoroughly. The one in the center was empty, connected to other platforms by a set of bridges with columns of books arching over them, forming gates of sorts. The one on the left held another pond where Yrith suspected another tentacle creature. The one on the right held a stone altar, a simple tablet with the Oblivion symbol, illuminated by sparkling vapors wafting around it. And near the altar stood the strangest being Yrith had ever seen.

It floated, though erect, with its hands gripping a book. Tentacles like those of an octopus grew from all over its body, shielding what seemed to be tattered remains of a cloak. Its face was reminiscent of a giant hard-shelled insect with feelers as tiny as her fingers. Its belly was open as if the creature did not use its mouth to devour, but rather the carnivorous-plant-looking pit leading directly into its stomach. Yrith stared at it, half fearful, half amazed. The creature moved from one side of the platform to another, but it paid her no heed. Yrith took a tentative step back, then toward the middle bridge. The creature let out a deep sigh, turning a page in its book. Its strange, worm-like eyes did not move away from the text.

Yrith stepped onto the bridge. Nothing happened. She proceeded to the platform, gaining confidence as the creature simply floated in its place, too absorbed in its book to notice a possible intruder. As Yrith finally stepped on the next platform, she let out a breath. And the platform dissolved under her.

She cried out, grabbing the edge of the bridge in the last moment. Her hands glowed with magic, but the blue stream stayed clear of the bridge, repelled by its surface. Yrith sighed. Her fingers felt slippery and stiff, but she forced her muscles to work, moving hand over hand, slowly making her way to the banister. She would have sworn her weight had increased in this realm, feeling every ounce of it pulling her down into the depths of the liquid blackness below. Twisting her face, she forced herself to look up and seek the ornate fencing, focusing on it with all her might. It seemed to her as though the closest pole moved, as if testing her will to survive. She huffed. This was all in her mind, but she had to thank the Dragonborn for his training nonetheless. It gave her direction.

After what felt like eternity, she finally reached the construction, grabbing the pole. She could barely feel her hands. For a moment, she just hung there, taking deep breaths, begging her body to hold on. Then, she drew herself up and hauled her body over the edge with a powerful swing. The dents left after the collapse ploughed painful lines in her stomach. But she was up now, sitting on the bridge, leaning wearily against the banister. She wished she could fall asleep, but now she knew that every moment of inattention could prove fatal in this place.

When she caught her breath at last, she dared a look where the platform had once been. A view of a great complex opened before her, almost beautiful in its asymmetry. The ornate fences were rather walls of tangled metal tendrils, tall like castles, lining the edges of numerous platforms and bridges. Many creatures similar to the one she had seen near the altar roamed the place, adjusting books in piles and stacks, at times returning pages into the tomes. Every time the librarians passed one of the many ponds, the water rippled, sometimes revealing a smooth tip of a tentacle, sometimes surrounding a small altar dominated by a flower bud of pure light, golden or blue.

Yrith scrambled to her feet, pondering if she should be happy that her access had been blocked. Her eyes slid to the water below where the fallen platform had sunk, then to the bridge connecting it with the complex... but the bridge was not there. It had not crumbled, Yrith was sure. She had not seen it fall, and the edge of the next platform was smooth, lined with the same ornate wall as the rest, as though the bridge had never been there. A different part now led to a bridge, connecting it with the platform on Yrith's left. The one where the pond was. The one she had avoided before.

She stared at the construction, her mind blank momentarily. The place toyed with her, twisting, changing unpredictably, letting her pass when she would not expect it, creating obstacles where there were to be free passages. Again, the choice she had been given was false. There had never been a choice in the first place. Following that logic, the only path that made sense to take was...

Her eyes found the silent librarian standing by the altar on the right-hand platform. The creature still floated back and forth, keeping its eyes fixed on the book, as though the world around it was nonexistent. Which, as Yrith thought about it, might have been quite true.

She walked back to the fork. Up on its platform, the creature looked menacing. Even if Yrith stood next to it, it would likely be three times taller than her. Hesitantly, she stepped on the bridge to the platform. The creature did not seem hostile, but she would not bet on it. She did not trust anything anymore. Her hands clenched into fists, tingling with magicka. It was the only thing she had now. She prayed it would save her if the creature decided to attack.

Slowly, she climbed the bridge, watching the creature with every step she took. It still read, seemingly undisturbed by her presence. Or, perhaps, unaware of it. Yrith stepped carefully over the pages, trying her hardest to stifle the rustle under her feet. But the more she tried, the more the pages whispered, as if they had a voice of their own, trying to warn the creature of an intruder. And when Yrith stepped on the platform, the creature froze suddenly, turning away from the book for the first time. For a moment, its eyes met with Yrith's.

Then, it lunged.

Yrith staggered, warding herself with magic, but the creature did not seem to mind. It sent her falling until she felt her back hit the floor, hard despite the layers of crumpling paper. The ward crackled, battling the magic of the place. The creature pressed on it, forcing it to touch Yrith's face. A thin line of lightning in the shield made her drop it before it could reach her skin. The creature touched her. The world turned upside down and lost all color before darkening entirely. Yrith rattled, catching her breath. The creature did not just hold her body. It held her mind. And Yrith saw... thoughts. Memories. Not of a creature of the dark, trapped in a land with nothing but aeons of knowledge and a labyrinth of secrets, but those of a person that had once been human.

She had never been to the place she had now entered, but she knew its smell. Dust filled the innumerable aisles, making the beams of sunlight coming through the windows seem like showers of golden glitter. She, or he, was sitting at a desk, staring at the pages of a thick tome, filled with gruesome images of human intestines in various stages of some unknown disease. He shook his head, turning and turning. Perhaps his search would never bear fruit. Perhaps he was wrong to dream. But he could not give up. He could not let the reality continue. Not if it would take his greatest treasure.

Wearily, he sighed, ready to put the book away. But then, something caught his eye. An inscription, a single line of writing at the bottom of the last page, nearly imperceptible under the many lines of original text. A reference. A cure.

Quickly, he jumped from his seat, rushing to the section to which the note pointed. And there, he found a book like none he had ever seen. Its cover was pitch-black, its texture almost as if it had been burnt. It bore a strange, tangled ornament with no inscription. He opened it. The world shifted and twisted, light turning into darkness, darkness into light again. And there he stood, in the world full of secrets where every piece of knowledge ever known had been gathered. He would find it. He was certain.

The scene changed. He was now watching a baby, sleeping quietly for now in her crib. The little girl's skin was ashen grey, even if she was not a Dunmer, marred by dark stains stretching from the corners of her mouth to her neck and ears. He watched her quietly, touching the tiny hand that lay clenched loosely on the little one's belly. She was so small. Too small for her age. His little treasure. She did not deserve her fate. But he knew now what he had to do. He had found it at last. He would save her, give her the life she was meant to have. He took her fingers in his own, caressing them gently. Soon.

He had finally done it. His little girl, healthy now, with cheeks rosy and limbs as restless as could be, was crying as she should. At last, she had the life... but at what price? How could he ever think that he could gain the life for her for free? A life could only be paid with another life...

He stared at the figure lying at the feet of the crib. Her hair, red as the setting sun, spread around her like a stretching web of blood vessels. Her face, once beautiful and vivid with a gentle smile, was now empty, lifeless, her skin the same ashen color his own baby had been born with. He fell to his knees, brushing a finger against her paper skin. His tears fell into her open eyes. She did not move. She would never move again... why? Did he want too much from life? Was a wife and a child too much to ask for? Why did life punish him so?

He gritted his teeth, groping for the cursed book. No, he would not let it end like this. He would not accept it. He would bring her back, she would live. The ancient library held every secret in the world. For sure, it would hold the answer to his question. It would give him all he needed... if only he searched long enough. With newly found determination, he opened the book again.

The great library opened before him once more, with its piles of books stacked into pillars and arches, the sweet scent of knowledge that only this place could offer, inviting him inside, further into its bowels. He took in the air and touched the first book, too thirsty for knowledge to care about anything else. The world around him faded. The only thing that mattered now were the lines of text. He would search and search, stay here forever, until he found the key to his dream. After all, time was of little importance here. Time was endless...

He searched and searched. He read and read more. Lost in the incessant tomes and lines, he cared little for the itching of his skin and all the feelings that had overcome him. The hunger. The pain. The exhaustion. They were only illusion.

His skin had adopted greenish tones, somewhat lustrous. Ah, but surely it was just his sweat reflecting the strange light of this place. Just like the thick tendrils growing from his head could only be his hair, glued together and hardened after too much time spent here. Nothing mattered. Only the books did. Only the knowledge did. And he would search on. Perhaps he could not remember what he searched for... but he would remember once he found it. For sure...

But he was tired. So tired. He had forgotten time and lost the way out. Now, the only option was to keep searching. To take book after book and immerse, to lose track so that he would forget his despair. He was so alone... words were his only companions. The only thing to sate him, even if they were just words and no more. They had lost all meaning. He did not need it anymore. His place was here, he knew it now. It had always been here. He should have known. For he was meant to watch over it, to protect it... he would protect it. The sacred knowledge and the place itself. No intruder would ever take it. He would crush them all. Just like the little stray who dared disturb his research. He would destroy her, grind her mind to dust, make her a slave of this place. Just like himself.

Yrith felt the brunt of his weight on her body. He would crush her, strangle her. She tried to leap back, but he held her too tight. His tentacles wrapped tightly around her head, filling her with thoughts that were not her own. Protect... she too had to stay and protect...

She gasped, her whole body glowing bright blue with magicka. No, she could not give in. She did not belong here. Her place was elsewhere. This was but another of the many challenges on her way, meant to test her, to slow her down. She had come with a goal. She would not lose it now.

With brute force, she grabbed a tentacle and pressed. The creature recoiled, only to attack with double the ferocity. Thousands of needles pricked her head and assaulted her mind. Her focus shattered, her vision broke into a vast field of colorful distortion. She fought for her breath, blinking to regain her sight. He was still looming above her, so close. And then, she became him, pressing her own body to the ground... but the person he held was a dark-eyed, red-haired woman, staring at him in accusation. The mother of his child, still beautiful in her death. He stared at her, faltering. Her face was twisted in rage. The look was too painful for him to bear, stabbing him like a knife of ice.

"You killed me," she said quietly. Tears came down over her temples in streaks, falling with soundless splashes into the fan of her hair. "You never really cared."

He hesitated, his grip loosening for the briefest of moments. She was so dear to him. She would be so dear to her... to their child... he needed her...

She needed her. Yrith needed her. She knew this woman. Her hair was not red, but raven, just like her own. A mirror image of herself, if only she were a few years older and a touch more beautiful. Still a mother, but her own. A beloved mother she had lost.

"You killed me," she repeated. "Why did you do that, Yrith?"

Yrith opened her mouth, but no words came out. She stared at the person before her, pinned to the ground under her grip. Why had she killed her? How could she? It was a moment of weakness. Her own damned weakness, a punishment for the desire she should have never harbored. The knife stabbing her chest was not ice-cold, but white hot now, burning like the fire that had taken the dear mother. Like the fire of the atronach she had summoned, out of the plain, silly feeling that had clouded her senses. If only she could have stopped it in time. She had never meant to harm them. She had never wanted them to die. And now, the only thing left in her was...

Anger. Not regret, but anger at the one who had done this to her. To them. She should not be the one to pay. He should. She had done nothing. Her mother must know...

"I didn't," Yrith said slowly, loosening the grip. Her own words felt soothing, filling her with unexpected strength. "I never killed you! It wasn't me!"

She withdrew her hands, propping herself against the ground. She was shaking but certain now that her words would reach their target. Singird had told her. Her mother had told her herself. She had done nothing. She had trust in herself.

Her mother closed her eyes, then opened them again, her face now peaceful. She raised a hand to touch Yrith's cheek.

"You've grown so much," she whispered, giving a gentle smile. "You've become so strong."

Yrith felt stinging hotness in her eyes. She touched the hand with her own. It felt warm, a home she missed so sorely.

"Maman..."

The mother shook her head, stroking Yrith's face. "Go now. You have things to do."

Yrith clutched the hand firmly, wishing for the time to freeze. "But... there's so much I have to say... so much I have to know!"

The hand slipped out of her grasp, her mother still smiling. Yrith felt warmth in her chest, the warmth she had so craved when this person was still around. She did not want to let go. She had waited so long for this moment.

"Do not forget yourself, Yrith," her mother said with a tone of urgency. "Do not give in to the temptations of this place. I'm but a shadow in your heart. I am what you kept of me. I have no answers for you. You must go. I can't hold him off forever."

"Him..."

Yrith gasped, blinking her eyes. The image disappeared, replaced by the acutely suffocating reality. She was lying on the ground, one tendril around her neck, others holding her limbs. From within their roots, she could see the remnants of the face that had once dominated this body. The man from her visions, a father, a husband, too broken to let go. A seeker of knowledge that was beyond his grasp.

"S-stop..." she wheezed through the tiny slit left in her throat, fighting tears, fighting the image that forced itself before her eyes. "This is... not who you are..."

He growled, shaking her as though she was a mere rag doll. She rattled and coughed, but still, she looked at him firmly, glowing with magic, sending it onward, to him, searching for his mind.

"She went to rest," she said, both aloud and in her mind. She could not be sure if she was talking to him, or herself. But she continued, repeating her mother's last words to herself. "So let go... you can let go. Remember who you are. Your search... is over."

The man-creature froze. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip, the tentacles hanging limply from his head.

"But..."

His voice was gurgly, high-pitched, unused for years. Perhaps not meant for speaking anymore. She could see his struggle, both mental and physical. He hesitated, then tried again, letting out a few rattling sounds. Every bit of effort brought new sound. And then, he spoke with newly found strength, his voice still inhuman, but true.

"But... where will I go?"

Yrith looked at his trembling figure, feeling a sting of affection. He had loved too much. Too deeply to be understood, too strongly to have the strength to live. He had been hurt and betrayed. And still full of longing. This soul needed rest. She gave a weak smile.

"On," she said.

He kept looking at her, a lone tendril caressing her face. She closed her eyes momentarily, now feeling safe enough to do so. When she opened them again, he was smiling. A crooked, horrendous face was looking at her, but she could feel its peace, just like she had felt it from her mother.

"Thank you." He lowered his head in deference, extending a slime-covered hand. Yrith took it, letting him pull her on her feet. They watched each other for a moment, until Yrith knew it was time. She looked at him encouragingly.

"Safe journey," she said. He nodded.

"And to you. I have nothing to give, but perhaps this will help you find your way. The master of this place has a weakness."

She looked at him in question. He waved to the platforms down below, and to the number of other creatures like him, roaming the library, arranging books, or quietly sifting through their pages.

"You have retrieved my memory. My feelings, everything that was mine. You have retrieved them... from myself. They had never left me. He cannot touch what is not his."

She stared at the creatures, wondering what life lay locked deep in their minds. They were all people. People who had lost their way, just like him.

"Thank you," she nodded.

He still smiled that crooked smile. And then, with his last sigh, he plunged himself down, into the dark waters. Yrith watched him fall, his tentacles flying loosely about him, until they were gone, leaving him human again. He looked into her eyes once more, his face at peace. As he touched the surface of the black sea, he closed his eyes. The body sank, leaving behind a circle of greenish ripples. Yrith knew at that moment that he was not there anymore.

She kept watching, until the last ripple had gone off to the horizon. Then she turned to the platforms below, expecting a bridge to form before her and open the way onward. But there was no bridge. Instead, a different creature was staring at her, with countless eyes watching her from amidst a tangled knot of darkness. Her eyes widened, but she did not back away. She knew who he was. Even if she ran faster than the wind, she could not escape him in this realm. She felt herself tremble, her tired mind wishing for a moment of leisure. But now was not the time. She had to stand her ground.

She straightened her back, taking a breath. She would not show him weakness.

As if responding to her reaction, he spoke.

"It seems I have invited myself a dangerous guest." Yrith could not tell if the voice was in her head, or outside of it. Perhaps it made no difference here. When it came, she felt ages of both wisdom and foolishness weigh on her shoulders. This person... being, was old as time itself. And yet, she knew he felt young, or, rather, timeless. As though he had seen nothing, with those eyes wanting to see more. Perhaps he was not wrong in a sense. Perhaps she was not wrong either.

"You are Hermaeus Mora," she stated the obvious. It was not a question. She felt him chuckle.

"Brilliant observation. And you are the one they call Zulvahzen, The One Who Speaks True. But you have many more names, Yrith Ravencroft. Many that you have forgotten. Many you do not yet realize."

She gave him a long, questioning look. A few of his eyes blinked lazily. She was sure they did it just for effect. All his appearance was just for effect. He could take on whatever form he wanted. Yet this, shapeless and menacing, was what he chose.

"And you know them?"

He laughed. "Clever question. Most people would ask what those names are, but not you. Although, I do not think I need to answer. You know it already."

She knew. She did not need to nod. He would feel her answer anyway.

"Why have you appeared?" she asked instead. "I thought you wouldn't."

"Indeed. But that makes two of us. You did something unforeseen. I do not like it. Not even the Dragonborn could deprive me of my seekers. And yet, you walk free in this land of mine."

Yrith's look hardened. The seeker had not been his, and he knew it. But perhaps this was his reason. She reminded him of it. Deep inside, the seekers were still their own masters. She could not help but smile, even as she asked the most ridiculous question she could think of.

"Are you going to kill me then?"

She felt no fear. After all, if the seeker's words were right, he could not kill her unless she herself consented to it.

"Now, let's not be too hasty. What good would killing you do me, Yrith Ravencroft? No. If I wished to kill you, you would have long been dead. But you are more valuable to me alive, and you know it. You possess, or will possess, in your way of speaking, something I want. Let us make a bargain. I will show you the way to whom you seek, for he is not in this realm, as you and the Dragonborn thought. For that, you will give me what you're after. As you mortals like to say, it is nice and simple. A good deal."

"He is not here? Then where is he?"

"Good try," he purred, "but all at the right time. First, you will give me your answer."

Yrith's eyes narrowed. The Dragonborn had warned her. Hermaeus Mora was someone capable of trapping a person for eternity if it served his purpose. Surely this good deal he spoke of would not come without a twist. She took a moment to consider his words. He could trap her on her way to Septimus Signus, but that would not help him. He would not have to bother with talking to her at all. Then he had something else in store for her. Just how was she supposed to reason with him?

He cannot touch what is not his...

So unless she agreed, he could do nothing. She took a breath.

"What is it that you want?" she asked, looking straight into his many eyes. He quivered, chuckling.

"Why nothing spectacular. Surely you expect me to ask for your power, but I do not need it. There is enough power in knowing. What I desire is simple knowledge. Something that is out of my grasp. Something that you are painfully keen on retrieving."

"The Elder Scroll?" Yrith asked, one brow quirked. He twirled, if she could call it that, his many eyes blinking.

"A trifle thing, the Elder Scroll. I am the Master of Fate and Time, Elder Scrolls mean little to me."

He was lying, she was certain of it. But perhaps that was unimportant. She could care less about how he felt about Elder Scrolls. She must not be distracted.

"Then what?"

"I want nothing but a single word. The name. The name, spoken in its true form, in the Tongue of the Old. That is my price."

Yrith stared into his many eyes, slowly drifting from one to another. He wanted the Demon's name? The name lost in time? What would such knowledge bring him?

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. She could not rush her decision. A good deal it seemed, but surely there had to be a catch. What would she give him? Would command over the Demon mean so much to the already powerful Daedric Prince? Or would she give something else? Would it mean she would lose possession of it? If only the Dragonborn was here to advise her. But she had no doubt that this was Mora's plan. A plan she had to crush.

"I will only give it to you," she said thoughtfully, "if I get to decide the exact time and way and no one else is involved without my consent."

The bundle of darkness now shook as Hermaeus Mora laughed, all his eyes bouncing up and down. He sure put a lot of effort into making his appearance seem real.

"Are you sure, Zulvahzen," Yrith felt the name resonate within her, "that you can afford to make such demands? You are standing in my realm."

"That depends," she shrugged with as much nonchalance as she could. "This is my mind. And you can, of course, leave me to my devices, but then there will be no one to fetch the name for you."

He fell silent. Yrith fought her own doubt, still feeling the touch of the cold tendrils from the pond on her. Perhaps he could not touch what was not his, but he could still cause her damage. She waited for what felt like all the time in the world, pondering if he was truly thinking, or if making her wait gave him an upper hand. She stood still, watching him intently until, at last, he spoke.

"You are indeed The One Who Speaks True. So here is my proposal. I show you the path. You will give the name to me on your conditions, but if you die before that, it will fall in my possession."

Yrith smiled. That was more like it. So he intended to kill her before she would be able to set her conditions. How smart he thought himself to be. A cheap trick with just as cheap a solution.

"Fair enough," she nodded.

"Then I believe all is settled. Now, you would like to find your sage, would you? I believe you already have all that you need, but let me just give you a hint. It is true that Septimus pledged his soul to me. But he was unfit for this realm, as are many who seek my knowledge for too long. I do not thrive in lunacy. But if you are to enter the land of madness, you must learn to think like its master. Your only obstacle is yourself. Choose the path that is the least logical, yet most at hand."

Yrith waited for him to continue, but he spoke no more. She frowned, scrutinizing his uneven, many-eyed form.

"That's all? You told me you'd show me the way."

He laughed again. "I just did. For all your cleverness, your ears are surprisingly clogged. Oblivion is not your world. There are no paths to walk or road signs to follow. By now, you should know. But very well. Let me give you one more hint. You are searching for the Shivering Isles. Remember that."

Her frown deepened. Of course she knew what the Mad Prince's realm was called. What good would that knowledge be? But there was no point in arguing. She had attempted to turn their deal in her favor. Of course he would do the same.

She nodded, hinting a curtsy.

"I will," she said. "Thank you."

"Your eyes do not speak of understanding. Let us hope for your timely enlightenment then. Farewell, mortal child. We will see each other again."

With a soundless twirl, Hermaeus Mora disappeared from Yrith's sight. She knew he was still present in every inch of this world. He would enjoy watching her struggle until she left it, or even after that. She took a breath. Still, she was on her own.

She looked around, scanning the place inch after inch. Now she had to find her path, but what was least logical and most at hand if she wanted to leave Apocrypha? Reading books seemed the least logical, but she was sure that was not it. She could not even touch them without the place reforming itself, imprisoning her where she was. Unless it would reform into the Shivering Isles. But no, when she thought about it, it seemed perhaps too logical.

Delving into the minds of the seekers was illogical, but not at hand. She watched them as they roamed the place, lost in eternal search for knowledge. Then what? Continuing her journey as she had until now? No, that was too logical as well. But perhaps...

She turned around, facing the way back. With little hesitation, she began to walk, soon finding her way across the bridge, to the platform with a pond. She circled it with caution, watching its surface. It remained still, no tentacle claiming her this time. The master of the place had retreated to silence.

She walked on, through the archways of books and bridges connecting the platforms, until she stood back where she had appeared. The platform was circular, with nothing to remind her of her journey. There was no portal, no sign that this place should be connected to some other realm. Not even a field of magic. Nothing she could hold onto and follow. Perhaps that would also be too logical.

So what was she supposed to do? Kill herself? No, as much as it sounded illogical, ridiculous even, she could not see it as the thing most at hand. If anything, she would end in the service of Hermaeus Mora forever, now owned by him for real. The thought made her shudder. But then what was the answer?

She paced across the platforms and bridges again, eyes defocused, mind searching for possibilities, forcing her weary mind to work. But surely any possibility she would have to search for could not be considered at hand. What was it that Mora had told her?

"Your only obstacle is yourself."

But of course, she knew that. She knew it all, and he had made a fool out of her. How was she supposed to figure it out? She had always hated vagueness. Textbooks were so full of it, all those tomes written by people who had thought themselves smart and above ordinary folk's standards. Of course he did too. He was an immortal Daedric Prince, after all, while she was just a measly human coming for a visit. Still, a human he was at least willing to commune with.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Become like Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness. What would she have to do to achieve that?

"You are searching for the Shivering Isles. Remember that."

She propped herself against a banister, watching the horizon fading in the greenish haze. It was not like the isles would just pop out of that black liquid all of a sudden...

Or was it?

She blinked. They were isles after all. They would be in the middle of the sea. But taking that leap seemed too far-fetched for her own good. She had no guarantee the liquid would not dissolve her, or that it would be swimmable at all. What if she had been fooled?

She stared into the depths below. The liquid showed nothing of what was underneath, only the vast expanse of blackness glittering in ghostly green. Jumping in would just be pure...

"Madness..." she voiced aloud, rolling the word on her tongue. She shuddered, remembering the seeker she had freed. His soul left the moment he touched the surface. Several times she closed her eyes and opened them again, trying to picture all the possible scenarios. But the truth was, she knew nothing of what would happen. She could only guess.

Time passed as she stood there, pondering. She was truly her own obstacle. If she could make sure she would survive... but not even her magic worked as expected here. She had to rely on Herma-Mora's advice. After all, there was no other way she could leave anymore. Unless she somehow willed herself out. She was not sure it would be so easy.

And so, after an undefinably long while of contemplations, she gripped the banister, swinging one leg over it, then another. Mora needed her. He would not let her die just yet... she had to be brave. Daring. Unlike the Yrith of the real world.

She took a breath, then another. Before she could take the third, she pushed herself off with all her might.

A/N: This chapter is probably the hardest one I've ever written, for various reasons. I do hope I did a good job and managed to edit out all the ambiguities so that it is readable. Feedback is much welcome!

It was also supposed to be longer, but I decided to split it and move the Shivering Isles part into the next chapter. As such, I also had to rename it – so there will not be two "Path" chapters, but three. The previous one was called "The Path of the Blind", this one was supposed to be called "The Path of the Mad", but since there are no Shivering Isles, I've decided that the name doesn't quite fit. So next time, you may look forward to the real Path of the Mad. :)