Saarthal had long been spoken of as a city for the dead. And that could not have been more true, judging by the coffins and urns that lined the depths of the ruins.
The further they journeyed into Saarthal, the more apparent it was that it had once been a grand city. Small buildings and rooms were erected within chambers, some of which were left to rot under the influence of time.
And yet more and more of the dead were given their resting places here, often in unusual circumstances. Some had been laid to rest against walls, cramped up together in shared coffins. Urns of every size and design were placed in cluttered, messy rows on a rotting shelf. A few had even fallen, leaving nothing more than ash and broken pottery.
The dead even rested in coffins that hung from the ceiling. Onmund felt ice run through his veins as he glanced up; it looked as though the bodies of those that once resided in the ruins were being lifted to Sovngarde. Not even Alrek and Tolfdir could tear their eyes away from the sight, both macabre and majestic.
"This is incredible!" Tolfdir craned his neck every which way to study his surroundings.
"Incredibly morbid. Where do we go from here?" Alrek added.
Onmund mused aloud, "It looks like the trail ends here."
"Perhaps that's all there is to this ruin. Strange that it would end so abruptly." Tolfdir walked over to an inscribed wall. Calloused, weathered fingers delicately traced the runes and inscriptions, brows furrowing in concentration, no doubt trying to discern their meaning, now lost to time.
Alrek let his footsteps guide him aimlessly through the circular room. The walls had been engraved with runes so old they may as well have come from another world altogether. A few objects of note were displayed next to the grounded coffins, though what meaning or importance they once held, he couldn't imagine.
"I always found it a curious thing in these Nordic barrows, the dead are so often kept in a peculiar fashion," Alrek commented.
"How's that, lad?" Tolfdir still hadn't taken his eyes off the engravings.
"In most crypts across Tamriel, the dead are kept together in a large room. It would make it easier for those tending to the grounds to care for the bodies." Alrek walked up to a coffin, still sealed. "Yet many Nordic barrows line the halls with the dead, like guardians."
Tolfdir shrugged. "We are warned away from barrows, old ones especially, because of draugr."
"And that's the peculiar thing — I know the dead so often walk in crypts and barrows, but who counts for it ahead of time? Aunt Margerie coming back to life isn't something anyone plans for, and yet the Nords seem to almost expect their ancestors to one day roam these halls."
"That isn't always the case," Onmund corrected. "Spirits can be disturbed. Maybe a robber broke in or a critter knocked something off a shelf."
Alrek put a hand to a coffin's seal in demonstration and allowed a spark of magic to burst forth on his palms. A gentle glow washed over the coffin, before it disappeared in a wavy mist. He turned back to Onmund. "This place reeks of magic. Older than anything I've dealt with."
Onmund touched the amulet around his neck absent-mindedly. "What do you think it could be? Is it not a resting place?"
"Saarthal is a resting place, unmistakably, but there's…something else to this ruin. Something different."
"It feels wrong."
"Quite right, how far does this ruin even go?"
"Only the first entry of Saarthal has really been studied," Tolfdir said. "I don't think very many researchers have been able to come as far as we have."
"Why not?" Onmund asked.
"For one, the wards are hard to disarm. Alrek and Camille having the ah, gifts that they have allowed to travel further than we've been able to before. And if the magic here responds to our language, well… Onmund, my lad, we haven't had a Nord apprentice on an excavation like this in so long."
He didn't want to think of it as some coincidence. Most Nords didn't. Things happened because of fate or the Divines or meddling by the Daedra, but coincidences?
Onmund was beginning to wonder why he had been summoned then, to the College. To this place. He wondered if it was something greater he was meant to answer.
He wondered if that meant anything now that he had come face-to-face with a wall adorned with levers and chains.
"Look at all these," he said, pointing at them. "What are these even for?"
"Doors and traps, it looks like," offered Alrek, sidling up beside him.
"But for what?"
"Well, I suppose if you're building a city into the mountains, you'd need pulleys and levers like these to move the big rocky doors. Look, see there? We have systems like this in really old cities in High Rock."
"What? Good old Nord ingenuity?"
"Don't forget," — Alrek tapped Onmund playfully on the chest — "it was your people who founded my city."
"Over here!" Tolfdir called out. "I've found another passage."
"There we go, see?" Alrek winked at Onmund. "We'll be fine."
He had to trust Alrek on that.
Tolfdir gestured for the two of them to hurry, and sure enough, there was a hallway right behind a rusted iron gate.
The old mage spoke up, "See if you boys can try one of the levers, or the chains. Try and get this open."
While Alrek began his search at one end of the wall, Onmund tried to peek past the iron gate that separated them from the passage further down. "Ah! I see it!" A long, lone chain, with some weights at the end of it.
He followed the chain as best as he could, returning to the wall. With one confident tug, he heard the old gears creak to life once more, turning and whirring… and the gate lifting, granting them passage.
"Excellent work, Onmund!" Tolfdir clapped him on the back. "Let's see if we can find a way out through here."
Alrek bumped him playfully with his shoulder. "Well, well, aren't you a clever thing?"
"Where do you think this goes?" Onmund asked.
"That's the mystery," Tolfdir explained, crossing the threshold and taking lead down into the passage. "Now all we need to do is—"
CRASH!
Dust plumed and pushed past them, rocks and old debris were knocked from walls and shelves… And the gate they had come through had fallen, blocking the way once more and forcing the mages further into the passage.
"Of course." Alrek clucked his tongue. "Of course it'd do that."
"H-How will the others find us?" Panic began to set in for Onmund, and even Alrek's fingers interlocking with his own did little to quell the thundering beats of his heart.
"They have tools, and magic," Tolfdir said soothingly.
"...They've got the exploding runes, haven't they?" The sigh at the end of Alrek's question led Onmund to believe that was how they entered Saarthal.
"Well… yes. But it's perfectly safe! And they've placed support beams!"
"How romantic," Alrek teased. "I suppose if we're to be buried under an ancient city, I'm glad it's with the people I enjoy."
"Oh, it's not that bad. Look here," Tolfdir said, pointing behind them. "These markings." His old hands shook in excitement. "These are different from the ones we saw in the main chamber."
Alrek joined him. "What's different about them? Aren't these also Nordic runes?"
"These are newer," Tolfdir explained. "Not like what we use in the present day, but… readable."
Onmund spoke up, his voice grave and haunted. "Something's sealed here. I… I don't think we're supposed to be here with it."
He couldn't quite explain the feeling. But he sensed it. Like… someone screaming from behind the barred windows of a prison. Like a mouse, caught in a trap and desperately crying out with dying breaths.
Pulsating power thrummed in his bones, but what it contained, and what was sealed, he couldn't even begin to fathom. He felt the prick of something dark and sinister at the base of his skull, calling out to him once more.
The amulet around his neck glowed weakly, as though answering that same call he heard.
"That would explain all the wards and magic they used," Tolfdir said, studying the runes once more.
"But what could be so dangerous as to warrant such measures?" Alrek asked. "I've only read about spells and wards like these in Ayleid ruins."
"Should we even bother pushing on?" Onmund wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly fearful of what lay ahead. Or rather, where that sinking, cloying darkness would bring him if he pushed on.
Alrek answered, "Well, considering that we don't really have a choice, I say we press on. There's bound to be an exit."
"How can you be so sure?" Onmund hadn't meant to dismiss Alrek, but… the situation was growing more and more hopeless. How much more could they explore? Eventually, he reasoned, they'd have to turn back.
"Saarthal was a city. How many cities have you encountered with only one entry?" Tolfdir said. Though his smile was watery and tired, Tolfdir still offered Onmund and Alrek encouragement. "We'll most likely find another route."
Onmund looked down the long hallway, far grander than the part of the ruins they had studied earlier that day. The stone was cleanly cut, the runes were newer. And though some decay had set in… it didn't look as ancient as the rotting walls outside. Even if Tolfdir's words had some truth to them, he wasn't sure if he was ready to find out what lay hidden in the dark depths.
"We press on then," Alrek commanded, his regal tone making even Onmund stand a little straighter in his presence. "If there's another way out, it'll be through here."
"What if there isn't?" Onmund asked.
Alrek only offered a smile. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there, hmm?"
Saarthal only got more baffling the longer they spent exploring it. After what felt like another several hours of walking they arrived in a room far larger than any they had encountered thus far: an enormous, grandiose chamber hidden deep in the bowels of the earth. Even Tolfdir scratched his beard quizzically; the layout of the ruins made no sense.
"If we've walked as far as I think we have, we should be well under the ocean at this point," he mused aloud.
Alrek's response only made Onmund more nervous. "Maybe that explains the silence? What would the ancient Nords need to hide under the ocean? It would have been tremendously difficult to excavate this space."
The tension coiled in Onmund's gut like a spring wound too tight. He could only stare in horror at the markings that covered the entire wall. Ancient and unknowable; marks his own memory and traditions could not decipher. And judging by the way Tolfdir and Alrek examined them, it was far beyond their knowledge and experience too. It made the situation feel even more frightening. What had they uncovered? Would they make it out alive? By the Nine, they should not have come here.
Blue peeked out of Onmund's pack, curious and perhaps afraid. Alrek wasn't wrong: the silence was deafening, and Onmund's ears began to fill with a gentle, high-pitched ringing. A buffer for the quiet that his mind could not register.
"Gods above…" Tolfdir's awestruck voice summoned the other two to his side. He stood before a small podium that overlooked the lower levels of the chamber, and there…
An orb, wrought with runes and arcane whispers, floating in the center. Magic, pure magic. Alrek's eyes and fingertips glowed gently from the residual energy flowing through the room. So did Tolfdir's.
Alrek's gaze was fixed on the orb. "What… is this? I feel… this feels strange."
"We have to inform the others," Tolfdir quickly commanded. "I think the Arch-Mage would want to know what this is."
"Should we make sure that there aren't any more draugr? Wouldn't want the next party to be torn from limb to limb," Alrek suggested.
"Good thinking, lad."
As the two of them began discussing how to bring the other mages in, Blue floated out of Onmund's pack and over to an engraved stone tablet.
"What is… Oh." Runes, but not like the strange ones on the wall. These he could read, though they were unfamiliar enough to require a bit of effort.
Onmund ran a curious hand over the markings, feeling some of the power from the orb embedded into the rock and runes. He sent a small shiver of magic over the surface. In his mind's eye, he saw a lock.
"I found something!" Onmund called. "I can read it!"
The other two hurried over.
"What does it say?"
"Be bound here, Jyrik," Onmund began. "Murderer, b...betrayer."
His blood went ice cold.
"A sealing spell," Alrek noted, "but not one I'd use for a simple murderer."
Onmund continued. "Condemned by your crimes against realm and lord. May your name and your deeds be forgotten forever, and the charm you bear be sealed by our ward."
At the last word, the silence broke. Muffled sounds of the ocean filled the room, dully echoing off the high ceilings and ancient walls.
"What's… happening?" Onmund's voice wavered.
The orb glowed a gentle blue, then suddenly pulsed with a burst of energy that spread all across the grand chamber, illuminating it with an ocean-like hue.
In the dim light they noticed a throne before the orb on the lower levels. And chained to it? A rotting draugr, now fighting to free itself from the rusted metal that bound it to its tomb.
The singing of a blade cut through the room, and before Onmund could stop him, Alrek had already raced down the crumbling stairs.
The draugr broke free. As its chains fell, magic buzzed around the room in chaotic tendrils. Fear burned in Onmund's veins as he watched Alrek parry a blow from the undead creature. Every one of the wicked creature's movements sent a pulse of energy through the mages. Pure magicka, run amok, like weeds trying to root itself where it ought not.
Tolfdir came up behind it, fire ready in his hands, but the draugr swung down. He barely had time to dodge the attack. Another undead scream echoed through the hall. Onmund felt the magic it carried.
Deep, primal. Old. The ground began to shake. It broke in sharp, jagged edges. Rotting limbs of buried draugr shot from the earth. They scratched their way free with broken, dead nails, climbing up to join the battle. It had been a summoning cry.
He had to do something. Though Alrek was a marvel with his sword and his spells, even Onmund could see how tired he was getting. The injury from earlier no doubt slowed him down further. Tolfdir well… Tolfdir tried what he could, but he could see how difficult it was for the much older man to cast his own spells. At least spells dangerous enough to send the draugr back.
Despite the fear that gripped his gut, Onmund had to do something. He gathered his courage, and stepped out of the shadows, unseen by the draugr who were now closing in around Alrek.
Gods, not Alrek!
"Hey, ugly!" Onmund cried.
The draugr turned to his voice.
"Alrek, ward!"
Before the undead creatures could raise their weapons in retaliation, Onmund had unleashed a chain of lightning, bouncing between the draugr. The weaker ones had burned, turning to a gleaming pile of ash. And for each one he felled, he uttered a gentle apology: 'Rest easy now.'
The distraction bought Alrek enough time to cut down those closest to him, and Onmund readied another spell. He focused hard on the horde before him, seeing nothing but a connecting line between each of them in his mind's eye.
Clear, steady breathing, a sturdy stance. Magic flowed through him easily. Where he had been unsure of unleashing his powers before, now the thrill of it was heady and addicting.
And to see his powers surge like this? He didn't enjoy how good it felt.
One by one the draugr fell, either to lightning or to a blade.
But the large draugr that had awakened, the one that had sat upon its throne, was not hindered by any of their magic. No matter how strong the magic he summoned, Onmund could only stare in shock as spell after spell was nothing more than an annoyance. And now, it turned its attention to him.
The draugr brushed off each attack as it made its way towards Onmund. Though it shambled slowly, Onmund knew it would take only one strike of its weapon to end his life.
Again and again he tried. Again and again his spells slid off it.
Alrek raced up to the hulking undead, standing directly in his way. His blade was drawn. "Fight me instead!" he yelled. But the draugr needed only to shout, "Fus!" and Alrek was thrown across the room.
Onmund's heart fell into the pit of his stomach when he heard the crunch of Alrek's body meeting the hard, stone walls.
He tried to summon more of his power; begged his body, his mind, his spirit, to conjure even more. But all that would come from him were sputters of wild lightning, directionless and weak. Onmund could already feel an ache behind his eyes and in his joints, but he had to keep trying.
That was when a large rock landed behind the draugr. The impact was so great that the rock shattered into myriad small, jagged pieces. Onmund barely had time to get behind the cover of a moss-grown pillar. He braved a look, shocked to find Tolfdir standing there, winded and tired, but standing tall.
Gods, what was he going to do?
He couldn't expect Tolfdir to—
The draugr let out another shout, another summoning call, and like ants crawling out from under a log, more draugr emerged from the shadows.
What do I do? What do I do?
Blue buzzed against Onmund's neck, at the amulet he wore.
"What is it?" His eyes darted between the wisp andTolfdir's oncoming demise. Blue hovered wildly over the etchings from before, glowing bright and frantic.
Then, he heard a scream.
A spray of red. Red hair hanging over Alrek's face. Red staining the underside of Alrek's nails and the ivory white of his shirt. Red pooling on the floor.
A draugr had cut Alrek where he lay.
"No!"
Onmund flung himself out of cover and back beside the stone tablet, searching for something, anything to seal the curse away.
"Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer, betrayer—" Onmund read, his whole chest enunciating every word in perfect Nordic. Blue buzzed frantically.
Onmund looked up, and found that the large draugr had returned its attention to him. Tolfdir was getting overwhelmed.
He tried again. Why wasn't it working?
"Be bound here, Jyrik—" He looked down at the amulet.
Of course.
Grasping the amulet in hand, he drew some of his own magic into the artifact. He felt the singing of ancient songs in his veins, like lightning in his blood. It made his teeth clatter and his jaw tighten all at once. He recited the words again.
"Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer, betrayer."
The draugr and his summoned horde crossed the vaulted hall. They moved too quickly, too desperately; with each spoken word it seemed like they had taken two steps forward.
"Condemned by your crimes against realm and lord."
The draugr drew closer.
"May your name and your deeds be forgotten forever."
And closer.
"And the charm which you bear, be sealed by our ward."
At the final word, the lead draugr let out an evil, undying scream. Its weapon fell to the floor as it scrambled to gather the melting skin off its rotting bones. Its summoned allies crumbled to dust where they stood, leaving little more than mounds of ash.
Yet it still tried. The large draugr's dead and rotting hands reached out, desperately trying to grasp at the boy who would seal him away once more. Gnarled words sputtered out of its decaying mouth, but to no avail; soon all that was left was a steaming, bubbling puddle of hate. Onmund slammed the amulet down onto the tablet, completing the sealing ritual, before scrambling down the steps towards Alrek and Tolfdir.
As the last of the draugr's presence faded away, the orb that floated behind its throne began to pulsate. Each shockwave of the orb's energy rattled the stone room, disturbing centuries of dust and debris from their resting place. But even on unsteady feet, Onmund was determined to make his way to Alrek.
Slowly, the magic quieted, and so too did the crumbling ground. Before long, the orb returned to its softly glowing, harmless state, and the grand chamber grew cold and empty once more.
Alrek still lay where he fell, unmoving.
Gods, no.
Onmund threw himself beside Alrek, frantically trying to summon up some sort of healing magic, his eyes watering as he turned him over. "Please… please wake up," Onmund whimpered.
Tolfdir laid a hand on Onmund's shoulder, and the gentle glow of restoration magic flowed from his old, withered palms. His magic stopped the bleeding and closed the wound; some color even returned to Alrek's sun-kissed complexion.
"Give him a moment," Tolfdir instructed, wheezing.
One breath, then two. And then one final, laborious wheeze. Alrek's eyes blinked open, weary and tired.
"Did… did we kill the damned thing?" His voice rasped with pain, wincing as he moved.
"You're hurt," Tolfdir answered. "Don't move, we'll get help as soon as we can, lad. Just hang in there for a moment." He looked to Onmund, eyes watery and tired. "Keep his head up, and make sure he keeps breathing."
Onmund nodded. He pulled Alrek up by his shoulders, resting his head on his thighs. Absent-mindedly, answering some deep, hidden desire, Onmund let his thumb gently stroke Alrek's cheeks. Soothing and soft, as though it'd lull his injuries away.
Alrek smiled in return. "Look." He pointed with a shaking, bloodied hand. "It's… it's such a lovely shade of blue, isn't it?"
The giant, glowing orb illuminated the whole room with a hazy shade of ocean-blue. Whatever power that had been released by sealing that draugr away had now stabilized. It floated in perfect serenity as runes danced across its arcane surface, its ancient meaning lost to time.
Onmund's throat bobbed with fear. Beautiful as the sight may have been, something powerful and primal called to him from it.
Come to me, storm-singer. Come to me.
"We shouldn't have disturbed this."
"You feel it too?" Alrek asked. "I feel it, calling, like a siren song."
"Alrek…"
"I'm alright, I promise."
"You're hurt."
"I'll live."
Alrek took Onmund's hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss onto Onmund's palm. He smiled as he looked up. "You were very brave."
"Blue showed me the way…"
"Glad you brought him along, then."
They stayed that way for some time, speaking quiet words in low voices. Whenever the pain took hold of Alrek, Onmund summoned what healing magic he could to soothe him.
When help finally arrived, it came in a flurry of noise and activity. Onmund barely registered the others filing into the hall, only realizing when a healer tapped him on the shoulder and commanded him to move. They worked quickly and efficiently, wasting no time in asking questions.
Rolls of bandages were unpacked; salves and potions clinked together as they were placed in neat, soldier-straight rows. As Alrek was taken from his embrace, Onmund couldn't help but grimace at the blood that had stained his clothes. He watched the healers as they worked, and warmth fluttered in his chest when Alrek managed to turn his head to give him a small, thankful smile.
Tolfdir and the other scholars, meanwhile, surrounded the magical orb. All were astonished and amazed at the discovery, judging by the way the scholars pointed and gaped at the thing. Notes were taken, diagrams were drawn. Soon the whole hall was crowded with researchers and mages alike.
But Onmund's heart fell into his stomach when he heard one of the scholars declare what they had just found. The sheer reverence in their voices made Onmund feel all the more uneasy, as though they had discovered not some magical anomaly, but instead, the resting place of a Divine.
"The Eye of Magnus," the scholars said, their voices awe-struck and reverent. "We have found the Eye of Magnus."