To think he had once knelt to dragons - now, Miraak would give his life for this mule. It set the pace for their group and even fleet-footed Sofie dared not go faster than the well-loaded baggage beast, so Lucia and Miraak were able to keep up with her without quickly becoming winded. Even still, the journey was grueling for those not accustomed to trekking Skyrim on a wintry night.

The air grew colder as darkness consumed the landscape, and a biting breeze rolled across the mountain road by the time Whiterun's glow faded from the horizon behind. Miraak pulled his horker-skin cloak tighter around his shoulders and leaned against the mule when he could for its warmth and stability. Lucia wrapped her arms around herself and looked scornfully at the sky every now and then, as if she could bully it into returning Magnus to his proper place among the clouds. In contrast, Sofie seemed to come alive as they left civilization further behind. She walked with a familiar ease down the worn cobblestones and took deep breaths of the bracing air, like a swimmer who had just come up from a long submersion.

"I saw you speaking to Brenuin before we left," Sofie said when they passed by a wicked-looking Guardian Stone that looked down on the curving road. She led the way with the mule behind her, flanked on either side by Lucia and Miraak. "I thought you said you were done with him. That he wasn't worth the trouble anymore."

Lucia shrugged. "Call me a fool, but I have a soft spot for the old drunk. He used to help me out when I was little: shared stolen food, helped me find water, things like that. Besides, Brenuin's not so young as he used to be."

"Still young enough to snatch bottles off the training yard tables when he thinks no one's looking."

"He...he told me he wasn't stealin' no more. Guess I shoulda known better."

"Don't worry, it was only me and Hugs that caught him. But you should warn him off. Next time it might be Skjor or Njada, and they don't take very kindly to thieves of any measure."

Miraak stirred from his chilly silence. "Perhaps you should tell him to ask that Kishla character for a job."

Sofie took a moment to respond, as if she were working through a thought. "And why would she do that? Does Brenuin have some tailoring expertise, Lucia?"

Lucia glared at Miraak from across the mule's back. "Err, yah, he told me he used to be a seamstress' apprentice before his luck turned sour."

"I see. What did he say about you leaving with us?"

"Said I deserved a break from the temple." Lucia bit her bottom lip. "Never thought about it 'fore now, but I s'pose I haven't been further from Whiterun than the stables since I was knee high."

"He was right." Sofie turned her head to smile at her friend. "Don't worry, I'm sure Danica will be able to handle things well enough with Aela's help. So. How do you like Skyrim so far?"

"Whaddya mean? Ya said yourself that I scarcely ever leave Whiterun."

"Whiterun...that city isn't Skyrim. Not really." As they walked, Sofie ran her hand along the tall tundra grass that nearly encroached upon the road. "Close your eyes. Breathe and listen. Even near midnight, the world is alive. Hear the birds hiding in the brush, and the droning of the torchbugs. No clanging of hammers, no drunken yelling, no muttering about Talos. You're a priestess of Kynareth, Lucia. You should take greater notice of her work."

"Only thing I notice is it's gettin' colder. And I'm gonna tell Heimskr what you said about Talos."

Sofie huffed and shook her head, as if they'd had the same conversation or a variant of it many times before. She glanced back at Miraak trudging wearily down the road. "How about you, then? Aela told me you'd been living out in the wilds for years. Has Skyrim lost its appeal, now that you've tasted city life?"

A rat does not consider the merits of one filthy nest over another. He merely scurries to the nearest source of warmth and food. But then that wasn't quite true, was it? That line of thinking had perished with the scavenger. I tread in strange waters. This woman had staked her own honor on his quest, for unfathomable reasons, and honor seemed to be the most important thing in existence to these Companions. Before Miraak could ascertain her true motives, it would be best to stay on her good side. And as he lacked the social skills to lie convincingly, he was forced to speak honestly.

"It is difficult to say." Miraak stroked the lapels of his new cloak. The freshly tailored material still felt so peculiarly warm and comfortable. "Previously, I have only known this land as skeevers do. Not with any particular fondness, beyond the baser pleasures of survival and savagery. Now I walk a road of civilization, in garments suited to the clime, without any immediate fear of starvation or frostbite. It is as if I read an old familiar work with fresh eyes."

Lucia sniffed. "Always with the books, this fella. Not sure that'll do ya any good if you're still set on joinin' the Companions. Pretty sure they ate the last leaflets on Kynareth I left them."

They had been climbing steadily for hours, but now the mountain pass leveled out and Miraak could see the winding road for miles ahead. The churning of the icy river to their left far below ran mutely, like a painting in motion. Like the fish no doubt darting under the freezing waters, Miraak's head swam as they ascended. I have festered in the lowlands for too long. "Is this true, Sofie? No member of your company has any use for reading?"

She shrugged, and slowed her pace so she could rub the mule's neck as they continued on. "I pick up a book from time to time. I like the old ballads. And Vilkas has a small library inside his quarters. Vignar Grey-Mane used to attend to our lore, but he passed away years before I joined. Now the Harbinger serves as our loremaster, as well. Though I hear he's been looking to apprentice a whelp, so that if he dies the Companions won't be left without any speakers of wisdom. Benajah, a Redguard that sleeps near me, seemed interested in the position."

"I see. Where is Vilkas, precisely? I do not recall seeing him at Jorrvaskr." Miraak posed the question casually, as if dreams of Vilkas' breathtaking transformation had not visited him weekly during his imprisonment.

All emotion left Sofie's voice. "Vilkas is spiriting his brother's remains to Ysgramor's Tomb, so that Farkas may rest beside the previous Harbinger, Kodlak White-Mane. He left almost a month ago, and the tomb lies on the northern shore east of Solitude. I imagine he's on his way back to Whiterun by now."

Lucia huffed, though Miraak noticed her watching Sofie closely. "Yeesh. Long way to walk every time one of ya dies. Whiterun does have a Hall of the Dead, ya know."

"The tomb was only opened to us again ten years ago, for the first time in millenia. When Wuuthrad was reforged from the lost fragments." She sounded as if she was giving a history lesson. "Before that, I imagine they did put Companions in the Hall. But we don't die very often, Lucia. Hold here, for a moment. Miraak, find a suitable place for us to camp for the night."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I'm supposed to be determining your potential as a Companion, remember? You'll often need to make camp in the worst of conditions, and you'll often be alone. Tonight you have two other pairs of eager hands to help you, the air is warm, and the wind is slight. Let's see what you're capable of."

By Miraak's estimation, the air was still far too cold compared to his warm cell in Dragonsreach, and Lucia's eager hands were buried in the folds of her coat. Her eyes dared him to ask her to search for kindling or rocks for a firepit. So be it. I have had practice enough surviving in the wilds, so this should be simple.

But instinct and skill proved to be disparate creatures. How could he apply thought and consideration to a task that had previously belonged wholly to the scavenger, that pitiful wretch he had so readily excised? The desperation that had driven his movements in the past had been replaced by the hesitation of a nervous student. Miraak paused over every bunch of twigs to consider their worth in firebuilding, and every slight shift in the wind made him reconsider his chosen campsite. No, not under a tree; what if it snowed in the night, and the limbs deposited their frozen weight on the campfire? But no, not here, either: do you see that cave up on the ridge? If the wind changed direction, they would be downwind of any potential predators.

By the time he'd selected a suitable campsite in a relatively flat area of brush a half mile from the road, Lucia had already been complaining for quite a while. After the young flame took to the kindling and started burning in earnest, she pushed him aside and sat on her knees as close to the flames as she could be without catching fire herself.

"About damn time," she grumbled. "Nearly froze my fingers off."

"It's not that cold," Sofie said from behind as she unloaded supplies from the mule. "A week ago, we would have been dead minutes ago."

Miraak nodded wearily, too tired to offer any argument. "I am well acquainted with the dangers of frost. When your saliva freezes before it hits the snow, you have one chance to build a fire when you stop moving. Only one." He observed Sofie as she laid out three sheepskins around the firepit before placing their bedrolls atop them. A layer of insulation, to keep the ground from sapping our warmth. A wise precaution.

"So why the hesitation?" She asked, rummaging around in her pack. "You have all your fingers and toes. No ears missing, either. That's no small victory, after years in the wilds. Even some of my shield-siblings have suffered frostbite after being caught unprepared."

Is that what happened to her fingers? "I find it...difficult, to explain." Miraak tapped his forehead. "There was something in here that allowed me to weather those long winters. Something that had little to do with humanity. It knew how to cling to life, desperately, like a drowning rat. I am not certain how Miraak, the man, builds a fire. I am not yet certain how he does most things."

Lucia suggested, "Very slowly. Ya couldn't have let that rat take the reins for a few minutes?"

"No. I killed it in my cell, weeks ago. I could not bring it back if I tried."

"Mara's mercy. You're serious, ain't ya?" Lucia leaned back on her heels and took the dried meat Sofie offered. "Any other creatures in your head we should know about?"

Laughter was not something the dragon was capable of, but Miraak sensed waves of contempt rolling off the poisoned corner of his consciousness where it nested. It wanted him to shove the priestess into the fire to watch her die in agony, bash Sofie's skull in with a rock, and ride the mule back to Whiterun to show the Companions what it thought of their honorable company.

"I am alone," he said instead, and accepted the jerky from Sofie. She settled down on her bedroll and stared at him as he ate.

"In the morning I'll show you how to use a spear," she said after a while. "I don't want you caught unarmed if we run into trouble, and it's a good weapon for those of little strength. Do you have any previous training?"

"I once employed a sword. It was a very long time ago."

"If you do join up, I might be able to find you a blade to practice with. Until then, a spear will work well in building the right muscles for armed combat. I used to use one myself, in the years before I found the Companions."

Lucia glanced at her. "Ya never talk much about what happened after ya left Windhelm."

It was startling to watch Sofie's face change so quickly as they broached topics that caused her discomfort. Miraak had first noticed it when they spoke of Vilkas' mournful mission. She should be grateful her memories do not have teeth. At least, not the kind his dragon had.

"You truly think I will be permitted to join your company?" He asked, at least partially to save her from responding to Lucia. "That you agreed to help at all confounds me. I do not understand why you would risk blood and gold over a doomed stranger."

"Me neither," Lucia chimed in, raising her jerky in an unhelpful salute. "Can we go to sleep now before it gets colder? The fire is lookin' weak."

Sofie stood, stretched for a minute, and knelt down to build up the fire. Miraak reclined on his own warm bedroll, and assumed she had ignored his question until she sat down on her own bedroll and spoke again.

"Maybe I just knew you'd certainly die if I didn't help. Maybe I think too many souls have been lost in the name of the Companions."

"A kind heart, then?" He rested his chin on his bent elbow and regarded her dubiously. "Come now. I have been honest with you, girl. Will you not return my courtesy?"

Lucia groaned and rolled a little closer to the fire. "Both of ya, shut up."

All was silent for time, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant tweeting of snowbirds in the midst of their nightsongs.

"Honest?" Sofie turned towards him, her eyes closed, her voice a whisper. "You lied to us, earlier. When you said you were alone in your head. A sane man doesn't pause when asked that question."

Miraak did not respond. He could have been asleep.

Short thrust. Long thrust. Downward slash. Beads of sweat stung Miraak's eyes despite the morning chill and he blinked them clear with a grunt of irritation, not for the first time. It distracted him only for a second, but the end of his spear began trembling like a frightened oxen.

"The new aim of your existence must be to still that spearhead," Sofie said from her perch on a riverside boulder. "Maintaining that centerline will mean the difference between life and death, for you and your foe."

"The weight is too much," he growled, and cursed the wobbling spearhead and the burning in his weak arms. "If I could train without the tip attached, just to start with-"

"If Valtheim has been reclaimed by bandits again, we'll see blood today. There are warriors who can kill with just a wooden shaft. You aren't one of them."

Remember, remember: the pain is helpful. We must rebuild what we have lost. Existence is suffering, but this suffering can be turned to our advantage. That idea had been much more attractive when he had been merely carting Farkas' corpse around, with the promise of rest on the horizon. All Miraak had to look forward to today was more drills, more walking, and the potential for armed combat.

"Just think," Lucia said, as she returned from washing her face in the river. "You coulda been delivering letters right now, and comin' home at the end of the day to a nice bed of straw in the temple."

Miraak snarled in exasperation and let the head of the spear fall to the dirt. He turned away from the women and fell to his haunches, panting like a dog.

Sofie frowned down at him. "Why didn't you take Aela's advice? You would have been in a much better position to make this trip after a month or two of small jobs and temple work."

Lucia snorted. "That woulda been too sensible, huh?"

Their smugness, their ignorant certainty, proved to be the cinders that heralded an overdue inferno in Miraak's consciousness. The dragon lunged silently; it seemed Miraak was no longer worth even taunting, and he was only able to toss up a pitiful shield of self-assurance before the wyrm's onslaught. The spear slipped from his fingers and rattled against the rocks of the shore.

"Is something wrong?" Sofie slid off her boulder, but to the ghost she was just a shifting of color in a reality turned a million shades of crimson agony. He clenched his fingers against his palms so that blood seeped from between his fingers and dripped from his knuckles, but the dragon did not even waver. If the ghost could have formed thoughts in that moment, he might have pondered: can it even be dissuaded, this time, by anything short of death? Will it bring us both down out of mere spite? All that he had worked so long to build in the Dragonsreach dungeon was crumbling away. I am just a man, if even that. Such arrogance, to believe I could stand against the dragon.

"Move," Lucia ordered, pushing her friend aside and grabbing the ghost's shoulders. "Hey, blink twice if you can hear me."

Her words deflected off the surface of his mind like arrows striking scales. What would be left, after this fragile identity was gone? Not even the scavenger, now. Behind sightless eyes, the greedy fire spread to eat memory and thought. Months of his unlife burned away in seconds: the time he had spent scrounging off the scraps of civilization and bringing shame to the Dragonborn who had once been called Miraak. And nothing important was lost, he might have concluded. But the dragon was not sated.

"Miraak. Miraak!" A slap against his face. The momentary sting faded, a drop of pain in a sea of torment.

That ancient hunger that drunk his soul like soup turned its ancient eyes on the fishbone-fragile treasures of his most recent days. Without realizing it, the ghost had been hiding them from the dragon, perhaps unconsciously suspecting they would soon be threatened. Everything had changed at the Guardian Stones, when he remembered his name again.

"No," The ghost slurred, blood trickling from his mouth. The world swam, and he swayed back and forth. Small hands, beyond notice, gripped his arms. "Not that."

If he could have taken a moment to think, he would have known begging had never once convinced a dov of anything but the necessity of their oppression.

Vilkas, shattered and magnificent, his dark snout turned to the moons as he roared in desolation over the corpse of his kin. The winds of Morning Star gently tugging at the fur that ran over muscles powerful enough to rend mammoth's flesh. Claws and teeth sharp enough to shred fine moonstone as if it were Elsweyr fondue.

"Hold him, Sofie, hold - damn it, wait!"

The river rushed past his bent knees, and then the world became bubbles and froth and a roaring in his ears. Two pairs of arms tore at his shoulders, and the dragon sent its hot needles of agony into his tensed muscles - and the beast was distracted, yes, distracted, from its obliteration of Vilkas. What in Mundus, Oblivion, or Aetherius could stay that ravenous urge, what could cause the dragon to delay the final fulfillment of its most primal instinct to destroy the weak? Only the horror of Mirmulnir as his godly blood drained onto the grasses of the tundra next to Whiterun's western watchtower, and he felt his soul beginning to rip from his bones. Only the terror of Alduin fleeing the Throat of the World in defeat, after tasting Joor Zah Frul. Only the shocking dread this dragon had experienced before, at the Summit of Apocrypha, when the Last met the First.

Darkness behind his eyes. An end to a thing which had lasted far too long. And the dragon was afraid, yes, afraid, and it withdrew back to its lair, and Miraak was dragged back to the shore sputtering river water and gasping so desperately for air that he felt like a captured Dreugh.

Lucia rolled him over and beat his back until the last of the water was forced from his lungs. Miraak collapsed on the rocks, still breathing heavily. The morning sun felt rapturous against his wet skin and for a time he simply basked in its glow without saying a word.

"I'm not traveling any farther with a man who has a death wish like that, Lucia. He's a danger to all of us." Sofie glanced down at Miraak still basking beside the river. She and Lucia had moved up the hill to speak in private.

"If he wanted to die, he'd of stayed in the water. Weren't either of us strong enough to yank him out if he didn't wanna go." Lucia sat and crossed her arms. "And ain't that a little hypocritical of ya, after what happened with Farkas?"

"We're not talking about me." Sofie had to fight to keep a note of hysteria out of her tone. "You don't understand what it's like, out here in the wilds. The most fragile link will drag us all down to our graves. We're only a little under halfway to the Eldergleam Sanctuary, and depending on the weather it may take us a week for the return journey. What if he has another episode during a bandit attack? We should just return to Whiterun now, while he's still weak."

"Ya can go back if that's what ya want. I need to get to that Sanctuary, and I'm gonna get there one way or another."

"What? You weren't even sure you wanted to come, just a day ago. Now this is some personal quest?"

"It's a last chance. Not just for Miraak, either. Don't ya see? That man shouldn't have to risk his mind and life just to prove he's worthy. It ain't right to have to choose between stealin', beggin', or dyin'."

"And you think a new Gildergreen is going to change that."

"Ha. I think if people need to see a runty little sapling to convince them things need to change, well…" Lucia looked away and clutched her amulet of Kynareth. "I'm tired, lady. And I'm tired of being tired."

From their campsite on the ridge, a clattering pan fell from their mule. Sofie looked up sharply, and her hands fell to her axe hilts; shadowed silhouettes took the mule by the reins and began to lead him towards the road.

Lucia did not appear to have even heard the commotion. She idly fingered the buttons of her coat. "S'pose we can just ask him if he wants to keep goin', right? Maybe that little attack cured him of the whole fool notion. Ya can head back to Whiterun with him, and I'll find my way alone."

"Hush." Sofie fell to the ground and pressed herself tightly to the tundra grass. Two figures split apart from the other thieves and returned to sift through the campsite again. "Promise me you won't yell."

"'Bout what?"

"Just promise, Lucia."

"Fine, fine. Just tell me, ya oaf."

Sofie shifted up the hill a little, to get a better view of the vagabonds. At least they appeared to be in no hurry. "We're being robbed. Looks like the bandits out of Valtheim."

To her credit, Lucia remained quiet, though she made such a ruckus when she fell to the ground and scrambled up the hill that Sofie wasn't certain a scream would not have been quieter. Fortunately there did not appear to be any Khajiit amidst the bandits who might have been able to hear the watching women even from such a distance.

"They got our mule," Lucia hissed, her fists clenched around blades of grass. "All my potions were loaded on that stinkin' animal."

"Really? Even your emergency vial?"

"Oh no, lady, I keep that little beauty close to my chest. Ya gonna fight 'em, then? All seven, just the one of ya?"

Sofie grabbed Lucia's hand and squeezed it. The calluses on her friend's skin reflected her own rough palms; though they walked disparate paths in life, hardship seemed common between them. "I'll have you and your potion, won't I? They're just bandits. I defeated a wispmother on my last contract."

"I'm not even sure what that is. But I trust ya." Lucia returned the squeeze, the corner of her mouth turning up, and then jabbed her thumb back down the river shore. "What about Miraak?"

"By the time we got down to him, the thieves would have escaped. Look, they're already moving off. Get your potion ready and come on."

Short thrust. Long thrust. Downward slash.

It was a pleasure to burn. The pain in Miraak's muscles no longer tempted the dragon, but frightened it, and he drank its fear like an offering at a sacrificial altar. Occasionally the absurdity of it would strike him again, and he would laugh to himself. All of these years, he had thought it was the scavenger stilling death's hand and keeping them from reaching that final peace. All along it had been the dov, who he had feared for its strength and dominance. He almost pitied it. There are so many worse things than death, you wretched god. Death was an old friend, who had so often beckoned to Miraak from just beyond a thin veil. An escape from the cold, the hunger, and the pain. This was what the dragon had been trying to forget. A coward, in its heart. How little you frighten me, now that I understand you. The tip of his spear traced strange runes in the air that now held renewed meaning to him; the dragon had taken things, but he had sliced his own gift from its shadowed scales.

"Fin Lein Dah Daal." The words escaped from his lips like fish fleeing the net, with no trace of power to them. And yet they escaped, nonetheless. When the dragon had split from him, at the Last Dragonborn's bidding, it had taken his knowledge of the tongue with it. Against all reason, of course, as Miraak had mastered dovahzul long before learning of his power. Dragons were not known for their sense of fairness. This was the phrase the Silver Dawn's Commander Montrose had murmured to him, during their passing encounter in Dragonsreach. "The world pushes back."

Startling, that such a man would know the tongue of dragons. The etching of a banner that had so confounded Miraak when he had found it among the possessions of Farkas' killer: that, too, had read Silver Dawn in dovahzul. Miraak's brow furrowed as he ran through the drill again, ignoring the growing ache in his limbs. An unsettling connection between my present and past. Was this a sign of Fate once more drawing its bowstring in his direction? What had this order of Daedra hunters to do with his once-masters, once-servants, now-ghosts? He wondered if Aela and Vilkas knew of this detail, or had made any sense of what it could mean.

Several minutes passed before Miraak broke free of his thoughts and noticed the absence of his new companions. A mind accustomed to solitude did not readily feel loneliness, but Miraak was stricken by the silence when he took a break from the drills to cup his hands in the river and greedily sip some fresh water. The world seemed eerily quiet even with the rush of the river and the slight wind stirring the shoregrass. Where was the voice criticizing his form, and the other complaining of their long delay?

"Their possessions remain," he muttered, noting Sofie's satchel on the basking rock and Lucia's waterskin beside it. "Would they abandon me so quickly, leaving even some of the tools of their survival? Neither seemed the kind to do so." Though the manner of the Nords of this age still held many mysteries. It would not surprise him if he had wildly misjudged their characters.

In a moment of absolute stillness, the wind carried yells of excitement down the hill. Coming from our campsite. Miraak, spear in hand, rushed up the brush towards the road on his aching legs. As he approached the lip of the road, sounds of battle reached him. An unfamiliar rush visited his blood and time seemed to still. He looked upon a vision of glory.

Sofie pulled her axe out of the shoulder of a fur-armored Orc and his spurting life left the wound and ran through her hair like thick drops of rain. He fell to join another just like him on the ground: a heavily armored Nord with half his head missing and his legs in the ash of last night's campfire.

The four other bandits threw the last of the camp's possessions onto the mule, their movements frantic. The smallest of them, a Wood Elf with war stripes smeared clumsily across his eyes, struggled to mount the animal.

"Push me up, push me up!" The other three shoved him aboard the mule and the largest bandit slapped the beast's hindquarters to send it soaring down the road. The Wood Elf hung on for dear life, cackling like a priest of Sheogorath. One of Sofie's axes arced through the air after him, but the sharp edge only succeeded in skidding off the cobblestones right behind the bandit and his stolen mount.

"Are you insane?" Lucia spoke, from behind Sofie. Her hand was hidden inside the folds of her priestess robes. "You coulda hit our mule!"

Sofie wiped the blood from her eyes. The three remaining vagabonds approached her with weapons drawn. "All of our supplies are on that thing. We'll die out here without them."

The largest bandit, a tall Nord with a scarred face and a rusted greatsword, lumbered towards her. "Coulda just let us go, lass. We're not in the killing business. Seems you are, though. Abbard, the man whose skull you split? Never hurt a soul in his life. Didn't even like stepping on bugs."

"Murderer," growled the spear-wielding Argonian that approached Sofie's left flank. The Imperial on her other side merely raised his sword and shield in preparation, but his face twisted with loathing.

Three against one. Deadly odds, even for a Companion. An unfamiliar energy seized Miraak's body and he surrendered himself to it with only a moment's hesitation. He sprinted towards the engagement, his mind utterly clear, and the world around him falling away until only the three bandits and Sofie remained.

The Argonian turned to face Miraak and their spears thwacked uselessly against each other, like they were two rowers with dissonant rhythm. Remember: short thrust, long thrust - but no, this was not a thinking time, the Argonian's spear swung up past Miraak's centerline and cut a hole in his new trousers. Another few inches and the steel head would have met the meat of his thigh.

Miraak danced back and the Argonian hissed. Past his shoulder, Sofie had her hands full with the Nord and the Imperial. She defended against their simultaneous attacks skillfully with her axe, but they provided her no room to strike. Lucia hovered behind her, watching the fight closely.

Maintain the centerline, or die. Two simple options. No time, no time - this was a truth he needed to know in his soul. He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his spear's shaft.

The Argonian lunged but Miraak caught his shaft in motion and redirected it to the empty air. The end of Miraak's own spear, still within the centerline, sliced a deep wound in the Argonian's left bicep on its return journey. The bandit yelped and stumbled back. Emerald scales ran with crimson.

At the sight of blood, Miraak's gut lit up with a queasy brightness. I caused that. A question pierced his concentration and stilled his spear: had he ever before taken the life of a mortal? The eyes of dragons did not widen and blink again and again as they glanced at the grievous injury that reduced their fighting arm to nothing more than a burdensome meaty weight.

Both Miraak and the Argonian turned at the sound of smashing glass. Lucia gasped and spun just out of reach of the Nord's greatsword. A sickly sweet aroma rose from the ground. The Nord and Imperial froze like statues - their muscles still tensed as if preparing for their next strike. Sofie made short work of them with her axe. Miraak's gut twisted again, and Lucia held the back of her hand to her mouth, her eyes shining.

"Finish it," Sofie ordered, glancing at Miraak and his opponent.

The remaining bandit dropped his spear and cradled his injured arm. The potential of his next move rendered Miraak lightheaded. With a swift motion, he could end this Argonian's life. He had not known such a power in many years. But where is the honor that Aela, Vilkas, and Farkas spoke of with such reverence? Certainly he did not see it in his reddened spearhead or the dripping edge of Sofie's axe. Nor did he feel a twinge of honor when he looked down at the cowering bandit bleeding on to the dirt.

Sofie took a step closer. "Now, Miraak."

"But-"

The bandit's hidden dagger slashed and Miraak reacted. While the dagger found no purchase when it hit the leather pad covering Miraak's leg, the spearhead made its home in the Argonian's chest. Miraak stared in disbelief at the living organism that had swallowed the end of his weapon The bandit took a final bubbling breath and went slack against the weight of the spear.

"Let's move," Sofie spoke, brushing past Miraak and his kill and leaving her own field of slaughter behind her. "They can't have got far on just a mule. Back to Valtheim, most likely."

Lucia stumbled after her. Her face was white as grave ash. When she reached Miraak, she grabbed his arm and he gasped, dropping his spear.

"S-sorry," she said, whisper-quiet. "Are ya okay?"

"I am not sure." Miraak managed to tear his eyes away from the dead bandit. He'd never met an Argonian before. The shaft of the spear felt different in his hands now than it had at the shore. "This is what I have to do, no? This is the work of a Companion."

Her grip tightened. "Listen to me. Ya don't have to do anything. I...I can find ya a job, back in Whiterun. Not a good one, but you won't starve."

Sofie called from the road, "Hurry! We're just giving them time to build up their defenses."

"Miraak? Is this what ya want?"

He shook her hand off his arm and swallowed with some difficulty. Then Miraak ripped the spearhead from his enemy and turned to follow Sofie.