I accidentally deleted this chapter when it was pretty much done and had to more or less start over. Big sadness. :(

-o-o-o-o-

Azazel

Azazel stood still in front of a door; his clammy hand had been on the doorknob for at least a minute. At first, the bedroom had looked like any bedroom, but then they found a staircase under a trapdoor leading down to this door. This had to be it. It hadn't been well hidden, though perhaps that was the point. Anyone breaking in to steal things wouldn't search long enough to find it, and perhaps Cato had found it unnecessary to hide it better than that. He hadn't expected an investigation of his own home. Azazel felt a small knot in his stomach tighten.

Nonetheless, the door was hidden, which meant that something special had to be behind it. He glanced to his left, seeing that Akeno had joined him. She said nothing, didn't rush him to open it, didn't judge him. She felt bad about it too, he knew, but curious enough to join him as well. He was thankful for that. It strengthened his resolve. If another shared in his curiosity, perhaps there was something to it other than paranoia.

He had to keep moving. Cato would come eventually, and although Baraqiel would, unknowingly, do his part in stalling the man, there was no way to know when he would show up. Whether that was the only danger was yet to be seen. Even with his former theory that the poorly hidden nature of the basement was the result of Cato's inadequate preparations against thorough investigations, there was an unshakable feeling within him that it was going too easy, that something was bound to go terribly, terribly wrong.

No, it couldn't be this easy.

When he finally slipped open the lock, Azazel froze where he stood. The basement room was lit with a strange, fluorescent light that originated from an ominous, black, sun-like artefact in the center of the room. The floor had strange markings, perhaps a magic circle of some sort, that also added to the ominous feel of it. Azazel stepped in, knowing that time was of the essence. They needed to find enough to make it worth their while before Cato arrived, and hopefully they would be out of there with all signs of their intrusion erased before the fact.

Aside from the strange glow, the room didn't feel particularly magical. Most of the items there seemed to have no magical signature at all, and none of the ones Azazel sensed were strong enough to arouse any lingering interest. Still, there was a strangeness to the collection of items. The walls were decorated with everything from bookcases to mounted swords, staves, and other weapons. There were even display cases with daggers or looked like a storage room-workshop hybrid. Azazel clicked his tongue. Finding his arsenal gave them nothing more than proving the man had weapons. While it was definitely a peculiar room, ominous even, having strange magic circles or an assortment of fancy weapons and collectibles wasn't too far out of the ordinary as to be concerning.

He walked in, feeling his gaze and attention drawn around the place. He picked up a dagger lying loosely on a small table, feeling its weight and make. Everything stood out in its own way, giving the feeling that there was too much to check out. He put the dagger back down. Though there were weapons with a certain presence that he would love to get a feel for, he was sure none of them would lead him anywhere. And some things stood out more than others. His eyes zeroed in on the black sun in the center of the room. Was it some sort of clue?

He held back from picking it up. It might be an alarm system or rigged in some way. It gave off a steady, warm pulse similar to the one Azazel felt within himself after Cato healed him. He idly picked up and flipped around an antique looking coin that had caught his eye with its luster, feeling nothing but its cool surface and the alluring weight of gold. He carefully picked up a note that lay near the black sun, disappointed when he realized it was just a recipe for some sort of drink or potion. The language it was written in was strange to him, but not undecipherable like the engraving on the gemstone dagger. Some switch-like device lay near the black sun, and when he fiddled with it, it disintegrated into nothingness between his fingers. Shit. Luckily, nothing else happened. No alarm bells, no magical explosion. Azazel sighed, feeling some of the tension ease up. Something about the whole situation was putting him on edge, like any moment was about to bring him ruin. He looked around the room again, taking in its superficial details to ground himself. He'd been careful to place everything back in its own place, but he supposed that was meaningless now.

"This is…" Akeno said, her voice sounding weak. Azazel turned to look at her only to find her mesmerized by a set of manacles mounted to the wall. He raised an eyebrow.

"Restraints. What for?"

"Did we break into his sex dungeon?"

Azazel paused. That was a line of thought bound to lead them nowhere. He shook his head, continuing with the search instead of letting his thoughts linger where they shouldn't.

He tried to decipher the magic circle that was tattooed into the floor but got nothing for his efforts. The scribblings looked ornamental more than anything, and none of them resembled the etchings on the gemstone dagger either. In the end, he went back to the black sun, daring at last to touch it. It felt warm and had a smooth surface despite its rugged look. The light within it grew and faded in a slow pulse accompanied by growing and fading heat. It had some function, perhaps as a catalyst, most likely as some sort of alarm system or font of power that Cato could draw on for research or in case of intruders. There was nothing to it at all. Even the books in the bookcases were mundane, spanning a wide range of almost painfully ordinary subjects.

Akeno stood engrossed in the weapon collection that was on display, tracing her hand over an ornate staff mounted on the wall.

"Have you found anything?"

She shook her head. "It's kind of like a museum. Complete with glass display cases and everything. It just needs some of those stands that give a description of each item to really drive it home."

Azazel furrowed his brows. "It's hidden away," he said. "No museum is hidden."

"Is it really? Did you ever ask him to show you?"

He hadn't, of course. Doubt redoubled in his heart.

"It's not like he can just keep these things lying about in plain view, and why would he?"

Azazel bit back a response. Now wasn't the time to argue or second guess himself. But Akeno did have a point. There was no saying that these things were hidden away for the sake of some devious secrecy. Their experience so far seemed to suggest that nothing was hidden for such a reason. Despite the massive variety of things in the basement, everything seemed to be organized in a way that drew the eye from one thing to the next – much like a museum or art collection. The great prize of the display was the black sun in the middle of the room. Everything else filled out the place with a presence of its own, lending to the feeling that one was at a viewing of some sort. Indeed, nothing gave the sense of being hidden away.

Indeed, the most curious object stood out greatly. He licked his lips as he reached out toward the black sun. If it really was a catalyst for something, perhaps appraising it with magic was the way to go. His heart pounded in his ears as summoned his magic and focused it into the object. Nothing happened. Nothing. His eyes widened. It wasn't that his magic had no effect on the catalyst - his magic didn't answer him at all.

His head snapped toward the door as he tried and failed to will a spear of light into being. He saw Cato there in the doorway, vengeful, ready to take care of the magically silenced intruders who were now stuck in his underground prison. But the doorway was empty. No one. He bolted out of the basement, up the stairs, all the way into the office, ignoring Akeno's yelp as he stormed past her.

He took a few moments to breathe heavily as his fear subsided. Experimentally, he held out a hand and conjured a spear of light. As had happened throughout his entire existence, his maker's light greeted his eyes as he did so, and rarely had it calmed him as it did now.

"Damn it." He was covered in sweat. "Damn it."

"What happened?" Akeno asked as she joined him. Her voice sounded curious and frightened both.

He shook his head. That was the problem, wasn't it? It was all in his head. "Nothing. I… I tried to use magic, but something stopped me. Damn it."

"Why are you so scared?" Azazel looked up at Akeno. She really looked confused, like she didn't understand the danger they were in at all. Azazel paused. Was he imagining it all? Was there no danger?

He needed to think rationally. It wasn't like him to get so worked up, but ever since Kokabiel's death, something had changed within him. He'd found a certain solace in friendship, but now he was throwing that away for this madness. "You're right," he said at length. "Let's go back down."

He didn't wait for an answer before going. He had come hoping to find something that linked Cato to the gemstone dagger, then confronting the man about his relation to Kokabiel. With some luck, he might find something more. That was what he had thought. All of it was based on some form of deception on Cato's part, the idea that the man knew more about Kokabiel than he let on, the idea that he might have his hand in more pots of stew than his own. An sproutling of an idea budded within him as he went back down.

His eyes scanned the room. It looked just like they had left it, as it should. Deception, that was the game he assumed Cato to be playing. His eyes searched the room for all the things that didn't stand out. He'd begun to assume, like Akeno, that having everything out on display meant that Cato had nothing to hide. But that couldn't be the case, Azazel didn't buy it. Because this place was hidden. It stood to reason that it was made to hide something. His eyes locked on a corner, tucked into the shadow where two bookshelves met, blending into the room in a way that prevented you from noticing if you didn't know to look for it stood a scroll. Some scrolls, on closer inspection, though it felt as though his eyes were playing tricks on him even as he kept his gaze locked on their forms. If everything else was made to stand out, surely that was in an effort to hide them.

With certain steps that belied the doubt in his heart, he strode over, hesitating at last when he was within reach. The scrolls were ornate, though they gave off no magical presence that he could detect. He picked up the closest one, learning what he could of its make. It was heavy. With almost reverent slowness, he opened it to reveal a strange, nondistinctive drawing within. Just as he was about to chide himself for thinking it to be something special at last, the scrolls pulsed. Not a gentle, warm pulse like the catalyst or the lingering effects of the potion within him. It was more like the final beat of a heart, a pulse to end them all. The drawing glowed – no, was it seared into his eyes? He tried to look around but stood motionless, frozen and locked in place. The world around him changed, morphed, and a multitude of voices and sensations assaulted his senses and blotted out his vision.

Shameful.

A voice called out.

You're a monster, same as her.

Another, and a feeling of… pride?

You would let us die?

With every word Azazel's senses became more vivid. His hearing, his sense of smell.

It's lonely…

His touch. It was cold. Freezing.

This is it.

And then his sight. Azazel screamed. A massive, black dragon loomed over him with burning amber eyes. For a moment, he felt himself a peasant before a king, awaiting unjust judgment. Its earsplitting roar erased everything else from his senses, and he found himself falling, first down, then into a body that was not his own.

-o-o-o-o-

Cato

When he managed to rid himself of company and get out into the quiet streets, Cato cursed himself for not trying to get at least a minimum of information about what happened after he lost consciousness. With no knowledge to suggest otherwise, he had to assume everything was fine. He stumbled through the streets, huffing from the exertion of walking, no longer making any effort to mask his weakness.

He got to the office and let himself half collapse on the floor. He would've fully collapsed on the floor had it not been for his instinct telling him something was awry. He steadied his breathing, managing with great effort to focus his blurry vision on the floorboards. With a few measured breaths, he stood up and looked around the room. Akeno sat in the couch, lost in thought and looking out the window. Somehow, she hadn't noticed his indiscrete entry.

She would have to wait. Cato shook his head. It didn't matter. He just needed the panacea, the healing potion that cured anything save for death. He went to the bedroom, noting with dissatisfaction that the way down and the door to the basement were open.

He opened the secret compartment of the floor that hid the potions, pushing through the last bit of blinding pain as it threatened to make him lose consciousness. He sat down gracelessly and uncorked the bottle, taking a long draught of it before dunking the rest over his head. The liquid turned to a white light which swirled around him, caressing his skin and filling him with a burning fire. He took a few deep breaths, intoxicated by the renewed feeling of power flowing through his body.

"Wasn't worried," he muttered with relief.

He took a moment to enjoy the absence of pain before looking around. Before his eyes reached them, he already knew what was missing. He stood up slowly.

The Elder Scrolls were priceless artefacts. They transcended time and space and worked in a sporadic fashion. No one could call themselves their master. At least not yet. Within them was held both past and future – each of them was laden with prophecy and history both. And yet, this was outside of Cato's scope of expectations. The Elder Scrolls were indeed priceless. Having one stolen from him demanded immediate action, but instead of anger at the fact, it was curiosity that filled him.

Why?

No one in this world knew of the Elder Scrolls. Cato was certain of it. No one understood their value or their purpose, no one understood their potential. So, why would anyone take one? In this room full of treasures and artefacts of immense power, many of which were on full display, why would an Elder Scroll be the only thing removed from its place? It was no coincidence, it couldn't be.

Cato had often wondered how the bony hand of fate guided people. Fate was no daedric prince, no matter how much Hermaeus Mora would love to claim ownership. It was something deeper. A compulsion to do something, an aspect of life itself. Fate was an impulse that spurred the beginnings of something greater, a great, unbreakable chain to keep the living on a leash. Fate was there in his accidental stumbling upon the Eye of Magnus or his decision to join the Dawnguard only to break free a millennia-sealed vampire. It was there when he finally went to fight and kill Alduin after swearing to Serana that he never would. Cato walked up to where the rest of the Scrolls stood, yet untouched.

To break into a room containing four Elder Scrolls and then to steal only a single one. It was not a difficult situation to decipher. But that didn't answer the question why – a question that was central in knowing how to proceed.

Fate had always been Cato's enemy. It was an enemy he had fought with great deliberation and fervor throughout his life. In the end, after losing everything else he had gained, he found something which could act as a weapon against fate, or so he hoped. The Elder Scrolls.

-o-o-o-o-

Azazel

It was a peaceful scene. The first one of its kind in what felt like an endless emotional onslaught. He sat by a small creek in the woods with the sun kissing his skin and the soothing sounds of birds and wind shuffling the leaves on the trees putting his heart at ease. Though the smile on his face wasn't his own, he felt its happiness all the same.

"So, I guess you're the dragonborn."

It complicated the tranquility of the moment, but the smile didn't drop from his face. "I suppose so."

"Will you fight Alduin?"

He turned to look, taking in the now familiar features of a beautiful vampire, his companion in the lonely wilds. He shook his head.

"Not out of cowardice, I presume. Cato the Craven rings ill to my ears," she said, a playful edge to her tone.

"Surely they deserve a chance to save themselves first. I won't rob them of that freedom."

She shook her head. "Far be it from me to tell you to heedlessly chase an ancient prophecy in the Elder Scrolls, but I doubt they have much chance at fighting off the dragons."

"Because they believe that a hero will swoop in and save them. They believe that there isn't a way to kill dragons without a mystical power granted at random. They believe these things while they're busy slaughtering each other for reasons manufactured by a megalomaniacal man who touts freedom while he dishes out only endless toil and discrimination." He paused dramatically. "No, I will not 'swoop in' without letting them at least try to take their fates into their own hands first."

Despite his rough words, his voice was calm without edge, and his smile never dropped from his face.

"If I didn't know better, I would say you rehearsed that before I came over," she said, chuckling softly. It made his heart soar.

"Well," he said, giving a small chuckle of his own. "I've given it some thought."

-o-o-o-o-

Cato

Akeno was upstairs. Unless the theft had happened before she arrived, it couldn't be the Khaos Brigade. It wouldn't be the devils either, Cato was sure of it. None of them had any reason ever to doubt his motives. But a certain fallen angel did. Cato grinded his teeth. Had Azazel broken into his home? The idea of crushing a vial of poison over a blade and taking it from there crossed his mind, but that would be an act of impulse, something which would serve only self-gratification.

And the situation wasn't an outright panic. Even with an Elder Scroll, Azazel had little avenue of action. He could use it for nothing other than reading it and reading it would show him nothing. Cato licked his lips.

That allowed him to deal with another pressing issue. Why was Akeno there, upstairs, sitting around in his home?

Cato went back to the office, finding Akeno sitting as he left her. He hesitated. Had she come with Azazel? With someone else? The fact that she hadn't attempted to leave after his return suggested innocence, perhaps that she came here just to get away from her father. Cato schooled his voice, pushing all doubt to the back of his mind before calling out.

"Akeno," he said, relishing his ability to speak naturally once again despite the circumstances. "It's not that I don't appreciate your visit, only that such a visit normally depends on my being home."

"I'm glad you're ok," she said, looking almost surprised at her own words. "I mean, you were hurt."

Not quite what he expected her to say. He sat down opposite from her, putting on a smile that was far more natural than he had intended and feeling some of the prior tension fade away. "Thank you for your concern. I'm well, if surprised to find you here rather than back at the house with your friends."

"I…" she started, averting her eyes. She took a deep breath before speaking, eyes focused on her hands twiddling in her lap as she did so. "I came here with Azazel. We broke in because he wanted to know something. I'm honestly not sure what, but I came with him because I was curious as well. Curious about you, I guess."

So, it was Azazel after all. It wasn't surprising given everything he had discerned, but it did leave something of a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I'm sorry," she said. "At first, I just wanted to get away from, you know… then I got caught up in the moment. But that's just an excuse. I'm sorry."

Her earnestness gave Cato pause. There were no conditions for victory here, he realized. She was already on his side. Otherwise she would've left. There was no need to think ahead. It wasn't like his friendship with Azazel, mutually beneficial with ulterior motives sprinkled across every exchange. Cato relaxed. For once, deceit was pointless. And that left him speechless.

"Won't you say something?"

Cato looked up, searching for the words to say. "It's all right," was what he came up with. "Don't worry about it."

He didn't need to come with any threats or implications of consequences. And he didn't want to. Akeno was an honest person, he was certain, and the greatest deterrent of repeated action for an honest girl like her was guilt. In other words, to be certain that she would never do anything like break into his house ever again, all he had to do was forgive her unconditionally. The way that she looked uncomfortable now was all the indicator he needed to know that he was right. Punishment was far easier to accept than aimless guilt. Leaving her uncomfortable like that was cruelty without purpose, so he offered her a warm smile.

"It's good to see that you, too, are well after everything," he said. "I didn't see you during the fighting, and I suppose I don't know much of what happened after I passed out."

"Thank you," she said. "Not much happened. We were winning even before you came, but Issei… he offered up his life in exchange for the power to beat Vali. I guess you knew that much. He had no chance."

Cato nodded. They were all under the preconception that he acted to save Issei. Azazel probably knew better by now. But why had the fighting ended? Was it because they were pushed back, or had something the dagger did triggered the retreat?

"There was…" Akeno started. "When you did whatever it was you did, there was a flash of light and some sort of, I don't know how to describe it. A rumble? Like an earthquake, but in the air?"

"Oh?"

"I mean, the ground didn't shake, but it felt like something rippled through the air from some impact, like an earthquake. After that, the fighting just stopped."

"Oh." Cato frowned. Could it be…? It was an outcome he wasn't prepared for, and not one that was ideal. He could make it work, though. He always could.

"You know what it was?"

"I have an idea," he said without hesitation.

"Is it bad?"

For you. He didn't say it. "I need to make sure. Now, I believe I have something else to attend to first," Cato said, standing up. "Feel free to stay here as long as you like."

He didn't hear her reply. His mind was elsewhere before he even finished speaking. He could deal with Ddraig later. For now, he had to deal with a certain thief.

Azazel would have no way to use the Elder Scroll. An untrained mind would be unable to see anything in the Elder Scrolls save for some meaningless scribblings. And yet, true as that may be, Azazel could be different. He was an ancient being. The trick, if one could call it that, to understanding them was to grasp infinity, and Azazel's age might help him there. The Scrolls were existences outside of space and time, like history books of always, whether they showed the present or the future, they did so in the context of everything, themselves existing outside of that context. The greater a person's understanding of that concept, the greater knowledge and utility could be gained from the Elder Scrolls. At a price, of course. The Moth Priests who read the Scrolls eventually died from mental decay, something which they considered a mark of pride.

But even without the necessary mastery, some things could be gained. Casting Alduin forward in time, traveling back in time at the Throat of the World to learn words of power, these were possible for anyone simply by the guidance of the Elder Scrolls themselves. Or by fate. No matter what, plans would change from here on out.

Now, how things would change depended on what was revealed to Azazel within the Elder Scroll. Did it show him the dragons clashing? A sundered world? A different prophecy entirely?

What did you see, Azazel?

-o-o-o-o-

Azazel

How he got out of the basement and into the street was a blur. He wasn't even certain if he was in his body or still within the visions, within the memories. It was the breeze, the sensation of stumbling awkwardly in some direction that let him know he was outside – his eyes offered him nothing, scorched by the scroll. He made it somewhere in the end. Home, he told himself, and some faint details slowly became visible to his eyes, before they all disappeared again in a flash.

"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax said, though his voice held none of the interest or warmth that it had when first he had spoken those words. "You come back at last, and not merely for Tinvaak."

"I've no use for your guidance or philosophy."

The dragon gave off an aura of deep sadness. Loss was not a feeling reserved for mortals.

"You slew the first-born and ended the rule of dragons." Paarthurnax flapped his wings and landed with a rumble in front of Cato, his eyes desperately inquisitive, looking for something, anything to give him the answers he craved. "With Alduin's impossible defeat, you ended the tyranny of dragons for good."

Cato's features were shadowed. Paarthurnax edged back, almost flinching at the murderous aura of the dragonborn. Its effect quickly wore off as a stronger emotion overtook the dragon.

"Krosis! You did not have to kill the rest of my kin for your vengeance. Nor do you have to kill me."

Cato looked up, his features softened somewhat, though Paarthurnax knew it was not out of a sudden change of heart. His time was nearing its end.

"I will indulge your love for speech one last time, Paarthurnax." His voice was even, persuasive even now. The dragonborn had a gift for speech. No hatred seeped into his tone. Paarthurnax sought the words to speak, to ask for answers, but Cato finally looked the beast in the eye, and the sight of his misty eyes gave the dragon pause. "I will tell you a story."

"A story?"

Cato looked away, into the blizzard that surrounded the mountain peak. Paarthurnax had the stray thought to take Cato's distraction as his one shot at survival, an all-out attack now was his only chance. Whether he knew it was hopeless or whether he would rather hear the story and accept his face, he remained still, listening intently.

"A short one. I once saw a wolf kill a frost troll." Cato stopped, giving no indication that he would continue as he stared out into the snow.

Paarthurnax almost hissed. If that was Cato's idea of a joke, it was mockery that the dragon would not stand for. But just as he was about to speak as only a dragon could, Cato spoke again.

"I was a child then. I don't know if the wolf was separated from its pack or if it was simply a wolf who hunted alone, but when the frost troll ambushed it, the wolf didn't back down. It was its fate to die or escape from that troll, and it chose to defy all odds by killing the troll," Cato smiled cynically. "It died still, hit by the death throes of the troll. Immortalized in my young heart, vivid in my mind's eye even now, but its body lay dead where it achieved its greatest victory."

His eyes turned to Paarthurnax, locking into the aged blue eyes of the beast.

"Growing up, I often imagined myself as the wolf. I grew strong – a human boy able to kill giants?" Cato's tone was mocking. "When I killed my first dragon and felt the exhilaration of feasting on its soul, its knowledge and power flooding my body, setting fire to my nerve endings, I saw in my mind that wolf, sucking the lifeblood from the neck arteries of the troll. Of course, I yet lived on."

Paarthurnax closed his eyes. He understood where Cato was going. The bitterness that marred the man's stance and the sorrow in his eyes told the tale on their own.

"When I gazed down at your brother," he spat the last word, "dead, my boot resting on his dread skull, devoid of any soul or life, I understood the truth. I am the predator. As I stood there alone, without her by my side, I understood that I was the one who had died and, in my death-throes, killed the one who sundered my soul and left me little more than a fighting corpse."

Paarthurnax hadn't the heart to see the expression Cato wore, so he remained as he was. "Krosis. My brother brought a great many great pain."

"Your brother," Cato snapped, "is only one among many. Was. As were the rest. The reign of terror is over. Let the mantle of Dragonborn be worn by no other as the need for one will end."

Paarthurnax nodded, finally opening his eyes again. "Then let it be so. There is little joy in being the last of my kind."

Cato nodded back, unfastening lance and shield from his back in a slow motion. "Yes. Being alone leaves little room to be alive."

Azazel blinked, hissing a breath as a tear rolled down his cheek. His vision was steadily returning as the warm pulse of the healing potion continued its steady beat within him. He vaguely noticed that he was clutching the scroll tightly to his chest. The visions hadn't fully stopped yet. More than visions, he felt the powerful emotions as if they were his own. Each memory richer with feeling than any of his own experiences ever were. He took a few deep, shaky breaths to compose himself, putting down the scroll on the table and rubbing his face with his hands. He leaned in, reaching for a bottle of brandy but stopped mid motion as a cool sensation on his neck made his heart skip.

-o-o-o-o-

Before you grab your torches and pitchforks: I know that killing Paarthurnax is sacrilegious, that's why I'm here to tell you, that's not what happened! Paarthurnax just went to live on a better, taller mountaintop where all good dragons go.

Now, I have a lot on my mind about this chapter, but I imagine no one wants to read it, so I'll keep it short.

We're looking a little further into Cato's philosophy here more so than we're looking at his past. So far, Cato's mostly been shown through his actions, so this is something of a required turning point for us to eventually know what his endgame is.

Also, a lot of things tightly packed in this chapter. The rest of the story is, more or less, set up here.

I might go into the mechanics of the Elder Scrolls in a later AN, as it's limited how much information can be dumped without being an outright lecture in the story itself.

Thanks for reading. I'll make sure not to delete my progress on a chapter again (big sadness still).

Mini scene: 'New Beginnings'

Azazel opened the scroll reverently. A drawing came into view, and before he knew it, it felt as though the scroll was opening itself, having taken full control of him. Everything faded but the scroll.

Before he knew it, he stood in empty space, the scroll holing him locked in place. He tried to look around but stood motionless, frozen. He had the feeling of waking up as his vision slowly returned, the scroll no longer anywhere to be found. He was moving, he realized. Sitting on some sort of cart travelling down a bumpy road.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake…"

Announcing that I'm replacing Cato the Elder with a Dragonborn Azazel fic under the name Dragons, Daedra, and Alcoholic Angels