?


I couldn't tell where I was. My whole body was searing in pain, and my lungs ached, as if about to burst. I was plunged into a deep sea, pressing upon every inch of me, like a toothless beast attempting to chew. All around me was pure darkness, and the darkness was humming a melody I couldn't recognize, but its very rhythm resonated with my heartbeat, and its unintelligible whispers tickled at the back of my eyes.

I could feel myself breathing in the water, but my skin was dry. Red and green danced in my mind, and then everything grew grey and weary as I heard a distant roar and opened my eyes, seeing nothing. I felt the sea of memory caress my face, and the whispers finally melded from deaf, meaningless noise into words.

"Wake up."


Turdas, the 4th of Hearthfire, 4E201


The bed released a loud, sharp creak as Saya shook herself awake with a gasp. Cold sweat rolled down her face, and her red eyes were wide open, unfocused and twitching. She looked around, taking in the room. Simple wooden walls, a bed, a few chairs… Was this an inn?

The Dunmer's fingers grasped the blanket, throwing it off her body, and suddenly, a stinging ache shot through her right hand. Saya winced, looking down and seeing the tight bandages wrapped around her hand - starting from the tips of her fingers and stopping midway through her forearm. Just beneath them, she could see her skin, darkened and shriveled into a canvas of ugly wounds. A quiet curse escaped her lips, replaced soon after with a quiet incantation. A warm light enveloped the Dragonborn's left hand and she carefully guided it over the damaged limb, sighing with relief as the lingering hypersensitivity began to subside and the ache was fading from her body.

The bed groaned with yet another unpleasant creak when Saya stood up, stretching to the best of her ability. Her muscles warmed up and her joints released a satisfying crack, bar the ones in her right hand, which only responded with a dull pain upon attempting to pop her knuckles. The Dunmer made a mental note to visit a healer sooner rather than later.

Another glance around the room uncovered the presence of her armor resting on the chair, bar one ruined leather glove and bracer. In an attempt not to strain her damaged limb, Saya refrained from using it while dressing up, inevitably increasing the amount of time needed threefold, but soon enough she was already on her way out of her room. The cozy interior of an inn came into view, not at all unlike the Sleeping Giant at Riverwood. Behind a counter was a black-haired Nord woman in her early forties, dressed in a simple white dress and a red apron. Upon noticing Saya's entrance, her expression grew visibly livelier.

"Ah, you're awake! Your friends were beginning to get worried, but the Nine must truly be watching over you." She gave the Dragonborn a small smile. Her face looked vaguely familiar. Must've seen her before the attack.

"Um, thank you." Saya scratched the back of her head, flustered by the comment. If Lydia and Delphine were getting worried… "How long was I out of it?"

The innkeeper hummed in thought. "About… Since the middle of yesterday? It should be noon in an hour or two, so quite a while. The warrior-looking girl - Lydia, was it? She covered your room, should be outside about now."

"Alright, thank you…?"

"Iddra," she said. "Pleasure to meet you. Let me know if you need anything."

The Dunmer nodded, returning the smile. "Saya, and the pleasure is all mine. I'll be sure to."

She pushed the door open, the fresh, chilly air nipping at her skin that was still used to the warmth of her blanket. Although it's almost been a whole day, there was still some snow peppering the grass left over from the storm, crunching under the locals' feet with every step onto the earth's pale coating. Two red-haired men - father and son, judging by the looks, - were sitting near a campfire, talking about something while having their belated breakfast, pickaxes resting by their side. With a grunt, a blond Nord with a knotted beard rolled a cart out of the mine, an emerald-colored shine adorning the ore with which it was filled. A female figure in a robe and a hood - a fellow Dunmer, it seems - was closely inspecting the entrance, a white-blue glow burning at her fingertips. Occasionally, she'd point at a section in the supports, and the wooden beams would thicken unnaturally, growing and knotting over themselves to reinforce the structure.

The clacking of firewood being placed down onto the ground yanked Saya's attention towards the noise. There, she saw a familiar armored Nord woman wiping the sweat off her forehead. "Good morning, Lydia!"

The housecarl turned, a bright expression finding its way onto her face. "My Thane! You're finally awake!" Lydia quickly rushed up the stairs to meet her face. "How are you feeling? After you killed that thing, you just… collapsed!"

"I'm fine, thank you," she answered, her lips stretching into a wry smile. "The hand will need a few touch ups before it's back in working order, though…"

Lydia frowned, crossing her arms. "How did that even happen? We noticed some kind of flash through the snow, and the next thing we know - both of you came crashing down. What did you do?"

The Dragonborn laughed, scratching the back of her head. "Yeah, uhh… in hindsight, maybe using a fireball on something less than a meter away might have not been one of my brightest moments." She snickered. Heh, 'brightest'.

One second, you could see the color drain from Lydia's face. The next, it flushed red with anger. "What are you laughing about?! A fireball?! What were you thinking?! You could've died!"

"But I didn't, right?"

"WHAT?!" Lydia's eyes grew wide as she began to open her mouth to reply only to close it right after. "You… W-what kind of…?"

The housecarl's exasperated babbling was interrupted by the feeling of Saya placing a hand on Lydia's head, patting it softly. "I'm sorry that I made you worry, but I'm okay. Look, this-" she raised her right hand, clenching and relaxing her fingers a few times, "-will heal. I'm not dead. I took a risk and it paid off. The dragon is gone, and both you and Delphine are alive and well. Okay?"

Lydia's lower lip trembled before she bit down on it, sighing in frustration. "I… Alright. I'm glad you're well."

Saya grinned, giving her housecarl another pat on the head before lowering her hand. "Good! Now, speaking of, where's Delphine? Did she run off while I was having my beauty sleep?"

Lydia shook her head. "No. I asked her if she was going to go back to Riverwood, but she said she'd be staying until you were awake and would absorb the dragon's soul." The housecarl was careful to drop the 'if she can' comment. "I think I last saw her going towards the corpse a few hours ago."

Saya's gaze moved to the trail leading uphill. "Walk with me," she said, turning and heading off towards the mound, her housecarl right behind her. As they walked, Saya's gaze wandered, and a hollow feeling rose in her stomach. She saw shattered and uprooted trees, unearthed rock, craters and half-dissolved ice spikes littering the soil. Saya couldn't help but wrinkle her nose - if all of this was just collateral damage, then a direct attack from one of those things… She discarded the train of thought before it got too grim. It's no use thinking about it. It was her responsibility now, to stop it from happening.

There wouldn't be another Helgen.

The Dunmer shook her head before focusing her gaze ahead again. She saw the enormous carcass of the fallen dragon, its flesh and bone exposed by hours of hard work. Delphine had been carefully skinning the body, a leather sack by her side already half-filled with some sturdy scales she managed to pry off. On the ground were multiple large jars full of a dark crimson liquid - Sahloknir's blood, she guessed. Saya gave Lydia a look that was answered with an equally puzzled shrug, sighed, and approached the corpse.

"You've been busy, huh?"

Delphine turned in Saya's direction and raised an eyebrow. Then, she pulled a rag off her belt and wiped her dagger clean before jumping off the corpse. "It would be a waste to leave this thing to rot. Maybe one of my contacts or myself can make something useful out of all this."

"Dibs on the bones."

"...excuse me?" The Breton gave Saya a half-confused, half-whatthehelldidyoujustsay look.

"I have a house in Whiterun. I've already tried tampering with another dragon's bones, and I want to keep trying. Assuming I get another chance to use the Skyforge, I can try making something out of these. Hells, maybe Farengar could come up with a way to whip something up out of the smaller bits."

Delphine stroked her own chin, thinking it over. "Very well, do as you will. But before that, I think there's something you were supposed to show me." The Breton crossed her arms, giving Saya an expectant look.

"Yeah yeah, I'm getting to it." She sighed, hesitating somewhat before she took the first step forward. The dragon was dead, sure, but even its corpse gave off an aura of unease. Like at any moment, it could just… No. Don't think about it. She swallowed, steadying her breath before taking another step. And another. Soon, she stood right in front of Sahloknir's head.

She turned back, looking first at Delphine, who was observing her with a cold condescension. Then, she turned to Lydia. There was worry in her expression, but also faith. Saya couldn't help but think that her housecarl might have more confidence in her abilities than the Dragonborn herself does. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes. She tried to remember the feeling from last time, from High Hrothgar and from Whiterun Watchtower alike. She dug for the memories ingrained in her mind, for that peculiar warmth, so foreign, yet somehow so… right.

Then, she heard a gasp from behind. As her eyes opened, she could see Sahloknir's flesh begin to unravel into the familiar strands of light. Those thin, wispy lines weaved themselves into thread, then into fabric, and then clotted together into a stream of light, white mixed with sky blue and fiery orange, blending and fading and sparking up again. And that stream ebbed, rose and turned, not knowing where to go before she looked at it. Suddenly, she felt a sharp tug at her heart, a spreading heat coming from the center of her chest, and the light began to flow into her body like all the previous times. It grew tighter and denser, washing over her like a torrent, pushing and pulling at her very soul. And then, everything faded away. The light coiled around Saya's body, radiating brightly from within before it burned out like a spent candle, and disappeared.

Fade… Feim.

The word appeared in her mind like a vision. Claw marks. The word wall in Ustengrav. The whispering Rotmulaag - word of power.

Saya stepped back, grunting as she grabbed her head with both hands, rubbing at her temples. The whispers, it was… speech. Their language. No. Hers, too. Like ink-covered spots in a dictionary disappearing from the pages, recollection sparked in her mind, rows upon rows of meaningless symbols and noise, arranging and rearranging until, after a single moment, it all seemed to click.

Words that Sahloknir spoke and heard. Minutes, seconds, moments before death.

Saya's hands lowered as the voices subsided, and she couldn't help but start laughing. She could understand it - not everything, but she could understand what it said! She turned around, a gleeful smile adorning her face - and she saw Lydia with a similar expression, surprise morphing into happiness in the span of seconds. Delphine, however, stood completely still, her expression frozen in shock. The Dragonborn chuckled and walked back over to them, giving Lydia a hug with one arm.

"So, guess I am proven Dragonborn twice over now! How about that, hmm?" She was smug. Of course she was smug, she earned the right to be. But the enjoyment of it quickly sapped away from her as she noticed that Delphine didn't seem to share her contentment. If anything, the woman seemed... solemn. "...Hey, what is it?"

Delphine stepped back, pursing her lips and clenching her fists. With a feeling of resolve, she grasped the hilt of her orichalcum blade and pulled it out, sinking it into the earth.

"I suppose I owe you an apology, don't I?" The Breton said quietly, the very edges of her mouth curling into a faint smile. To Saya's surprise, she closed her eyes, placing both hands on her blade. "I've told you before that my organization searched for one like you, right? That is because since our very founding, our purpose was to slay dragons, even if it was forgotten with time. That's why we look for the Dragonborn, the greatest dragonhunter. To serve."

Delphine took a knee, and bowed her head low in front of Saya.

"...my name is Fortunata Veridis, and I am one of the last Blades alive."


So… That happened.

As "Delphine" continued talking, more and more things began to fall in place. The search for the Dragonborn, the partnership with a court wizard in an Empire-aligned city, the constant paranoia of Thalmor presence, the combat experience… It all made sense, in hindsight. Almost too much sense.

It was jarring to hear her tone shift so drastically. Knowing what I do know, I can't help but wonder if that shifty Delphine from the basement was anything more than a persona. How much of it was really her?

I expected more half-truths, but she gave me honest answers to whatever I would ask. She told me of how she had come to Skyrim some twenty years ago, seeking refuge from the Thalmor snooping all over Cyrodiil. How even then, she was hunted for her allegiance, and how she continued to search for the Dragonborn throughout all of these years, even though their last line had died out centuries ago.

And how she was also looking for an old friend who, now that she found me, might be able to help us. His name was Esbern, and Fortunata told me that he was the Archivist of the Blades back in Cyrodiil. Back when Cloud Ruler Temple was destroyed, he was one of the few who managed to escape with some of the most important information stored in the libraries, as well as with the decades of knowledge hidden in his own memory. The bad part is, the Thalmor were looking for him as well, and they knew where he was - and Fortunata did not.

After a few more brief words were exchanged, she said she'll come up with a way to perform some kind of recon mission to try and find him before the Dominion get their hands on him. She said she'll be in Riverwood if I needed to find her, and that I'll be getting a letter should she find anything. I wanted to ask her how she planned on getting the letter to find me, but she just chuckled and waved it off. Said she has "plans" for that.

Myself and Lydia have decided to head southward, towards Riften. Making a hook around the geyser valley was definitely a more time consuming route, but I don't like the look of the clouds. I'd wager the weather on the east side wouldn't be quite as harsh as by the river.

Besides, there's been some talk of a Dwemer ruin in the area. I probably won't go inside, but it's worth a look. See if I hadn't gone rusty with those locks of theirs.


Dozens of small magical flames spewed from wall-mounted mechanical torches, bathing the interior in pale cyan light. The cold grey of stone and dust was broken up by bright metallic brass, lining the surfaces of pipes with long-forgotten functions and simple decorations with no real function to begin with. Filigree shone upon tables and chairs, cabinets and beds - all in that same, fake-gold color.

The centerpiece of the room, however, was definitely the large door made of this same yellow-orange metal. In front of it was Saya, kneeling and painstakingly picking at the keyhole, with some half a dozen broken lockpicks being a testament to her previous attempts. Lydia stood beside her, holding an oil lantern in her hand. She'd already gotten used to the constant displeased grunts and clicks, and while questions swirled about in her head, she had decided to keep quiet after the second lockpick. For her own sanity's sake.

Minutes passed, and the Nord was beginning to feel a dull ache spreading through her arm. Thankfully, before it could become anything resembling a problem, a loud click came from the door, followed with what sounded like a clock being wound up, and the door opened with a tortured creak.

Saya practically jumped in her place. "YES! FINALLY!" She erupted with laughter before picking up all of her items off the floor and standing up. Her housecarl just barely had the time to step back not to accidentally get smacked in the face by the Dunmer throwing her hands up in a cheer.

The two entered what looked to be a large vault. The sides of the room were lined with long shelves, parts of deconstructed automatons and solid bars of the same Dwemer brass filling the space. Old pieces of armor and weapons, but also scrap and useless bolts and decorative plates. In some places - even old, half-rotted schematics of unknown technologies, and in others - the gleaming of an occasional empty soul gem.

Their attention, though, was caught by the pedestal at the very back. It looked to be almost like a desk carved from stone, metal trimming the edges and intricate, geometrical carvings adorning the flat spaces. On top of it rested a small, brass-colored rectangular pedestal, somewhat tilting upwards to face the room's entrance. Its surface was not completely flat, however, as in the center was a small indent - a container for a bright blue crystal of a peculiar shape. Something between a crescent moon and a gear, it started as a semicircle that broke off in angular edges as a third, arrow-like prong extended out of the center, all three protrusions fitting nicely into the pedestal's niche.

Saya slowly approached the curio, a glint in her eye reflecting its magical glow. Unsure, she turned to look at Lydia, asking no question but receiving an equally puzzled look in return. Carefully, the Dunmer reached out, her fingers carefully grasping the carved crystal and pulling it. At first, there was a strong resistance, but after a few seconds it disappeared with a quiet, barely audible click below the pedestal. The object slid straight out, somewhat burning at the Dunmer's fingertips as she turned it at different angles, watching the light reflect off the edges. Then, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

"Um, my Thane?" Lydia's voice called over, confused. The Dunmer turned around, raising an eyebrow at the tone, but surprise crept its way into her features as soon as she looked out into the hallway - previously illuminated by dozens of little flames, it was now plunged into complete darkness, with the light of Lydia's lamp barely reaching the exit door.

Slowly, both of their gazes moved toward the azure crystal, its ethereal glow slowly pulsing in Saya's hand.

"Thane, you're not-"

"Yes, we're taking it."

Lydia let out a long, heavy sigh, but did not protest further. For her own sanity's sake.


The rumor was right on the money - there are indeed some ruins just off the road. We didn't go inside, though. Yesterday was tiring enough, and after a day of travel both of us were starting to feel the fatigue piling on, so I marked the place on my map and we continued along the road.

Now that I think about it, I don't think this one had a name either, but it was going alongside the Velothi mountain range, so… Prophet's Path? Prophet's Path sounds good.

When we reached the intersection near Northwind, we turned westward. Lydia suggested we spend the night in the empty fort, but I didn't like the idea. We were pretty close to the destination anyway, so we can set up camp there. Did I write down where we're even going? I didn't, did I.

The Atronach standing stone is the place I wanted to visit. I heard stories about those weird stones before, but there were none back in Morrowind. In fact, the only places that (to my knowledge) contain doomstones are Cyrodiil and Skyrim. I wonder what's up with that.


Thin trails of smoke rose into the sky from three slender fingertips touching a pile of dry branches. Soon, a minute spark appeared, slowly nurtured into a humble tongue of flame that wrapped hungrily around the kindling, consuming it and growing into a full campfire. Saya sat back on her sleeping roll, a content smile on her face now that the fire was lit and she could feel its pleasant warmth tingling at her undamaged hand, while the scarred one lay rested on her lap along with the faintly glowing crystalline gem.

"So…" The Dunmer said, her smile audible in her words. "...any idea what this is?" She lifted the object, showing it to Lydia, who was sitting on her bedroll as well, her expression somewhere between neutral, tired, and bored.

"No, I'm afraid." She sighed. Truth be told, the Nord never fancied herself a scholar, but now that she was stuck with one filled with endless curiosity, she almost regretted not doing her homework justice. It would've probably helped a lot with holding a conversation like this one. "I don't know much about the dwarves, no more than your average Nord would hear. Fairy tales and legends to put little ones to bed."

The Dragonborn hummed, lowering the item again. Then, she tilted her head quizzically. "What kind of stories were you told?"

Lydia lied down, looking into the fire as her mind was plunged into deep thought. "I remember… There was one story about a king. Vrage, I think he was named. A long, long time ago, he fought in a great war that he started, himself. His father, king Harald, was a wise and old ruler that banished the ancient elves from Skyrim, and his son continued in his father's steps - not as a defender, but a conqueror. He would lead great armies, claiming land for himself and his nation, and as sign of his reign he wore his father's crown. The Jagged Crown, they'd call it, because it was crafted from the claws and teeth of an ancient dragon."

Saya listened with utmost attention, a smile stretching across her face. She laid down, too, watching Lydia closely as she continued talking.

"Father mentioned once that he'd even conquered Morrowind, and Nords ruled over the dwarves that lived there for almost two hundred years." The Nord paused, closing her eyes and turning onto her back, releasing a deep sigh that was quickly followed by a chuckle. "I remember when my father would tell me stories of this old dwarven world. Blackreach, he called it. Have you ever heard the story?"

Saya shook her head. "I don't think I have."

Lydia smiled slightly, brushing the hair out of her eyes and looking off into the sky. "He would tell it to me whenever I wouldn't go to bed on time. An underground world made by dwarves, stretching beneath the nine holds, full of treasures and blind, pale creatures that would crawl out at night to see if any children weren't sleeping. Those who were, they wouldn't notice, but the ones who weren't - they'd steal away and never let go." For a few seconds, silence hung over the two, only the fire cracking into the dead of night. Then, the two of them looked at each other and couldn't help but start laughing quietly. "Sounds kind of dark for a children's story, doesn't it?"

"Pfft, if you think that's dark you've not heard of Morrowind's stories!" Saya waited for the laughter to subside before she looked at the campfire dreamily, the flame's light dancing in her eyes. She took a deep breath through her nose and sighed. The smoke smelled like home. "Mother used to tell me that when she was young, Morrowind was ruled by the Tribunal. Living gods, they were called: the kind Almalexia, mother Morrowind; the beloved Vivec, a revered leader and a Warrior-Poet; and the ever-reclusive Sotha Sil, whom everyone knew as the Clockwork God. She told me that the Tribunal themselves would sometimes write stories to tell their disciples, those disciples would pass them on, and then they'd be told to children."

"Did your mother tell you those?"

The Dunmer nodded. "Sometimes. There was one story about Vivec and the contentious beasts. It goes something like this: once, Vivec was out on a stroll, admiring Vvardenfell's lush forests and fiery rivers alike. When he came across one such river, he saw a shalk and a kagouti argue with one another. He was about to ignore them and walk on, but then he heard what they were saying. The shalk screamed, 'You're the ugliest creature alive! Look at yourself: a hulking lizard with a wall for a skull!', and its shell rattled threateningly. The kagouti roared back, 'No, YOU are the ugliest creature alive! Look at yourself: a disgusting insect, frolicking around in dung all day!', and it dragged its claws across the dirt. And then, Vivec pulled his spear off his back, and stabbed it into the earth, and both of them were quiet. And he said: 'No, both of you are the ugliest creatures alive, for it's not your looks, but your squabbling that is most disgusting of all.' He raised his spear and struck, and in two blows both of their skulls were broken, and their jaws silenced, and Vivec went on his way again, knowing now that true ugliness lies in one's manners, and not their appearance."

Once she finished, Saya turned over to look at Lydia's face, which was contorted in an indescribable emotion that could only be defined as a mixture of shock, awe, and sheer abhorrence. "They told that to children to teach them morals?"

The Dunmer bellowed with laughter, her voice echoing above the waters of the hot springs and the cliffs they rested by. "Quite the fetching story, innit? Dad disliked them, thought them too grim. But really, when you grow up in a place that everyone thinks to be the hell of the mortal world… Is it really so bad?" She shrugged, a wry smile on her face.

The housecarl opened her mouth but no words left her. "...true. The things I've heard about Morrowind are not very flattering, to say the least." She sighed, her expression returning to its previous pleasant neutrality as she simply watched the fire. It was beginning to dim a bit, so she sat up and reached for a piece of firewood, carefully placing it into the campfire so as not to drown out the flames completely. The little tongues of light happily accepted the addition, engulfing the splintered wood and renewing their vigorous glow, letting the radiating warmth tickle Lydia's face, almost as a sort of wordless thanks.

Her Thane snickered, turning to look skyward as she put both of her arms under her head. "It's not all bad. It's kind of… kind of like Skyrim, actually. From the outside it seems like this scary, uninviting land full of angry people with weird traditions and legends and beasts. But to a person who was born there, all of that is just normal. You don't think of it as something weird, you think of it as home. As something beautiful. You know?"

The Nord chuckled. "Aye, I can understand that." Some rustling reached Saya's ears as Lydia settled down again. The soft crackling of the fire was calming, accompanied by the occasional call of a distant bird or the quiet bubbling of the thermal waters to the north. The girl's red eyes were set on none of those, however. Her gaze trailed along the different stars, carefully eyeing each of them as her mind tried to rouse the memories of all the constellations taught to her by her mother. She remembered the old drawings on the pages - little dots connected by lines, with visages layered on top of them: an armed Warrior, a wise Mage, a cunning Thief, a hissing Serpent… She spotted them all, after a few minutes.

"Hey, Lydia? What sign were you born under?"

The Nord seemed a bit confused by the question, her head tilting to meet Saya's curious gaze. "Sign?"

"You know. Starsign, birthsign. The constellation," she explained, and her housecarl nodded in understanding.

"Ah, those." Her expression grew somewhat sour. "...I was born under The Lady."

"You don't sound very thrilled about it."

"Is there something to be happy about? The Lady is… Well, a lady!" The frustration was evident in her voice. She crossed her arms and a sigh escaped her. "Being the daughter of the Jarl's brother is difficult. When I was growing up, my handmaid spent uncountable days teaching me manners, the proper ways to walk, how to dress… But it never felt right. Everyone saw me as a noble lady, someone who would probably get married off to some snot-faced milk drinker to keep him loyal."

"But that didn't happen, did it?" Saya asked.

"No. Thanks to father, at least. He was always very… supportive, of what I wanted to do. Ever since he noticed I liked the stories of old conquests and heroes more, he'd tell them to me when I would go to bed. He'd give me sword fighting lessons, and when I got a little older I would even practice with uncle's… I mean, Jarl Balgruuf's children. He let me do whatever I liked instead of whatever everyone else thought I'm supposed to do."

"You know, the Lady is one of the Warrior's charges," the Dunmer said without looking away from the sky. The moons looked bright tonight, almost mesmerizing. She liked it when they were that way. "Some say Saint Alessia was a Lady, and she most certainly was a lady, and she liberated an entire race from slavery and established one of the biggest and most ambitious nations in all of history."

Lydia grumbled, murmuring a quiet "I guess", prompting Saya to quietly giggle. A few moments later, Lydia asked: "What sign were you born under? The Atronach?"

Saya nodded. "Mhm. To be honest, I kind of felt weird about it too for a while. Kids can be quite ruthless." She laughed. "Ever since one of them found out they'd point at me and say that I'm a scary big monster, or that I'm a demon from Oblivion. Silly things like that, but… back in the day, they were hurtful."

There was a somewhat surprised sound from Lydia. "That's… that's awful. Did you do anything about it?"

"Nah, not really." Saya chuckled, a grin making its way onto her face. "Mom said something to me instead once I told her about it, though. 'Not all atronachs are bad - some are good, some are evil. But there's one thing that unites all atronachs, be it fire, ice, or lightning: they're the purest versions of what makes them into themselves'." The Dunmer let out a quiet laugh. "And then she probably called me something cheesy, like 'my little atronach' or something."

Lydia smiled. "That's… a really sweet way to look at it."

"Yep. I also went back to school the next day and put a dry hopper behind the collar of the one that's been pointing fingers. Serves him right." A proud, almost smug smile graced Saya's face while Lydia laughed at the comment.

Once she quieted down, the housecarl asked. "So that's why you decided to come here? Because you were born under the Atronach?"

The Dragonborn nodded. "Yeah, that's part of it. I've been curious to visit it ever since I found out about the Standing Stones. I heard they're older than anything else in Skyrim, so I wanted to see them for myself."

"Have you tried touching it?"

"Say what now?" Saya's thought processes stopped dead in her tracks as she looked over to Lydia. Evidently, she had not.

"I remember hearing once that, for normal people, the stones aren't anything special. But every once in a while there'd be a legend or a tale of some hero who would be able to use the Standing Stones to harness the power of the stars. And I mean…" She gestured at the Dunmer. "If the Dragonborn of legend isn't a hero, I don't know what is."

Saya sat up and looked at the Stone, thinking. In the night, she could faintly see small blue dots glow on the object, each little light representing one of the Atronach's stars. She was about to stand up when she noticed the crystal fall out of her lap. She picked it up, and then approached the Standing Stone.

The stone was a light grey color and shaped like an oval with its bottom half submerged into the land beneath. Near the edge of it, there was a wide, thick iron ring with a large round cavity going through the stone. Lastly, there was a depiction of a Storm Atronach carved into the front of the stone, with small gemstones set in a pattern mimicking the positions of the stars in the night sky. Saya reached out with one hand, her skin touching the monument's rough surface.

"I… don't think anything is happening." She murmured, tracing her fingers along the 'stars'. But then, she noticed the gems in it become… brighter. She took a knee to take a closer look when she heard Lydia exclaim.

"My Thane, your hand! The crystal!"

"Huh?" The Dragonborn looked at her right hand, and, to her surprise, a similar glow was emanating from the Dwemer stone she was holding. She looked back to the Atronach's 'stars', and indeed - the light was undoubtedly similar. She stood back up and took the crystal in her left hand, gliding it along the monument when she felt a strong pull near the crevice in the center. It was as if the blue fragment was being forcefully torn out of her hand, and its glow was growing more intense by the moment. Her fingers were locking up and beginning to hurt, so she quickly let go, and the crystal flew out of her hand and into the hole in the stone, levitating in its center.

Then, it began spinning, turning rapidly on every axis. Its edges were becoming brighter and brighter, its motions so fast that it appeared to almost turn into a sphere of pure azure light. The Atronach's visage on the standing stone lit up, and the previously unseen carvings began to fill up with that same magical light, rapidly becoming brighter and brighter until it completely outshined the campfire. And then, it all suddenly culminated as the fragment stopped in the middle, its straight edge pointed towards the Dunmer, looking almost like a white vertical iris of a large eye. Carefully, she reached out to grasp it.

The sky lit up. A beam of fluorescent blue came rushing down into the stone, striking the fragment and flowing into Saya's arm and wrapping around her, fusing with her skin and taking root within her body. Lydia swiftly got up from her bedroll, reaching for the Dunmer's shoulder but recoiling as the energy that was so tightly enveloping her earlier had ruptured, exploding outward with a short-lived, but forceful push.

When Lydia's eyes opened again, the light had almost completely disappeared. The beam descending from above slowly faded away. Their campfire was almost completely blown out, only a few small flames lingering on the dry logs. Saya was standing there, looking at the crystal in her hand. Its glow had reverted to the previous, barely-noticeable level, as if it had returned to a dormant state.

Huffing, the housecarl stood up. "My Thane, are you alright?" She said, brushing off the dirt from herself.

Saya turned around, nodding. "Yeah, I… Think so." Her voice was little more than a murmur, quiet and unsure as she looked at herself. She didn't feel any different, at least. Then, she heard a distant rumble. "I think we should sleep somewhere else."

The housecarl tilted her head as the Dunmer passed by her and began packing up her bedroll. "Why?"

The Dragonborn slung the backpack onto her shoulders. "Because we passed by a giant's camp earlier, and that just now sounded a whole lot like a mammoth that woke up. I don't know if they're brave or stupid around to investigate, and I don't want to find out. C'mon, let's go."


Fredas, the 5th of Hearthfire, 4E201


This night's sleep was really something. While we were making our way from the Atronach stone, Lydia noticed a cave just a little bit north of where we were heading. Not to travel in the night any longer than we had to, we decided to check it out.

And that's how we found out about the Eldergleam sanctuary. A priest of Kyne greeted us as soon as we entered, probably keeping watch for travelers or ne'er-do-wells that could stumble upon it, and invited us to rest at the grove inside. I wasn't going to turn down such an offer, and Lydia seemed excited too, so we graciously accepted.

Now, I'm not a big believer in the Divines, but I can't describe that place as anything short of magical. It was absolutely massive, like an entire hillside, but hidden completely underground. There were all kinds of plants and animals - I think I even saw a few bears snoozing off among the pilgrims - and on top of the tallest hill there was an absolutely enormous tree. Its roots stretched throughout the entire cave, and I think I could see some of them crawling up the walls, like it was holding the entire place up.

The priest explained that it was the Eldergleam, a sort of natural monument to one of the Nordic gods, Kyne. Pilgrims often come here for prayer and sightseeing, and some of them stay there forever, taking care of the place. He showed us where we could rest and we made a small camp to bed down for the night.

In the morning, we joined the pilgrims in a short prayer to Kyne. I am no preacher, but I was taught about the different gods that the other races worship. Honestly, I'm neutral towards them. Can't really deny their existence completely considering that somehow, every single race seems to have their own version of the gods.

Well, there's the part where I'm also Dragonborn, so I can't really deny the existence of Akatosh either. And then the dragon from the other day, Sahloknir, seemed to call the black one "Alduin"... but I suppose that's a thought for another day.

From then on, we continued traveling to Ivarstead. The trip was mostly uneventful, though it did rain in the second half of the day which was rather obnoxious. Right now we're back at the inn, I think it's best we rest up before we make the climb.


Loredas, the 6th of Hearthfire, 4E201


The wind's hiss announced the opening of the door to High Hrothgar and numerous snowflakes found their way into the monastery, only to melt the moment they touched the warm stone floor. The flames dimmed briefly, Lydia and Saya entering the building and lowering their hoods. Arngeir, who was kneeling on the floor in what seemed to be a whispered prayer, opened his eyes and looked over upon the newcomers, but continued the chant nonetheless. The Dunmer slid down her backpack onto the floor, rifling through it while waiting for the Greybeard to finish.

Upon his prayer coming to an end, the silence in the room was broken by a greeting. "Dragonborn. You have returned."

"I have. And I brought this." Saya's arm stretched out, the horn of Jurgen Windcaller grasped tightly in her fingers. Arngeir's eyes grew slightly wider with pleasant surprise, and a barely noticeable smile graced his old features.

"Ah! The horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Well done, Dragonborn." He rose from his kneeling position, reaching for the horn and taking it. "You have passed the last of our trials. Come with me, you are ready to receive our final gift."

The Dragonborn nodded. "Thank you."

Arngeir returned the nod, before turning around. The monastery seemed to rumble as he spoke. "Wuth inne, boaan tiid."

The Greybeard led her to the center of the hall again, as the other three masters emerged from their places of meditation. Wulfgar approached Saya, bowing slightly.

"With your body, mind, and voice tested, you are ready to learn the final word of Unrelenting Force - 'Dah' which means 'Push'." As Arngeir explained, master Wulfgar lifted his hand in front of his mouth, the whisper of the word escaping his lips and etching into the stone floor. Again, in Saya's eyes, those markings began to faintly glow with recognition. "Master Wulfgar will now grant you his understanding of 'Dah'."

Saya nodded, closing her eyes as the wisps of memory flooded into her mind from the master's. Her very bones felt like they were trembling under pressure, her breath growing deep and strained under the sensation that was not truly there, but one she could feel with her very soul. And then, a brief weakness - an ease of pressure, a momentary abatement - one that she did not allow to slip, and as she exhaled, the force of her breath rebounded tenfold, lifting the pressure as if it was never there to begin with.

Dah. Push.

Saya's eyes opened, and a bead of sweat was rolling down her chin. Wulfgar saw that his knowledge was absorbed and stepped back. It was only then that the Dragonborn noticed that the other masters, too, have taken specific positions - upon the floor was carved a square with various hieroglyphics ornamenting its edges, and each Greybeard has taken their place at one of its corners.

Arngeir turned to Lydia, who had so far been simply watching the events unfold. "You may want to wait outside. The Voices of the Greybeards are not to be trifled with, and we wish you to suffer no harm."

The housecarl opened her mouth to protest, but a glance from the Dunmer made all and any words get stuck in her throat. It's not like he was wrong, after all. Albeit begrudgingly, the girl nodded and pulled her hood up again, leaving the monastery.

Once the doors were shut, Arngeir spoke to Saya again. "Your training is completed, Dragonborn. Stand still, and steel yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards, but you will. Are you ready to hear us?"

The Dragonborn nodded. "I am."

The Greybeards drew in a long breath. When the lips of the four masters parted, and their Voices echoed throughout the monastery, throughout the mountain, if not throughout all of Skyrim:

"Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau."

Their words echoed inside her skull, with pain and dizziness washing over her body in resonating waves. Her hands lifted to her ears reflexively, seeking to drown out the unbearable noise, yet the speech still resounded inside her mind.

"Naal Thu'umu, mu ofaan ni nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth."

Her own mind screamed at itself to calm down, and her breathing slowly steadied. She was not going to be killed. This was only a greeting. The pain was beginning to grow bearable, and yet her teeth remained clenched, her lips trembling, and her eyes closed. Her back straightened slowly, with heaving exhales calming the nerves. She could do this.

The ringing in her head slowly subsided, and as the Greybeards grew silent, the pain vanished as well. Her breathing grew steady, and her hands lowered from her ears. As a sigh of relief escaped her mouth, her eyes opened. The temple was brightly lit with burning braziers, and the banners of silky blue hung from the walls, the words "LOK, THU'UM" written upon them. "Sky above, Voice within", she thought, but quickly caught herself wondering how she knew that. The Greybeards knelt, their heads bowed in reverence and respect. Her mouth opened, and yet the voice that spoke was not hers.

"Rise."

The single word rumbled with power, its echo bouncing off the walls and shaking the very air around them. The voice was male and raspy, the pitch low and the volume barely audible. And yet, despite that, it still resonated with the surroundings, piercing into them like a blade sinking into sand.

The grey-robed figures stood up from their knees, and looked at one another. She did not recognize any of their faces, all of them vaguely reminiscent but so different from the four she came to know. Some of them were young, some older, and some so old it seemed a miracle that they're even alive. And all of them, in unison, said:

"Werid wah hi, Wulfharth, su'um do Kaan, jun do brom. Su'umiil los krah do Atmora, Thu'umiil los strun ni aaz, ahrk him sos los yolsedov."

Their words were so distant, and yet they were said right in front of her. They blurred in a whirl of half-existing memories, and then, as though they were never there, they vanished. And again, the four voices she knew, finally rang out:

"Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."

And then, the room drowned in silence.


I would be lying if I said that the vision didn't freak me out. It did. A lot. In fact, the first thing I did after coming to my senses was ask Arngeir about it, but he - sadly, but predictably - couldn't be of any assistance.

The name "Wulfharth" did ring a bell with him though, and I vaguely remembered it from my father's stories. Wulfharth, who had so many different titles it'd probably take me longer to list them all than to say everything else I know about him, was an ancient High King who was said to be Dragonborn and has apparently returned from death on a few occasions. The last one, according to the Arcturian Heresy, was around Tiber Septim's time.

Come to think of it, there was some kind of weird vision back when I fought the ghost, too… Hmm, I'll need to ponder on this sometime later.

I had a more pressing question beyond that, however. Sahloknir's soul was… I don't know how to explain it. It's just that when I absorbed it, I could feel this… understanding. Like some gears in my head suddenly clicked and I knew things I didn't before.

Arngeir said that this was a part of my power as Dragonborn - as I absorbed his soul, part of Sahloknir's memories were devoured by me as well. He advised me to be careful, though, so that I wouldn't accidentally take in too much and be overwhelmed with memories of a creature a hundred times older than me.

Then a thought occurred: if I could understand what dragons say, like during that conversation between him and Alduin, maybe I could learn more from them, or maybe empower my Shouts in some way? I asked Arngeir if there was any way I could learn more about the dragon language, and his first answer was to study and meditate.

Obviously, I didn't exactly have the time for that.

Instead, I was given an interesting alternative. I was far from the only Dragonborn in the history of Tamriel - hell, even just Skyrim. Arngeir suggested that I find their remains and try to somehow communicate with them. He kind of danced around the topic of absorbing their souls, if they were still inside the bones. I guess it'd make sense he'd disapprove of me erasing the last traces of whatever's left of what used to be some of Skyrim's greatest heroes.

Frankly, I couldn't care less. A soul is a soul, no?

He gave me a location that I should look into. It's relatively close to Whiterun, so I guess I'll check it out later. For now, I think we'll go back to the city. I still need to get my arm fixed up, and as much as she tries not to show it, I think Lydia would appreciate a good rest.

And to be honest, so would I. Sleeping in watches gets tiring. Can't wait to plop down into Breezehome's bed and pass out.


Sundas, the 7th of Hearthfire, 4E201


The road to Whiterun was quick and uneventful. The Valtheim towers were still unoccupied, which was both uplifting and kind of disappointing. Considering the strategic placement of these things, I'd have expected Jarl Balgruuf to at least set up a guard outpost here to keep the hold borders in check. Though in the end I suppose it's not really my problem, and having another bounty placed on a group of bandits that decides to settle in there next wouldn't be a bad source of money.

...I wonder if that's inappropriate for me to say considering I'm a thane and all. It probably is, isn't it. Oh well.


We arrived in Whiterun in the later hours of the day, so I suppose we'll just spend the evening cozying about. I used my time to check out the Dragonsreach library while it was still available and I asked Farengar if I could borrow a few books to study them at home. He was a bit hesitant at first, but flashing my thane status and the promise of some samples of dragon remains for research was enough to coax him into all but granting me free access to the collection.

Well, okay, "free access" might be a bit much. But I was free to drop by if I ever needed something and to take books with me so long as I didn't take them outside of the city and returned them without any damage.

The Temple of Kynareth was a bit busy so I decided that it'd be better to come by tomorrow. The rest of my evening was spent reading up on the various large-scale battles of Skyrim, and I found a name that matched the location that Arngeir gave me - Gjukar Stormchanter, a warrior who fell in battle near Rorikstead sometime in the early First Era. He seems to have been more or less forgotten by history, with the only real remnant of his legacy being a big pillar in the Whiterun plains by the name of "Gjukar's Monument". We'll go there the day after tomorrow, methinks.

For now though, sleep. Bed, sweet bed.


Morndas, the 8th of Hearthfire, 4E201


My day began with returning the books back to Farengar after finishing up with writing my notes. He made sure to inspect them rather painstakingly for any tears or stains, but seemed rather pleased to find that the books were in the same condition as when I first got my hands on them.

From there, I took off to Kynareth's temple. Danica, the keeper of the temple, seemed rather tired, and the sight of all the injured men and women inside the building (which was all but turned into a hospital, really) didn't leave much room for imagination as to why. The fee was reasonable, and I threw in a little extra for the short notice.

Once my arm was nice and smooth again - though not completely without reminders of my little stunt - I went through the usual routine. Armor repairs, weapon maintenance, supply stockpiling, the usual boring stuff. I also stopped by to chat with Balgruuf a bit, mentioning the situation with Valtheim Towers. The jarl said that he was already aware of the issue, but couldn't really deal with it because causing additional troops to Riverwood already caused a shortage of men that he did not have the ability to cover at the moment. I assured him that if another pack of optimists decided to inhabit the ruins, I'd be there to take care of them. Lydia, in the meantime, decided to pay Hrongar a visit and talk a bit. I trust her not to speak ill of me, but I did get slightly anxious when my ears caught the word "Dragonborn" uttered by Hrongar, even if there are no reasons for me to worry.

At least I hope there aren't any.

Either way, after that little chat myself and Lydia set off towards Gjukar's Monument. By the evening, we had already been well underway along the White Road (original name, I know) and decided to set up camp just a bit south of fort Greymoor. From what I heard, the place was a bit notorious for being a hangout spot for all kinds of s'wits - so popular, in fact, that often times it's not even guards or adventurers that end up kicking out the local bandits/vampires/what have you, but other bandits/vampires/what have you themselves. For now, though, it appears that this was one of the rarer quiet times where the fort was unoccupied.

It won't be a long trip from here to the Monument - I think I can see it off in the distance all the way from over here, but I'd honestly rather sit the night out rather than risk the whole dragon soul thing happening at night and becoming a beacon for all and any night stalkers out there. Just because the fort was unoccupied doesn't mean there wasn't something out and about at night, and I'd rather that something stay wherever it is.

Worst case scenario, I at least hope a dragon doesn't find us…

If there is no entry for tomorrow and my corpse isn't anywhere to be found, consider me dead. Saya Indoril, out.