The excavation site was an impressive mess of scholars, scaffolding and stone ruins. Workers hauled stone tablets in and out of the ruins, while scholars directed them to arrange what they had found in a row in one corner of the site. Other areas were blocked off by simple fences of rope and sticks, determined to withstand the might of the northern winds.

"Everyone!" Tolfdir halted the group of apprentices before the site's main entrance. "We'll assemble inside the ruins itself and into the main chamber. In groups of twos and threes, and in single file, now."

Onmund's awe-struck wonder was put on hold as he felt Brelyna link her arms in his and J'zargo's, pulling them into the dark of the old, ancient city.

His thoughts ran rampant, the history and impact of his people suddenly overwhelming his senses. The raw rock, the sturdy frames, the proud etchings. History that was once buried under snow, ice and the ravages of war… now laid bare once more by curious mages and scholars.

"I don't think anyone in authority approved this," Onmund murmured, looking around every which way, wary and reverent with every reluctant step he took.

"Why's that?" Brelyna asked.

He never got the chance to answer as the apprentices in front of them came to a sudden halt. Onmund barely stopped himself in time from crashing into the others.

"Alright now, everyone," Tolfdir said, his voice echoing off the old, crumbling stone walls. "Welcome to Saarthal!"

He must've noticed how the apprentices weren't at all impressed with the dusty old walls and overgrown moss. Some, like Onmund, practically hid in their hoods, fearful of the legends of Nordic draugr stalking old, forgotten barrows and ruins. Even Blue buzzed cautiously against Onmund's neck, still hidden away.

"I know it doesn't look like much, but this is a significant find for us all. You are standing where the very first men of Tamriel settled. It is here that they began to establish the very first community in Skyrim."

Tolfdir continued talking, but Onmund's attention was caught by the gentle voice of one Arniel Gane. Onmund recalled seeing the scholar haunting the shadows of the college like a ghost, forever sticking to the darkness in the Arcaneum. He said something to Alrek and Camille, and directed the twins to what looked to be a set of wards along the wall. Onmund watched for a moment as the Allards readied their weapons and went down a dark corridor. Arniel stood at the entrance, his fingers knotted in anxiety. His gaze lingered, even as the scholar followed their voices with careful strides down into the darkness.

"Now then! If you'll direct your attention to this section here..."

Onmund returned his focus to the task at hand. From where he stood, he could see other researchers bringing out dusty artifacts. Broken vases, old tablets, bits and pieces of an ancient life, their once mundane purposes now spoken of in awe by curious scholars. The students were just as equally excited, theories spread wildly in whispers between the apprentices, all turning their heads to look at the strange and curious city that had been buried under the snow.

But Onmund's held his gaze on the doorway into which the Allard twins had disappeared, and he sighed in disappointment when they didn't return. Swallowing his anxious thoughts, he followed the group down the makeshift wooden stairs and into the bowels of the ruins.

The assignment he had been given was not an easy one.

Onmund muttered at the atrocity that was rifling through the bones of one's ancestors. He had been in fits until Brelyna advised him to find Tolfdir before he worked himself to tears from the assignment.

So deeper into the ruins he went, bumbling through the crumbling structures until he found another brightly lit segment, cordoned off by sticks and rope and the dull mumblings of scholars absorbed in their work.

Laid out on a simple wooden table were charcoal rubbings of runes so old that Onmund couldn't even be sure they were Nordic at all. He watched as some of the scholars reported their findings, logging them in a large book with precision and care. He wondered how important they were, as each item was carried as though it might break with a misplaced step.

"Ah, Onmund, there you are, lad!" Tolfdir waved him over after dismissing the others.

Onmund averted his gaze, tempted to pull the hood back over his head to hide away from the lecture Tolfdir was sure to give him.

"Sir, I have… an issue with the assignment you gave me earlier."

Tolfdir, to his surprise, looked concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"I… I don't feel comfortable."

"I'm sorry?"

"I—it's just… sir, we're Nords." Onmund switched to their shared, native tongue. "This is wrong. We shouldn't intrude. This isn't our home, the others don't understand it the way we would."

Tolfdir nodded. "You're right."

Onmund blinked. "You… agree with me?"

"You'll forgive me, lad, working with so many outsiders has often made me blind to our people's precaution. If it makes you feel better, I had my own misgivings about this trip— but to see Ysgramor's people themselves?"

"I know…"

"Perhaps you'd like to join me in prayer?"

"I don't think it'd do much good." A pause. "Would it?"

"Not so much a prayer as asking for permission. After all, it's rude to drink in another man's home without being invited first, mm?"

The familiar idiom brought a smile to Onmund's face, his nerves already easing. They sat together in silence as Tolfdir led. He closed his eyes when Tolfdir did, although he couldn't help but peek to make sure he was following along.

In a quiet, reverent voice, Tolfdir began to recite, "Spirits, let us walk your hallowed path. Spirits, let us see what you've kept here, sacred and safe. Spirits, allow us into your home, in pursuit of the clever craft."

As the words reached Onmund's ears, the heavy fear that had pressed so tightly against his consciousness eased. It felt like breathing in clean, fresh air after exiting a humid basement. Or relaxing into a hot tub of water after a long day tending the fields.

"What did you mean by 'clever craft'?" Onmund asked after a while.

"You were never told?"

Onmund shook his head. Was he supposed to have known?

"Believe it or not, our people once revered mages, wielders of the 'Clever Craft', such that even Tsun respected those Companions who honed such a skill."

Onmund felt heat pricking at his eyes.

"How come I've never heard of it?" He shook his head, disbelieving. "All the stories I've read, the mage was just… some nobody, some troublemaker the hero has to save, or use as a means to an end… or worse: A cautionary tale."

Tolfdir sighed. "Is that what they're teaching the children these days?" He clucked his tongue. "No wonder."

After mulling over his thoughts for a few moments, he continued, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I grew up hearing tales of the Clever Craft. Of how mages were sought after for their knowledge. It is a man who can see beyond what mortals do who are truly special." He sighed through his nose. "In my father's time, they said mages were gifted by the Divines themselves— but so much has changed since the Great War. I left my home out of a desire to see the world and make something of myself. At your age, no one dared speak a word against me, lest I turned their bones inside out and make a spectacle of it."

"The Great War? That's why?" Onmund tried to stifle the outrage in his voice. Tried, but failed.

Tolfdir shrugged. "The straw that broke the horse's back, I'm afraid. And not to give anyone who made you feel inferior any credit, but consider: How do you fight against magic? How do you fight against fire that can't be put out with water, or against weapons forged by Oblivion?"

Tolfdir's mismatched eyes moved to follow something behind Onmund. He turned to see Alrek and Camille in the distance, using their Conjuration magic against the old, sealed wards. Every gentle wave of their power sent forth a surge of energy that made Onmund want to run in fear. Magic drawn from Oblivion, he was once told, was magic for the wicked and the evil. And yet the Allards used their gifts to help scholars. Could it truly be so evil?

Onmund thought about those words for a moment. "I guess I hadn't considered it like that. I guess I spent so much time trying to convince my parents I wasn't signing my death warrant just… by being who I am."

"You're not a lesser person for having the gifts that you have, lad," Tolfdir soothed. "Besides, that fear goes the same way: even the most skilled mages are no match against a warrior who knows their way around a battlefield."

He wondered if Tolfdir had spoken from experience. All his life he had been told mages were evil and dangerous, to be looked at with fear and suspicion. Yet when he was back in Kynesgrove, he had feared bandits and wild animals more than his own powers.

"Perhaps it's time for a new assignment, then." Tolfdir smiled, and Onmund was taken out of his thoughts.

"Anything, I'll do it as long as it's not shifting through bones."

"Perhaps you could help Alrek with those runes, so he doesn't exhaust himself. He can disarm them, but it's complex without understanding the words being written." Tolfdir winked. "I think he could use a translator. Someone who reads and writes Nordic runes, hmm?"

Naturally, Onmund didn't object. With renewed vigor, perhaps partly fuelled by hopeless infatuation, he followed where Alrek had gone down into the dark, harrowing hallways.

Alrek was charming as ever, beaming wide at Onmund's approach, rings clinking gently as he straightened out his robes.

"I suppose I'm butchering your people's runes, aren't I?" Alrek said. "Is that why you're here, to comment on my terrible pronunciation?"

Onmund laughed. "We all have to start somewhere!"

"That we do." Alrek focused back on the task at hand. "I don't suppose you understand what these mean?"

Following Alrek's pointing finger, Onmund was shocked to see there, etched alongside the Nordic runes, were marks made in clear Daedric script.

"Is that… ?"

"Hmm? Oh!" Alrek waved a hand dismissively. "Think of Daedric as merely another language or alphabet."

Onmund frowned.

"Back in the old days, before magic was really understood," Alrek explained, "most magic was drawn from Oblivion. As a very versatile school of magic, many spells were derived from the basics of Conjuration."

"Is that why you picked it up?"

Alrek offered only a lazy, one-shouldered shrug. "My entire family line is known for our… flirtations with the occult. I suppose if we're to be gifted such a thing, might as well put it to good use, mm?"

"Was anyone ever afraid of you?" A pause, then in a quiet voice Onmund asked, "Were you ever afraid?"

Alrek hummed in thought, ice-blue eyes darting this way and that.

"At first? Yes. The nightmares you get when you get your first glimpse of Oblivion are… frightening is a severe understatement. It stopped being that way when I learned more about it, how to better wield my powers and the good it could do." He returned his focus to the runes, which still glowed eerily, even after so long. "I find it easier to embrace my gifts than to shut them away."

His eyes met Onmund's, and for a moment, Onmund was stunned. Alrek's eyes were so bright, as though they glowed with an otherworldly power. Onmund wondered whether that was what it actually was: some remnant of power from Oblivion, barely contained.

Onmund averted his gaze, looking instead at the runes as he spoke. "Did your parents try to stop you from coming here?" Realizing how forward the question was, he quickly added, "I—It's just… it's dangerous here."

Alrek offered only a small smile in return. "My home is riddled with witches and wyrms; draugr and restless spirits are a little easier to manage, I think."

"Really? It's just… High Rock's so far away."

Alrek sighed. "Of course they were worried. Why wouldn't they? That's what parents do. They worry, incessantly. But I don't think they'd ever stop myself or Camille from pursuing our ambitions, even all the way out here. Our older brother, Basille, gave up his claim— to our family's riches, that is. He cut his hair, abandoned his family name and became a knight. And while my parents protested, they allowed it."

"Is your brother on good terms with your parents still?"

"They are. My parents were disappointed, but they wanted him to be happy. I suppose they'd rather see him covered in muck and mud than seeing him sulking in fine silks."

"Does he ever regret it?"

"If he ever did, he's certainly never let on. But I see the way he speaks to his men. I don't think he'd ever trade it for all the riches and gold in all of Nirn."

"Must be nice, having parents so supportive."

Alrek only shrugged. "Perhaps they seem supportive to you, but other people had cruel words for that particular decision."

A moment of silence passed between them. Onmund realized that they were standing close enough now that he felt the familiar heat of Alrek's skin near his hand. Goosebumps prickled along his arms at the gentle brush of slender fingers against his, and the sight of Alrek looking up coyly through his lashes at him.

They were alone.

Alrek tilted his head, ever so slightly. His lips reached up to Onmund's and his eyes fluttered shut. Gods, they were alone, they could—

But Onmund's nerves got the better of him. Instead he sputtered out, "Fire."

"...What?"

"The rune, it says 'fire' in Nordic."

"Heartbreaker," Alrek teased.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Onmund cursed in his mind. Stupid for thinking he even deserved a kiss. Stupid for thinking it might have even been a kiss at all. Stupid for losing the opportunity to nerves. Had Alrek thought him a coward? Too afraid to say what he wants? Gods, he wanted nothing more than to hide in a closet for the rest of his life, he must've looked like such a fool, blushing a bright red and keeping his fisted hands stiff at his sides.

But if Alrek thought poorly of Onmund, he certainly didn't show it. He returned to the rune sealing the door closed and pressed a fiery hand to it, uttering a strange incantation before the markings glowed… then dimmed and disappeared entirely. No sooner had the runes faded than the chains locking the door closed fell helplessly to the floor.

"What do you think is behind there?" Onmund asked, regaining his composure.

"Let's find out." Alrek boldly reached out and squeezed Onmund's hand.

Onmund was so taken aback that he barely noticed the blue light zipping out of his pack and into the darkness of the hallway behind the door. A moment later he started, and blinked in realization. "Blue! Come back!"

"The wisp?"

But Onmund had no time to spare for explanations as he held tightly onto Alrek's hand and gave chase. They ignored the cries of the scholars who called after them, focusing only on the escaped wisp. The darkness of the hallway swallowed them up, Blue's trail of light the only clue they could follow as they ran down the ancient hallways.

"What's it even after?" Onmund gasped, his lungs burning as he struggled to catch up. He'd never expected Blue to be so quick. To his chagrin, Alrek was barely winded, and already pulling ahead.

"They're drawn to magic; there must be something down these halls."

The hallways grew narrower and older the deeper they went in, the further they left behind the safety of the ropes and lanterns of the scholars studying the ruins. The sounds of the mages and researchers calling after them were nothing more than distant, muffled whispers. Eventually, they found themselves in a vaulted room, cage-like doors barring entry further down into the ruins.

Within the room, several artifacts were laid out carefully on old pedestals, presumably holding some importance to the ancient Nords who had once called the city home. Had they belonged to someone of status in the olden days, or were they simply pretty baubles?

"Arniel must have missed this room," Alrek said as he looked around at the amulets and rings on display. "I didn't sense anything from here as we were clearing the wards."

Blue danced in loops over the various objects in the room. It glowed bright and brilliant whenever it neared an amulet or a ring. If wisps were drawn to magical energies… Onmund wondered then if Blue had sensed something the other mages did not. His mind felt torn apart by the realization. On the one hand, the ruins certainly housed more than a few dusty bowls and vases. But on the other hand, it was remarkable that his ancestors had mastered the science of magic, such that the effects still lingered eras after.

"Is that what you and Camille were doing?" Onmund asked, coaxing Blue back into his arms.

"That, and making sure the draugr hadn't woken up from their slumber."

Onmund blanched. "Y—You… saw some?"

"Empty coffins and old linen, but no draugr, thankfully." Alrek flashed him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."

They held each other's gaze for only a moment before Alrek broke away. "Can you sense it?" he asked.

Onmund tried to concentrate, closing his eyes and allowing his other senses to take over. And indeed, he felt the dull thrumming of old magic; worn and dying, but still alive. Incredible to think that his ancestors were so capable with magic that even their wards survived centuries later.

"I think so?" His eyes fluttered open.

"Be careful." Alrek's tone was far more serious now, more cautious. "Don't touch anything until I've cleared this area."

Onmund watched as Alrek went from pedestal to pedestal, carefully disarming the wards and enchantments embedded in the rings and jewelry on display. A pool of magic would be cast from his palms, and then… even from where he stood Onmund could feel it. The severing of magic, like a tense rope cut in one fatal slice.

Alrek repeated his motions, pedestal by pedestal, until he reached one amulet that sat higher than the rest. It looked different from the others. They were simple in their design, plain bands and amulets that would have gone unnoticed even worn somewhere like Kynesgrove,but this one had bones and feathers and runes so old that it looked completely foreign to Onmund. The amulet also felt as different as it looked. Whereas the other enchantments were clear in their purpose… this one was… muddled. Suffocating. Different. Even Alrek hesitated as he approached.

Blue floated away from Onmund's hands and began circling the amulet. "What's wrong?" Onmund asked, as Alrek continued to waver.

Alrek withdrew his hand, but his eyes burned with a scholar's curiosity. "There's… something about this amulet that… I'm not sure. It's… hiding something? Protecting something?"

Onmund stepped forward, scanning the runes. Some he couldn't recognize, but the ones he could, he translated. "Something about… sealing away something? Shame? Evil?"

Alrek raised a brow.

"It's… too old, too worn, I can't make out the rest."

Alrek stretched his arm out again, his eyes glowing blue as he cast his magic at the amulet. "It's… resisting my magic."

"Maybe there's something else in the room we need to look at?"

"Good thinking." Alrek turned away and began to investigate. "Older civilizations like this often had multiple wards set up for protection."

Instead of joining him, Onmund stepped closer to the pedestal. The amulet called to him. Something deep and powerful resonated in the charms that hung off the corded leather. His fingers brushed against the larger runes, tracing the shapes of the inscriptions and the whorls and patterns that framed them.

Though the old Nords' magic had lasted through the eras, more mundane materials were still helpless to the ravages of time: the small iron catch crumbled away at Onmund's touch, and he gasped as the amulet fell from its display. Scrambling, Onmund barely caught it in his hands before it landed on the ground… then they all felt it: the deafening silence of a spell put to sleep and a wave of magic resonating through the room, seeping into the walls.

Immediately followed by the sound of old gears springing to life.

Caged doors shot up from the ground, trapping the two mages and runaway wisp in the small room. Panic quickly set in.

"What did you do?" Alrek shouted, eyes darting every which way to find a solution, and fast.

"Nothing, I—" Onmund swallowed a guilty confession. "I touched it. But that was all I did!"

Alrek closed his eyes and sighed, making Onmund wince. Gods, why was he always messing things up?

"Well, never mind that then," Alrek said, looking around. "Let's see if we can find a way out. Maybe there was a pressure plate that the amulet was placed on?"

Onmund stewed in his shame as Alrek searched. Gods, why didn't you listen? Just stay out his way so he's not mad at you.

"There you two are!" A voice echoed off the walls. Tolfdir's tired face soon came into view behind the now-barred entrance through which they'd arrived. "What happened? We heard a loud crash!"

It was then the rest of the other mages filed in behind Tolfdir, winded and tired… until they also noticed the various items on display. The rings, the amulets… and no doubt the strange energy that seemed to permeate the ruins.

"I don't know! We were just looking around, and then all this happened!" Onmund gestured to the doors around them.

"I see." Tolfdir frowned. "Are you two alright? Are you hurt?"

Onmund shifted nervously away as Alrek walked towards Tolfdir and explained what had happened.

"I'm not sure what set this all off." Alrek shook his head. "I can't seem to find any mechanism to get us free. Nothing on the pedestal either."

Tolfdir turned to ask the other mages that had followed to help. But no matter what chain they pulled, or button they pushed, the iron gates would not return from the trap they sprung from. "Perhaps it's rusted in place?" one offered as an explanation.

"Or a mechanism has finally failed— after all, it's been hundreds if not thousands of years," said another.

None of them could offer much help, and Onmund's shoulders drooped even further.

"Perhaps the amulet is the key?" Tolfdir pointed to Onmund's hands. "You said this all sprang up when the amulet fell?" There was no hiding the curiosity in the older mage's voice.

Onmund nodded meekly in response. Alrek made his way over to him, and Onmund wanted to disappear into his hood.

You always mess things up. Gods, why didn't you listen?

But he felt the warm tips of Alrek's fingers brushing along his hands, thumb stroking the top of his hand gently in reassurance. Onmund flushed, and he hoped neither Alrek nor the other mages had noticed.

"Maybe it reacted to your magic when you touched it," Alrek said. "It resisted my spells, maybe it's tied to the people here?"

Tolfdir nodded. "Plausible! These are hallowed halls, Onmund. Our ancestors once walked this city proudly."

At Tolfdir's idea, the other mages exchanged glances.

"I… I don't know what I should do?"

Alrek took the amulet and placed it over Onmund's neck. As soon as it was on, he felt a surge of magic flow through his veins; like sparks or flame dancing under his skin.

"Do you feel any different?"

He could see the other mages quickly reach for parchments and books, noting down everything that was happening.

"I… I feel more calm? Like… like I'm rested?" It was then Onmund noticed ripples on the surface of one of the walls. "Uh… I'm not the only one seeing that, am I?"

"Seeing what, lad?"

Alrek matched Onmund's gaze, but his own confused expression said it all. "I don't see anything."

"Perhaps the amulet allows the wearer to travel further into the ruins?" Tolfdir theorized. "Perhaps to see hidden doors?"

Onmund approached the section of wall which rippled like raindrops on a water's surface, distorting the shapes and patterns of the stone. When he placed his hands against the craggy surface it gave way, crumbling into chunks of rock and dust. But more remarkable was the long, winding path that it had revealed. One that led further into Saarthal's depths.

As the bricks crumbled away and the way ahead was made clear, the cage doors that had trapped the two mages retreated back into the ground, finally freeing them.

"Incredible." Toldfir was in awe.

"I… Tolfdir, you'll forgive me, but this is all…" Alrek tried to conjure words but nothing seemed to form on his tongue.

"Inspiring?"

Alrek swallowed, his throat bobbing. "Frightening."

"Why?"

Alrek glanced down the hallway. It didn't escape Onmund's notice that he had readied his grip around the hilt of his sword.

"Something's down there, waiting for us."

Wordlessly, Tolfdir volunteered to lead the way, but Alrek stopped him. "No, I'll go. This is my job. I'll clear out whatever lays ahead."

"Are you sure, lad?"

"Stay behind me." Alrek looked to Onmund, his gaze intense. "I'll keep us safe."

"Very well," Tolfdir agreed, before turning to the other mages that followed. "See what more you can find out about this amulet. I'll have the boys take us down further. If we're not back in an hour, mobilize the others to send after us."

Onmund feared Alrek's warning.

"Something was waiting," he had said. The word 'draugr' repeated over and over in Onmund's mind, powered by the false hope that perhaps this time he was wrong and it would all turn out to be troublesome rats instead.

It was when Alrek suddenly pushed Tolfdir and Onmund into the safety of an alcove that fear finally took hold, tangible and real. Real like the scraping of old, worn armor against the dusty, forgotten floors. Real like the groaned Nordic that made its way out of broken, rotting jaws.

Real like the deafening sound of metal against metal, blade meeting blade.

Alrek stepped forward into the light, drawing attention away from Tolfdir and Onmund, and onto himself. At his appearance the draugr moved as one, pointing their weapons at him, ancient words of 'intruder' and 'foreigner' dripping with poison from dead throats. But Alrek never flinched, and if he felt afraid, he certainly didn't show it.

Onmund's heart leapt into his mouth when Alrek dealt the first strike.

The draugr were slow; Onmund could hear how heavy their swings were. He saw how every strike of their blade left some horrifying mark on the old stone that littered the crypt, and was afraid— but Alrek was always one step too quick, a few inches too short for their clumsy swings to land with any accuracy.

He moved like water; fluid and always in motion.

The draugr circled around him. Alrek side-stepped the first, then when an axe came down, he met the strike with his own blade. The draugr behind Alrek caught him in its arms, and Onmund thought all was lost, until Alrek lifted his knees to his chest and kicked down. Freed, he parried another incoming attack. At first his arms buckled, barely holding the blade back, but a quick shove freed him once more, and he regained the upper hand.

He repeated his motions as though following a rhythm. Parry, dodge and strike. Parry. Dodge. Strike. Alrek danced his silent dance of death until only the most skilled draugr remained.

Alrek had grown too confident, it seemed. He stepped too quickly one way, only to catch one of the ancient blades against his shoulder. His yelp had sounded like nothing more than an annoyance, as he felt for the injury. Onmund's eyes went wide as he saw the unmistakable shade of red on Alrek's fingertips.

It didn't slow him down. Now, Alrek just looked angry. The fire that was summoned in his free hand grew tall and wide, and Alrek aimed the fireballs at the draugr. Their rotting throats screamed as they melted away under the intense flames. And when fire did not stop them, Alrek used his conjuration magic to send them away to Oblivion.

But the draugr of old would not be felled so easily. And they certainly would not be turned away so easily by magic summoned from Oblivion. One of the more ancient ones stepped forth.

'Fus Ro Dah!'

Onmund bit down a scream as he saw Alrek flung into a wall, head nearly hitting the stone. The three draugr that remained approached on creaking limbs. Alrek was shaking his head, still trying to get his bearings.

One of the draugr raised an axe over itself. Alrek barely rolled away in time, the blade landing mere inches away as it came down hard against the old stone floor. Alrek felt for his sword, still dazed, but it lay too far away for him to reach in time.

'Fo Krah Diin!' This time an icy breath shot from the draugr's mouth, giving Alrek little time to prepare a ward to absorb the blow. Even then, the sheer force of the spell sent him to his knees.

Onmund didn't stop to think. He felt Tolfdir pulling him back, but he shrugged it off. Lightning crackled in his hands, and as soon as the draugr were distracted, Onmund released his spell: arcing from his fingertips, the lightning felled one draugr, then passed onto the other two, making them seize and convulse.

"Alrek, now!" Onmund yelled.

Wasting no time, Alrek darted to the still convulsing draugr, pausing only long enough to snatch his sword from the ground. Circling behind the nearest one, he dealt it a less than sportsmanlike blow. It fell in a crumpled heap, dead once more.

Two remained. One went for Alrek, the other for Onmund.

Onmund shot another bolt of lightning at the draugr, slowing it down— but not killing it. Another bolt, then another, with the draugr drawing ever nearer, until it stood mere feet away. Onmund's heart hammered. Would nothing stop it?

Suddenly vines from the walls crept down of their own volition. They twined around the draugr's neck and with one sure pull, snapped its rotting head off its body.

Onmund turned to find none other than Tolfdir, hands raised. He heaved and panted, but flashed a watery smile, before catching himself against a rocky wall.

"Tolfdir!" Onmund rushed to him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," came the response through labored breathing. "I'm fine, I… it takes a lot to cast a spell like that at my age."

Weary silence signalled the end of the battle. Alrek wiped the blackened blood off his blade. "Is everyone alright?"

Onmund's eyes grew wide at the steady stream of red down Alrek's face. "You're hurt."

"I'll live."

"No, come here." Onmund motioned and Alrek obliged. "Let me take a look at that."

"I'll be fine, Onmund, promise."

"Shh." Warm magic pooled at his hands, a gentle golden glow. As he swiped the magic across Alrek's face, over the jagged cut that marred that perfect skin, the wound began to heal, until nothing was left but a faint scar.

Selfishly, he let his hands linger on Alrek's face. To his surprise, Alrek leaned into the touch. "Thank you."

"My… grandmother was a healer," Onmund explained, unprompted. As though to assuage some long-held guilt.

"You're a man of many talents," Tolfdir said, patting Onmund on the back. It seemed he had finally regained some of his own strength. "I'm glad you're both alright."

Alrek looked down to the hallway, into the dark depths of Saarthal. "Do we want to continue?"

"I would like to see what these ruins are hiding, but not at the expense of your safety. Onmund, my boy, what would you like to do?" Tolfdir's mismatched eyes fell onto him, and while his tone was light and chipper, there was clear exhaustion all over his face.

Every terrible scenario ran through Onmund's mind. He had seen the way the draugr quickly overpowered Alrek. Seen how they used some kind of strange magic to quickly gain the upper hand. And yet… and yet… something within himself called him deeper into the ruins. Perhaps it was the amulet he wore, or the spirit of the place they were in, but whatever the case, he felt compelled to explore the ruins further.

Finally, he said, "Let's push on. I want to see where this goes. Maybe there's more to these ruins than we think."

Alrek took the lead, weapon drawn and spell readied, as the three made their way deeper into Saarthal's horrifying halls.