There were three significant differences between this place and Tamriel that Irina had observed so far.

In Tamriel, you couldn't walk two steps in the wild before a giant frostbite spider and its extended family saw you and decided that you were to be their new meal. Over here, the walk was considerably more peaceful, with only the occasional small rodent leaping out from the trees and skittering frantically back into the grass.

Second, and one thing Irina had noticed quite quickly, was the lack of a patrol. While Skyrim lacked any proper dedicated guards for its roads, here she had yet to come across one in her many hours of walking.

And that would relate back to the third point, loneliness. It was almost as if she were the only person who trods the land, bringing forth quite the unsettling feeling of isolation. A blessing it was that this place was so much like Tamriel, but the absence of people would grind on anyone's nerves.

But perhaps she shouldn't have minded that because she took a peek at the sky at the fifth hour of her walk.

Smoke. There was smoke. A shit ton of smoke.

Irina could see it billow and disperse in the sky, like a pissed-off god. She could taste that scent on the tip of her tongue. An uneasy sense of familiarity welled up in her.

Where there was smoke, there was fire, and where there was a fire, there could be dragons. Or Daedra. Or people, for that matter, really pissed off people.

Irina took a breath and braced herself. If it was Alduin, considering the earth wasn't rumbling under her feet, then he wasn't there anymore. Or he could be just really great at hiding.

She drew her bow and brought her body as close to the ground as she could, mindful of tree branches and leaves that could give away her position. Her breathing slowed. Her ears perked up to cover what her eyes couldn't catch.

She had to have been a mile away before she smelled it. It made her blood run cold; she could feel herself numbing. That damnable scent that smelled of beef roasting over a fireplace but tainted by the stench of raw metal.

She walked faster, nearing a sprint. The stench assaulted her senses as she approached the black that got heavier with every step. Her lungs battled for air in the cloud she had just thrust herself into. Everything came into view piece by piece. A broken lamppost, a tilted cart, smashed pots that lay broken and scattered among the dirt. All of them built up into a crescendo. What her eyes came to lay upon was a village, or to put more accurately, the remnants of a village.

It was a small area with only five roundhouses. Barrels of hay were strewn over the dirt next to a small barn. Deep crimson spattered a cart not so far from the bush she stood behind. She could see the bottom of a dress peek out from behind a log. A voce yelled at her not to look, that she would be better off ignorant. But curiosity is a ferocious beast. Her legs moved before her senses could halt them, positioning herself in such a way that she could see the full dress. It was draped over a log, the hump of a body so obviously underneath it.

Her eyes moved just a smidgen lower.

A hand. A pale, little hand.

Orange mixed with green as she watched the crackling fire consume all around her. Her body was paralyzed, her mind drifting.

The world was burning once again. The trees would fall, and Yffer punishes those who kill nature. He turns his nose at those ravenous sinners, always begging and never giving. Her hands, why couldn't she move?

She was suffocated by the moons that night— she was sure of it. There was no mercy bestowed there would be no mercy, none of that-

"Have you checked for survivors?"

She stumbled, tumbling to the grass. She picked up the arrow she'd dropped, cursing herself for dropping it in the first place.

One and two. Her eyes closed. She focused on the pulsing of her heart, ignoring the faint sheen of sweat that built upon her skin. Was it from the fire or herself?

"Yes, sir. It's clear." she heard a voice, presumably male, say. Familiar. She'd heard that same tone from Imperial soldiers marching prisoners on the road.

"An army man," she thought.

"Check the area again," said the other man. "I will not have any apostates running about here. It's only a matter of time before Redcliffe completely goes to shit."

She opened her eyes and took a steady peak over the bush. It was a group of four. Heavily armored, with some sort of insignia—a sword—splayed out on their front plate. Each man bore a helmet and a steel blade.

Irina withdrew her bow. Unless she could be lucky enough to hit each man in the throat consecutively before they saw the other was dead, she'd be as fucked as the village. Thu'um was always on the table, though. Unrelenting Force could probably tear the men apart before they realized what was happening.

But Irina was here to collect information, not to hunt.

She waited, moving and observing as they wafted through the remains of the village. A question lingering in the back of her mind, one she hoped for them to answer through findings or speech.

"Nothing's here, commander." said one. He sounded nervous. The scenery?

"Same here." another said. And then the others joined in, all confirming the man's findings.

The leader held his head up high and clapped his hands. "We will head back to camp then. Good work today, men."

The others began walking, but the nervous-sounding fellow stayed behind. He took a tentative look back at the houses. His gaze swept over and lingered on the area of the cart Irina had taken refuge behind. He appeared hesitant but must've worked up a nerve because his feet started leading him her way.

Irina crouched down, her heart beating just a bit faster, her hand on her dagger. "Just go on about your way."

The man sensed no danger as he walked by the cart. Didn't feel big green eyes observing his every little movement. Relief washed over her as he passed by; curiosity came to replace it. Just where was he going?

Her eyes followed his path to the house in the far left corner of the village, a bit isolated from the rest. It was the worst looking of the bunch. The fire had eaten most of it, to the point where a person could step inside from the sides rather than go through the front door. The wood must've already been weak.

He stood there for a moment. Uncertainty had washed back over him. But soon, his feet took one step over the threshold. And then, his Commander's voice rang out from across the field.

"Sir Renatus, what are you doing?" He said, tone as sharp as his blade. He made his march over to the place where Renatus stood. The fire was dying down, but that didn't prevent the sun from burning the earth below it.

"I apologize, but I am retrieving my sister's ring, Commander," said Renatus. He bowed his head and crossed his arms over his chest. A sign of respect, Irina thought. "She has taken refuge in Redcliffe, and I have agreed to return it to her."

"Your sister is an apostate?"

"She is no apostate." His voice was hoarse. "Our mother lives in Redcliffe. She had no idea that it would become the seat of the mages."

"Look me in the eyes, Renatus," said the Commander. Renatus did so slowly. "Do you recognize that house?"

Realization dawned on the young man. "I-" he stumbled for words. "I do."

"And who lived in that house?" Renatus was silent. The Commander took another step toward him. He repeated his words slower this time, emphasizing the disgust in every syllable. "Who lived in that house?"

"An apostate," answered Renatus.

"I wish for you to remember whose side you're on." said the Commander. "Your sister may lie happily in the dark in the bed of a mage, but you took the side of Andraste's will." he put his hands on Renatus's shoulder and leaned in so far that they were only a hair's width apart. "You may be siblings in blood, but it would do you good to see who your new brothers and sisters in arms are."

Renatus stood there. His hands fidgeted around the grooves between his steel fingers. Eventually, he spoke only two words. "Yes, Commander."

"Good." The man removed his hands and began walking back towards the group. "Now come, Sir Renatus, we must report back soon."

The man took a final glimpse of the house. His eyes squinting, his eyebrows tense, his first clenching ever so slightly around the metal of his sword. Something dawned on that face, a realization that made him shiver. Then, he left to catch up with his group, the necklace left to burn into the pyre. After hearing the footsteps grow smaller and smaller, Irina raised up from behind the cart. She walked inside the house.

It was a small room. There were some knickknacks here and there, the wooden ones were ash, but the metal ones survived the pyre. On the dresser lay a small golden locket. Irina picked it up to study it closer. Inside lay a folded note.

There was nobody in the hut. The man's fate was left up to this realm's god.

"Guess this place is no different," she lamented. She stuffed the locket into the satchel on her waist, closed her eyes, and muttered a prayer. "May Arkay guide these poor souls."

She walked into the field and began looking from house to house. There she found many items. Small, half-painted statuettes of a woman with a pointed crown holding a sword positioned in a pose similar to the great statue of Talos she used to see in Whiterun, letters between merchants and farmers debating the prices of goods, dinner plates with half-eaten food.

Tapestries half-finished, journals, bottles of wine, blankets, stuffed animals.

Lives disrupted, lives taken, lives innocent as she'd ever know. Taken by evil men she'd let walk free just a moment ago.

A simmer of rage bubbled up in her stomach. Who was she even angry at? Those men or herself? She looked at her own hands. Calloused and rough. A deep scar lay in the middle of her right.

She could do so much with these hands. She had done much with these hands. And yet—

She looked at the fire that had now burned that isolated hut to ash. Once thick as grime, the smoke now turned to a skeletal body that hung in the air. The sky coated itself a bright orange, making the trees look like a sea of ink that reached towards the rising moon. The wind brushed the long grass and moved forth the thin leaves.

"Who would you avenge?"

She heard a voice say. Not her own, not a weird creature, not even her sister's. "Ask yourself, Irina, did you know that man? Did you know his wife? Then perhaps you should cast this from your mind."

"It has nothing to do with me." She finished. She straightened herself out. Her mind was still set on heading north, even more so now what those men had fled west.

The night was coming with all its hidden hostilities, however. So now it was time to set up camp.

She sat on her bedroll cross-legged. The fire barely illuminated her journal page. The night brought forth a good buzz that aided in her contemplation. Her pen hovered over her earlier writings. She made a quick edit.

Human life? Most certainly.

It was glaringly evident that this place wasn't peaceful in the slightest. Apostates and the soldiers were fighting it out bitterly, and in the crosshairs, you had the common folk.

"The Stormcloaks and Imperials all over again," she muttered.

The Apostates looked to be mages or at least allied with mages, and they were held up in a place called 'Redcliffe.' The soldiers claimed to be following a person named "Andraste," and it was their 'will' to have the mages killed.

And that would be the end of what Irina knew to be fact.

A thousand questions were swirling around in her head. The most glaring one being, "What in Oblivion were they fighting for?" The soldiers' conversation gave no hint, only bitter feelings and a sad story of two siblings. She closed her journal in frustration, cursing hard when she realized she hadn't let the ink dry.

She stretched her taut muscles, a yawn escaped her mouth. She had made up her mind to contact Sheogorath tomorrow. She was much too tired for anything else. She dug into her pack, looking for the packed slab of deer meat she had packed up. It would spoil if she just let it sit.

A tiny mouse with dark fur skeeted over to the campfire. Irina had yet to notice it as she placed paper, soul gems, and other bobbles down on the ground.

It put its small grubby hands on what it could. Quick it was and excited it felt as she pulled out more and more stuff. It took a particular interest in the soul gems she had brought out. It sniffed around it widely; its small tongue licked at the object's hard surface.

"Ah, don't eat that!" Irina snatched the gem away. She waved off the mouse. "Shoo, little guy! I've got nothing for you."

But the mouse was nothing but persistent. It gripped her clothes and began attempting to climb up her pants. Those big black eyes reflected only the soul gem.

Irina sighed. She held up the soul gem just out of the mouse's reach. "You really want this, huh?" She seated herself cross-legged. The mouse made a squeak when she picked it up and placed it on her lap. She put the gem in its hand.

Pholeri had let her keep a pet skeever once when she was younger because she had aced an archery test. Yffer knows she had treated that damn thing like a king. 'Albert' she had named him, and Albert was a greedy child. In two years, Albert grew from the size of a septim to the size of the slices of cheese he feasted on. Every single cent she earned was drained on that damn boy. She cried something hard when he passed over at the old age of ten.

Since then, Irina has had a strange soft spot for small rodents. She poked the mouse's tiny nose. She snorted at the displeased face it made.

"Such a small little guy you are. Hungry?" she asked. It stopped its investigation to peek up at her. "I've got something here for you." she went back into her pack, searching for the small slice of cheese she had placed in there earlier.

"No, thank you."

Irina lunged for her bow and arrow. Readying it, she stood up. The forest around her had become as silent as it was before. "By Yffers roots, don't let it be another creature." she pleaded.

"All things are creatures! Don't worry, I'm a nice one."

There wasn't a single person around.

"Ah fuck." She placed a hand on her temple. "I'm going insane."

"You're not." said the voice. It was neither male nor female and had a certain childlike innocence to it. "Look down! See, I'm here! Here!"

The mouse began squeaking frantically. It climbed on her foot and tried to grapple her leg but failed miserably and tumbled back down to the earth. Irina ogled it.

A thought came to her mind. There'd only been one other situation like this before, one that involved a road outside of Falkreath and a 'dog.'

"I— is that you?"

The mouse squeaked happily. "Yes, yes! See! You see, Sakn'vunen! You're not insane!"

"It's Barbas all over again." Irina sheathed her bow and arrow. She picked the mouse back up. Her fingers pinched the back of its neck. It hung in the air. "So tell me? What do you want?"

"To study you," it said with such honesty Irina didn't notice anything odd about the statement for the first few seconds. That was until common sense came back to her.

"That's… comforting," Irina replied. "And by 'study,' can I safely assume you want to pick at my head?"

"Yes! Wait, no. That's not what I mean." It sounded quite worried. "Like friends! I will guide you."

"Uh-huh," She reached down onto her thigh and took out her dagger. She held it up to the mouse's neck. "Tell me why I shouldn't just go ahead and gut you?"

The thing didn't react in the slightest to the provocation."It's not a nice thing to do!" It huffed.

"I'm gonna need more than that."

"I am a spirit, and spirits are magical."

"So-"

"So, I will use my magic to help you! I saw you at the pond. You're hurt, right?"

Irina narrowed her eyes. "I need no help from a thing I know nothing about."

"I am not a thing! Sakn'vunen is a spirit."

"Yes, whatever you say." she put the mouse down. "Look, I'll give you five seconds to scurry off before I stab you. Fair deal?"

"I want to help you."

"I think I heard a 'yes'. I'll start counting now," Irina said. "Five-"

"I know you're scared, Irina. I can hear it."

"Four,"

"The other guys can be very, very mean, but I mean you no harm."

"Three,"

"Please listen! I may not be home here, so it'll be hard to guide you. But I can still cast spells. Don't cast me out of your head. Please"

"Two,"

"I will prove it to you! I will show you my true form. Maybe you'll be less afraid."

"One,"

"Please don't be frightened."

The rat let out an ear-piercing shriek. Irina jumped backward. Right before her eyes, she saw the mouse's shape glow the brightest green she had ever witnessed. Its form dispersed, left behind was a small wisp that shifted and shaped, growing taller and taller until it was about two inches shorter than Irina. Hands, feet, then arms and legs, and finally the face of what appeared to be a young girl on the cusp of adolescence. She lacked solidity, her whole body see-through. There was only the rough appearance of features.

"Oh, shit." was all Irina could muster. The spirit grinned proudly, tilting her chin up and placing her hands on her hips.

"See?" the spirit said. "I'm magical!"