CHAPTER 60: BAD COMPANY
In the dome of darkness where the dead dragons dwelled, Lucy kept searching for someone.
As the never-ending flow of time had merged into aeons, she had forgotten who she had been searching for. She couldn't recall how or when she had ended up here again, how long she had roamed the borderlines of this lightless world without finding a way out. And maybe, with no day, no night, no light to pierce through the nothingness, with no hand to pull her back to Nirn, she'd soon forget her own name, too.
This world, this realm, had been absorbing her soul as mercilessly as she had once absorbed the souls of the dragons.
Still, she kept searching. She knew there was someone, somewhere, who could remind her of everything important, and the importance of everything. But as each step stretched into eternity, fear kept pace with hope. It crept up to her neck like a venomous snake, whispering lies that slowly turned into truths. 'Stop reaching. Here you are alone, abandoned, forgotten until the end of existence,' the serpent hissed. Refusing to listen, she disappeared into the dark mist once more.
Pain soared through her veins like fire, there was something familiar in the burning warmth, yet she failed to know what. The darkness sucked out her memories and erased the love she'd carried within her, then filled the void with madness. Madness and bloodlust. Her hands trembled from primordial rage, ached to bathe in blood, but there was no one left to slay. Only the serpent of fear, slowly wrapping its tail around her neck, feeding on the remnants of her hope.
But amidst the mist of forgotten memories, there was one thing that shone so bright, too bright for her to forget. Like a star on the northern sky, guiding light – it had been a promise, something she'd sworn to cherish as long as she'd live. Perhaps it was proof that she still, despite everything, had a heart. And faintly, hanging by a thread, it still beat.
"Then don't go where I cannot follow you."
She could remember the fear from which those words had been birthed. The fear of being alone, lost in eternal loneliness, but suddenly, after those words, all had fallen into place. Dawn had broken the night and chased the serpents away from her heart. A promise, a quiet oath that there'd be someone who'd walk beside her on this journey of life, through the crests and troughs, through light and dark, all the way to the end. Desperately, she tried to find the one who had given that promise, but there was nothing but darkness ahead of her, and the north star had dimmed out.
After all, she realised that she had gone where no one could follow her, where no footprint was ever made.
The threads of broken thoughts slipped from her grasp with each gust of lifeless wind that blew through the ether. Those were the wingstrikes of dragons, wheeling around her like vultures waiting for vengeance. She hadn't been ready to wield their power, and now it shattered her, just like Krosulhah foretold. She had forced herself to understand the knowledge of the dragons, and now she collapsed to the void, broken, demented, torn into shreds.
She lay there moveless, gazing up as the dragons danced. Sahloknir, Krosulhah, and Milmurnir. When she looked long enough, their ghostly dance turned into visions. The wheat fields near Kynesgrove, the frozen maze of Labyrinthian, and the great city of Riften bright aflame – the last moments of each dragon, all the pain and death, they captured her into layered nightmares. The one she searched had been there beside her, she could sense his presence amongst those visions, but he couldn't hear her, couldn't reach her now. Those moments were gone forever, and so was he, so far away from her.
Finally, the serpent of fear caught up with hope, and swallowed it whole.
As fear choked the life out of her, she lifted her hands to her eyes and screamed. No voice came out of her throat. She sank her nails to her skin, but no pain came to wake her up. The burn spread from her neck, dull and throbbing, and she knew that if she wouldn't die now, she would finally lose her mind forever.
And in the middle of the visions, an eye opened.
The Eye, the one whose gaze pierced right through her. Once she'd meet that gaze, she wouldn't be able to look away. A mass of shadows swarmed around the Eye like serpents of deadly knowledge. The Prince of Fate, the Gardener of Men had now come to harvest her soul. She struggled to keep her eyes closed, but she could still see it, she sensed His presence crawling on her, and she screamed for help, one last time.
Then, a hand reached out through the darkness.
"Lucy Heartfilia," said a familiar, steady voice, anchoring her back to presence, strong enough to chase the serpents back to the shadows. "I am beyond impressed. I knew you were strong, but I did not expect you to unleash the aspect of dragons just yet, not like… this. And I know He is impressed as well, but you must resist His call. Take my hand and turn your eyes away from Him. Look at me. Look only at me."
Shivering, Lucy grasped the hand. It was big and strong, but cold as the grave. She turned her head, glancing at the ethereal figure who helped her to sit. Through the mist, Lucy couldn't see anything except his hand, but she knew he wasn't the one she had been searching for. But as the Eye disappeared back to the night, the agony within her alleviated. At the last moment, she had been saved from herself – and things worse than her.
The longer she looked at her saviour, the more she adjusted to the sight – his features came visible from the shades, the face of a young Nord man with deep brown eyes and golden hair that reached his waist. The First Dragonborn, she realised. The mist he'd been shrouded in the first time they met dissolved now. There was something terribly familiar in him, but as her memories still lay in shatters, she couldn't tell what it was.
"Thank… thank you," Lucy muttered. The man let go of her hand and seated in front of her, crossing his legs. Woven patterns from the Merethic Era adorned his blue robes. This time, they were both manifested as their physical representations instead of ethereal ghosts with no shape or appearance. "Do you… Do you know why I've been lost here for so long? How can I get back to Nirn?"
The First Dragonborn remained silent for a moment, still gazing into her eyes. "Oh, but you are in Nirn, you just have to awaken. But before you can awaken, there are things you must learn here, in the light between the stars," he said, the accent of the old Skaal strong in his voice. "Do you trust me, Lucy Heartfilia? Will you hear me out and let me help you?"
Lucy nodded, though the sudden question put hesitation into her heart. She was still trembling from the exhaustion, still hanging on the cliffside of sanity. Should she trust this stranger she'd found here, in the place where no footprint was ever made? Though, without his help, she would have fallen into the serpent pit of the Gardener of Men. She had no other choice than to trust him, or else, she'd fall there again.
"I do," she answered. "I trust you, but only if you tell me your name."
He chuckled softly. "I am Miraak. I apologize the lack of proper introduction the last time we met. There was a certain… impatience to be sensed in you. And as you returned here with the soul of Milmurnir, that deed is now done, and we can finally talk."
Lucy studied him peacefully. Indeed, last time they'd been in a rush to conquer the power of the dragons. That was already done, and so was the damage caused by such a rush. But the fact that he remembered their meeting meant that he was real, and that time passed on here. The thought frightened her. She had forgotten so much while he could still remember everything.
"I… I want to leave this place," Lucy muttered. "I'm… I'm so tired and lonely. I've tried to awaken from this dream, but I… I just… I want back my memories. I don't… I don't want to forget who I am... Who I have been with…"
Miraak gave her a long, understanding look. Sadness glimmered in his eyes like the sun on the surface of the sea. "I know. But remember, you can leave in time. The difference between you and me is that while you can awaken, I can't," Miraak said. "It's lonely here, indeed. This place takes so much… but it also gives in return. "
Lucy tried to answer, but she could not find any words. She didn't know if Miraak had been lost here for thousands of years, or if he was lost someplace else. His presence here felt somehow faint, like only an echo of him could still be heard. Just like her body wasn't truly here, only her soul was, perhaps his body remained somewhere, in a place more terrifying than this.
"Well, well, where do we begin…" he started, silenced, then lifted his gaze to hers. "I sense the presence of powerful magic upon you, one that's familiar to me. You've found yourself in bad company, haven't you? The priest of rage, Rahgot, is watching over you."
Lucy stared at him blankly. The name sounded familiar, but only as a distorted reflection of what she had once learned. "I… I don't know. After killing Milmurnir, there's… there's nothing. There isn't anything before it either, it's all shrouded in fog. I don't know where I am, where I will be when I awaken. But Rahgot, he's in…"
"Forelhost," Miraak filled. "Odahviing must have taken you there. You're wounded and in deep sleep for now, but when you awaken…" He let out a slow sigh. "They will try to do the same to you as they did to me. For the Order, we Dragonborn are nothing but… means to an end."
Lucy flinched as a memory surfaced in her mind, of scarlet wings against a sea of fire. Odahviing, a powerful dragon she had failed to slay. She dazed out as the vision washed over her – the great beast landing on a watchtower, the Thu'um that had ripped her consciousness out of her and left her to die. Perhaps that's why she couldn't awaken. Her real body lay wounded in Forelhost, and so her soul wandered here, unable to leave as long as the Thu'um paralyzed her.
"How… how do you know this, by just looking at me?"
Miraak chuckled. "We are bound by blood, Lucy Heartfilia. The divine magic we are forged from connects all children of Akatosh. There's knowledge and wisdom woven among those threads of energy. When your sight clears from the mortal coil, you will see it yourself. We are the web… and our lord father Akatosh is the spider. Then what are the dragons?"
"Flies," Lucy muttered silently. Perhaps once, she had asked the Greybeards why she was a Dragonborn, but their answer had been vague. Dragonblood was a gift, but why it had been given to her, she never found out. "But why would Akatosh have created us if he created dragons as well? Alduin, the Firstborn of Akatosh, the Twilight God, that's how they call him. Why would Akatosh create us to kill his firstborn and all the other dragons?"
"Because Alduin is not a son of Akatosh. Alduin is his shadow, a creature born of his darkness, with a hunger to swallow the world," Miraak answered. "We are the true sons and daughters of Akatosh. We are born to kill the shadow of a god before it swallows the world the gods once created. That is our fate. I've failed at it… but even if one thread breaks, the web is still there. And the spider… it will keep spinning until all the flies are caught."
Lucy lifted her eyes to the dragons above them, wonder filling her heart. "I always thought that the dragons had been there from the dawn of time. Before the birth of men, dragons ruled all Mundus. It was written somewhere, but…"
"Whoever wrote that has not seen the truth. Humans have existed long before dragons, but not known as men or mer. Ehlnofey, our ancestors, walked on Nirn before it was even forged. They lived in the First Worlds, long before everything… shattered. Alduin… Alduin came to be later, but how he came, you will learn in time, when you find the truths of creation." Miraak paused. "There are… more urgent concerns you should be aware of."
"Like the fact that I appear to be captured by the Dragon Cult?" Lucy asked, moving her gaze from the dragons to him. "They are going to kill me, aren't they?"
"No," said Miraak sharply. "They'll make you the High Priest of Alduin."
Unable to understand his words, Lucy just stared at him. There was an echo from the past, a threat among the threads that lead to the Dragon Cult, or the Order, as the First Dragonborn called them. If the cultists worshipped Alduin, and she was the only one who could kill him, wouldn't killing her be their first priority?
"Do you know how the Priests got their power?" Miraak asked after a moment's silence. She shook her head. "Eight priests ruled over the Order. They wore masks of power, and those masks were forged from the blood of the dragons… and not just any dragons. They contained fragments of the power of Alduin's eight generals. Most of the legends are lost in time, but once they ruled by Alduin's side as heralds of doom. However, there was a special role for the Dragonborn to fulfil. They'd become Alduin's priest, Konahrik, the Warlord, the final key of the apocalypse… the one to lead mankind towards the end of time."
"That… That makes no sense. I'm the only one who can kill Alduin," Lucy answered in disbelief. "Making me his servant would be foolish, because I –"
"That's where you are terribly mistaken. You can't kill Alduin. You couldn't even kill Odahviing. Not yet. And they know it," Miraak told. "And once you'd become Konahrik, there would be no Lucy Heartfilia left. No high morals. No sense of justice. Just the power of the Dragonborn, terrifying wrath unleashed upon the world, in the opposite of the way it was meant to be used. The same weapon that's meant to protect, can also destroy. A double-edged sword, their most powerful asset. That's what they want. The process has already begun. Because fate… always has two sides. And sometimes, we have very little choice on which side we turn on."
"I… see," Lucy answered. "You were meant to be Konahrik, weren't you?"
Miraak nodded. "If I'd become one, the world would already be gone. Maybe, in a twisted way, luring me to the path of forbidden knowledge was His way to delay the doom," he said quietly, and as He was mentioned, Lucy could feel the Eye awakening in the darkness. She did not look that way, but felt the stare on her back. "Had I not fallen to his charm, the Order would have… changed me. He opened my eyes, but sowed them shut at the same."
"He," Lucy repeated absentmindedly. "You mean the Eye that's been watching us, who gave you the knowledge, and now you must serve him for an eternity. Gardener of Men, but that's not His true name. Who is He really?"
Miraak remained quiet for a moment, then whispered.
"Hermaeus Mora."
Upon the name, the serpents awakened. They hissed, screeched in the dark, the noise reverberated in the atmosphere until Lucy thought she'd go deaf. The waves of energy that were sent forth from the Eye washed over her, tides of a great ocean, vast endless deep.
When He was called, He answered the call.
"We must not speak His name, for He comes when He's called. The Daedric Lord of knowledge and memory… the long-lost brother of Lorkhan and Akatosh. Few mortals know the truth of existence, but those loyal to Him will know it all. As do I. And I still repeat this to you: do not trust Him. Just like the others, He will use you. Refuse to be a tool, Lucy Heartfilia. Reclaim your power as the Dragonborn and use it to your will, your destiny, not anyone else's."
Lucy nodded, still trembling from fear. She looked only at Miraak, but the temptation to turn back and meet the Eye was overwhelming. She squeezed her eyes shut, the secrets of lost knowledge swirling around her like flies. There was power in them, so irresistible, but an immeasurable amount of pain as a price. A price she couldn't afford to pay.
"What… what did the Order do to you, that made you turn to Him instead?"
Miraak did not answer.
"I'm sorry," Lucy said then. "I think… I'll have to find out by myself when I awaken. But… you told me that I cannot defeat Alduin. I couldn't even kill Odahviing, and I don't understand why. I shot him down from the sky. I was sure that he'd be dead."
"You lack the strength of Thu'um that is required for their defeat. Alduin and his generals are different from most of the dragons. They are… immortal, in the true meaning of the world. In order to kill them… you have to force them into mortality before they can taste true death," Miraak answered. "While I've been gone, I've heard whispers that such a way was once found out by the ancient Blades and Tongues, but that's something that even He doesn't know about. And when He doesn't know it… then the secrets are truly lost."
"I'm on the path to finding out the way. The old Tongues defeated Alduin, and it's all written down in their temple," Lucy answered. "There's just this… delay I have to fight through, but I'm sure I can follow their footsteps and kill the World-Eater. The doom shall not come."
"If that was a true defeat, would Alduin be here now, hmm?" said Miraak, silencing her. "They failed miserably, as it's widely known. Alduin's defeat was merely a delay. Now, the end has truly begun. Your greatest enemy will be time. Will you find a way to defeat Alduin before he gathers all his generals?" He chuckled. "I bear witness to the grand finale with great anticipation."
Lucy gazed into his eyes fiercely. A moment before, she had been drowning in the sea of hopelessness, but she knew she couldn't deny her destiny. She couldn't run from it. Staying strong, and resisting the call of the abyss was the only thing she could do.
"I will find it. And I will defeat Alduin. I will not let this world end," Lucy said then. "And… thank you, Miraak, for helping me. I've been… lost on this path, but I know now that I'll find the way."
Miraak nodded as he accepted her thanks. "You already know what you achieved when you started to believe in your power. Now, there's another dead dragon here, Odahviing's loyal servant. Milmurnir is a great victory. Can you even imagine what you'll find when you peek within that dragon's memory? Do that now. When you awaken, use that knowledge as your weapon against the Order."
"But –"
"Call him to you," Miraak said. "Shout his name, and he will come. Loyalty is a part of his being, and now, you are his master."
There was more Lucy wanted to know, but she remained silent. She was running out of time – the longer she'd stay here, the more she'd lose of herself. Those secrets she could learn later. Perhaps through Milmurnir's knowledge, she'd be able to tear through Odahviing's Thu'um and awaken. And maybe, when she'd awaken, she'd find the one she had searched for so long.
So, Lucy stood up and gazed at the skies. The dragons were gone now, flown further into the darkness, but she still sensed their presence. She glanced at Miraak, who still sat cross-legged on the ground. He nodded to her softly, then she looked up again, and shouted,
"MIL – MUR – NIR!"
Nothing seemed to happen as her Thu'um echoed across the emptiness. The dragons' souls danced at the edges of this sphere, but then, one was drawn toward her voice. Slowly, it descended to her, ghostly wings spread open wide as it landed and bowed down its head. Then, Lucy understood that Milmurnir had been the first dragon she had slain in a fair battle, using the power of her dragonblood to the fullest. There was no resistance in Milmurnir, only submission and acceptance.
"Go on, Lucy," Miraak said behind her. "Dive into the mind of Odahviing's loyal servant, and awaken. I will be waiting here for your return."
Lucy touched the dragon's forehead, and then the dome of the dead dragons faded.
By the time the silhouette of Riften faded into darkness, Natsu was already sure that he would just die.
After they had escaped the city through the wastewater tunnels and headed to the stables – or what had been left of them – Natsu had eaten the bread Juvia had given to him. He had barely tasted it as he stuffed it into his mouth, barely chewed, barely shallowed. Knowing he'd soon be vomiting the shit out of his guts, he prepared by filling his stomach, so he'd have something to vomit other than bile. His last trip in a horse carriage had gone so damn well that he had been throwing up blood when they arrived at Helgen's gates, and this time, he couldn't afford to be in that condition.
Though at that time, he had also managed to save Lucy despite his state, so maybe there was a divine, ironic connection. Have a ride, almost die, then rescue the princess with the taste of iron and bile in your mouth.
And yes, as they climbed to the rickety carriage and Gajeel clicked the horse into motion, Natsu's insides began to churn. After a yard, the churning forced him to bend his head over the cart's edge. The bread he had eaten turned out to be a very brief help. He'd emptied his stomach right there, and now he sat there dying, with nothing left to retch. Gildarts had offered him some water, but he refused. Natsu had asked for a spell or a potion to eradicate this damned nausea, and then Gildarts had stared at him in silence for a while, then pulled a bottle of mead from this bag. Natsu had refused again.
When Gildarts had told him that they'd travel to Forelhost by carriage, Natsu had held onto the faint hope that his and Lucy's horse, Sagittarius, would still be in the stables where they had left it. He could've ridden beside them and avoided all this sickness, but no. The stables had been as devastated as the rest of the city. If any of the horses had survived the attack, they must've run far from Riften by now. Maybe Sagittarius was still alive, somewhere in the wilderness of Skyrim, and just maybe they'd find it again one day.
The dark forests around them breathed in moist air, still condense with smoke and coals, as if ashes had fallen on the leafless birches. The winds had brought warmth from the south, melting most of the snows before true winter would begin. It was a good thing, as no carriage could move in a hip-deep bank of snow. But with the whiteness gone, the woods lay in a state of grey decay, lifeless, desolate.
A small candle was lit in the lantern beside the driver's seat, though it was mostly for the horse, as the vampiric cart driver needed no light to see in the night. Natsu sat alone on the left side of the carriage, Gildarts and Loke opposite to him, but Natsu couldn't look at their faces, couldn't even talk to them. He just stared into the darkness behind them, listening to the quiet nature, the only peaceful thing left in the world.
It had been so long since he'd been outside the city walls that he had almost forgotten what the forests sounded at night. He'd gotten used to the distant rumble from the tavern and the early morning commotion from the streets below the window. Here, the low sighs of the wind flowing the air with rustling leaves, wolves howled in the mountains and the rasping melodies of the grasshoppers sounded through the night. There was no true silence in the wilds, but a different kind of absence filled Natsu's heart.
The silence of Lucy's absence.
Even when they had been sitting in front of a campfire without uttering a single world, there had never been this cold, heart-wrenching silence in Natsu's heart. Her presence alone had filled him with warmth and joy. When they had been sleeping – or only she had slept, as Natsu had stayed awake way too often – in the conjured tent, sharing the same bedroll, he had listened to her quiet breathing, the steady beating of her heart, and known that he wasn't alone, would never be.
Until now, she was gone, and he was alone.
And in his mind, he screamed.
Nothing, nothing could ever take that pain away.
Though he wanted to, he couldn't cry. The tears seemed gaged behind an invisible wall that numbed him, convinced him that all this was just a nightmare he'd soon wake from. It wasn't, he knew, he had to keep fighting, he had to save Lucy from those monsters, but still, the reality seemed to slip between his fingers. He clung to his memories like a child, as if remembering her heartbeat against his would alleviate this pain. And like a ghostly embrace, it did – as if Lucy was still alive out there, reaching out to him too, across the distance, over the bond that would never break, no matter what.
As the rickety carriage moved forward in the darkness, Natsu found himself returning to the day they arrived in Riften, the 8th of Sun's Dusk. Nine days ago, but the time there had felt like an eternity. So much had happened, so much had changed, and some of those things would be left there forever. Perhaps the night of their arrival, too, but he could still recall it so vividly. Anger, which he later understood had been jealousy, had burned within his heart, only to be smothered and reclaimed as useless the same day. The scent of herbs had lingered in Ragged Flagon, the mead had been good, laughter had echoed in the hall. Lucy had seated on his lap, snuggled her face into her chest, he'd taken her to their bedchamber and…
Now she was gone, his beautiful Lucy, in the hands of the cult instead in the hands of him.
Natsu threw up again.
As he turned back, he wiped drops of bile from the corner of his mouth. Gildarts offered a waterskin to him again, but Natsu shook his head. He knew he couldn't keep it down anyway, as his stomach had turned into a pit of restless snakes. Their poison flowed in his veins with every beat of his heart, and he was sure that soon, he'd just die.
"Don't worry. It'll be over soon."
Natsu froze at the familiar, empathic tone of the voice. Flinched, he gazed around, realising neither Loke nor Gildarts had spoken a word. What had it been? He lowered his eyes to the empty seat beside him, and realised it had been a memory, so vivid he had almost heard it. Igneel had said that before they arrived at Helgen's gates.
'Great, now I'm losing my fucking mind.'
Which wasn't, considering all that had happened to him, a big surprise.
"So," said Loke, as the wind rustled through the trees, "what's the grand plan, Gildarts? How exactly will we get Lucy from Forelhost?"
Natsu glanced at the young man clad in a guard's cuirass. He still struggled to understand what exactly Loke was doing here. From what Natsu knew, Loke wasn't a fighter, only a thief. But maybe that was it. Sneaking past the tight security of Riften's locked mansions must've taught him some skills that could be adapted to breaking into an ancient monastery.
"Well, our first problem is that the monastery stands atop a steep rock hill. There's only one path to get in, and that leads to the courtyard. I've ridden around the place, and know where the entrance is…" Gildarts answered, then went quiet. A deep frown formed on his forehead. "… that's when we come to the second problem. The entrance to the monastery will be sealed with dangerous magic. Breaching through and sneaking in undetected is going to be a great challenge, but thankfully Gajeel has promised to cast some illusions to aid us."
Loke lifted his brow. "Oh yeah? What kind of illusions?"
"Gildarts told me the story about the original siege. I thought that giving the guards some nasty flashbacks about the besiegers would be fun," Gajeel told as he glanced over his shoulder. "At the entrance, we'll most likely encounter ghosts of the ancient cultist. They can't deal much damage, but are still annoying, and they still have access to powerful magic. That's why Gildarts has also gotten silver daggers to you. Silver banishes ghosts with ease."
"Right, I almost forgot," Gildarts replied as he lifted his arm and cast a small, swirling gate of purple light. He seemed to search for something from the gate, as if digging a bag, then he pulled out three scabbarded blades. "You aren't a sorcerer, Loke, so this will be your most valuable weapon. And even we mages will benefit from these. Banishing ghosts with magicka will be… costly, considering how much we must preserve for the biggest battle. There's no way they'll give up the Dragonborn without a fight."
Gildarts tossed one blade to Loke, one to Natsu. Loke received his dagger with a sigh. "Just to think about it… I grew up by the Dragonborn's side, and never knew a thing. If I hadn't seen her slaying a dragon with my own eyes, I still wouldn't believe it," he said. "But here we are now. Rescuing her from the fucking Dragon Cult."
Natsu turned the blade around in his hands. Through the leather sheath, he sensed magic forged into the silver, magic meant for banishing things that had slipped through the veils of Oblivion. He hadn't encountered ghosts often. It was rare for a soul to linger on Nirn and haunt the place of its death, but it surely happened. Especially in a place like Forelhost.
"The paths of life can never be predicted, that's the only thing that's certain," Gildarts said. "And unfortunately, that's as much as I know about Forelhost. The journal of Skorm Snow-Strider told little about the interior structure of the monastery. During the siege, the cultists purposefully collapsed the stairway to the refectory. A path to the inner chambers seemed to go through the well, but the gate was tightly locked. The besiegers never proceeded past that."
"When we are in, we should probably locate the well first," Loke said. "I'm certain I can get that open."
Gildarts nodded. "Yeah. The water is still probably poisoned, though, so don't drink it, or I'll kill you. We should be able to wade through the well's bottom, hopefully. But what awaits us behind that… I have no idea."
"But how did Odahviing get Lucy to the monastery?" Natsu asked, his voice rough, burned by the acids of his stomach. "There could be another way in. Something that the cultists use."
"The courtyard, probably, but that's out of our reach, protected by high walls. And about Odahviing… For Kynareth's sake, I hope that dragon isn't around anymore. Because if he is, our mission is as good as doomed."
Natsu shuddered, holding back a gag as he remembered Odahviing landing on top of the watchtower, grievously wounded, yet still alive, regenerating, showing him the true meaning of immortality. That dragon just wouldn't die.
"Truth is, I don't know what's the current state of the cult," Gildarts told, sighing. "They might've recruited some new, living members, who believe that the worship of the dragons is the only way to salvation as Alduin returns and devours the world. That's what the cult was all about in the old days, as well. Some desperate souls must've sought that solace, only to find such… terrors behind those promises."
"So, mostly we are against some dried-up draugr and ghosts?"
"Yes, but never underestimate the unliving, Loke," Gildarts said. "There's nothing more dangerous than a man who's already dead."
Loke lowered his gaze. "I know."
From there on, Natsu didn't listen as they talked about their strategy. Breach inside, locate the well, carry on, and kill everyone you encounter. The instructions were simple, yet how everything would play out in action, he couldn't tell. He drifted lost to the sea of his thoughts, sinking low, ever closer to the bottom where no light could ever reach.
Soon, Gildarts and Loke grew quiet as well, and so the night passed on in silence. The forests shifted by as the cart rode on, bouncing on the pits on the road, ice on the mud puddles cracking under the wheels. Natsu's nausea remained the same, but he began to grow numb to it. He kept his eyes on the darkness, not seeing anything. He couldn't notice as the forests changed as hours went by, and eventually, a mountain appeared on the horizon.
"We'll stop here," Gildarts told, stirring Natsu awake from his dazed state. The cart had reached a small river that ran beneath a mountain, shrouded in mist. "From here we'll continue by foot, but let's gather up some strength first. It's going to be a long ascend – and even longer battle."
When Gajeel pulled the reins and the horse stopped, an immeasurable relief flooded through Natsu's tormented guts. With wobbly feet he climbed out of the cart and fell on his knees, taking support from the frozen ground. How good it felt to be on a level, unmoving ground. He heard steps behind him, and then Gildarts patted his shoulder.
"You managed surprisingly well, son."
Natsu coughed, a droplet of blood spilling from his lips. "Yeah, I guess…"
"Here, have a drink," Gildarts said as he offered him a bottle. Natsu furrowed his brow, making the old man chuckle. "This isn't mead. It's one of the few potions I have left. You're still weak from the imprisonment, not to even mention this carriage ride, but this should make you feel better. Take it."
Natsu took it, drank it, and fought to keep it down. He went to the river and cupped his hands in the running stream, washed his face and then rinsed the bitter taste from his mouth. Gildarts followed and crouched beside him. He let out a long sigh, prepared to speak, but then took back whatever he had been about to say. Natsu's hollow gaze lingered on the rippling water before he turned to Gildarts.
"What is it?"
Gildarts shook his head, wiping sweat from his temple with his ghostly hand. He glanced over his shoulder to check where Loke and Gajeel had gone. They remained close to the horse, Loke sitting on the cart's edge, restlessly swinging his legs in the air. Gajeel drank something from a big, red bottle. Across the distance, Natsu could smell it was blood.
"While we're there, I don't want you to take a single unnecessary risk," Gildarts muttered quietly, lifting his eyes to Natsu. "This time, you just can't… can't go berserk the same way you did in Riften. Because if you do, I cannot bring you back this time."
Natsu looked away and nodded faintly. "To be honest, I don't know what I'm going to do, or what I can do, except being just a useless piece of shit who –"
"Silence, son. Don't talk to yourself like that."
"But it's true. I couldn't keep Lucy safe. It's my fault this happened. My fault that they took her, my fault that she's probably dead or worse or –"
"Natsu, shut up. Wallowing in some self-pity isn't going to get her back. Because we will save her, no matter what. We aren't leaving this monastery without her. Just hang on for a moment, grit your teeth and fight, and you'll see the next sunset with her again."
Natsu halted.
"It's going to be a long day, but I promise you, everything will be alright. When the wolves smell the blood, they will all see it's their own," Gildarts said, looking at the mountain ahead of them. The dawn was still hours away. "But just… just promise me you won't use Firestorm again, not until you've learnt to protect yourself from that spell. There's so much you can do without putting your own life at risk. Show me your strength, son. It's more than you know."
In silence, Natsu sat on a mossy rock, burying his face into his hands. Unleashing Firestorm had happened on its own, as the fire had bled from him without his control, and that's what he feared. When he had awakened, he had felt no sparks within him, but now the fire began to grow again. It soared through him, as if aching to get out, he'd burn the whole mountain to the ground if he just could – but he had to keep the flames smothered, at least for now.
"Hey, Gildarts…" Natsu began quietly. "What in the Oblivion was the dragon speaking about… about my fire. Let me remember the name of the dragon whose flame you have inherited, it said. What did it mean?"
Gildarts was silent for a moment. "It was important enough for Odahviing to call Milmurnir to take you to Forelhost as well," he muttered. "They are expecting you out there. And I guess… I guess that's our advantage. They want you alive. And –"
"But why the fuck would they want me?" Natsu raised his voice. "I just don't get it."
"Agnoslok was the dragon's name."
"What?"
"In some old Nord legends, he was called Acnologia."
With hollow eyes, Natsu stared at the old man. Gildarts kept looking at the rippling water, as the clouds in the sky parted, reflecting moonlight on the river's surface. He sighed, pain forming deep lines on his face.
"I… I don't know it all. Odahviing spoke about Agnoslok's fire, how you have somehow… inherited that, but I don't know what it means. It had something to do with old Blades, but there's… There are no records of such a thing, at least in the Annals of the Dragonguard," Gildarts told, keeping his tone low and steady. "What I know for sure is that Agnoslok was one of the First Eight. Same as Odahviing, Alduin's generals. It seems that your magic… your fire, to be exact, is somehow related to the dragon. That's all I can say so far."
Natsu shook his head in denial. His fire was his, not some rotten flame stolen from a dead dragon. He had held the fire in his heart for his entire life, cherished it as his own, fed his anger to it, all his sorrows. Fire was him, and he was fire. That's how it had always been. How it would always be. The moment his fire would go out, he'd die. Simple as that.
"Just… how?" Natsu whispered. "Nothing of that makes any sense."
Gildarts shrugged. "If that's true, you must've kept that fire since your birth. If someone knows something, it's most likely your family."
"You mean my dead mother, missing brother, and my… father," he started, then the words got stuck in his throat. He squeezed his palms against his forehead and cursed. "Fuck it all. Just fuck it. I ain't going back to him to figure out what crap happened to me. All I know is that my brother poisoned my mother when she was expecting me, and –"
"Wait, wait, what?" Gildarts asked, his eyes widening. "Zeref did what?"
"You heard right. He poisoned my mother with nightshades. I heard this from Clavicus Vile, but why he did so, I don't fucking know. But you know Zeref. He was probably just testing out his new alchemy recipe, or then he wanted to be the only child, or –"
"Abort you."
Natsu chuckled dryly. "Isn't that the same as wanting to be the only child?"
"No. Nightshade is commonly used to terminate a pregnancy. Your brother must've known that. It means that –"
"Yes, he wanted to get rid of me. But what does it have to do with anything?"
Gildarts shook his head. "No. Zeref didn't want to get rid of you. Now… Now I realise what it all meant that time," he said, turning his eyes to Natsu. "A few years before Zeref disappeared, he… he told me something that has been bugging me all this time."
Natsu gazed at him with questions churning inside of him. He took a long drink from his waterskin, then refilled it in the river, and then drank again. Gildarts gathered the pieces of lost memories in his mind before speaking, Natsu's patience running thin. This was no place or time for telling long stories, but if they'd gather their strength meanwhile, perhaps he could bear it.
"I taught your brother in the College, you know. I'd never met a mage as talented as Zeref was," he started. Natsu glanced at him with a sour expression, making him chuckle. "You don't pale on your brother's side when it comes to potential, but your focus always strayed away from actually developing your gifts. You see, you've always cared more about burning things than hitting the books. In a way, it makes sense now. Meanwhile, Zeref poured all his time into the dedicated study of magic. Never got a chance to have a deep conversation with him until… until that night."
Natsu nodded, and let him continue.
"Well, at that time, Tolfdir had misplaced his alembic, again. As a favour for a collague, I had been trying to find it for days. I searched every tunnel and dusty corner of the College without finding the damned thing, and as the final option, I headed to the roof. It was the dead of winter, so there was no way it could be there anyway," Gildarts said and laughed a bit. "But there I found the alembic, and your brother using it, brewing potions in the blasted cold under the moonlight."
"Sounds something that Zeref would do."
"Exactly," Gildarts said and took a deep breath. "He didn't quite appreciate me breaking his precious peace, but I had to ask the alembic back. He said he'd finish the potion first, and so stayed there in awkward silence for a while. Something made me ask if he had any siblings, if they'd have the same talents as he had. He remained quiet awfully long, but then, as he placed crushed, frozen nightshades into the distiller, he muttered something." Gildarts glanced at Natsu. "I never wanted to do it."
Upon those words, Natsu froze. He knew exactly what they meant, but struggled to understand how he felt about it. If neither Zeref nor his mother had wanted him dead, then who would have?
"I asked what he meant, but he never answered. The motion of his hands had halted, his gaze had frozen on the pink petals. There was sadness in his voice. Guilt, repentance, like a child confessing wrongdoing. I knew he had done something terrible to his sibling, but when you came to the College searching for him, I never asked what it was. I barely remembered the whole thing during these years," Gildarts said, smiling sadly. "I just knew that whatever he did, he did that against his own will, forced by someone else. Perhaps by mistake, or –"
Then, the answer was as bright as a day in Natsu's mind.
"My father," he whispered, familiar anger in his tone. "He wanted me dead straight from the start."
Sympathy lingered in the old man's eyes as he gazed at Natsu. "Perhaps you should ask him why."
Natsu lifted his shoulders, shaking his head. "He always hated me, that's why. No need to ask."
Gildarts remained quiet for a moment. "Believe me, Natsu, no father hates his own son so much that he'd murder him before he's even born."
Perhaps they both thought about it at the same moment, but suddenly, an insight passed through Natsu's soul. All the hate that had been poured on him during his early life, it all just… made sense now. The pieces of the puzzle slipped through his fingers, but somehow, they fell into place. Natsu remembered the words his father had shouted after him when he'd ran from home, the day after his mother's death, still as sharp as daggers thrown at his back.
You're not my son.
It had been the truth all along.
Natsu sighed, realising that he was trembling. Gildarts laid his palm on his shoulder and gave him a soft pat. Questions swirled in his head like a swarm of flies, but they were only empty words, a clay pot reverberating the voices back with no answers to be found. If Willem of Dragonbridge wasn't his father, then who was? As much as Natsu despised to admit, asking him might be the only way to find out, or even get closer to the answers. The secrets had woven a web he was caught in, connected threads of lost words, forever left unsaid.
"There's more Clavicus told me that didn't make any sense until now," Natsu muttered, leaning his chin to his hands. "He said my father is dead. And I guess… I guess that's true. Whoever… whoever that might be. Gods. This is so fucked up…"
It takes an orphan to create one, Clavicus Vile had said. He hadn't understood it then, as his mind was clouded in rage. Because of him, the poor boy Romeo lost both of his parents – and Clavicus had known that Natsu had been an orphan all along as well. When exactly had he become one, he didn't know. Perhaps at this very moment, when he finally realised what had been true all these years.
Gildarts hummed, deep in thought as he rubbed his beard. "Did you have any handsome neighbours your mother might have… visited?"
"I'm really not in the mood to hear your perverted jests now, old man." Natsu wiped his forehead, felt the frown between his brows. "What's worse, Clavicus knows that whoever fathered me is dead. It means he knows who he is, too."
"And when a Daedric Lord knows a person, it usually isn't a good sign."
"Exactly," Natsu sighed. "And I'm not making another deal with Clavicus to find that out. I… I don't even know what to say. What to feel. It's just…"
"It's okay, Natsu. All will be clear in time. When you get lost in a fog, it's best to stand still and wait for it to pass. This will pass, too. All this business with the dragonfire, your true heritage, it's… it's something you will find out when you are ready. For now, we'll focus on the most urgent matter: rescuing Lucy from the damn cultists. Don't let this lead you astray."
"I won't, but…"
His words died down. Suddenly, he felt so alone in the world. Rootless, as unknown blood flowed in his veins. Gildarts hadn't taken his ghostly hand off his trembling shoulder, and now, the old man was the only person who was there for him. Natsu wanted to thank him, but no voice came out of his throat. He stared into the rippling water, then lifted his gaze to the mountain ahead, to the skyline where the first hints of cerulean were starting to show.
"I guess we have to keep going soon," Natsu muttered. "Our vampire companion probably wants to reach the monastery before the dawn."
Gildarts nodded, patted his shoulder one last time. "You're right," he said, then turned towards Loke and Gajeel. "Time to go."
As Gildarts left his side, Natsu sat on the rock for a moment. He kept his eyes on the mountain, could see the distant outlines of a monastery's ruins contrasting against the sky. Lucy was there, he sensed that in his heart, as along all this time, his roots had dug onto her, the only one who made him feel like he'd ever belonged somewhere, to someone. Whenever he felt lost, adrift in the ocean of this world, she anchored him down – he had never wanted them to be apart, for he knew, deep down, that she was the only family he ever really had, would ever have.
'We are going to see the sunset again,' Natsu thought as he rose and walked to others, 'even if it's the last thing we do tonight.'
And then, Lucy awakened from a long, long dream.
An overwhelming pain wrapped her whole body into a tight grasp – as if it had been holding her for days, squeezing ever harder, until all life would fade from her. But it didn't, for she breathed, her heart was still beating, and she opened her eyes to the darkness.
Visions upon visions layered in her mind, lost shards of Milmurnir's life: the days of glory, flashes of black wings against the skies, the Eight fighting as one beside Alduin the World-Eater. She could recall their names, could recall the priests bound to them by blood, and here, now, she felt one of them. A familiar presence, right near her – she turned her head slowly, her neck creaking as she lay on a stone altar, bound in chains.
"Rek los haas," said the voice beside her. She knew what it meant.
She's awake.
A/N: Hi guys! Sorry this chapter took forever to write. I kinda ran into a creative drought this summer. I tend to get depressed during summer months and this year it hit me quite hard, but thankfully it's getting closer to autumn now and my inspiration is coming back. I'm looking forward to feel better soon as the days get cooler and the evenings get darker again.
So, this chapter was quite lore-heavy with lots of additional lore I've made for this story. The First Dragonborn finally introduced himself properly, but who's actually the "bad company" for Lucy now? Is that the Cult, Hermaeus Mora, or the First Dragonborn himself? Why exactly is he helping her out? What could he possibly want from her in return?
And then to Natsu. Poor boy's going through a wringer here. I decided to drop some big secrets about his background here in this chapter, because they are quite important to all this dragonfire-stuff in him. That secret has been foreshadowed quite long, though. Did anyone catch it before this? Got any theories about who his papa might actually be?
Next chapters are going to be more action-packed with dungeon crawling and big battles. Then we get closer to the end of "Act Two" in this book, before starting the "Final Act" that contains the whole endgame of the story. I have about 30 chapters left in the outline, but the number of actual chapters will probably expand during the actual writing process. That kinda scares me!
Anyway, thank you so much for all the support and love! It matters the world to me. I hope you are all doing well!
Next up: Lockmaster
