CHAPTER III - ACT 1 - A New Light

Kill, kill, and kill again— everything else was optional. The food here sucked. It was cold, bland, and hard. Nothing but tough meats, moldy cheese, tasteless soups, and watery ale. The vegetables were of poor freshness as if what the taverns serve were just crumbs the rich leave for the rest. The beds were even rougher. If they didn't stink of bodily fluids, they'd be made of itchy fur and uncomfy leather. Sometimes from stone. Quite literally.

The locals were such a fun crowd too. Not as scummy as Riften, only twice as racist. She couldn't even take two steps in the city itself before two Nords stopped their feuding to instead sneer at her.

At least she didn't need to stay. Their client was supposed to meet her in a meadery outside the city walls. Or rather, a dog of her client.

And a dog he was. Not only was he in debt to a criminal tycoon, but he was also working obediently, all hours of the day, as a slave to this shitty pub.

Still, she pulled up her hood more when he approached. It wasn't necessary, as aside from the band of skeevers scurrying the floorboards, the bar lay empty.

"I'll make this quick…" he started. He had probably introduced himself at some point, but Fie could only remember his name rhyming with "callous."

Which he was. Couldn't he see she was still savoring her frankly stale bread?

"Maven wants this douchebag indisposed. Permanently. Doesn't matter how; only when, and that's tonight while he's staying in his house inside Whiterun."

A pouch of gold dropped on the table. Fie took her time counting the coins while sweat trickled on the man's face.

Nine-hundred fifty. Their standard rate was one thousand septims flat. Piercing green eyes stared, making the man flinch. And they call her pathetic.

"Okay, look… help a man out, will you? It's just fifty septims. I promise I'll put in a good word to Maven for you."

How he thought stealing from his boss was such a great idea, she didn't care. She had a job to do. Rocky bread in hand, Fie silently moved towards the exit.

Before she left, that projectile-class piece of wheat was hurled right into a shelf stocked with mead. It shattered the bottles on impact.

"Mallus! What was that noise?!"

She snuck out and closed the door behind her. Inside, she heard the owner of the meadery shout.

It was a pleasantly quiet evening too. The stupidly big twin moons were beating down on her with their brightness while the fresh air smelled of honey mead and horse crap. She hid her face behind her scarf and strolled to the city gates.

So far, she had to admit Whiterun was the least intolerable place in Assrim. Excluding the obvious racism, the people were friendly enough, partly due to the fact it had a trade-focused economy. A great blacksmith supposedly lived here, and the general peacekeeping was handled by a guild of hardened warriors called the Companions.

And she did flat out ignore the guards. How drunk were they to let her, an assassin dressed in clearly assassin-of-the-Dark Brotherhood attire, inside?

Whatever. She was already at the roof of the house callous guy specified.

'Breezehome' was a simple structure made of easily pierced wood. True to its name, the walls would break from the gust of her foot if she tried. It had two floors and, fortunately, had an open window she could use. She'd rant about the lack of security, but she probably just had high standards. She's had to infiltrate mansions during her time as a jaeger mercenary. And that was when she was still a kid.

This one? She could probably do it blindfolded.

The night breeze blew past her, and Fie let her hood down, her bright silver hair flowing with it. She should probably tie it up again. It was a pain to wash off the blood.

She shivered. She could never get used to the climate here. She liked the robe-ish assassin clothes she was given mainly because of that; plus she had her dark red scarf.

...It was a dark green scarf, actually. Again, it was a pain to wash off the blood. Detergents weren't really invented yet.

This would be her seventh contract by now. Her seventh official kill. Minus all the bandits, nobles, thugs, and mercenaries that stood in her way. Grelod might have counted as well. It had been months since she left that god-forsaken orphanage.

She had to admire her handiwork, though. Stabbed in the neck, shoulders, arms, and legs and then pinned, almost crucified, to the walls of her orphanage. Astrid did say it was spectacular. Her next kills were of equal splendor.

Bitch-ass miner? Buried in her own mine when it caved in. Quite unfortunate.

Paranoid mill owner? Choked in his sleep, and then ground to paste in the mills. He tasted sweet.

Emancipated beggar? Strangled to death with his sister's necklace. No one would miss him.

...It was nearly time, but she wanted to feel the wind on her face again. It reminded her of the highlands back at home. She should probably pray now if anything.

Hesitating just a small bit, Fie slowly drew out her ARCUS. It was cold. Powerless. Probably from the lack of orbal energy in this world. The disk-like device had already been dormant when she first came here, but she kept it anyway— if only for the memories.

"Sara. Laura. Alisa. Machias. Elliot. Millium. Jusis. Emma. Gaius…

"...Rean. Crow."

Even if they were dead, she would never forget their names. She's found a new family now. It wasn't like her first, nor her second, but it was family. In the loosest sense.

She'd give them up in a knife-stroke if she could go back home, though.

"I'm sorry. I'll come to see you guys soon. I promise."

Eyes closed, Fie pulled her hood back up and swung through the window.

It was best to finish quickly, but inferring whatever information she can of her target was vital for an easy kill. Looking around the bedroom, she could already tell that he was a total slob. Strewn clothes everywhere, septims scattered on the floor, ruined bedsheets— everything was a mess.

What wasn't however, were the well-kept pair of swords hanging on the wall. They were of a familiar shape: Akaviri blades— or in her old world, katanas. But they felt more intimate than that, and she couldn't tell why.

It doesn't matter. What Astrid warned her of the man was accurate, at least. That he was part of an ancient order of warriors called The Blades, and that the Thalmor were after his guts. Fie guessed the reason he was still alive was because of his high rank within the Imperial Army and because of his feared 'power.' They called it 'Thu'um' or 'The Voice.'

As in, literally the power of his voice. He can use it to conjure gouts of flame or ice or whatever, similar to how Arts worked back in Zemuria, but with a lot more shouting.

It gave her the idea of what her murder method was now. Fie ripped the katana off the plaque and made her way downstairs. She could only hope that this 'Dragonborn' was as dangerous as they hyped him up to be.

But apparently, being born out of the fuckery of a dragon and a man didn't stop him from falling face down unconscious in his living room.

Another deadbeat, she thought. Even with all his power, he was nothing more than waste in this wicked society. That also didn't stop him from being targeted by a measly crime lord.

He was pissed drunk if the stench didn't give it away. His spiky black hair was laced with grease and ale. His leather coat was tattered, but Fie could see the glint of black armor underneath. The design, along with the steel greaves and gauntlets he wore, were a trademark of The Blades. He was the man, alright.

A dead man. But still.

If she wanted a quick and clean kill, she had to get past the armor, which was a piece of sweet roll considering how they tend to leave out certain areas exposed. Tender areas like the throat, for instance. Exactly as she wanted.

Fie turned the unconscious man around and pricked his neck with the tip of the katana. She just needed to plunge the blade in and be done with it. Simple as that.

…

Life was cruel sometimes.

Her grip lost, the tachi fell to the floor with a clang.

She promised she would never forget his name. But at that moment, she was trying her damndest to say it aloud.

"...Rean…?"

A blue luster glimmered from his side. And so did from hers. With a faint trail of light connecting the two, their ARCUS resonated with one another.