CHAPTER V - ACT I - Dragonborn

"Rean Schwarzer of the Eight Leaves One Blade school, intermediate rank. I stand ready."

"Delphine Bolar, acting Grandmaster of the Blades. Ready."

The young recruit— their referee, clad in black steel, raised his right hand. Time itself dilated, and the arm that held the beginnings of their spar crashed down in a shimmer of armored flesh. Rean gripped his tachi keenly, still in its sheath for his favored opening strike.

"Begin!"

The words were cut, just as the air did. In one metallic stroke, a blue, crescent wave of energy sliced forward. Shooting through several feet a second, the shining flash threatened to bisect it's target's midsection.

No stranger to ranged spells nor the penchant of her charge to use them, Delphine tumbled forward. The crescent flash of energy glazed harmlessly under her. Landing quickly, she leaped again, further covering the distance between the two. Her twin blades struck down like thunder.

Rean parried the blow, at the cost of some of his balance. His heels scraped on the stone tiles, and it was enough to jar his senses.

His opponent struck twice again, left and right. Rean barely blocked both, but his footing never got better. Her attacks were ferocious, precise enough to aim for his jugulars, yet strong enough to pierce through the tough scales of a dragon.

Delphine furthered her assault. She slashed chaotically, relying more on the reach of her weapons than the weight. The tip missed his nose by a few reges, and he would have been headless if he hadn't used his tachi to block a double sweeping blow aimed at his neck. Not a moment for rest, the relentless assault of blades carried on.

Gasping for breath, Rean was forced to go on the defensive, his footing steadily growing worse. His initial Arc Slash had little restraint; the followthrough left too much of an undesirable delay to his movements. His opponent rightfully punished him for it, and only appended her assault with cuts slanted at unusual angles.

The Grandmaster of the Blades had no form— no discipline. None too dissimilar from his former instructor, Rean realized.

Just like Sara.

...It was when his face smashed against the wall did he realize he had lost himself in those fond memories. Delphine threw him over her shoulder, and his shoulder ached when he dropped to the floor. He didn't bother to stand up; the granite on his cheek felt less cold than the glaring of the older woman.

"You were distracted, Dragonborn."

Rean sighed. "Yeah. That's on me. Sorry."

Maybe he could take a nap. The floor was comfy. It reminded him of the time when he napped with Fie on the deck of the Courageous.

Emphasis on 'napped with' — even though his classmates, especially Fie, referred to it as 'slept with'. Alisa was not particularly impressed with those choices of words. Neither was Laura. Nor Emma. Nor Princess Alfin.

Vivi was, though.

Thank the Goddess they didn't bring it up with Xeno and Leo. The two overprotective Jaegers were rather fond of their surrogate daughter. They would have garroted him off the Infernal Castle if they found out he 'slept' with their girl.

A stomp and a demandingly stern voice shocked him out of his daydream. "Get up!" Delphine shouted. She held the tip of her katana to his nose, looking for all intents and purposes to kill him. Their duel hadn't ended, and like olden warrior tradition, it won't stop until Delphine said it did.

Rean sighed again but obliged. Reminiscing could happen later. He was meeting a friend, after all.

Sky Haven Temple. Known as a sanctuary for the Blades, the ancient ruin was made of pure stone enchanted with arcane magics. It loomed far above the Reach— giving Rean a wonderful view of the night sky.

There were two moons, one redder than the other, but each painted against a vast sea of black. This sea varied every night; sometimes it would be a jade sea, while on rare occasions, it was a pale hue of yellow. Tonight, however, was stygian.

And, the stars were beautiful.

Beautiful… just like in Zemuria.

"The twin moons are named Secunda and Masser. Said to be the sundered corpse of an ancient god. Meanwhile, the stars are actually holes formed when fellows of that god fled the realm of mortals," a catty voice spoke. "...or something like that."

Standing by the steps of the balcony was a petite girl, robed in the enchanted fabric of mages. The stray lock of cerulean on her hair swayed with the winds of the north. A light yellow dagger was strapped to her waist, but that was the least threatening thing about the dark-skinned girl. For one, her fingernails were sharpened as if claws of a Sabercat. For the other, her narrowed slit-eyes radiated a flash of irritation.

The girl's twitching cat ears and two, long flowing pigtails betrayed her daunting image, however.

Rean sensed her coming before she even set foot in the temple; her muffled prowling was a welcome familiarity for him. But it was nice when she spoke first, and any new trivia she happily shared to him was every bit as helpful as she was.

Still, he couldn't resist the temptation to tease. "Hey, Celine. You're late."

"Got held up at the gates. SOMEONE stuck a stick up that woman's ass," Celine said. Her small shoulders slumped, and she affixed him a blink-less stare. "And I'm pretty sure that was you, idiot."

"Sorry. I'll go talk to Delphine later."

"Not the point, again." Celine sat down beside him. Her knees folded and her arms crossed, she continued to glare at him with her feline pupils. The cute worry adorning her face clashed with her imposing aura, though. "What did you do THIS time?" she huffed.

"If I tell you, you promise you won't bite me?"

"I'll bite you either way, so spill it," the cat-turned-catgirl snarled. Whatever god-like being thought it funny to leave Celine with fangs when they turned her into a human was either incredibly sadistic, or mad.

He was pretty sure there was a Daedra like that here somewhere.

"I was just distracted during sparring, is all," Rean said.

"Distracted with what?"

"...memories of them."

Celine did bite his hand, just as hard as he expected. The sharpness dug into his skin enough to draw blood, adding an angry bitemark to his list of injuries for the day.

"...I'm still here..." she mumbled before he could pat her head.

She couldn't look him in the eye but instead licked his bleeding hand.

"I know. Thank you, Celine."

It was an exchange they shared countless times.

Cat in heart and soul, Celine purred as he stroked her hair. Her indigo tail wagged peacefully along with the caress of her ears. The night crickets chirped all throughout the mountainous cliffs of Skyrim, and Rean was lucky yet again that he had her by his side.

It's been over a year… since they died.

The last conscious memory burning in his mind was that of being impaled through the chest. The Vermillion Knight killed him. Destroyed his partner Valimar. Rean could only pray it didn't kill his friends as he and Celine were sent adrift through worlds.

It was ironic. Arriving without a sliver of knowledge of the unfamiliar land, the two of them were soon captured by the Imperial Army. The Imperial Legion, as it's called here. Arrested for illegally trying to cross the border of a country they don't even know the name of, it was a miracle they survived their execution.

That was because a freakin' dragon saved their hides.

Cast aside by the local Nords and not a coin to their name, they did what they could to get by. Never in Rean's wildest dreams did he guess his military academy training would get him conscripted in an army from another world.

It wasn't the safest or the cleanest of jobs; definitely bloody. He's killed more soldiers here than he ever thought he would.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you…" Celine said weakly, now resting her head on his lap. Her temper gone, she scratched onto his coat— a habit that never left from her days as a cat. "...or Crow. Or Valimar…"

Her violet hair was as feral as her bites, but it reminded him of the silky fur she once had. They felt the same through the brushes of his hand.

"You protected me from that dragon, remember?"

She did— if the tugging on his coat indicated anything.

It was supposed to have been a routine courier job to the Jarl of Whiterun. What wasn't supposed to happen was a dragon attack on the city. The western watchtower had been razed to the ground, and the fiery beast was quickly doing the same for the gates of the hold. Even if he wasn't ordered to, Rean would have helped protect the city anyway.

But, of course, fighting dragons was alien to him. One of the reasons he's taken up honing the 6th form was so that he could have the ranged attack needed to hit the flying monstrosity. It was only because of Celine did they ground the dragon long enough for Rean to sever its wing and impale it through the heart.

"So Dragonborn… having fun without me?" Celine asked.

Although he knew she didn't need to. Celine chuckled teasingly at his bruised cheeks. Her hand cupped over it, and a gentle light shimmered from her palm. Restoration magic.

It completely went against Instructor Beatrix's advice — letting the body heal by itself. But the magic of this world worked differently from Zemurian arts. Or at least, that was his excuse.

By different, he also meant it being more divine in nature. After defeating the dragon attacking Whiterun, the dragon's 'soul' somehow bound to his. However, that worked was a mystery. It turns out Rean was some sort of half-dragon man because of his birthright.

Dovahkiin, the Greybeards told him. Blessed by the Divines with the power to speak the language of Dragons. Destined by fate to one day save Tamriel.

That's how he met Delphine and the Blades, an ancient order of warriors serving the Dragonborn. Their primary objective was to hunt and kill the leader of the dragons. A primordial aspect of time said to bring about the world's destruction— Alduin, the World-Eater.

There was just one problem.

"Any leads on the Elder Scroll?" Rean asked.

"Yup," Celine said. Her ears perked up, and she was swinging her legs in pure excitement. "A mage by the name of Septimus Signus. Cooky, that one. Do humans go crazy as they get old or something?"

"You really wanna know?"

Celine shrugged, content with not solving one of the many mysteries of being human. "Brynjolf's already tracking him down for me. I might have something by next week, so I expect you to NOT be busy," she said. With the way she's baring her fangs, she probably meant it, lest he incurs another wrathful chomp from the impatient girl.

The corners of his mouth winced into a smile. Next Sundas — or Sunday — the legion was supposed to raid another fort near the snowy caps of Winterhold. A dragon was spotted roosting there, so it wasn't like the dragon-slaying Dragonborn could opt-out or something.

And another bite to his poor arm. A week early. "Ow!"

"Be there OR ELSE," Celine yelled, already on to work healing his fresh wound.

"I-I'll see what I can do…"

Rean couldn't blame her for being pissed. After all, this Elder Scroll may well be their one-way ticket home. A relic forged from divergent laws of this universe — rumored to hold knowledge on how to bend space and time to a person's whim. It held the power fling beings like the timeless Alduin through millennia into the future. It was safe to assume they could use the scroll to open a portal back to Zemuria.

It was also the only thing that can help him stop the world-eating dragon from devouring mankind too. So yes, there was a slight problem.

"You're really gonna stop Alduin?" It wasn't that Celine didn't want him to — Rean knew — but the unfeigned distress on her face made it difficult for him to swallow.

"...I can't just abandon them," he answered after a long pause.

The temptation to run, to leave this forsaken world was unbearable. Even now a year living here, his heart longed for someplace else.

Erebonia. Thors.

Class VII.

But, that was the very reason he couldn't run away. He's already failed to save the world once, and he died for that. He would never allow himself that failure again.

Sensing the determination from his eyes, Celine smiled at him. It wasn't Cheshire, nor frosted with her icy demeanor; it was warm, caring, and understanding. "Gotcha," she said. Her small hands clasped his, and the silence of the night lulled her eyelids shut.

Not at all different from a cat sleeping on his lap.

Out in the cold was hardly the place for a nap, yet he himself leaned back for his own. One hand holding the both of hers, and the other petting her head, it was the closest thing he had for comfort in these bitter lands of another world.

"Goodnight, Celine."

"Goodnight, Rean."