To address concerns, we will be coming back to Fie soon, don't worry. She's still the main character. This is too much of an important event to NOT show you, so bear with the suspense for now.
I also (think?) I fixed the chapter titles now by omitting them altogether. Sorry about that. The previous ones just didn't sit right with me.
Anyway, enjoy.
Fire. Inferno.
"YOL TOOR!"
Rean shouted the words as a gout of flame then burst from his breath. The roaring heat traveled forward, scorching scales and the ground alike. The Frost Dragon charged through it head-on, its winged talons stomping angrily as the clawed feet raked the snow.
It reared its head up, and in a shout of three words, the dragon breathed its own magical breath of ice.
Or it would have if the rope tied to its neck had not been pulled taut. The dragon's breath billowed aimlessly, giving Rean the opening he needed to plunge Dragonbane through its gullet. The beast roared in pain as a jolt of lightning shocked its interiors. Blue blood spurted from its wounds, some of it splashing on his face.
It was weird. Dragons were lizards, right? So why did it burn his skin, like the many times it did before?
Although… what wasn't weird in Skyrim?
Rean sheathed his katana in a reverse grip, his foot dug deep into the snow. Despite the crackling of thunder and the wailing of his quarry, his mind was clear. Shoulders loose and fluid, like his master had demonstrated. Back straight and dignified, like Jusis said it should. Elbows flexed rigid as Laura taught him to. Knees bent like Fie had drill-kicked into his shins.
"Fifth form: Morning Moon."
He jumped.
Luminous saws of light and electricity cut towards the sky along with his blade. Dragonbane sheared through the dragon's throat and jaw, it's flesh and bone rupturing like a popped artery. It roared one last time in defiance causing Rean to reel back lest his eardrums burst.
After a moment, the roar faded into an aetherial hum. Spiritual energy cascaded into Rean as the Dragonborn soul residing in him devoured the dragon's soul. It's scaly body disintegrated, leaving only a husk of dragon bone.
The dragon was dead, for good.
Rean felt nothing.
One would think that having his soul empowered with that of a dragon would have overwhelmed him, like two wills tearing each other apart. There weren't any surges of energy, no rapid bursts of strength nor any power-up sequence he had fantasized about when he was a kid.
He felt nothing; only emptiness and disappointment.
Oh well. Job done. The rambunctious cheering of his fellow soldiers was a reward on its own. No one died, and his plan to tie the dragon by the neck went off without a hitch. All that was left was to garrison the fort and —
They weren't alone.
On reflex, Rean dodged before he could order his men to take cover. The second he did, something pierced the snow-covered ground beside him. And then another. Like metallic hail, a torrent of steel arrows rained mercilessly upon them.
Rean hid underneath one of the stone archways of the fort. From outside, screams of pain echoed as his lightly-armored scouts were turned into pin-cushions. Blood tainted the ice. Grunts of exertion and clanking of plate armor came from his infantrymen as they pushed the debris into a makeshift rampart.
Straining his ears, he heard another scream— a battle cry. One the Imperials were all too familiar with.
"Stormcloaks!" Hadvar called out. Nocking an arrow to his bow, he fired it in the direction of assailants. "Defend the fort at all costs! "
No doubt the rebels wanted the Imperials to clear out the fort for them. It made strategic sense; not only could they strike while their opponents were worn out from the dragon fight, but they can also capture the Dragonborn if things went well. Rean could admire their resolve. What the Stormcloaks cannot gain through the Legion's numbers, they fought with guile and tenacity.
It reminded him of the jaegers corps back home.
He sighed and stepped out into the field.
Seeing his familiar form, Hadvar shouted again. He knew what his reckless Captain would do, but his sore arms told him to let it be. He ordered the men to fall back.
An arrow grazed Rean's cheek. It stung like hell. He wanted to run— to negotiate. Anything other to fight.
His legs carried him forward, however. He drew the katana from its sheath. It had been a while since he last used it— his trump card. A pissed off catgirl was honestly scarier than the group of barbaric men that wanted him dead.
Don't get mad, Celine!
Rean cusped a hand over his chest. Then, a pounding heartbeat. The thorny headache fettered his mind, as was usual. He bit his lips to suppress it. Emma had called the energy 'mana'. It was different from the magicka of this world— and Rean always felt that using it broke the laws of this universe.
He didn't care.
With a roar, a dark crimson aura suffused his entire being. His eyes shot open. They were blood red with rage. An incorporeal wind blew his hair back, the raven strands turning ashen-white.
Spirit Unification.
He held Dragonbane with the flat of the blade parallel to the ground. Leaning as far as he could, he observed his targets.
Human, as they should be. They were all the way up the hill through the trees, but the distance hardly mattered.
What was it again? Oh, right.
Whirlwind. Fury. Tempest.
"WUUD RA KEST!"
The words boomed from his lungs and echoed across the lands. Like a whirlwind, Rean sprinted forwards, his body as light as air. The cold gale on his cheeks burned with every step he took. His legs moved further onwards, almost mechanically— all in less time than a man could blink.
He skidded to a stop, blowing the snow underneath his heels. Angling slightly to the left, he rushed forward again, this time with his own power.
"Second form…"
The first cut was always the worst.
Blood flicked away from the tip of his blade, staining the blue armor of the Stormcloaks. Rean flashed to the next soldier nearest to him— then the next, and the next. Each and every one of them crying in anguish as a massive gash cleaved across their bodies.
They had been in a tight formation, as expected of a trained army. They were only soldiers, Rean reminded himself. Probably with loving families waiting for them to come home. With bright children that proudly regarded them as heroes.
None of them were evil; they only fought for what they believed was right. The Imperials were doing the same. And so was him.
Did the Stormcloaks really deserve to be cut down because of their clashing ideals?
No. They didn't. Not one bit. Rean realized that long ago.
But this was war.
He was distracted, Rean knew; his movements were muscle memory. He shouted again as a rippling shockwave swept from his slash.
"...Arcane Gale!"
Everything— the trees, the air, and the faces of his enemies— was torn in half.
The Frozen Hearth was a quiet inn. It was one of the few buildings left before the Sea of Ghosts swallowed up the majority of Winterhold. Other than the College, the inn was the only place one could get luxurious commodities like shelter, not-frozen food, tepid freshwater, a fireplace, and, really, warmth in general.
Not that the stone chairs and brittle wood walls were doing the customer any favors. Celine poked at her boiled fish.
"...He's late."
She even hired a courier to deliver to the exact date, address, and time of their meeting. Celine did not like spending gold on such dumb things— despite the fact that the septims were almost bursting from her coin sack. Her recent foray with the Thieves Guild had been quite lucrative, so the desire to spend won out against her integrity.
Not much to do but irritatingly wait, Celine stabbed her brand-new dagger on the table. The lusterless ebony blade radiated a cool, but deadly aura.
The stinking Nord that tried to approach her scurried off with his tail between his legs.
If it wasn't for her cat ears, she would have worn her hood at all times. She was small, true, but she wasn't a helpless little girl. The constant influx of idiots thinking she was, however, made for easy pickings of gold from their pockets. That's how she met Brynjolf, enthusiastic scouter and recruiter for the Thieves Guild.
The Guild operated all around Tamriel, looting and plundering to their hearts galore. Their reputation and information network came in handy for her. If anyone could find the location of a seemingly rare artifact like the Elder Scroll, it would be the best thieves in Skyrim.
Plus, their armor was cozy on the skin.
She opened the book she had read a hundred times over. Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls. It was their only lead on where such an artifact might be located. Fortunately, a friend of their former guild master pointed them to where she might find the author.
Unfortunately though, their man, Septimus Signus, was as loony as his writings made him appear.
"Welcome to the Frozen Hearth. If there's anything you need, just let me know," the innkeeper said aloud. She moved her eyes from her book towards the new arrival.
The man dusted off the snow on his black armor and shook his raven hair dry. Red cuts were fresh on his cheeks. He offered the innkeeper a practiced smile. "Thank you. I'll have an ale if you have some."
"Coming right up!"
Celine stared at him sternly. He sat down opposite her with a sheepish grin on his face.
"Just one, I promise," Rean said.
Cat eyes narrowed. "Don't blame me if you become a Sara. How many times have I told you that you should stop drinking?" Celine said. She pointed a clawed nail to his bleeding cheek. "And what's this? Please tell me you didn't put yourself in any MORE danger than you usually are!"
She couldn't care less that her voice was too loud in the ghostly inn. "And lastly… YOU'RE LATE!"
Rean waved her off with a chuckle. He was saved from the verbal mincing when the innkeeper came with a mug of ale. He drank it very slowly.
"I keep telling you to at least learn some basic healing spells; they could save your life!" Celine continued. Her ears drooped as she frowned. "I don't know what I'd do if I find out you were seriously hurt."
Rean choked on his drink.
A blush exploded on her face. She stammered out her words, putting a new spin on the phrase 'cat got your tongue', "I-I-I-I mean… it's a hassle! Healing you all the time is getting annoying! Yeah, SUPER annoying!"
An explanation, a touch of healing magic and a slap—in that order— later, Celine got up and flicked a septim towards the innkeeper as a tip. "A-anyway, we're traveling north. Leave Frost here and we can buy supplies along the way."
By supplies, she meant novice Restoration spellbooks.
The snowy trail was as treacherous as the wolves stalking the area. Luckily, being a mage specializing in fire spells, keeping them away was more of a chore than a threat. Celine focused her magicka more into her torch, the bellowing flame serving as their deterrent and source of heat in the dastardly cold.
After buying— and forcing— Rean to study the first few pages of the most basic healing spell, the two of them bought an extra layer of clothing. The temperature up north was even worse than up in the mountains, possibly because of the constant winds brought by the sea. Which presented to them a problem, one she had anticipated.
"...We're going the right way, right?" Rean asked. Understandably so, as the dark Sea of Ghosts moaned ominously before them.
"There's an outpost further up," she said. Celine snuggled her fur coat more and held up a hand. A blue ethereal trail stretched out from her palm across the abyssal waters. It was one of her favorites; Clairvoyance, a spell that allows the caster to see the quickest route to a desired location. While admittedly useless compared to a map, it helped her a bunch of times when she needed to find an exit after robbing a house. "Almost there."
"So… we're gonna swim?"
In the freezing waters of death? Was Rean an idiot? She already knew both answers. "I think there are some icebergs we can use to walk on." Her tail wagged to the side as she turned to face him, "I'm going to cast a spell so— Huh?!"
Let it be known that Celine was not a voyeur. She did not use her being a cat to spy on the boys of Class VII. The thought never crossed her mind.
Which was why she definitely wasn't interested in Rean's amazing pectoral muscles. She covered her eyes out of embarrassment for him. "WH-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Rean was doing just that: stripping off his armor as if doing so in front of a girl was as natural as breathing. "I can't swim with my armor on, Celine."
He wasn't sure whether the ice could take the weight too. Better safe than sorry saved their lives in this unknown world.
"PERVERT! CREEP! STUPID DENSE HAREM PROTAGONIST!"
Aidios only knows how long she had wanted to insult Rean with the last one.
It rocked him to the core.
Mouth agape, Rean fell forward, the reflex failing him when the wildly blushing cat girl had kicked him from behind. He expected a splash, along with bone-chilling sensation— like that time he unknowingly took a shower with the heater busted.
What he got instead was a splattering thud. His face was flat on top of the water; the shallows were visible underneath. Waving his palms around caused small ripples to appear on the glossy surface. Rean pushed himself up as if he was on the ground— he was at sea.
"Waterwalking," Celine said. A wispy aura enveloped her tiny form and she too was standing atop the water's surface. Nose scrunched in exasperation, she stomped ahead without sparing a glance back. "You've got an hour, so put your damn clothes back on and MOVE."
He didn't move and instead stared at his reflection. If Rean had to describe it, it was like he was laying on a lightly-flooded tile floor. All five senses screamed at him that he should be wet, but the water slid off his skin as if he was coated in some sort of slippery substance.
He prodded a tense foot forward. The water jiggled.
...
"...This is SO weird!" he finally shouted.
Well… what wasn't weird in Skyrim?
One hour was plenty of time. Half of it was spent getting Rean's bearings on the wobbly yet solid water floor.
The outpost was on a glacier the size of a small island. A breeze swirled around them and brought along with it the sound of horkers. There was barely any light except for the two torches flickering above the wooden entrance of a cave.
Celine rapped her fist on the triangular hatch. There wasn't an answer so she knocked again. Still nothing.
"It doesn't seem like it's locked so…"
With a light pull, the door opened with a creak.
Celine sighed. This was it. Weeks of effort coming into fruition. Septimus was their last hope of finding the Elder Scroll— and their way back home. She just couldn't get rid of that nervous feeling in her gut as if something bad was about to happen.
Yes, she told herself that guy was a freak for choosing to live here. Yes, she wasn't crazy for thinking so. And yes. That was just how crazy humans worked.
Could she handle crazy though?
"Hm? What's wrong, Rean?"
Rean was gawking at the entrance. He probably didn't even realize it, but his hands were already on the hilt of his sword. "You're sure he's inside…" He gulped. "...there?"
"Pretty sure." Celine surveyed the area. The only foreboding thing around was the dark tunnel in front of them. It wasn't the most comforting of places and the icy floor undoubtedly made the climb treacherous, but she figured they could handle it. "What about it?"
Rean had a rare panicked and nervous expression. It disappeared with a frantic shake of his head. "I might just be imagining things. Sorry…"
Remember what she said about crazies? Yeah, she wasn't feeling so confident now. "Let's try and make it quick. Ask him about the Elder Scroll, and we'll be in and out in a jiffy."
He still looked worried. Rean grabbed her by the hand and held it securely. "Okay… just stay close, alright?"
"Got it, chief."
Careful for any traps, the two of them slowly made their way through the tunnel. It was darker except for their torch, though not for very long. They came across a room that was illuminated by sunlight seeping through the ice cracks. The path spiraled downwards into a dug clearing, and there, crouched in front of a large cube-like structure, was a hooded man. He was tinkering with something.
"That's him," Celine pointed out.
It fell on Rean's deaf ears. His eyes seemed to be fixated on Septimus for some reason. They were blank as if staring into space. He held her hand tighter.
Septimus Signus was a forgettable old geezer if she were to put it bluntly. His graying beard was frosted from the cold and he was wearing the standard violet garb of mages. He appeared to be juggling something in his hands. The way he did so wasn't unnatural for a person, but what made it freaky was that he was shouting at no one in particular.
To himself maybe?
Ignoring the madman for a bit, Celine studied the giant cube next to him. It looked mechanical and it didn't take long for her to realize that it was because the cube was Dwemer made. She heard about there being a lock and key, so she assumed that the cube was some sort of lockbox. Hidden within were Dwemer secrets, probably, and Septimus was trying to open it.
It didn't matter. What they wanted from him was a location on the Elder Scroll, nothing more. Rean was still rooted on the spot so Celine tugged on his arm to get him moving.
They needed to hurry, Celine thought. Any minute now and the crazy might affect her.
The mad scholar turned to face them with an oblong mouth. The object he was juggling plopped harmlessly to the floor. With shifting eyes, he mumbled something incoherently.
Hiding behind Rean, Celine bowed her head politely. "Hello."
"When the top level was built, no more could be placed. It was and is the maximal apex," Septimus said.
"Uhm…"
"The Elder Scroll… yes, yes."
Her ears perked up at the confirmation. They haven't even said anything yet. "You have it? Here?" she asked, still wary as the man edged closer to them.
Septimus held up a finger. "I've seen enough to know their fabric. The warp of air, the weft of time. But no, it is not in my possession."
The first half made zero sense, but at least the second half told them everything they needed. Celine wagged her tail to rein in her impatience. "But, you know where it is?"
"Yes. Here. Mundus, Tamriel." Septimus cackled and gazed at her like she was a small child. "On a cosmological scale, everything is nearby!" he shouted as he took another step forward.
Celine took one back. She glared at him fiercely. "… Are you all right?"
The man cackled harder— louder. The unsettling laughter was echoing off the walls, and so did his voice when he alternated between yelling and whispering. "Well! I am well! Well, well well. Well to be within the will inside the walls."
"Hey, you say something." Talking was going nowhere, fast. Celine decided to place her luck on Rean's. He was used to dealing with people like him. "...Rean?"
No response. Rean was still in a daze.
"WELL, WELL, I AM WELL!" Septimus bellowed again.
Surprised, Celine ducked and covered her ears. The madman was rambling again. She couldn't understand a word he was saying, but she did recognize the sound of footsteps. They drew nearer.
She had unsheathed her dagger when Septimus stopped.
"...Well, I can't say the same for your friend, though," he said.
As abrupt as his madness, his tone became several times more serious. His expression turned lucid as he pointed a wrinkled finger at Rean.
"What do you— "
— was all Celine could say before a sharp rasp of steel silenced her voice.
Her wide eyes barely caught it as he lunged forward. Her blood ran cold. She screamed at him to stop... but it was too late.
A katana stabbed Septimus right through the heart.