"And Fadomai gave birth to Lorkhaj, the last of her litter, in the Great Darkness. And the Heart of Lorkhaj was filled with the Great Darkness. And when he was born, the Great Darkness knew its name and it was Namiira." - Words of Clan Mother Ahnissi

Where the Sixth House once held dominion, under countless layers of ash and rock, past steaming vents and rivers of magma, Eola stood before her kneeling congregation and sung Namira's praises until the skin of her lips cracked and bled and redness dripped from her chin and sizzled on the warm stones below.

"When we made landing on Vvardenfell, we were four. Now dozens of the faithful have hearkened to Namira's call, and with every new arrival her influence grows. But our strength has never been in numbers. The heathen city of Balmora fell to our goddess with nary a sword drawn on our part. The survivors, those who did not fall in the fighting or join Namira's ranks, will serve to sustain the rest of us until the day of prophecy arrives."

At that, there was a murmuring of excitement. Gray faces and glowing red eyes looked up at her through the gloom with reverence and hunger in equal measure. These Dunmer were a hardy people, and scarcely needed the potions and protection that kept Eola herself and the other humans from succumbing to these hostile environs. They will serve our Lady well.

"Yes. I know you've been eager to hear more of the promised meal of legend. Perhaps Namira has even shown fit to grant some of you a hint of the delights to come, in the dreams she used to call the faithful to action. Know this: soon enough, a lost child will take his first step on to the blasted ash plains of Vvardenfell. A child of Akatosh."

At the mention of the Chief Divine, several of the cultists sneered and spat, and hissed curses in a language Eola did not know.

"I know." She smiled. "We must always hate the Aedra, for they are the ultimate purveyors of falsehood in this plane and all others. They whisper in the ears of the weak, convincing them that life will reward them for spreading empty platitudes and following ideals devoid of reality or truth. Obey the law. Do your duty for your nation. Treat others with kindness and mercy. Bury your dead. Love your friends and family. No longer. For millennia we have waited. Now our time has come. The Divines these sheep have so dearly worshiped for thousands of years have abandoned them at last, and Tiber Septim's Empire is dying. We will fall on the corpse like vultures, and build a new order of flesh and fire!"

Eola's brothers and sisters rose to their feet, cheering and shouting, as her words took hold of them and Namira's vision danced through their heads. Lisbet came up behind her, grinning wickedly.

"This child of Akatosh is the last true Falmer. Not those goblin-like monsters that roam Skyrim's underground, that you may have heard of through rumor and legend. No: this elf has virgin skin of white, untouched by time or battle. Namira is bringing the last Snow Elf to us, so he may lie on our feasting table and know absolutely that his god has no more strength in this world. When we eat Akatosh's last lost child, his failure will be complete. Namira's power will rise to heights never before seen. The mourning bells will ring their last in Cyrodiil and High Rock, and the Imperials will know their doom has come. Just as many of you were awakened by visions from Namira, so will thousands and thousands rise in the Heartlands and Daggerfall. Loving parents will devour children in their beds, and husbands will consume their wives. We shall gorge ourselves on the battered Legions from within and without, should they dare to rise!"

The cultists screamed and shook, gripped by their faith. Their calls echoed off the cavern walls, transforming into unholy wails that no doubt reached the distant prisoners in their cells. Eola could only imagine the dread those cattle must be feeling right now. I'll have to pay them a visit, later.

"And the Empire is just the beginning. When the streets of the Imperial City run with blood, we will turn our attention to Black Marsh, Elsweyr, and Skyrim. We will return to Markarth in triumph and consume the city that gave birth to our coven. No fighting force can stand against us, for we have followers in every army in Tamriel. Even the Summerset Isles will feel Namira's truth before the end. When the Lady of Decay holds Nirn in her grip, the barriers between Mundus and Oblivion will shatter, and we will know the glory of apocalypse and feast for centuries untold! Listen closely, my brothers and sisters! We are going to kill the world!"

The screaming reached a crescendo, her followers barely able to remain on their feet, and Eola's laughter was lost in the waves of sound. She grabbed Lisbet and kissed her hungrily. Eola could feel the other woman licking the blood from her lips, and a shiver ran through her. When we stand before the Ruby Throne, we'll tear the High Chancellor apart and eat him together. Then I'll ask her to marry me.

They turned from the writhing masses, barely able to keep their hands off each other.

"You were beautiful," Lisbet said, breathless. "I wanted to rip into you right there."

"A priestess must have some secrets from her followers," Eola replied, tugging on her hand to get her to go faster down the craggy passageway. "This isn't a coven of Sanguine, my sweet. But no more talking. I have other designs for that mouth of yours."

They passed by the opening to the prisoner cavern, and a thin shape peeled off of the shadows to meet them. He'd shed his chitin armor, and wore his old clothes that stunk sharply of hounds and sweat.

"Banning," Eola said. "I have no time for you right now."

"I could hear you all the way from here," Banning replied. "The entire world, Eola? Really?"

"Of course. Namira's hunger knows no bounds." Eola pushed him aside. "If you wish to stand beside us when those blessed days come, you'll return to your prisoners. You have a job to do."

"Going off to have a little fun, huh?" His greasy little eyes flickered to Lisbet, and then back to her.

Eola didn't deign to reply.

"Maybe I'll just join ya. We're all family, ain't we? I've been feeling a little left out, like I've been banished to live near the cattle. Don't forget who pulled off Balmora. I had to live among the grayskins for months, pretendin' to be one of them."

"We worked together to destroy the city." Eola glared. "Watching over our livestock is a sacred privilege. I know I can trust you not to indulge in any personal consumption, for you have the interests of the coven at heart. That's why I delivered you from the hopelessness of the Markarth stables. Remember your loyalties, kennelmaster. You will not be joining us."

"Don't worry," Banning said cheerfully. "I know where my meals come from, honey. There is one thing you oughta know, though."

"What?"

"The little grayskin. One that tried to spear me back in Balmora. She ain't been eating."

"Hmm. For how long?"

"Since the start." He yawned. "None of 'em ate on the first night, 'course, but they all came around eventually. I reckon days of starvation makes your dead friends look mighty tasty. Don't know if she'll last another week."

"I'll see her later." Eola grabbed Lisbet's hand. "For now, give her cellmate extra. Dig into my spice collection. Make it steaming and fragrant."

"Alrighty. Wish Hogni was around. That bastard could even make Khajiit taste good."

"I'm sure you'll manage. We still have plenty of dead from Balmora." She felt Banning's eyes follow them as they left his domain. Until more of the Dunmer were proven, Eola knew she had to put up with the slimy wretch. He was scarcely more intelligent than Hogni Red-Arm, but Banning possessed a low cunning that worried her.

He'd known Eola before Namira, when she'd been a novice mage in Markarth's court. When she'd had two eyes and been blind to Namira's truth. There was danger in raising weak men high. Banning's competence would inevitably fail long before he could fulfill his lofty aspirations, like a broken glass trying to hold a fine wine. Eola'd have to put him back where he belonged before that day came, or else be forced to clean up the mess. There would be a time for chaos, but Namira required order for her plans to come to fruition. Eola knew she might not survive the journey, but did not fear. She was no Mankar Camoran. After killing the child of Akatosh, she would slip back into the filth and the shadows where she belonged.

"Distracted?" Lisbet teased.

"Yes." Eola bit the inside of her cheek, relishing the sharp pain that drew her out of her troubled thoughts. "Sometimes I feel you're the only competent sibling left of our original coven. Hogni should have sent word from the Telvanni coast by now. I do hope he's not trying to have ideas all on his own."

"That's frightening." Lisbet walked ahead, pulling Eola along. "I've spoken to some of the Dark Elves. They mostly keep to themselves, speaking that language of theirs with all the funny punctuation. But they tell me they love you, and they love Namira."

"Of course they'd say that. It's no secret you have my ear." Eola smiled. "Among other things."

"No. These things I heard when you had me listening in, on the first nights. Unless they can see through invisibility potions, none of the elves woulda known I was there. Their devotion is true, Eola. I think we can rely on them."

"Perhaps." They entered Eola's chamber, an opening larger than most of the others cut into the far side of the cavern. "I do miss Sanyon and Nimphaneth. It was a mistake to send two of our three mages to Solstheim. Now Nim is with our mistress in the Scuttling Void, and we can't contact Sanyon since Balmora has fallen."

Lisbet wrapped her arms around Eola's waist. They stood in front of her mirror, visible by the grace of a Dwemer lantern swaying softly above. She stared into her own empty socket, hungry for guidance from Namira.

"You worry too much, my sweet," Lisbet said, resting her chin on Eola's shoulder. "Sanyon's the smartest elf I've ever met. He's the one who found out about the Nerevar lady."

"Nerevarine," Eola corrected. "The promised one follows this woman, and the woman will come for her kin. That's why we need to keep the little morsel alive. In regards to this Dark Elf, we must tread carefully. A reincarnated Dark Elf warlord was never a part of my visions. She might have a spell tracking the girl's heartbeat, for all I know. And would this Nadene Othryn come to Vvardenfell for a dead little elf?" She grimaced. "I don't like question marks in my plans."

"Listen." Lisbet whispered in her ear, sending goosebumps across Eola's neck. "You're the Champion of Namira. The Ring-Bearer, the leader of a coven that was born at the start of time and will remain until time has run out. You led us from Reachcliff Cave into the light of day, all the way to this ruined island. When Hogni returns with good news, you'll have conquered Vvardenfell from the shadows, in true service to the Lady of Decay. The others may have had their doubts. But I always believed, Eola."

Lisbet bit down on her ear, and Eola hissed and leaned into her. A thought from earlier suddenly came back to her, and she couldn't resist asking.

"When we stand in the Imperial Palace," Eola breathed. "When we drink of the blood and bile of the Elder Council. Will you lay down in the filth and gore and marry me?"

"Oh, yes! Of course I will! I'd do it right now if you asked."

Eola sat on the end of the bed and pulled Lisbet between her legs. They kissed so roughly the wounds on her lips tore anew.

"Patience, dear. Namira has waited millennia for her day of reckoning. We must follow her example."

Lisbet grinned, blood smeared across her chin, and Eola could resist no longer. She yanked Lisbet on top of her and they rolled and fought on the bed. The sheets were stained with drops of red, but the sight only inflamed Eola's passion. She had the presence of mind to cast a muffle spell on the room before surrendering to Lisbet's embrace.

"You are being foolish," Akh'idzo said. "Foolish and stubborn."

There was no answer from the dark corner of the cell.

"Look, girl." He took another bite. "We're going to need our strength to survive this ordeal. There's no shame in that. You really think anyone will think less of you?"

Still no reply. A plate of meat sat untouched near the bars, next to an empty cup. The water keeps me alive. For how long? Don't know. Days more? Weeks? Never been so hungry.

"I'm eating. Look, see? Just one bite after another." Akh'idzo set down his fork. "The Divines are not going to just abandon me. My wife Marasa in the cell across from us, she eats it too, and she's a Dark Elf. Maybe you should come out and talk to her."

The faint hold she had on her consciousness made it easier to ignore the Khajiit, at least. She wondered distantly if she even had the strength left to crawl to the bars. Just going to drink the water had been a monumental effort.

"What are you trying to prove, hm? I learned a little of you, in my months in Balmora. You are an Ashlander. Do you believe your ancestors will reward you for starving to death? Do you not think they would have made an appearance when you still had the ability to stand?"

"You know." She didn't know she had the energy to form the words until they passed from her lips.

"What?"

"You know...what you eat." Habisunilu pulled herself out of the darkness, glaring. "Dunmer."

"Yes," Akh'idzo replied. "I don't enjoy this. And no one is asking you to. But would you rather die with your pride, girl?"

"Your wife," Habi sneered. "A monster. The dead... are sacred." She didn't dare glance at the plate of food, afraid of what she might do. The smell of the meat filled the cell and set her mouth watering.

"Marasa is making a sacrifice so when the day comes, we will be strong enough to escape this horrible place. Where will you be? Either in the stomach of one of these monsters, or so light that I'll be able to carry you in one arm. If you were capable of doing so, I'd suggest you pray for the latter." Akh'idzo turned away from her.

Maybe I'll be in your stomach, n'wah. Habi was glad they were done talking, because she'd not the energy to respond. Every movement sent waves of dizziness through her, and it was difficult to form coherent thoughts. Her limbs felt like the ship's anchors she'd once watched plunge deep into the Odai off the banks of Balmora. On the first night under Red Mountain she'd stared into the wall, spoke little, and easily ignored the offered meat. Someone had healed her wounds from the trials. That Eola woman, most likely. I'm going to kill her slow.

On the second night she'd wept for Erandur. He'd died alone, without his god, in that awful tent on the field of blood. That is, if the cultists hadn't collected his body for their meals. Habi found it easier to resist the meat if she imagined every sizzling plate they brought her had come from poor Erandur. Every evening, her grief and honor fought a battle with her ever growing hunger.

Habi was hoping that by the time she could fight no longer, she'd be too debilitated to carry out the betrayal of the traditions that had guided her entire life's path. The dead are sacred. Marasa Darvel and the other Dunmer, they are the weak ones. They'll pay for what they've done. It was some small mercy that Habi shared a cell with the only outlander in Balmora. If she'd been forced to watch another Dunmer eat of the honored dead for days on end, she wasn't sure if she could have held out. That was part of the reason she didn't dare speak to Marasa, as Akh'idzo suggested.

Sometimes Habi wondered if Nadene would eat, if she were here. The Nerevarine had no doubt faced trials greater than this on her journey to defeat Dagoth Ur, but Nadene had never been a Dunmer of great faith. Maybe she'd think of consuming the dead as simple pragmatism, as Marasa and Akh'idzo did. Maybe in a week or a month, Nadene would break open this cell to find her granddaughter a desiccated husk of skin and bones and curse her for being so prideful and stubborn. It was when Habi thought of this moment that she felt the greatest temptation, and the presence of the full plate in the cell burned in her mind and drowned out all other thoughts. No. No. The dead are sacred. Not food. People. Dunmer. She imagined Erandur's head on the dish, her father's head, her mother's.

Habi reached her leg out and kicked the plate through the bars, her eyes squeezed shut. She didn't stop and look until she felt the smooth ground under her feet and every scrap of food was out of reach. Akh'idzo glanced over, sighed, then turned away again. The act of rebellion had sapped what little strength she had. At least in Habi's nightmares the pangs of hunger receded. She went gratefully to the darkness in her head.

Habi's stomach woke her up in the small hours of the morning. Or, at least, when everyone else was asleep. Whenever the guard passed by with his torch, she could see Marasa slumbering in the cell across the passageway with another Dunmer woman. Ever since the third day, they had left clean plates for the guard to collect. Unforgivable. They're traitors. Seizing on to her contempt and righteousness distracted Habi from her hunger.

She sat against the wall, close to the bars. Someone had already cleaned up the mess she'd made outside. There were footsteps. A cultist was coming.

Banning ambled into view, already wearing a mocking grin. Habi hadn't seen him since the night of the trials. In his hand he held an ash yam, and at the sight of it her stomach roared.

"Heard you still ain't eating, honey." Banning leaned against the bars. He tossed the vegetable between his hands. "You're fuckin' lucky. You know how many years I had to eat cows and pigs, holding out for those special feasts in ol' Reachcliff Cave? And now you're getting good meals without a scrap of effort, and you think you're too good for 'em?"

She glared. It was all she could do. One of Habi's greatest regrets was that she hadn't shoved her spear in Banning's throat when she had the chance.

"Okay, bitch." Banning bit into the yam, chewing noisily. Akh'idzo remained asleep on his cloth mat, or at least pretended to. "Damn, that's not bad for grayskin food."

She looked away, unable to watch any longer. And her eyes widened. Sitting in the corridor, past Banning's legs, was a small cat the color of slightly burnt toast. How in Azura did that get in here?

"Ah, you're no fun." Banning wandered off, finishing off the rest of his yam. He failed to notice the feline in the shadows, but Habi was transfixed. I must be hallucinating. That would explain the toast color, at least. I wonder if I'm hungry enough to eat a cat.

Oblivious to Habi's murderous ponderings, the cat glanced both ways down the dark corridor before scurrying towards the cell. The animal's bright eyes reminded Habi of the moons high in the sky on a clear Frostfall night. It was holding something in its mouth.

C'mere, cat. I won't hurt you. Habi watched the creature creep closer. No promises about tomorrow, though. I'll eat you before I eat a Dunmer.

NO EAT RENJI!

Habi gasped, the rogue thought exploding across her consciousness like a fireball. The little cat ran past her cell and out of sight.

Oh, wonderful. I'm losing my blighted mind. And now I've scared away my only possible source of food. Before too long I'll probably be chewing off my fingers. Habisunilu, abandoned by her ancestors. That's what they should call me. She didn't have the energy reserves to waste on crying, so she resolved to simply settle into the numbness taking over her mind.

"I don't want to be a guard anymore," Habi said to no one. "I want to go home."

Minutes passed in a hazy stupor. It was difficult enough to keep track of time so far underground. Slowly starving to death didn't improve her concentration. Habi wasn't sure how long it was until the cat peeked its head around the corner and began watching her through the bars.

You're probably safe. Don't think I have the strength to catch you, anyway.

Elf hungry?

Another thought out of nowhere. Was this her stomach becoming sentient, turning against her at last? If so, Habi wished it would stop beating around the bush and get on to the betrayal. Certainly Banning would love to see her surrender at last.

Yeah, I'm hungry. Think you would have caught on to that by now.

No stomach. Renji.

The brown cat slipped between the bars and padded towards her cautiously. It was still holding something in its mouth.

Call yourself whatever you want. I'm about ready to turn over control, to be honest. My way seems to be killing us.

The cat paused, cocking its head. It set down whatever it was carrying and laid down in front of it, watching her.

Elf stupid.

"Great," Habi rasped. "Own gut insulting me, now. Ancestors laughing."

"Hi," the cat spoke aloud. Its voice was flutey, like wind through a field of saltrice. "Hungry?"

Habi swallowed and nodded. I give up. Sheogorath, take me.

"No skooma cat. Renji. You eat."

The cat picked up its item again and came to Habi, seemingly less afraid than before. It dropped the rat into her lap. Habi glanced down at the dead rodent for a second, stricken with disbelief. This is a dream. A cruel, impossible dream. But she had nothing left to lose. Her arms were like heavy mushroom stalks at her sides, but at the sight of food a second wind took hold of her. Habi grabbed the rat and held it up with trembling hands.

She took a careful bite, blood running down her chin. The fur felt strange in her mouth, and little bones crunched between her teeth, but there was no taste of rot. This rat had not been dead long. And the meat, oh Azura. The meat was so wet and delicious. Soon enough the first bites hit her stomach, and Habi was lost. She tore into the rat like a Daedroth. More blood stained her chin and face, and some ran down her neck, warm and sticky. The cat sat in the shadows and watched.

The meal was over too soon. Habi's hunger had returned in full force now that she'd had something to eat at last. She felt her sore muscles tingling, and she had a headache coming on. Need more. More of that delicious fucking rat.

"Later," the cat said softly. "Renji must feed sister kitten. Too little to hunt."

"I've gone insane. You're talking. You're a little cat, and you're reading my mind and speaking words. In b'veking Cyrodiilic."

"No cat." Renji straightened his posture. "Khajiit."

"That's a Khajiit." Habi pointed to Akh'idzo, and immediately regretted such a sudden movement. A wave of dizziness struck her and she took a moment to recover. "Stands on two legs. Comes from Elsweyr. Worships the moons, or at least most of them do. And he sure doesn't talk in my head. You're someone's very lost pet."

"No pet! Born in cold, but same moons! Renji is Khajiit!"

His voice carried out into the corridor, and Habi hushed him. She heard footsteps approaching, too quickly to be a patrol. She wiped the blood from her chin and quickly pushed Renji under her bedroll.

"Who in Oblivion were you talking to?" The guard asked in Dunmeris, glaring suspiciously at the sleeping Akh'idzo.

"Myself," Habi murmured faintly, staring off into the distance. She let her mouth fall open.

"Stubborn fetcher." He shook his head. "You'll turn eventually, girl. Everyone does. Just give in to your urges and accept Namira's embrace."

I'm going to spear every one of you s'wits. Habi ignored him until he left, and then felt Renji prodding at her mind.

Hi. What's s'wit, Habs?

Habi took a breath, trying to adapt to the sensation of another presence in her consciousness. Worst case scenario, she was going crazy, and attaching some sort of personality to a cat that had somehow found its way into the caverns under Red Mountain where a cult of Namira had set up their headquarters. But that rat had been no illusion. The energy it had given her was real, and Habi could feel her ruined body slowly returning to life. Best case, she had a new ally against the cultists.

Hello. A s'wit is a bad person. A disturbing thought occurred to her. How old are you, Renji?

Five. Habs have any clothes? Two glowing eyes peered out from under her bedroll.

No, except those I'm wearing. There's no way you're cold. We're underneath a volcano.

Not cold. Shamed. Lost clothes on boat.

I'm sorry. Habi pondered. You can stay here, if you want. There's a little nook in the rock in the back of the cell, too small for me. I'm sure Akh'idzo won't mind.

Okay. Renji crawled out and padded towards the bars. Gotta get Jo.

"Is that your sister?" Habi whispered.

Yes. Jo'ahni. Too small for mindtalk. Back soon!

Wait!

Renji looked back at her, his tail swishing through the air.

Habi held a finger to her lips. Speak to no one. Mindtalk or mouth. There are many s'wits around. And be careful.

Okay. Renji disappeared into the dark, and Habi soon wondered if he'd ever been there at all. Perhaps a rat had simply wandered into her cell and she'd conjured up a fantasy to convince herself to attack it. Ha. As if I'd need convincing. And the rat would have had to hop into my lap, or I'd never have caught it.

But a part of Habi clung to the idea that Renji was real, whatever nonsense he might have spouted about being a Khajiit. Maybe one of the cultists had enchanted a cat for their amusement. Banning seemed to have a distaste for consuming animals, so perhaps they used them for a different purpose. Who cares? I got to eat. And I might get to eat again. That's all that matters.

Habi licked her lips, feeling truly alive for the first time since the night of the trials. She stared into the darkness and waited for the strange little cat and his sister to return.