The area of the Vvardenfell in which the fabled valley was nestled would have once been called the Ashlands, for the dry and desolate plains of gray that stretched to the east and west and all the way to the rocky shore and the Sea of Ghosts. Now all of the island was ash and ruin, but the Dunmer living in the small camp nestled along the sides of the Valley of Wind still called themselves Ashlanders and spoke the language of their ancestors.

Long fingers of rock stretched into the sky and touched the bottom of the moons. Sakani peeked out of the opening of her yurt and licked her lips. There wasn't much time, now. Dawn was nearly upon the Urshilaku camp. With the rising sun, justice would be done at last. She turned back to the tools of her faith, the countless small artifacts and fragrant jars that littered her living space and lined the thin walls of her yurt. Tall candles cast a blood-red light across the gathered items. Sakani moved slowly, but with purpose. She knelt down, pushing some vials aside, and from a weathered satchel she withdrew a long golden dagger of Dwemer craft.

If you manage to live to an old age on Vvardenfell, its because you learned to notice sounds most Dunmer do not. Such as, the noise of armored feet stepping through ash. Sakani heard the Ashkhan approaching, and held the dagger behind her back as he stepped into her yurt. So predictable.

"Azura has naught to say to you, Zanilath." Sakani scowled. "She is disappointed. So am I. "

"I came not for your counsel as a Wise Woman. I came in the name of our old friendship." Zanilath's bare chest gleamed in the candlelight. This was a mer of strength. Or at least, he had been. The symbols etched on his skin spoke of victory in battle and triumph over ruin, but Sakani knew better. "I beg of you. Bring this madness to an end."

"This is out of my control. 'Twas your tainted blood that brought this darkness on the valley. First one of your sons disappears, along with the others like him. Traitors to Azura."

Zanilath grimaced. "You can not know he went to Red Mountain. Many an Ashlander has fallen to beasts in the wild, during a hunt or by simple accident."

"Silence! You will not deceive me. That child was strong. His bones do not rest in some creature's nest. Azura has blessed me with a vision. Your firstborn commits wicked crimes in the bowels of Red Mountain, gorging himself on Dunmer flesh."

"No!" Zanilath stepped forward, his fists clenched. He had brought no weapon with him into the yurt. Fool. He proves his weakness with every action.

"Your line is corrupted, Ashkhan." Sakani's fingers tightened on the hilt of the dagger. "The second boy, caught trying to slip away from the valley in the night. To join his fallen brother, no doubt."

"Ammu was frightened, damn you!"

"Only enemies of the goddess have need to fear."

"What of the Telvanni?" Zanilath's eyes narrowed. "We all saw what happened to the wizards. They did nothing to Azura."

Sakani hissed and turned away, careful to keep her weapon hidden. "Do not speak to me of the n'wah to the east. Better for Namira to gorge herself on them, so we may be spared."

"You call them n'wah, like we do not share a common skin."

"When the fires fell from the sky, those who fled Resdayn were forsaken in the eyes of Azura. Now they return, slinking back to take our ancestral lands. The Telvanni and the Redoran will spread like a plague, just as they did before. The lives of all who turn away from Azura and the Nerevarine are forfeit."

"You go too far, woman. I have let this usurpation of power go on long enough. You will tell the devout guardians to release my son, and then you will leave the Urshilaku forever."

"Azura's most loyal disciple will not become a mabrigash."

"Become whatever you wish." Zanilath towered over her. He smelled sharply of sweat, nearly overpowering the burning incense. His eyes bore into her. "But do it far away from my people, witch."

"Blood always tells." Sakani smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes turning up. "Your traitorous children will not join their ancestors, Ashkhan. They will rot in the acid pits of the Scuttling Void."

Zanilath's blow sent her to the ground. Blood dripped from her lip, and one of her front teeth was loose. A vial had broken under her; glass shards were scattered in the ash. But the salt and iron in her mouth tasted of victory. Her knees popped as she rose and brought her hand around from behind her back.

"Wait-" Sakani stuck Zanilath with the dagger once, twice, three times in the chest. The air burst from his lungs before any words could escape. He fell like a hackle-lo leaf before the scythe. Sakani ignored his grasping fingers and pitiful gasps, and stepped over him. More footsteps, from outside. Small fingers curled around the opening to the yurt, and a child's head peeked inside. Eldrus. Blood of my daughter.

Eldrus gasped. Sakani grabbed his shoulder and pulled him inside, squeezing tight on trembling arms. The boy had weathered twelve long summers, now. It was high time he learned the price of weakness.

"The ashkhan thought he could murder me in my bed," Sakani spoke into his ear. "But Azura protects her faithful. She is watching over all of us, child. Do you feel her gaze?"

"I…" Eldrus nodded mutely, his eyes fixed on Zanilath's still form. "He was gonna kill you?"

"He was a servant of Namira. Just like his children. The n'wah who came to Vvardenfell have spread their sickness even to our humble tribe. We must cut out the rot, while we have Azura's attention." Sakani grabbed a handful of the boy's shirt and cleaned Zanilath's blood off the dagger. To his credit, Eldrus did not shy away.

"You mean Ammu?"

"Forget that name! And the name of his father. They have lost the right to our words. Them, and the other two servants of the enemy. All bleed and die in the dawn's light."

"But grandmother." Eldrus swallowed. "It's dawn now."

"Then there is no time to waste. Go feed the stranger, and then tell the others to gather on the ridge."

Eldrus bowed his head and left the yurt. Sakani slid her dagger into one of the folds of her robes, and glanced distastefully at the cooling corpse at her feet. You were always weak, Zanilath. Unfit to lead the Urshilaku. I knew the day would come when you would break. Events would move quickly. No one would dare stand against the lady of twilight, now that the ashkhan and his sons had been exposed and punished. Sakani felt the goddess summoning her; a tickling at the back of her consciousness, like the legs of an insect scrambling against glass. She knew from experience it would become an itch and then a burn if she didn't answer. Sakani knelt, her knees sticky, and opened her mind to Azura.

Kharjo strapped the last satchel onto the guar's back, and patted the grunting beast reassuringly. The moonshadow of the Bulwark fell on them. Nadene stood next to the other guar, finishing off her own buckles. She wore glass armor from neck to toe. Mere minutes had passed since Knight-Paladin Gelebor vanished from the manor of First Councilor Lleril Morvayn, and Kharjo still felt on edge and eager to find his friend. He was sure the Nerevarine felt just as agitated.

"Just a patrol. Three or four guards, I beg of you." Councilor Morvayn pleaded with Nadene.

"No." She pulled on Ur's backpack, testing the buckles.

"Please. In my personal residence, an honored guest of yours was taken by agents of darkness." Morvayn held a hand to his heart. "For what you've done for Morrowind, House Redoran can never repay you. Let us assist with this matter."

"You're right." Nadene climbed on to Ur. Kharjo copied her movements with his own strange steed. "You can never repay me. And your guards will just slow us down. If you want to help, send soldiers to Vvardenfell. Like I asked you to in the first place."

She lightly slapped Ur's side and the guar set off at a steady pace. Kharjo did his best to follow, unsure at first of how exactly a guar was controlled. Fortunately, Alma seemed content enough to trail after her mate. They passed beneath the towering Bulwark and the bonemold-armored figures standing above like statues. Ash kicked up behind the guars, nearly obscuring Morvayn. Kharjo glanced back, and saw the Councilor watching them go with a grim expression on his face.

The guars jogged down the road from the city. The satchels and packs shook and their contents clattered, but nothing fell from the beasts and the straps held firm. Secunda and Masser were high in the dark sky, and the heat was a smothering blanket. Kharjo supposed it was near midnight, now. Near the hour of our original planned rendezvous with Divayth, no?

"Where does our road lead us?" Kharjo didn't have to speak too loudly. The only sounds on the road were the plodding of guar feet and the muffled rattling of their gear. Nevertheless, the Nerevarine didn't appear to have heard him.

"Hello? Did you hear? Khajiit thinks it would be a good idea for us to speak of our current goals."

"Find Gelebor." Nadene didn't turn her head. "What else?"

"I can not say I know the Knight-Paladin as you do," Kharjo said carefully. "Scarcely a week has passed since our first meeting. But know that I fear for his life as well, and I have seen with my own eyes what horrors these cultists are capable of."

"He's still on the island. Not even I could teleport to Vvardenfell from Raven Rock." She held up a hand, her fingers splayed out like a web. "The aetherial conduits are difficult to navigate under perfect conditions. Even the Mages Guild had special guides assigned to transport members between chapters. The lines have to be maintained and looked after, like herbs in a garden. I can't imagine the state of Vvardenfell's network after all this time." She smiled bitterly. "Listen to me talk. You probably don't even remember the Guild, do you? They would have dissolved nearly a century before your birth."

"Khajiit follows your words well enough." He guided Alma over a dip in the road. "You say this necromancer could not have left Solstheim immediately. He must have a boat waiting somewhere."

Nadene nodded. "If this n'wah was watching us well enough to replicate my spells, he must have been close to Raven Rock. We need to watch the coast. Look for any signs of disturbance in the ash."

This was easier said than done, given that the wind was kicking up dust in clouds at an almost constant rate.

"Should we not enlist Lord Fyr's assistance?"

"If we make it to Tel Mithryn without finding Gelebor," Nadene said. "He'll be gone. To Vvardenfell. To be murdered and eaten, just like Habisinulu."

"Do not count your dead so hastily. We will need our strength for the road ahead. Whatever fate befalls the Knight-Paladin, Vvardenfell awaits us."

"If something happens to Gelebor…" Ur stopped for the first time in an while. Alma followed his lead. Nadene looked out over the waters of the Inner Sea, her face unreadable. "I don't know. I can't go back to living alone in the woods. If we're too late for him, then I may have to leave you alone. It will be selfish, and it will be cruel. But I'm just not strong enough anymore. I'm tired. Of fighting, of crying over the dead...of everything."

"Khajiit understands."

"I opened my heart. Perhaps that was a mistake."

"What happened was not your fault." Kharjo rested a hand on her shoulder. "I don't regret my love for Zaynabi, or our kittens. The hole in me, now that they are gone, will never be healed by magic or time. Some say that it gets better. They lie, or simply do not know. But that is the danger of sharing yourself with others, Nadene."

"You're one to talk." Nadene raised her head, a cruel glint in her eye. "You really think your mate would want you out in this wasteland, half a world away from your home, trying to hunt down a woman who has likely already forgotten what her cult did to your family?"

Kharjo stiffened. His hand fell away. "Zaynabi is dead. What she wants matters no longer."

"I don't know what you looked like when Gelebor saw you for the first time. But when the guards pulled your carcass out of that warehouse, you had one foot in the grave, pal. Without our help, you'd have ended up food for ash hoppers. Or a bloated corpse floating down to Horker Island. Whatever you thought you were doing, it wasn't working."

"You speak of matters you do not understand." Kharjo turned away from her, his mind buzzing unpleasantly.

"Me, not understand? I've seen more good folks die than you'll ever meet in your short little life. I watched lava race down the slopes of Red Mountain and swallow villages in seconds. Entire bloodlines washed away like grains of sand. The caps of mushrooms, burning like torches. Flaming guar screaming and sprinting to nowhere. The air was too hot to breath, the ash poisoned your lungs. Even when I fled to Solstheim, there was no escape. There was no sleeping. The night sky was bright orange for months."

"Khajiit does not think it wise to let your suffering define you."

"Says the one who's certainly going to kill and then die for his suffering. I've heard every platitude in the book, Kharjo." Nadene urged her mount forward. She avoided looking at him. "Every tired metaphor and comforting phrase there is. They're worth less than nothing. You handle your grief your way, and I'll handle mine however I can."

"Of course." Kharjo was glad Alma required little direction to follow her mate, for he suddenly felt very disinterested in following the mer in front of them. "Khajiit should have known better than to try to comfort the wise and broken Nerevarine. She is far more practiced in her bitterness than he could ever hope to be."

"Well." He caught a glimpse of Nadene's face in the moonlight. Her expression was measuredly still, her lips pressed tightly together. "Now you know."

They continued down the faded road, and the hours passed in muffled gloom. Kharjo studied the shore as best he could, but saw little that caught his eye. The western boundary of Solstheim seemed a monolithic stretch of wasteland. Only the occasional mudcrab or patch of boulders broke the landscape's monotony. Nadene drew Ur as close as she could to the ocean, slightly ahead of Kharjo and his mount. He heard her casting her sight spell again and again, and wondered how long they could carry on before her magicka reserves were depleted.

It was becoming clear to Kharjo that they would not be transporting to Vvardenfell anytime soon. We have nearly exhausted our strength searching for the Knight-Paladin, for better or worse. What was less clear was if the Nerevarine was going to accept this state of affairs. Kharjo was certain there was nothing he could do to stop Nadene, if she insisted on immediately leaving for Vvardenfell at the end of this long road. It may be that Lord Fyr can speak some sense into her.

"Wait." Ur stopped so quickly that Alma nearly collided with his tail. Nadene rubbed her eyes and squinted at the beach ahead. "Hold on just a minute."

"What is it you see?"

Nadene slid off her mount and jogged to the waterline, casting a spell as she went. Kharjo barely climbed off Alma in time to see the Nerevarine run across the water away from them. There was a potion bottle in her hand.

"Stop!" Kharjo sprinted, the wet ash squishing beneath his boots. He arrived too late to do anything but watch Nadene vanish into the mists. Small waves pushed and pulled at his ankles.

These immortal mer. They go too far. He returned to the guars, nervously waiting a safe distance from the surf. Kharjo secured them to a nearby corkbulb and sat down in the ash to watch the waters. He grabbed a bag of jerky from Ur's satchel and had a remarkably lonely meal.

"Maybe two elves will come back, and we can move on," Kharjo said to Alma. "Or maybe none will return, and Khajiit's life will be made refreshingly simple. No more strange elves who hate and love each other. No more poorly lit parties or bizarre wizard clones. Just going to Vvardenfell to kill a witch. Or to be killed by a witch. Either way, I can be done with this nonsense."

The guar snuffled at his shoulder. Kharjo sighed and looked towards the horizon.

Gelebor woke up with tall grass tickling the soles of his feet. He wore only a pair of cloth trousers, and there was loose dirt beneath his back. The air was fresh and smelled of salt, with no trace of ash. This isn't Solstheim. He opened his eyes a sliver, and saw palm trees and golden sand. But nor is it Vvardenfell.

"The lost child awakens." A Dunmer woman in flowing blue robes stood over him. It took Gelebor a moment to recognize her. "Fear not. You are in a place of safety."

"You're…" Gelebor cleared his throat, and stumbled to his feet. "You're the woman from my dreams."

"Those were not mere dreams. They were visions." She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards a worn dirt path. "Your physical form remains in mortal peril. But I have brought your mind to the west, to a place forgotten by time. Search your memories, betrayed one. This is not your first time on this island."

"You can't mean…" Gelebor looked at the flora and fauna around them in a new light. The tropical atmosphere, the heat and the wind...it all correlated to his memories of those impossible survivors."The Snow Elves I saw? The family on the beach?"

"These beings name themselves Falmer." They'd come to a clearing in the forest. Small thatch huts were dotted around, some of them in disrepair. Figures of ivory and alabaster moved between them, mer of all ages and size. "When they first landed, they numbered in the hundreds. This day they are dozens. Soon, they will be gone."

Gelebor held a hand to his mouth, unable to form words. He could not tear his eyes from the elves. He watched a Falmer boy throw a ball to his brother. An old mer with long white hair sat watching them, a content expression on his face. The mer he'd seen in one of his first dreams, who'd lived on the beach with her lover and son, passed by the treeline carrying a heavy basket.

"Can I speak to them?"

"That is beyond possibility."

"Okay." Gelebor bit his lip. "What's going to happen here?"

"An exploratory vessel of the Mede Empire will land on the eastern shore." The Dunmer surveyed the village blankly. "The Falmer will draw first blood. They have been isolated here for centuries, and do not speak the common language of this era. The soldiers will kill all the fighting mer, but not before their vessel is destroyed. They will retaliate harshly, and bring about the true and final extinction of Auriel's favored race."

"That's horrible." Gelebor turned away from her. "I'm not sure I believe you. Everything is happening so quickly. Perhaps this is all an illusion, put into my head by a cultist of Namira."

"All reality is an illusion," the Dunmer said impassively. "But hope is not lost for the Falmer gathered here. I can tell you the location of this island. If you move with purpose, you may arrive in time stay the hand of destiny."

A wave of dizziness overcame Gelebor. He braced himself against a dune tree. The bark beneath his fingers was scratchy and rough, as real as anything he'd ever felt.

"Tell me. Where are they?"

"First, you must uphold your end of the bargain. Travel with the Nerevarine to Vvardenfell. Wipe clean the stain of Namira from those battered wastes."

"What?" Gelebor straightened, and took a closer look at the graceful mer. "Wait. You know about the cultists?"

"I see all that happens in the land of my cursed children." The Dunmer raised her chin high. "I am the Queen of Dawn and Dusk, and all who dare to trespass in my domain will meet the same fate as Voryn Dagoth and his followers. Scourge the cult of Namira to the last, Knight-Paladin. Leave none alive to praise her name. Do this, and save the Falmer."

"I'm not a Knight-Paladin any longer. But I'm not an assassin, either. And Nadene has told me what she thinks of you."

"The Nerevarine has her own path to follow. You have your orders."

Gelebor took a deep breath. "Nadene and I are going to save her granddaughter. If these followers of darkness get in the way of that, I won't hesitate to cut them down. And if Kharjo asks me to assist him in fighting their leader, I'll gladly stand beside him. What I won't fall to is killing dozens of beings for the sake of it. If they throw down their weapons, we will take them as prisoners. I'm not some wild beast."

"No matter." Azura turned to look at the village, still bustling under the midday sun. "You will do my bidding, when the time comes. Just as Nadene Othryn did, and Indoril Nerevar before her."

The world around them melted away, like a painting left in the rain. The trees, the sands, and the Falmer village disappeared, and Azura stood alone in the empty darkness. She turned to look at him, and Gelebor shivered.

"Do not fear, Gelebor. I am not the father who has forsaken you. We will speak again."

His head knocked against wood. Gelebor groaned, and opened his eyes once more. The sky above was as gray as blasted stone, and choked with ash. Seems about right. He was in a sailboat, piloted by a robed Altmer he wasn't pleased to see again.

"You're awake." Sanyon grinned. "Funny, how we keep meeting like this. It's been terribly dull, just talking to myself. I'd conjure an atronach but for the weight. Truly a shame that you and your friend murdered the only mer in Nirn that ever enjoyed my company."

"She was going to...taste me."

"Hmm. Nimphaneth, ever the impatient mer. Don't fret. I won't be taking any appetizer bites during our little journey. I know my place," Sanyon said, and turned to adjust the fluttering sail.

"Where are you taking me?" Gelebor found his limbs particularly uncooperative. He couldn't even lift himself out of the bottom of the vessel to see over the sides.

"I've told you. Multiple times. This isn't a situation where playing dumb is going to get you anywhere, my boy. And no, you can't move. My potions have made sure of that." Sanyon giggled. "I still have the bruises on my neck from when you tried to strangle me in that clearing. Maybe I'll ask Eola if I can eat your hands, when the promised hour arrives. Wouldn't that be ironic?"

"No." A strange sense of calm came over Gelebor. There's nothing I can do, for now. I can't even drown myself. He wasn't sure if this was catharsis, or a side effect of Sanyon's potions."It'd just be an amusing coincidence. Irony suggests a meaning contrary to actual fact."

"Oh. How do you know that?"

"I had a lot of time to read books that wiser mer left behind." Gelebor wished he could stretch his aching legs.

"You're fortunate. I lived in a filthy cave for decades. Rotted my brains out of my skull, it seems like. And Eola didn't leave much reading material around."

"She's your leader?"

"Yes." Sanyon smiled. "The bearer of Namira's ring. She did good things for us in Markarth, I'll tell you that. Didn't let the coven go hungry. That's a lot of the reason we followed her out to this armpit of the world. Well, Nim and I, anyway. The others could be wrangled by anyone with a Breton sausage and a fishing rod."

"I still don't understand what you want from me." He watched the moons move past the ash clouds. "I'll give you some of my blood, if that will put a stop to this. Or even a hand."

"As far as I understand matters," Sanyon replied, "We're going to need every scrap of your precious body. Eola claims that when we eat of your flesh, followers of Namira will rise up all over Tamriel and realize their true hunger. The streets will run red, civilizations will crumble, et cetera, et cetera."

"That's absolute madness." Gelebor managed to swallow. His tongue was a heavy weight in his mouth. "I'd hardly even heard of your goddess before you attacked me in the woods. You must have read your prophecy incorrectly."

Sanyon shrugged slightly. "Our beloved leader seems confident in her visions. Between you and me, I don't foresee much of a future for our cult after the promised feast. It's easy to grab someone for our dinners when Namira features most prominently only in frightening stories children tell to one another. Outside of the Aedric orders, Vigilants and the like, your common resident of Tamriel doesn't pay much mind to the Lady of Decay. If your cousin goes missing one night, well, perhaps he ran away to join the Bard's College. Maybe he was carried off by enchanted skeevers. People will blame vampires before cannibals, for void's sake. As soon as the faithful rise to consume their friends and family, all of that ends. It will be a war. And I am no warrior, my sweet. I am a lover."

"Then why continue down this path?" This was Gelebor's last chance. He wasn't sure how close they were to Vvardenfell, if they had gone too far for Nadene to follow. "You seem to be a reasonable mer, culinary peculiarities aside. Just tell Eola that I died fighting reavers, and my friends provided me with a funeral in the local fashion. They'll be nothing to present at your meal but ashes. This insanity can come to an end."

"Yes. You would like that, wouldn't you?" Sanyon turned his head, the moonlight shining off his too-wide eyes, and Gelebor knew there was no hope. "I just let you go, and you return to that Dunmeri wench, and you both make little off-white babies together. Maybe you let your Khajiit sleep at the end of the bed. And the three of you sit around and laugh about the time you killed silly old Sanyon's friend, and then he let you get away with it."

"You don't have to do this."

"Shut up," Sanyon ordered coldly. "There's some rough surf ahead. I'm going to put us in this cove until it clears. If you decide to get clever, I'll show you how creative I can get with a small knife in a tight place. There are parts I can take from you that Eola won't notice are missing. Not until the third course, anyway."

He tightened the sails against the mast, and their vessel slowly drifted west. Small waves rocked against the side of the boat. The sky above was clear, for once. Gelebor looked at the stars, given little other option, and wondered if Azura was watching events transpire. Would she have offered that deal, without the assurance that I'd live to fulfill my promise to her? She had said, before dissolving the illusion, that they would speak again. Perhaps the Daedric Prince of egoism is just a wishful thinker.

They passed under a long outcropping of rock, and the stars vanished from view. The boat stilled. Sanyon stood with one hand on the mast, squinting in the direction of the sea. I think we're still off the shore of Solstheim. That's something, at least. Judging from Nadene's descriptions, he didn't think he'd be able to breathe the air on Vvardenfell near as well.

A wet mass of fur exploded from the surface of the water in front of them, shuddering and gasping. Sanyon raised his hand towards the creature, but Gelebor lashed out with his foot and the fireball flew wild into the night sky.

"Bastard!" Sanyon kicked him, and his head skipped off the hull like a flat stone off a calm river. Gelebor's vision faltered. Moisture dripped from his ears. When he managed to focus his eyes again, he saw the fur creature had vanished back underwater.

"That was your Khajiit, wasn't it?" Sanyon spun wildly, both of his hands raised now. There was a mania in his eyes that disquieted Gelebor. "Talk. Tell him to come out and give up, and I'll let him walk away from this. It's only you I want."

"No." It took great effort to form the word, as if he were a child again.

"You don't want your friend to live?"

"Don't believe he'd listen." There was a beating in Gelebor's skull, like the drumbeat of a Riekling shaman. "You ate his wife."

"That doesn't really narrow it down." Sanyon grimaced. "No matter. You had your chance. I'm guessing your Dunmer witch knew how to brew waterbreathing potions. But I'm not letting that Khajiit sneak up on us again. Oh, no. I think I'm in the mood for some soup."

He pointed his open palms at the water, and twin streams of flame shot forth. The surface exploded with steam, and a wave of heat washed over Gelebor.

The tip of a sword split through the bottom of the hull and into Sanyon's foot. Sanyon screamed and blindly redirected his flames, and the boat was engulfed in fire. Gelebor didn't have time to panic before Kharjo came up over the side and the boat flipped upside down. His last sight was a distant figure sprinting towards them on the surface of the moonlit sea. Then his mouth filled with salt water.

Gelebor managed one feeble kick, but he'd fallen in from a bad angle and only pushed himself deeper under. His unresponsive limbs were anchors, and he sunk to the sea floor. The water was clouded with ash: Gelebor could see nothing, hear nothing, and feel nothing but the burning of his lungs. There had been no time to take a breath before the boat tipped. His mind screamed KICK, KICK, KICK, but he was as limp as a corpse. Gelebor's chest was fire. Let it end, please, Auriel, Azura, anyone, make it stop it hurts so much the cold the ash in my lungs so hot and burning Vyrthur please make it stop brother-

He rushed to the surface in a cloud of bubbles, a pair of strong hands gripping his chestplate. Kharjo threw him on the rocks none too gently. Past the upturned boat, Nadene and Sanyon stood on the water and fired spells at each other indiscriminately. A fireball burst against the ground next to Gelebor, showering him in molten shards. He gasped desperately for air.

A frost atronach materialized on the shore in a blast of purple light. Kharjo cursed and ran at it with his sword. Gelebor heard more explosions and the sounds of battle, the chipping of ice and the swinging of blades. He hadn't the strength to lift his head, but some part of him registered that Sanyon was getting closer despite Nadene's barrage of magic. But the limping footsteps turned away. Gelebor heard a gasp, and a falling sword.

"Stop!" Sanyon screamed. "I'll jab this knife right into his gullet!"

"Okay!" Gelebor found the willpower to look up. Nadene stood on the water, cloaked by the shadow of the rocky outcropping. Her hands were in the air. "Please. Don't hurt him."

"Throw your bow towards me. And any other weapons you have." Sanyon held Kharjo's head at a sharp angle, and the edge of the dagger was steady against his neck.

Nadene's glass bow clattered against the stones. Her hunting knife followed, and a quiver of gleaming arrows. The sight of each sent waves of dread through Gelebor. He felt quite dizzy, all of a sudden.

"Kill us," Kharjo hissed. "Nerevarine. You know what must be done."

"Shh. The wench will do as I say." Sanyon sliced a clump of fur off Kharjo's neck. "Listen closely, Dunmer. I want you to teleport away. I'm sure wherever you placed your mark, it's too far from here to make any difference. Leave my sight, immediately, or both of your friends will bloody these waters tonight."

"I'm not leaving. Release the Khajiit, and I'll consider letting you live."

Sanyon snorted. "What kind of negotiation do you call that?"

"Mercy. This is your last chance."

"Fool." Sanyon's dagger slid across Kharjo's throat just as Nadene's spell impacted against his chest. The blade rasped against hardened skin. Nadene soared across the water, faster than any living thing Gelebor had seen. Her feet were in the air. She slammed into Sanyon a second after Kharjo hit the ground.

They wrestled on the surface of the water, punching and tearing at each other like starving nix hounds tossed in a pit. But the tides turned quickly. Nadene got Sanyon under her, grabbed his long blond hair, and slammed his face into the water again and again. Teeth and blood flew from Sanyon's face and into the sea, split from the spell of their master. Sanyon squealed and whimpered in agony, for a long minute, and then went quiet. His legs shuddered and stretched. Kharjo stood at the shore with his sword, watching quietly. Nadene didn't stop until the hairs clenched in her fist ripped away by the root and Sanyon was beyond hope and recognition. His body rested on the surface, and blood drained from it like a teabag's essence and stained the waters beneath.

"Nadene," Gelebor said weakly. She turned her head, blinking. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Bruises were already forming on the sides of her face. He'd never seen anything so beautiful. "Glad you're here. Going to rest now."

"Hold on." Nadene crawled towards him clumsily, over water and rock, until they were face to face on the shore. She cradled his head and felt around with her hands, stopping for a moment at his bloodied ears. Such pleasant, warm hands. Nadene slapped his cheeks gently.

"Ow."

"Don't go to sleep, love. I'm not sure if you'll wake up. Here, hold still."

An aura of warmth shimmered around his head, and some of the cuts on his face sealed up.

"Thank you. I feel less...clouded, now." Gelebor let his muscles relax, comfortable in her lap.

"You don't know how afraid I was." Nadene looked down at him, smiling sadly. "This is what I was so scared of, before. You've made me weak, Gelebor."

"I'm sorry."

"No." She cradled his head and kissed him softly. "I'd rather it this way."

"You came for me. You can't know what that means, after so many years of solitude."

Nadene's face fell. "I wasn't the only one. Kharjo, please come here."

Kharjo staggered towards them, no doubt suffering some pains of his own. He knelt down beside Gelebor's head.

"What's wrong?" Gelebor frowned. "Did something happen?"

"I was...unkind, to say the least." She covered her face with her hands. "Kharjo, I'm sorry. I was awful to you. You were just trying to help me, and I attacked. I'd say I'm not used to having friends, to having people care about me, but those aren't excuses. I'll understand if you want to stop traveling with me. We'll kill this priestess for you, have no doubt about that."

"Hush," Kharjo said, taking her hands gently in his. "This Khajiit knows too well the dread you were carrying in your heart. He knows it was not his friend Nadene that spoke such horrible words to him."

"But it was me. Please, tell me how to make it right."

"I've forgiven you. But if you insist, then do what I asked of you before. Do not linger on your troubles, or they will haunt your every waking moment. Remember the pleasant times. Your fear and anger can make you strong, but this power is as fleeting as the moons."

"Okay. I'll try my best." Nadene looked from Kharjo to Gelebor."Let's get out of here. The guars will find their own way back to Raven Rock. I've been on this island long enough."

The trio stood together on the platform, their hands clasped. Everything they would need was secured in their packs; Gelebor had double checked every potion battle and package of foodstuff. His armor was cleaned and gleaming white in Tel Mithryn's magelight. Nadene wore her glass armor, and Lord Fyr had provided a light elven set for Kharjo.

"You sure you can't come with us?" Nadene asked.

"Positively certain." Divayth's eyes flickered to the doorway. They'd already bid farewell to Athtera and the infants. "I can't take the risk, my child. Not this time."

"I think I understand. If the locals begin to eat each other, you'll know we failed." She cocked her head. "What will you do, if the worst comes to pass? I'm sure you've already planned for it."

Divayth smiled. "Of course. I'll take my family into a pocket realm to wait out the bad weather. I don't expect an anarchist cannibal society will be capable of ruling Tamriel for longer than a few centuries. They'll eventually be forced to eat each other, I expect. Or perhaps the Akaviri will make an appearance to purge the poor fools."

"Well, good luck."

"The same to you, Hortator. Keep Gelebor safe. He is too precious a specimen to lose. And Kharjo, try to ensure these two don't do anything too foolish. Self-sacrifice for the sake of Morrowind, sacrifice for the sake of each other, so on and so forth. None of that, please."

"Khajiit is prepared to knock heads together."

"Splendid." Divayth stepped forward, the glowing heart stone in his hands. "This is a one way journey. You will have to find another way back to Solstheim or the mainland. Nadene, any marks you've placed will be out of reach. Are you prepared?"

Nadene muttered, "Just get it over with."

The heart shattered in Divayth Fyr's hands, and then they were gone.