(AN: One more "excuse" for why I haven't been regularly updating this story [trust me, this one is worth hearing]: I simply lost all interest in Elder Scrolls. I read Michael Kirkbride's self-fellatiating "magnum opus" C0DA years ago and became disillusioned with everything Elder Scrolls. Basically screw everyone who isn't a Dunmer. I was so upset, that I ended up giving up with this story. Seriously, the ending was going to have the Dominion restart the war, "help" Crixus into finding and reactivating the Numidium, and then using it to destroy Skyrim, High Rock, and Cyrodiil, with Eirik being stabbed in the back by Crixus and his soul being used to power the device [since Lorkhan's Heart is still missing]. Humanity dies, everybody loses, and neither the Altmer nor the Dunmer achieve CHIM after wiping out humanity.)

(Why am I giving away the ending? Well, we're taking a HARD and unexpected turn in this story, starting with this chapter! I hope it works out for the best.)

Fratricide

"I trust that there will be no further doubts about my devotion to the cause, or my loyalty."

These were the next words out of Willow's mouth to Sigrun. She nodded silently, still shocked from the heat of battle. That moment in Eastmarch had been fueled by adrenaline and desperation: here they had actively slaughtered people. Her mind wandered back to her father Eirik: she wondered how he felt when he killed his first man, and if he had similar misgivings. It seemed almost certainly so. Mother often mentioned how indecisive he was back then, seventeen years ago.

As for the others, they were filled with joy at the prospect of victory. Roggi and Jonna went into the garrison and came back ecstatic: they had plenty of supply in store. Sigrun said nothing, but turned to Erik. They would have to dispose of the bodies, as they had at the camp. Together, they took hold of the bodies and began dragging them through the snow toward the outskirts of the camp. While they worked, Sigrun found herself growing increasingly weaker. The images or fever dreams that had been plaguing her since the onset of her journey had cast a dark cloud over her strength. At first she thought that it was nothing more than the shock of battle, which also seemed to be affecting Erik: but the more they worked, he seemed to be getting stronger while she just kept getting weaker.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Of course I'm alright," Sigrun returned. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" he asked. "I think you look like you're about to faint."

"Well, trust me," she dismissed. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," a familiar voice stated.

Both of them turned around and saw, to their surprise, the hooded figure of the old man they saw on the plains of Whiterun. He had appeared from behind a tree near the place where they were stowing the bodies. Sigrun gasped in surprise.

"You again!" she stated. "You lied about the cave. There was no fallen tree nearby where we found her."

"Not entirely unexpected," he mused. "Nevertheless, we must talk and my time is short. I have new directions for you."

"No, you leave us alone," Sigrun returned. "We don't want anything from you. We have a mission, and unless you're going to stop being cryptic and help us, we're not interested."

"You're weak, you feel like you're going to faint at any minute," he stated. "I can hel..." But his words were cut short, and he leaned against the tree heavily.

"Help?" Sigrun asked. "You can barely help yourself."

But at that moment, there was a flash of light and Sigrun found herself somewhere else entirely. Instead of a well-lit glade outside of Fort Dunstad, she was inside a dim and dark hallway that was built of stacks upon stacks of books. The floor was an iron grate strewn with papers, and the ceiling was open. The sky above was green, and periodically, long black tendrils, like those of a netch, or a cluster of amorphous goat eyes, would appear, coalesce, and then vanish.

"Where...where am I?" Sigrun asked.

"Apocrypha," the old man replied. "I had to act quickly; I thought I had more time than this..."

"What are you talking about?"

The old man sighed, then turned to Sigrun. "I suppose I might as well tell you. You and Jonna have forced my hand. I was hoping to reveal the truth little by little, when I felt you were ready. But as it is, if you leave this place now, you will never see me again and you will never know the truth.

"I am dying. Many years ago, when I was a young boy, eagerly seeking knowledge of the arcane arts, Hermaeus Mora, the lord of this realm, came to me. He offered me free reign to search his endless library to my heart's content. Eagerly I dove into his collection: these books you see upon the walls around us are less than a fraction of all that the daedric prince of knowledge possesses." He paused, sighing.

"But no matter how much I found, there was always more. I spent years pouring over the volumes in this place: I needed neither food nor rest, for knowledge was my food and I felt energized as never before. When at last I decided to return home, I found that it was gone...and I was now almost two hundred years old. Ah, if only I had paid heed to Da's warnings about the daedric princes."

Sigrun's expression softened somewhat. "You spent two hundred years in this place?"

"That was part of the bargain we struck," he continued. "A part which Hermaeus Mora had neglected to mention...until it was too late. Now I had more knowledge than any mage or scholar that ever lived. But I couldn't share it with anyone for two reasons: first, I am bound to this realm. I lived here for so long that if I were to return to Mundus, I would begin to die. I've already spent enough time as it is, and now, I fear, my time trying to warn and guide you and Jonna may have ended me at last."

"I...I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, sis. I brought this on myself."

"Sis?"

"Yes, Sigrun," the old man said. He reached up and removed his hood: beneath was an old, wrinkled and wizened face without a beard and with short hair. But there was something in his eyes that made Sigrun uneasy. Such familiar eyes; such shockingly familiar eyes. They reminded her of Da's eyes.

"Who are you?" Sigrun breathed.

"It's me, Bjorn," he replied.

Sigrun gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. She didn't want to believe it, but those eyes seemed to be screaming out to her: Don't leave me, sis! A flood of memories came over her, affirming precisely what those eyes were telling her. This old man was, somehow or another, her brother Bjorn.

"But..." she protested, turning away from those eyes as she felt her own watering up. "But I left you back at home. You were young and healthy, fifteen years old."

"Yes, you did," the old Bjorn nodded. "And if you went back there, I'd still be there. But you wouldn't be able to find me."

"What do you mean?"

The old Bjorn sighed. "Like a foolish boy, I cast locking spells upon the doors of my room as I read. I didn't wish to be disturbed, and thought that I could remove them whenever I wished. Little did I know that would be my unmaking. No one could ever reach me, no matter how hard they tried. And when they finally broke the door down by force, it was too late."

"What do you mean 'too late?'" Sigrun asked, her voice starting to break.

"That's the other reason why I could find no one to share my knowledge with," he said. "There is no one left."

"What?"

"No humans, that is," he replied. "Within three months, all of us are dead."

"What are you saying?" Sigrun exclaimed. "That's impossible!"

"Aye, it is," old Bjorn said. "But it happened."

"How?"

"There are many people we could blame for this," he began. "And with the courtesy of hindsight and Mystic time travel, I can accurately name all those involved. Unfortunately, chief among them would be you and Jonna."

"Us?" she exclaimed. "Why?"

"Things have been set into motion that will spell the swift and total destruction of mankind," he continued. "In one month, your rebellion will fall apart from infighting caused by the one you call 'Willow.' In another month, the Dominion declare the Second War against the Empire and launch a double invasion of High Rock and Skyrim. About that time, Emperor Servius Crixus uses his battle-mages to summon the Numidium from the moment before Tiber Septim cast it adrift in time; but it has no source strong enough to power it. A truce is called between the Empire and the Sons of Skyrim, presumably to stop the war: you facilitate a meeting with Da and the Emperor. At that meeting, Crixus stabs Da in the heart with an enchanted dagger, given to him by Jonna, which traps his soul. With the power of so many dragon souls devoured in his long years, Da's soul is strong enough to power the Numidium. However, Crixus turns the Brass Tower onto Skyrim and destroys the Throat of the World with it. Skyrim burns and sinks into the sea, but is betrayed by Lady Arannelya of the Aldmeri Dominion, posing as one of his battle-mages: she kills him and takes command of the Numidium, using it to destroy the White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil and then Adamantine Tower in High Rock. With the Towers dead, the world of man is over and all mankind blinks out of existence in a whisper."

Sigrun's eyes widened with horror as she heard these words. Her hands shook with fear and tears began to stream down her eyes. She could scarcely believe his words. It would have been easier if he had only told her that he was her brother and left it at that. Even as he spoke, images flashed into her mind: memories of things not yet come to pass. A blood-red sky, the giant Brass-Walk, a face half-gold and half-blue, and her and Mother cradling Father's body; Father's lifeless, cold body, without even the faintest inkling of a soul. She saw the Throat of the World collapsing and the world ending around her in fire and ice, as Mother fought off against a horde of vile daedra as they attempted to claim Father's soul for their own individual masters.

"Sis, I can see the doubt in your eyes," he replied. "I know you're very trusting, and want to believe people are as honest as you are. In this, you can trust me. I have seen this future down which you are heading, and I am here to stop it."

"I don't want any of this," she wept. "Take me back, take me back now!"

"Sis..."

"Take me back!"

"If you leave now, you will never see me again," he told her, even-toned despite her cries and screams. "You will be set upon the path you have chosen. This 'Willow' is not your friend: her real name is Arvela. She is a Dunmer, a retainer of House Sadras. She is using you to weaken the resistance against the Dunmer occupation of Eastmarch, and to steal Jonna's soul for her twisted ritual to bring back her false gods. Already she attempts to bend your will to her: haven't you heard the way she talks? She wants you to act according to her desires."

"She helped me take Fort Dunstad!" Sigrun returned, violently shaking her head in despair.

"To gain your trust," Bjorn replied. "Then, she will try to drive a wedge between you and Jonna, just as Lucia's lover drove a wedge between her and Da. Little by little, she will use your trust in her to subvert your rebellion from within."

Sigrun's breath was coming out in frantic gasps. Unbidden then came the other images into her head; even in this place, she was not immune to them, it seemed.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "I'm here, sis. I'm here for you."

"I just wanted to save Skyrim," Sigrun wept. "I didn't want any of this to happen!"

"I know, I know," Bjorn nodded.

"Make them stop!" she begged; her defenses were so weak that she cared not what he thought of her. "Make the images go away! Use your magic, make them stop!"

"I can't do that," Bjorn replied. To this, Sigrun slugged him in the shoulder.

"What do you mean you can't?" she retorted. "Shor's balls, you're a mage!"

"Yes, I am," he replied. "But this is beyond my power. Those images you see are the world collapsing in on itself around you."

"What do you mean?"

"Dragon Break," he began. "Where time slips out of Akatosh's hands. It happened once before, in the Third Era. Now it's happening again. Reality is bleeding as one timeline merges with another, and then tears apart again. Surely you noticed this in Whiterun? Your miraculous escape?" Sigrun nodded. "Unless the Dragon Break is mended, the visions will become more and more substantial and begin to bleed into reality permanently."

"What will happen then?"

"Everything and nothing," he said. "Though, from what I've learned about our family history, it does not bode well for you. There was another who had an unrequited love for our Mother: he kidnapped her, in the belief that he could make her his own."

Sigrun's breakdown softened. She remembered this story: Mother had told it to her many times, though some of the details were left out until she was much older.

"He hated Da for 'stealing' Mother away from him," he continued. "While our Mother was his prisoner, he tried to kill you. If the Dragon Break continues, that timeline will come true and you will cease to exist."

Sigrun covered her mouth with her hands. This was all too much for her to take in at once.

"What do we do?" she asked. "How can we stop this?"

"There is no stopping this, not in this time," he sighed. "The most severe damage has already been done long before we were born."

"What do you mean?"

"The Civil War, seventeen years ago," he said. "It was more significant than you think. The real enemy was not the Empire, but the Dominion. They were the ones who wanted to unmake humanity to achieve godhood: fools, they will only success in destroying half of Tamriel. There is no hope for the Altmer or their allies in this future either.

"Alas, Da was indecisive and let the Empire win. Because of that, the heart of the Snow Tower - Talos, the hero-god of mankind - was weakened. The last straw fell when Crixus slew Da and took his soul. This, sis, is why I said that there are many to blame for our doom."

Sigrun was slightly calmer now. "You-You keep talking about Towers. What are they?"

"They are a closely-guarded secret," Bjorn began. "Those scholars who do know about them never share their knowledge, not even with Hermaeus Mora. Likely they feel some sense of pride at knowing the best-kept secret in the world all to themselves. But there is little knowledge that does not, in time, trickle down to Apocrypha, and I have had plenty of time to learn it.

"I can think of no clearer way of saying this, but that the Towers support the world. Without them, the world will be destroyed. The Altmer have been trying since the Merethic Era to destroy the Towers and return to Aetherius: that's why they teach Shor as an evil trickster, and one of the reasons they guard the Secret Tower."

"What's the Secret Tower?"

"Some elvish belief that mortals can become gods and gods can become mortals," Bjorn said. "It all made little sense to me until I saw our future. Arvela wishes to achieve this state in order to bring back the chief of the Dunmer's false gods: the trickster and murderer Vivec. But there is hope for us."

"What do you mean?" Sigrun asked. "You said that the most severe damage was done before our time."

"And so it was," he continued. "But it can be changed."

"How do we change it?"

"I did not say that we could change it," he returned. "We cannot change it; we are merely the Children of the Dragon, bound up in the great Sphere of Creation. But, what the elves do not believe - what they choose not to believe - is that the Secret Tower is not a Tower at all. Creation is interlinked, with one action having infinite numbers of consequences: that is the Secret Tower, not some selfish fantasy of godhood."

"You're not making sense."

"Oh, I know. Nothing about the Towers or-or CHIM makes sense at all. I'm sorry, sis, I wish I could explain it more clearly. The short version is this: we cannot take hold of the Sphere of Creation to move it out of the hands of those who would destroy us. But Da can."

"Why him?"

"Because he is the Dragonborn; the Last Dragonborn. And he failed to fulfill his goal, to live up to his potential. Because of that, time began to unravel itself: the legends say that when the Dragonborn comes, the era is ready to end. This you've seen come to pass firsthand with these images, as time unravels. Only one blessed by the gods can do as the gods do: only Da can stop the Sphere as it turns on him, and turn it according to his will."

"So what you're saying is that Father can save the world?" Sigrun asked. "Prevent all that you talked about from happening?"

"That is correct," Bjorn said. "But not here, not now. He's already lost, and for now it's only a matter of time until he too loses his power."

"What are you talking about? How has Father already lost?"

"The gods are not as inactive as the elves would have us believe," Bjorn replied. "They have been moving in Da's life to lead him toward his destiny. Yet they saw him fail at his task and prepared a contingency: but that contingency failed as well, and rather than sharpening Da as iron sharpens iron, it broke his spirit. He realized the truth, but too late to do anything more than help the contingent destroy Skyrim."

"Wait, who's the contingent?"

"Emperor Crixus. The gods insured the Dragon-blood of Tiber Septim lived on in order to insure that mankind survived and the White-Gold Tower was reinvigorated. But like Da, Crixus wandered from his destiny as well. He continues to wander, even now as he thinks to save the Empire by giving it into the hands of those who would destroy it. In the end, he was not strong enough to accept his destiny and ran from it."

"So Da's loss, that came when?"

"It was not one single event, but a series of events, one after another, starting with the aftermath of the vampires, that led to this crisis. It is from there that you must start and bring our Father back to the right path."

"Me?"

"I cannot go," he said. "If I return to the mortal world, then I will surely die. You saw that as I leaned against the tree, that's why I sent us back here to Apocrypha, to give you the time I needed to tell you this."

Sigrun's head was still spinning from all that she had been told. It was all a little bit too much for her. She wished that Jonna was here: she might not have answers for all these strange elvish concepts she had heard, but her presence would certainly make her feel better herself.

"I..." she stammered. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this yet. I'll need some more time."

"As you wish," Bjorn sighed. He waved his hand and his staff turned into a small totem about six inches long. Upon it was a single emerald, several hawk's feathers, and a pearl. "Smash the pearl's head upon the ground when you are ready to begin. It will take you back to the time when the change must begin." He handed her the totem, and suddenly there was a flash.

Sigrun found herself kneeling in the snow next to Erik. Suddenly from the tree, the shape of the old man collapsed onto the snow next to them. Erik was surprised, though it seemed as though he hadn't noticed anything since her departure. Sigrun, on the other hand, ran to the old man's side and cradled him in her arms.

"What's happening?" she asked. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"

"Don't...talk..." the old man stammered. "Not...much time..." His hands quivered and shook, looking claw-like, as he tried to lift them up and reach for something in his bosom.

"Take...letter..." he stammered.

"What's happening?" Sigrun asked, her voice cracking.

"Dying..." gasped the old man. "Two hundred years...too long. Can't...go back. Failed...the test."

"You-You can't die," Sigrun begged.

"Too late..." he gasped. "Tell...Mother...I'm...so cold...tell her...sorry...and...I...love..."

There was a long, hoarse rattle, and then the old man was still forever. Those eyes, those all-too-familiar eyes, were gazing up at Sigrun: just like the eyes of Father in the images that she had seen in Apocrypha. But there was no light in those eyes, no life anymore. She felt hollow, as though something had punched a hole through her middle. She hoped beyond hope that this strange old man was nothing more than that, and no relation to her at all. But those eyes, she couldn't shake the look of familiarity in those eyes. Her hand slid up and closed them, just to get them out of her sight before the sorrow inside her began spilling out.

Just then, the others noticed what was going on. Erik remained where he stood, saying nothing and doing nothing. Behind them, near the entrance of the fort, Jonna and Willow appeared and gazed at the scene.

"Sig?" Jonna asked. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Sigrun looked up, and her blood began to boil as she saw the masked form of Willow. Into her mind there came the warnings she had heard. Anger was filling her up; where it came from she cared not, only that she release it or she would surely explode. She let the body and the totem fall, rose up out of the snow, seized her by the throat, and pinned her against the wall.

"Sigrun, what are you doing?" Jonna asked.

"Show us your damn face!" Sigrun demanded. "Now!"

"I thought I could trust you," came the cryptic reply.

"Why are you so afraid to show your face, huh?" Sigrun demanded. With that, she reached up and ripped off the mask from Willow's face. True enough, the blue-gray face and red eyes of a Dunmer were staring back at her.

"She's an elf!" Erik exclaimed, rising to his feet.

"Yes, you unobservant ape!" the elf woman sneered. "Now take your hand off of me!"

"What else have you been lying to me about?" Sigrun demanded. "Why are you helping me?"

"Didn't your white Nord parents tell you not to look a gift guar in the mouth?"

"Answer the damn questions!"

"I will not answer your questions, foolish little human!"

"Answer, or I'll kill you!"

"Sigrun!" Jonna exclaimed.

"Are you going to kill me?" taunted the elf. "Your little rebellion will be over before it starts without me."

"Is that a fact?" Sigrun asked. "Are you ready to stake your life on that...Arvela?"

She chuckled. "Do you think throwing a random name at me will mean anything?"

"Do you deny that that's your real name?"

"Yes, because it will not be my name once my lord has returned to this world!"

"Your lord? Vivec? But he's dead!"

"You stupid Nord! What is divine cannot die, and Lord Vehk is not dead. He merely walked sideways outside of the confines of this world. But he will return, and when he does, he will lead us all in starlight as the new gods of the sky. You would have been my greatest saint, in honor of your part to play as Nerevar: but now, you'll be forgotten with the rest of them!"

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because it's already too late!" Arvela laughed. "The mantling is almost complete, and even time won't be able to keep you from m..."

At that moment, Sigrun placed her hands upon Arvela's throat and started to squeeze as hard as she could. This time it wasn't the same as killing the Imperial soldiers: this time, there was no hesitation, only a desire to burn this treacherous Dunmer in the rage that was burning her up. As if to further add fuel to her fire, Arvela did not beg or cry or scream or contort her face in agony: she merely kept on smiling. Sigrun only squeezed harder, until at last there was a sharp snap and Arvela's body went limp. With an angry shout, Sigrun tossed it aside into the snow, then began pacing the snow.

(AN: A twist, but not unexpected.)

(Now we have more questions than answers [and a renewed interest in this story]. Is Sigrun going to follow through with the old man's plan? Is he actually her brother Bjorn? What did Arvela "Willow" mean when she said that even time won't keep Sigrun from her? Or will she continue along in this doomed world? We shall see.)