Chapter I: A New Threat Looms

The wounds ached. Way less than a few hours before, but they still ached. A thin layer of fresh skin was stretched over the holes in his neck. The small grazes on the internal parts of the gouge, probably the mark of a saw-edged part of the vampire's canine tooth, had healed decently. The medical bandage Colette had put over the wound was infused with powerful regenerating magic. He could have felt it even without her telling him. He could sense the energy contained in the object restoring the tissues and soothing the pain almost as much as he could sense its rough surface against his skin. He noticed that it wasn't in the exact same position as before. Someone had moved it while he was asleep.

The Dragonborn lay on the bed, motionlessly. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on his other senses. He could sense the chilly air, which confirmed Colette had obeyed his request to open the windows. The wind whispered softly as it came in. He heard her moving around his bed, where he was resting. She was pacing nervously. He even smelt something peculiar. Aside from the smell of fresh air coming from outside, the air carried the scent of perfume. It was Colette's, no doubt. She had taken the time to put it on, even if he had arrived in the heart of night. The Dragonborn often failed to understand the respect the mages had for him, a respect that frequently bordered with devotion.

'So…' she said, hesitating. 'He… transformed?'

'Yes.'

'Are you absolutely certain?'

'I'm quite positive I know what I've seen, Colette,' he answered, coldly. 'Have you sent for Phinis?'

He could almost hear her bite her lower lip. 'I've taken the liberty to call for everyone here, in the Archmage's Quarters. This is a matter of great importance.'

Figures… thought the Dragonborn with a faint sigh. He didn't answer her. His silence would have to be enough. He opened his eyes, batting his eyelids. The cool light of the Archmage's Quarters was bright and piercing and required some getting used to. The black ceiling shimmered in the glow of the magical lights, reflecting with iridescent gleams. He liked the place. He spent the vast majority of his time in the College up in that room; locked in, when he could. The mages rarely left him alone, but there were times when he needed some solitude. When he said so, nobody dared to even knock on his door.

The Dragonborn slowly bent his head towards Colette. She was wearing her usual dark tunic, college gloves and boots. Her face was a bit tense. She was wearing a light makeup, an attempt to hide the first wrinkles and lines that marked her aging face. The livid rings under her eyes made it clear that she hadn't slept in a while. He felt her eyes directly fixed in his, and this annoyed him. He had his face exposed, which he normally hadn't, and she could to stare right in his eyes.

He slowly tilted his head. 'You know nothing of these transforming vampires, I assume,' he said, slowly but steadily raising his shoulders from the cushion.

'I have heard stories,' she said, as if apologizing. 'Nothing objective. It's not my field of expertise.'

'Isn't it?' A sarcastic grimace briefly and imperceivably played out on his lips. 'You of all people should be the one with some knowledge. It is your magic that is able to fend off the undead.'

'Restoration merely focuses on protection,' she said firmly. 'My arts include the supreme affirmation of life, which must also include the banishing of the things which are not living. We evict the evils, we don't delve in the machinations that allow them to endure death. That is matter for necromancers, and I'm certainly not one.'

'Long story short, you can't help me.'

A strange kind of uneasiness seemed to mark her features for a moment. It lingered for a while, until her eyes stopped their crazed movement and fixed again in the pupils of the Dragonborn. 'I have heard rumors, if that can help. The Frozen Heart has its rooms full with students that want to apply to the College, specifically to study Restoration magic. I was understandably surprised at first, not many want to learn the things I teach. When asked, they told us that they wanted to learn the charms that might protect them from the undead. Unfortunately, only one such person has been able to surpass the entrance test and make it here. He had a very interesting story to tell.'

'Go on.'

'He comes from the marshes of Morthal. He's just a peasant, but he had a magical talent within him that could not be ignored. He arrived here not two weeks ago, asking to enter the College to learn Restoration magic. He passed the tests, and was taken in. The first day, I asked what had led him to Winterhold and how come he wanted to learn restoration. He told me that vampires were rumored to be prowling about near the city.'

'Morthal has had vampire problems in the recent past. This doesn't seem new.'

'No, it is new. The vampires he described were different. It seemed to us they were more powerful. He didn't have much to say beside stories, everyone who has had a direct encounter with the fiends has died. The villagers were defenseless. The three soldiers that had been stationed nearby were ambushed one night and culled down with extreme cruelty. The boy took it upon himself to come here, seeking our aid. I'm currently teaching him what I can, as fast as I can. The quicker he returns to his village, the better. When you mentioned this strange vampire, I immediately thought of the ones that boy told me about. Some things seem to match, while others don't. He never mentioned anything that could look like a transformation of any kind. That's all I know.'

'All information is good information right now, since we have none. Help me stand,' he said, holding out his hand to her. She quickly grabbed the proffered palm and squeezed it gently. He could rise on his own, but he might have been destabilized by sudden headaches or stings of pain.

The Dragonborn slowly put his feet on the ground, sitting on the bed. He then rose to his feet, furrowing his eyebrows slightly. He didn't move for a moment, testing his balance. Once he was sure of his feet, he let go of Colette's hand and brought both his hands to his head. He grabbed the rim of the hood and lowered it on his forehead. He moved a step forward, feeling for the responsiveness of his body. His eyesight was slightly less efficient than normal, but it was because of the intense light. His other senses worked perfectly. He breathed in, sensing his whole body piece by piece; from the aching neck down to the rested legs. He touched the bandage on his neck, pressing slightly on a spot where it had lost its tension.

Lastly, he focused and checked his mind. Clear, as the sky in a sunny day of winter. Winter. He felt that season as very representative of his normal state of mind. A cold impenetrable, a lucidity that he used both as a measure for what surrounded him and as one of his deadlier weapons. There were questions that needed to be answered, but he didn't let that interfere with his utter calm. The events that had occurred four days before in the caverns were still present and he had spent the vast majority of his time analyzing the battle piece by piece. He pondered, asking himself what had gone wrong. The frightening answer was that he hadn't made any mistake whatsoever. And yet, he didn't let that influence himself. It was a fact, an objective element. Nothing that should hold sway over his temper.

He casted a quick glance at the table, where he had laid his equipment. He lingered for a moment on the longsword, remembering what he had seen before arriving in Winterhold. Upon inspection, he had noticed that the blade didn't need any tempering. Since it was forged following specific rituals and spells it rarely, if ever, required maintenance, but a supernatural enemy could chip the edge. With the vampire it hadn't been the case. He recalled the nature of the fight, and it hadn't been a duel or any kind of normal struggle. It had been a fight that had ensued at breakneck speed, where the nimbler and the smarter of the two had prevailed.

He cast away those thoughts. He would have the time to ponder that analysis later. He turned towards Colette, who was silently waiting for him to say something. 'When will the others arrive?'

'They should be here any moment now, Archmage.'

The Dragonborn turned and kept walking slowly in the back of the room. He leaned against the metal partition, following it to the main area of the hall. There was a little garden in the middle of the chamber which contained a lot of his favorite plants. He had also asked to build a small pathway adjacent to the partition which led to a seat he had forged himself in pure malachite. It was a transparent throne, a true masterwork. It was probably bound to remain there and be used by all other Archmages after him. He followed the marble pathway leading to the seat. He smelt the fragrance of the flowers. From sweet-scented Dragon's Tongue to the sharp aroma of the Deathbell. The patch was a cluster of colors, all those of a bright rainbow and more. He stroke the branches of the growing Canis Root, testing their hardiness. Not ready yet, he thought, pushing them down and seeing how flexible they still were. The small patch of Namira's Root was sprouting already, while the sample of Jarrin Root hadn't struck root. He would try once more. He sat upon the glass seat, laying his back on the smooth backrest and placing both his arms on the sinuous armrests, forged appositely to be winding and flowing but also to be perfectly shaped to enfold the forearms of the Dovahkiin.

Colette looked at him through the fissured of the partition. The snaky shapes of the metal left numerous holes and gaps, technically designed to limit the amount of light that would reach the bed. 'Anything I can do for you, Archmage?' she asked, coming around the partition and moving towards the door, where she could face him.

'No,' he said, without moving a single muscle.

The sorceress lowered her head a little bit and continued along. She reached a chair near the wooden door that led to the stairs. She too sat, resting her hands on her knees without uttering another word. She was particular among the mages the Dragonborn saw everyday he spent at the College. Most of them constantly tried to seek his advice or gain his favor, sometimes in shrewd and very creative ways. Colette was different. He treated her with no compassion and no notice of her slight paranoia; ironically, being treated as perfectly normal made her feel better. The difference was that she was perfectly content of the situation she was in and didn't try to earn the favor of the Archmage. Her humility, thought instinctive and thus not admirable in an ethical way, was pleasant. She wasn't like the others, who had stopped forcing the Archmage's hand only when they had understood who they were dealing with. Those were the people he dealt with while in the College. The same people whose voices and footsteps he heard, coming from beyond the door.

The Dragonborn sighed deeply. He listened to the indistinct noises, failing to understand anything of what they were saying. The door was built to partially isolate the chamber from noises coming from the stairs. Its two wings were freshly polished. They had recently been coated with black paint and the sign of the College drawn over using a faded blue. When they opened, the circular symbol split precisely in two, similarly to the iron gate which gave access to the main yard. The voices came closer. He heard the different intonations now, as if the words were music. It hadn't been long since his last visit. For his standards, at least. He wasn't planning to drop by at the College before encountering the vampire. It had been necessity more than anything, but now he was content with how the events had turned out. He needed advice on the vampires and the College might have been the absolute best place to start the investigation. He cracked his neck.

Three knocks on the thick wood. 'Come in,' the Dragonborn said.

The two wings of the portal opened together, symmetrically. The movement of one was bound to the other by a magical link which was as difficult as it was simple. As the wings of the door unsealed and drew away from one another, the Dovahkiin started to make out the faces of those who were entering his chamber. The heads of Phinis and Tolfdir were half hidden by Faralda's shoulders, while Drevis walked his separate way to the right of the small group. A bit behind, secluded and as out of sight as he managed, walked Enthir. Nobody had formally invited him there, it had been the Dragonborn that had summoned him with a secret message. Surely nobody was happy to have him as a tagalong, but he was under the Archmage's protection.

The wizards lined up with Colette, occupying the two remaining chairs near the entrance. The others remained standing. It was Tolfdir, as was his role of Master Wizard, that came a little forward and spoke for all of them. 'Archmage, we have heard of your tale and of your wounds,' he said, in his feeble and gruff voice. 'We were so worried. Seeing you awaken and well is a welcome sight for sore eyes.' His tired gaze was trained on the Dragonborn. There was deference in them. The elderly wizard was a cordial person, one that sticks to traditions but that is also able to lay them down for a moment when the situation requires it. Although forgetful and most certainly not a prodigy, his humble wisdom always brought some much needed advice to the Dovahkiin. 'Of course,' the old man continued, 'Colette has told us of your injuries, and that you require information. However, we were wondering what sort of information you might need.'

'Regarding the transformation,' the Dragonborn said from his translucid throne. 'I assume Colette has also told you what she knew about my struggle with the vampire. The fiend transformed halfway through the fight, assuming a form I have never known even existed. It was humanoid, but bigger and gaunter, with grey skin and bat-like features. Does anybody of you know what this is, or where does it come from?'

There was a moment of silence. The mages exchanged worried glances, whispered among themselves and changed facial expression several times, depending on what they were told or asked. The Dragonborn relaxed completely and inclined back on the seat, giving them some time to organize the few good ideas they might have. He saw Phinis talking to Colette and Tolfdir to Faralda. Drevis intervened at one point, only to receive a glare from the latter. He often said things that were heavily out of context. The Dovahkiin followed their movements intently, tracking the important ideas as they were told among the small group. Something Phinis said seemed to raise quite a bit of approval, even from the usually hypercritical Faralda. They seemed to be putting together something constructive.

At last, Phinis nodded to Tolfdir and Colette and spoke. 'We don't know much about what you ask for, Archmage. We're incredibly sorry.' His gaze lowered slightly, maybe fearful of the Archmage's judgment. The Dragonborn checked his every motion, but he wasn't doing anything that might betray his thoughts. The Conjurer's fear was instinctive, induced by habit. He kept listening. 'Our expert on undead and vampirism, Falion, has fled to Morthal some time ago. If you'd like we could contact him. That, however, would take time.'

'Time that we don't have,' the Dragonborn said. 'Let's divide the problem into smaller issues and see if we can solve some of them. Phinis, Colette, I have a question for you. I have noticed an odd thing about the vampire I fought. His face was almost perfectly intact, while others I've met have theirs completely disfigured. Does this mean anything?'

'I remember what Falion told me about the different branches and clans of the vampires,' Phinis said. 'Some people think all vampires are the same, but that is not true. There are different bloodlines, and they each carry specific characteristics. I vaguely recall the Cyrodilic lineage having untouched faces, except for the eyes. There are things that match with what you have told us, too. This would need more research, though.'

The Dragonborn nodded slowly and turned towards Colette. 'You? Do you know anything?'

'About the faces, I remember having studied a branch of diseases that included Sanguinare Vampiris among them. They are a very particular type of illness, since they are created with magic and are not part of the natural order. Specifically, Sanguinare Vampiris disfigures the faces in a horrific way, at times beyond recognition. There are, of course, theories as to why it happens. Some think the body reacts to the disease by trying to self-disintegrate, but vampirism quickly overthrows that process. As soon as it takes over, the biological functions of the body are erased and replaced with magic-powered ones.'

'This would match what we know about advanced necromancy,' Phinis said. 'The being that becomes a vampire effectively dies. The body can be considered a walking corpse, and that is confirmed by the fact that the magical drills that detect life forms don't interact with vampires in any way. Something similar happens to the soul, which isn't directly removed from the body but is enfeebled. It's not whole anymore. I don't know if it simply deteriorates or if it is absorbed by another plane of existence, but it doesn't change the effect it has on our plane.'

The Dragonborn merely nodded in silence. He was deep in thought. That knowledge was important, but most importantly he was now beginning to see a path to follow. If the distortion in appearance was the work of a disease and not related to vampirism directly, it just might be that the vampire he had fought belonged to a particular bloodline. He knew very little about those since they had never posed a threat in his intense and yet brief living in Skyrim. However, since he hadn't been able to learn anything from the fiend, they were in the dark. The key to the mystery was obviously the transformation, since it wasn't common even among the most ancient vampires. The vampire he had fought had a secret, perhaps his motive or the identity of his superior, if there were any. The options were many, the ways to choose the right one were few. Very few, even. There surely were people looking into that same problem in that very moment somewhere else in the province, but the matter was urgent and not everyone had the starting point they had. They didn't have the time to contact anyone that was too far away from the College. The Dragonborn knew that what they knew would need to be sufficient for at least the following step in the search. He drummed the armrest with his fingers, lost in the weave of his reflection.

The mages all waited in religious silence. He eyed them a couple of times, without them noticing. Some were gazing directly at him, awaiting for a verdict, while others were going on their own tangent and looked concentrated on their own thoughts. Phinis stared fixedly at the wall behind the Archmage while Colette looked down, a frown on her face. Enthir, on the other hand, had a serious but somewhat heckling expression. The Dragonborn knew him and knew he had that face when he had something to say. This was good. Enthir always managed to gather enormous quantities of raw information, which he rarely succeeded in compiling in one organized point. The scattered news and rumors he had were valuable, but only when there was someone like the Dragonborn that had a keen, sharp mind that could synthesize everything into a unique, coherent system. There hadn't been a single time when he hadn't been able to make the right choice if given the sufficient data.

He exhaled, meditatively. The mages turned to him as he slowly raised his head. 'Those who have sessions will return at once to the Hall of the Elements,' he said, unhurriedly rising from the translucid throne. 'The ones who don't will come with me down in the Arcaneum, to help me gather more information on this new threat we're facing.'

'Yes, Archmage,' answered Tolfdir. He, Faralda and Drevis stood up, casting short glances at their colleagues. 'Come on,' the old wizard said, 'let's go back to our students.'

Three went out of the door while three more remained with the Dragonborn. Colette and Phinis stood up at once when the Dovahkiin moved the first steps in their direction, while Enthir didn't move from his place. He was leaning his shoulder against the wall, still with that conspirator smirk on his lips. The Archmage gave him a nod and turned at the other two. 'Colette, Phinis, the two of you go down in the Arcaneum and ask Urag for any kind of book that deals with vampires, even marginally. Enthir and I will join you in a few minutes.'

'Yes, Archmage.'

The two mages bowed slightly and walked away. The Dragonborn looked at them as they disappeared down in the spiral staircase, illumined by the faint bright of the magical lights. The door closed slowly behind them, sealing the chamber of the Archmage and the things that were about to be said. Ever since he had become the head of the College, Enthir had found it was easier to interact with him without raising suspicion, but they still had to be cautious. That was why they often closed themselves shut inside the room when they had to discuss something either private or related to their criminal underworld contacts. The transactions were the only thing that were left out, since they always took place in the Bosmer's quarters.

'So,' the Wood Elf said, mock-serious, 'if it isn't Azrael the Godkiller asking for my help.'

'Not the first time it happens,' he replied impassively. 'I don't have as much time to throw away like you do.'

'Good point, but I'd say to get down to business. I have some things that might interest you.'

'I should hope. Tell me, and be quick.'

He moved two steps in his direction. Enthir was a strange kind of Wood Elf, one that has abandoned his roots by still carries the trademarks of his people along with him. He was a firm mind and a stable person, an excellent negotiator and an even better agent. Physically, he wasn't that intimidating. He was just a fancy-dressed Bosmer with a turf of brown hair bending on his left temple. The other one was clean shaven. He wasn't much taller than five and a half feet, meaning the Dragonborn towered over him in all his unusual height. That unimpressive and unassuming appearance had served him well over the years however. He had got away from bad things thanks to his generic and forgettable traits. Appearances often deceive though, and Enthir was one evident example.

'Well,' he began, 'recently my finances have increased by a meager percentage. I was doing the sums just a week ago, and there was something that didn't fit the normal pattern. I looked at what price my contact bought the pieces he wanted, and there was indeed something strange. The price of silver. And, guess what, the price of gold lowered a tiny bit as well. That was why the increase had been so small. Now, I've tried to track down the reason of these changes. I checked the charts of the prices and the quantities of metal mined last month, but there weren't any changes. There have been no decreases in production in the Reach and there haven't been any Forsworn raids either. That means there wasn't any variation in the dug quantity of metal. The fluctuation was just in the price alone, not reflected in the amount that goes around in the province's market. You know what that means?'

'People are buying more silver than gold.'

'Precisely. I was understandably intrigued by such development, and I saw a chance for profit. I have even written a missive to our mutual friends of the Guild to inform them. If they want to invest, they should do it on silver. Specifically, silver jewelry and charms. They have become insanely popular lately. Before this morning, I wasn't sure of why this was the case. Now though, I have the missing link. The vampires. Furthermore, I have recently received word of a notice that has been found in many cities and towns throughout Skyrim. It advised to use silver to repel the vampires that attacked the cities. It was also written that silver jewels worn on the body reduce the effect of the dark forces the bloodsuckers are able to call upon to confound our minds. And also, just think, Tolfdir was complaining about something the other day. With Arniel gone, there isn't anyone left that's able to enchant items at the prestigious of when he was still with us. There had been a particular intense wave of requests, interested in one protective charm in particular. Can you guess, mastermind?'

'Protection from diseases.'

'Bullseye. Aside from a few, they were all that. Every single one, I almost couldn't believe it. Silver rings and necklaces, all enchanted with charms that decreased the chances of catching a disease. I considered for a moment that maybe these honor bound northerners had started to get more… intimate, all of a sudden.'

The Dragonborn exhaled mockingly. 'Brilliant conjecture. As always.'

The Wood Elf gave an engaging laugh, looking at him sideways. 'Come on, Azrael, you could indulge your natural need to laugh, sometimes.' He often went on that tangent, making sure he didn't annoy his boss too much.

'Not at your bad jokes,' the Archmage answered emotionlessly. 'Back to the topic at hand now. I have some questions. For instance, were there any inconstancies in the trade routes? Something that might hint at the distribution of these products?'

'There are, I think. It's easy to trace those sort of things, now that the common merchants are still waiting for the climate to get warmer. There are approximately twenty caravans going around. They had ventured from Solitude, passing through Morthal, Whiterun and Dawnstar before arriving here in Winterhold. But when they arrived here, the stock of silver jewels was almost completely sold out. The few pieces that remained were of low quality but very expensive.'

'Low quality?'

'Yes, I'm sure. The manufacture wasn't good. Does that mean anything to you?'

'Theoretically, yes. A vampire poses a much greater threat than what the buyers seem to think or what that notice you mentioned says. It can't be fended off with a silver talisman imbued with a charm to avoid catching the Sanguinare Vampiris. The people who bought those are two things: wealthy and superstitious.'

'An explanation, please?'

'We know they're wealthy because they bought refined jewelry when any kind of silver would have sufficed. If I had to guess, I'd say they were all retailed in Whiterun, given to the rich merchant families. Had they been middle or lower class, they would have acquired lower quality products. Likewise, we know they are superstitious from the simple fact that they purchased those. A simple necklace isn't going to save your life. They assume all a vampire wants to do is jinx them into submission and infect them afterwards. That's erroneous. A senseless misconception. A vampire is much more likely to kill you than enslave you. If they really wanted solid protection against them, they would need to carry a scroll with any kind of fire spell infused in it. Even then, it may not be enough.'

'Okay… Now I'm following along.'

'Good. Now, have you heard of anyone spreading word of the vampire menace around? Aside from that notice'

'Yes, I have.' The Bosmer had a thoughtful frown on his face. The Dragonborn looked at him and knew he was putting the pieces together. The scattered shards were falling into their place as their conversation continued. Enthir was concurrently telling him what he knew and connecting those same things into a unique system. 'Where are you getting at?'

Azrael brought his weight from one leg to the other. 'Generally, people buy something at an unfavorable price when they think they need the object. This increase in the price of silver sounds wrong. You confirmed my hypothesis. There are rumors running around, are there not? Bad news travel faster than the wind. These people are frightened. Someone is spreading madness, whether out of fear, sadism or the prospect material gain. The very person that hung that notice might be doing this to get rich off the fear of the wealthy.'

'So there's been a sort of disinformation about those big leeches, that's what you're saying.'

'Yes. Truthfully, I was hoping you had some more intelligence about that.'

'Well… Now that you mention it, there's another notice has been hanged on the notice board near the inn.' The Wood Elf stroke his turf, pursing his lips. 'It provides instructions in case of a vampire attack. A haven't paid too much attention to it, we members of the College have out own orders about them. I don't think they'd cross the bridge though, with all the magical defenses that can be activated from afar. Tolfdir will surely manipulate a couple of the magicka pools to warn us if any undead surpasses the set threshold. The town doesn't have much in the way of protection however. It doesn't even have walls.'

'You did ask the Jarl if he needed protection, as I had instructed?'

'Of course we did. That lout banished us, called us freaks. He said the vampires are our doing, that we should burn alongside them. Without his approval we can't act, and Winterhold is near defenseless at this point. The bloodsuckers have been confirmed to hunt in groups of three or four, five is the maximum I've heard of, so theoretically a group of town guards could overpower them.'

'You give those men more credit than they're due. They have no experience in fighting this kind of enemy and they aren't equipped appropriately. Even if they gave them all a silver weapon, I doubt it'd be enough. Vampires are fast, they could easily dodge every attack coming their way. A mage would be the obvious solution, but if that fool won't let a magic-user in his ranks I don't know what else to do.'

'The situation is quite dire.'

'More than you could know. A single vampire with his minions they could manage. However, if by chance any of the beasts like the one I fought makes its way to Winterhold, the town is doomed.'

Enthir smirked faintly and looked at the Dragonborn. There was a hint of challenge in his eyes. 'So,' he said, bending his head, 'how do we prevent that from happening?'

'We strike at the heart.' Azrael gazed at the void that lied beyond the window, the endless skies above the Sea of Ghosts. He brought back his eyes from the firmament and looked towards the Bosmer, elaborating on his brief and cryptic sentence. 'We find out who's behind this unusual hyperactivity and eliminate him or her. There will have to be no mercy. The equilibrium of the province may lie within our success. With a civil war on the brink of recommencing, we'll have to act quickly.'

The Bosmer smiled, this time without any humorous purpose. 'Well, let us proceed to the Arcaneum then,' he said, pointing at the door with both hands.

The Dragonborn gave him a curt and silent nod. He turned back and walked up to the table where he'd left all of his equipment. He grabbed the smooth black cape and threw it over his shoulders. Then, over it, he put on the black leather buckle. He placed the quiver, the bow and the longsword in their respective places, attached to small hangers. They had all been forged appositely by him, and they were of a winding shape that made it impossible for his gear to lose its join. Lastly, he fit the dagger in his metal belt. He checked for the bandoliers and the pouches, and they were all there. The poisons were all at the ready, the potions too and the throwing knives as well. Once he had everything on him, there was little that could catch him unprepared. He had worn that set of armor for a few months now, and the placement of everything felt natural. He could find anything instinctively, without even thinking. His mind was best used in other ways.

He turned and walked back to the Wood Elf, who was patiently awaiting near the door. The wings of the portal started opening slowly, producing a strange hiss. It would take some seconds before any of them could comfortably walk through it. The two stood side by side, waiting. The Dragonborn cracked his stiff neck and caught a glimpse of the Bosmer looking his way. His gaze was thoughtful as it glazed over the Archmage's hidden face. 'You know, Azrael,' he said, 'I like you. I mean, you surely know it, but there are certain moments when I really think you're the best person I've ever met. You're not the funniest and you're certainly not the friendliest, but you're the best in other ways. You're elusive, shadowy, but when I see you or hear your voice I realized you drip charisma from every pore of your skin. It's impressive, really. There's something about you that stinks of perfection.'

'Why the sentimentalism?'

The Wood Elf laughed. The door was now half-opened and they both walked through it. Azrael saw the Bosmer pursing his lips, as if searching for the right words. The muscles of his face were relaxed. He wasn't forcing himself to say that. He rarely forced himself to say something. His eyes moved suddenly towards the Dragonborn after a while. 'Well, that's it,' he said as they turned into the spiral stairs. 'You're not just one that pretends to be above common mortals, I think you are above common mortals. Don't make me explain this. I'm a smuggler and a merchant dealing in dangerous materials, but certainly not a poet.' The weak lights illumined and darkened his face at intervals, long enough to render it difficult for the Dragonborn to have a clear read of any further facial expression. Enthir wasn't very intelligent, but he was shrewd. However, there were moments when he lay down his schemes and just told the truth, revealing a side of him very few people knew even existed.

Azrael thought for a moment over the words of the Elf. My draconic side certainly agrees with you, he thought. Although in different ways, but he had been getting that comment a lot as of late. Most other people were waiting for the end of the winter to begin their activities, but not him. He had been active across the whole cold season. It had been very productive, and he had made many acquaintances and friends. All of them could have turned out to be useful when the spreading of his web in the warm seasons would inevitably begin. However, all those contacts of his had all noted one thing in particular about the Dragonborn. They had spoken their mind using different words, but the concept was always the same: Azrael lacked sensitivity. Even Enthir had said pretty much the same thing. Not as an accusation, but as a compliment, for a change.

But, as Enthir had said, the newly-appointed Archmage had charisma. In spite of his pitiless actions during his short but intense activity at the College, he was widely respected and loved. Even as the Bosmer and the Dunmer walked down the stairs and went past the entrance of the Hall of the Elements, the novices greeted him with enthusiasm and reverence. Their teachers didn't understand their distraction at first. Azrael observed how many of them were ready to tell them off, but as soon as they figured out or directly saw the cause of the interruption, they remained silent. Some even joined the group greeting. The Archmage didn't say anything. He replied with a silent nod.

'Just asking,' Enthir said as soon as they turned into the stairs leading down. 'What will we do after we've gathered some info on the matter?'

'Your guess is as good as mine. The possible courses of action are many and our options open. That's both a good and a bad thing. I need more evidence and more knowledge. Then we'll see.'

'That's what I meant, you know? You're so decisive, you always know what to do. No wonder they love you at the Guild.'

'Drop it,' Azrael said glacially, without even gracing the Elf with a glance. There was a time or everything, and there were times when he forbore from destroying sentimentality, but that wasn't one of those moments.

He opened the door to the Arcaneum. A light stronger than the one that lit the stairs reached his eyes as him and Enthir entered. The boots of the Dragonborn leaned soundlessly on the stone slabs that covered the entirety of the floor. The lobby held shelves stuffed to the brim with books, while the few empty spaces housed magical contractions and piles of sheets. Notes, studies, material that had been left there and many more things. A huge map of Tamriel was tacked to the wall in front of the door, its oak frame smooth and recently polished. Beneath that lied the notes of a new student that had taken a liking in cartography; he was apparently trying to piece together a map of Nirn, but was having difficulties doing so. Azrael had become aware of the fact in his previous visit, and he had sent for an expert that could help their student. No news on that end, but they said the pupil was happy enough with the prospect. On the wall that faced the South there was a huge window that provided half of the light the place needed. The rest was provided by magically lit lamps and a few candles scattered around the library, at a safe distance from the books. The air inside was often stagnant and its smell wasn't pleasing, but at least it was dry. Had it been otherwise, the books wouldn't have survived long.

They stepped inside the main hall of the library. It was circular. The shape was first suggested by the small stone ring on the ceiling, from which originated twelve different ridges of stone that went across the ceiling and then bent down, half of them forming solid columns and the other half strong pillars. The central ring in the middle was an architectonic masterwork. Azrael was no architect, but he had traveled far enough to see different solutions to recurring problems that came up when building a hall of that size. One of the most difficult to solve was preventing the ceiling from collapsing, a problem the stone ring cracked entirely. It managed to discharge the vertical tension created by the weight of the roof by transforming it in horizontal tension, which was distributed to the twelve supports. Six of these were columns, which stood in a circle halfway between the wall and the center, creating a walkway on its outer part. The aisle was bordered by endless shelves, ledges and bookcases where all the knowledge Men and Mer had gathered over the eons was mustered. That was the reason Azrael had sent the mages down there. Every time he had come across something he didn't know, the Arcaneum had always answered his many and precise questions. The books held there were many and precious, a few even unique. The Dragonborn had the plan to gather even more. With the gathering of Shalidor's fragments already set in motion, the Arcaneum could have easily become the biggest archive in all of Nirn.

Urag gro-Shub, the librarian, shared and approved the Archmage's ambitious plan. He loved the Arcaneum and he loved his books. He had renounced everything else life had to offer to be there. Azrael's well-regarded the Orc. He was one of the few people inside that managed to be helpful without being annoying. Two traits that rarely went together. The Orsimer was standing near one of the bookcases, browsing the numerous tomes. Colette and Phinis were already working. The former sat in a chair in the middle of the hall, a split-level that was ten inches lower than the rest of the floor. She had a pile of five books in front of her, stacked on the round table. She held one in her hands and was reading keenly. The Dragonborn narrowed his eyes, trying to see. Vampires of Vvardenfell, he read silently, heavy reading. Useless I'd say, but who knows. Maybe she'll find something. Phinis was reading something himself, a ragged volume that bore the title "Immortal Blood" carved in gold on the front cover. His balding head was marked by wrinkles of concentration. Neither of them said anything even as the two Elves entered. They were very focused on their reading.

'Urag,' Azrael called out. The Orc didn't react at first. He took the time to place the book he was consulting back in its place, carefully aligning it with the other tomes. Once that was done, he turned and spread his two fangs a little bit. It was the closest an Orc could get to a smile.

'Archmage,' he welcomed him. Azrael didn't answer back in any way and stopped a few feet away, waiting for him to continue. Urag was a reasonable person and coped excellently with the peremptory attitude of the Archmage. A trait Azrael liked even above his rudimentary smartness. 'I was told you're looking for information regarding vampires, is that it?'

'Yes.'

'We have eight files, twenty-two manuscripts and a small collection of notes on the matter. To my knowledge, nothing that specifically mentions transformation like the one you witnessed. I have already started examining Vampires of the Iliac Bay, but its accounts detail the influence of the disease which causes standard cases, which, as I've heard, isn't exactly what we're dealing with.'

'Spot on. Search the notes, instead. If there's any pattern that details vampire activity in the near past, try to follow it. Clear?'

'As daylight,' the Orc answered in his gruff, pleasant voice. 'The notes we have include hints gathered from the reports of the Vigilants of Stendarr. I was hoping they had encountered this issue, in their hunt of undead and Oblivion-spawns.'

'That's a good lead. Pursue it.'

The Orsimer returned to work, this time walking towards his desk. There was a small heap of pieces of paper on a corner, which he immediately grabbed. He leaned back against the bureau, with a focused frown. Enthir had gone to the table Colette was sitting at and was reading through the back cover description of the books she had gathered.

Azrael walked over to the two tomes laid on the other table. Meanwhile, his thoughts moved again to Vampires of Vvardenfell. Details regarding the three major clans of the island were included, as well as the various mentions at attempts to cure the curse. However, the book centered heavily on the catching of the disease and the incubation process that led to the transformation. There was no mention of clean turnings or unchanged faces. None of Vvardenfell's vampires could hide among the common folk. Even if they could, they wouldn't be able to transform. Most vampires are extremely weak to sunlight, the lesser ones may instantly combust from within when exposed. The heat of the Sun makes the blood boil and ignite in their undead vessels, ripping their bodies apart and leaving nothing but a pile of ashes. What he had seen was completely different. A higher breed, for sure. He got to the table and looked at the two books. One was a small manuscript with intricate carvings on its cover. Manifesto Cyrodiil Vampyrum, the label read. The other, covered with tattered black leather, was titled Opusculus Lamae Bal. He picked up the latter, not recognizing the name.

The pages rasped as he opened it, grey dust raised from the worn paper. The handwriting so small it was difficult to read. The letters were written down graciously, adorned by flowing embellishments. The first few lines immediately got his attention. The introduction summarized the content effectively, things that Azrael didn't know of. The vampires, all vampires that is, supposedly came from a unique bloodline that had split over the millennia. The foremother was a woman called Lamae Beolfag, violated and transformed into the first vampire by Molag Bal himself. It wasn't something that could have materially helped them, but it gave some context. He read the tattered paper, letter by letter and with extreme attention, but gave up after a while. The introduction was short and to the point, but text itself was complex and convoluted, with many figures of speech. Whatever language it had been translated from, surely the original was more bearable. So, vampires are the offspring of Molag Bal, in a certain way. The Blood Matron, Lamae Beolfag. I wonder if those bloodsuckers actually revere her or forget about her. They might be happy with their state, but she mustn't have been all that content with being violated. He stopped at the end of the introduction, content with what he had discovered. He detested learning about something without first having understood it, and that had been a step toward the comprehension of his enemy.

He picked up the second book,Manifesto Cyrodiil Vampyrum, and read the tenets. It wasn't his first time laying eyes on those. He remembered something. For instance, the incredible delusion of believing they could live among civilized people like civilized people. They always seem to forget that they're not mortals. They're beasts. Whatever, at least they didn't cause as much damage as the others. The first time he had skimmed through it he had missed the mention to the Blood Matron, which immediately caught his eyes. There's mention… he noticed at one point, of keeping the face supple through regular feeding. So that vampire I've seen might have looked similar to a mortal because he had very recently fed. That could go a long was in explaining how that all went down, but still doesn't explain the absence of signs of the curse. That was a minor detail, though. Nothing useful on what he'd seen, although their options were still quite open. No mentions of a transformation, as he had been told.

He put down the book, letting his gaze wander spontaneously across the Arcaneum. He looked at the huge window, observing all the meaningless details of the glass. Letters, alchemical symbols and Daedric letters were engraved in the colored crystal. Enthir claimed that if read in a certain order, the ciphers meant something. A message from the artist that had engraved those during the glass manufacture or the architect that had designed them. Unimportant, Azrael said to himself. He often found himself analyzing the insignificant, inconsequential things. His mind worked a strange way, a melding of the reason and wisdom of the Dunmer, the understanding and the abstractness of the Dragons and the cold, calculating intelligence and sharp cunning that were his alone. His mind didn't know such a things as a distraction, because it was always working. Resting equaled releasing and focusing on the irrational flow of thoughts that flowed in his mind. After an indefinite amount of time, his mind naturally came back to the vampires. It was inevitable. He now redirected his mental forces, halting the free flow and concentrating. There still were things that didn't add up. No mention of the transformation meant no significant step forward had been made. What had started as a research for that very specific thing had turned into a generalized study on vampires. He wondered who, if any, among his acquaintances could know more.

'Archmage,' Urag called from his desk. He was holding a short manuscript in his hands. 'There is something you should see.'

The Dragonborn walked towards the Orc, casting a glance at the others. They were still reading, even Enthir had picked up a sheet of paper to skim through. Phinis in particular was very much absorbed with his copy of Immortal Blood. There wasn't a noise in the room, only the light breathing of the improvised vampire investigation team. The music of life… Azrael thought, refraining from sniggering. He moved right next to Urag, looking over at the title of the few bound pages. "Notice: Hall of the Vigilants destroyed". It was an original piece, not a copy or summarized information. The calligraphy of this one was clear and large, clearly written to be legible everyone who knew how to read.

'What's this?'

'That's a warning,' said Enthir, who had been looking from his corner. Colette and Phinis also turned, while the Bosmer kept talking unconcerned. 'It was pinned to the board outside the inn as well. It didn't occur to me it might be useful, it seemed just another kind word of advice against the evil terrible leeches.'

'It sort of is,' Urag said. 'The only thing I found that interesting is the mention of the burning of the Hall of the Vigilants.' He stopped for a moment. Azrael heard a question float in the air: the wonder of when that event had taken place. The Orsimer noticed the puzzled faces of the others a while later. 'You don't know?' he asked. He looked at them for a moment with an astonishment that bordered with scolding. 'It's the only relevant thing that has happened after the last magical rift was closed. Three weeks ago, I think. The Hall and headquarter of the Vigilants was burned down, by vampires. They slaughtered every men and women inside. This notice is signed by an ex-member of the Vigil that has created an organization that calls itself the Dawnguard.'

'Is that a splinter group or an independent association?' asked the Dragonborn.

'Independent,' answered the Orc. 'They have taken shelter in an old Fortress in the Rift, Fort Dawnguard. If you're wondering why they have the same name, it's because this Dawnguard is the second one that has existed. There was another before, in the Second Era, to protect the son of the Jarl of the Rift, who had turned into a vampire. They were forced to kill their ward, reason unknown, which compelled the Jarl to release the members of the organization from their oaths. Now, this Isran is trying to reconstruct a group of men that will bring the hunt to the vampires, this time around. Guards and soldiers from many places in Skyrim are abandoning their posts to join them. Members of the Legion are rumored to have broken their oaths and left, but that hasn't been confirmed. The Empire has tried to keep it a secret. That is all I know. What do you think of this, Archmage?'

Azrael had been reading the sheet as Urag had spoken. He had picked up as many details as he could about the Hall of the Vigilants, and they weren't enough. The part that interested him held very few and insignificant details. A lot more rhetoric than actual information, he thought, gliding over the text one last time. The reported facts only regarded the brutality of the slaughter and its unforeseeable nature. Still, it seemed bold and out of character for the vampires to do such a thing. Azrael couldn't make out anything, not even a pattern. He inhaled, pondering. 'I think,' he said after a time, 'I need to know more about the Hall. There's a hidden strategy behind this, but I can't quite figure it out.'

'With all due respect, Archmage,' asked Phinis, 'what makes you think that?'

'Attacking the Hall was a daring move. One that exposed them. They wouldn't do that, unless that was part of their plan. If it wasn't, it must lay close to it. In other words, what I fear is that they might have a purpose. A purpose that is escaping our understanding. They want something, but we don't know anything about it.' The mages were either sitting or standing around him, listening to his cool and measured words. Azrael swept his gaze upon all of them, seeing if they were all listening and following along. They were. They never ignored him. 'As I've mentioned,' he continued, 'I need more information, but from here on I want to be alone. I'll proceed with my investigations, but none of you will accompany me.'

'Archmage, what will we do in the meantime?' asked Colette.

'You'll search for practical ways to deal with the vampire threat. Everyone will have to use their creativity. Craft cheap scrolls you could sell, contact the court wizards to organize defenses inside the cities, coordinate with other mages. Do whatever you like as long as it helps. Urag, you'll have a special task. You and someone else of your choosing are to keep gathering materials and monitoring the situation. If, for instance, there's a sudden wave of fear running around because of a certain incident, let me know at once. I might not be able to be keep very much in contact with society while out tracing the fiends. All clear?'

The mages casted quick glances at one another. 'Yes, Archmage,' said Colette. 'All clear.' Their faces were grave, serious. Only Urag, who gave clear signs of his will to say something, seemed largely uninfluenced by the discussion subjects. His life in the world of knowledge had rendered him strangely indifferent to worldly matters. He treated them very seriously, but without the emotional weight that many of the other mages had. He would have done his part. Everything that was in his capabilities, and with his help the vampires would be defeated. He didn't feel the prospect of people dying weighing on his shoulders. Some hated his attitude, some loved it. The Archmage simply understood it and tried to manipulate it to the best possible use. Urag didn't mind being used as a tool, as long as nobody interfered with his library.

'Archmage,' the Orc said, 'what will you bring along for the journey?'

'My blades and my bow. And my head. If you have suggestions, feel free.'

Phinis bit his lower lip and turned quickly. 'I'll be back in a moment,' he said quickly, padding towards one of the shelves inside the inner circle of the room. He stepped onto a chair and searched a shelf. He was too short to reach on his feet. Colette rummaged around in her leather satchel attached to her tunic, mumbling something indistinct and not finding anything for the moment. Urag walked to the back of his desk and searched for something himself. They all have a farewell gift. Even Enthir, he thought, noticing the Bosmer picking a fat sack of gold and giving it to him while no one was looking. He winked. Azrael gave him a nod and looked around while the others still looked for their things.

Colette was the first to find hers. 'Here,' she said, fetching a small flask out of her bag. She handed it to Azrael, who picked the small bottle with two of his armored fingers. The liquid inside was moving. A convective movement. It was red, a bright red that isn't common among potions. Not even the ones that heal the worst wounds have that color. He looked at the witch, waiting for an explanation. 'It's a special potion that will work just for you,' she said. 'I've created it with a sample of your blood, which I've taken from the bandages I've put on your injury. Your blood carries impressive regeneration power, and that contains a reagent that should stimulate blood production in case you get bitten. Obviously,' she added with a shy smile, 'it's one of those things I hope you'll never end up using.' The Dragonborn brought his gaze once again to the little vial and then fit it in the bandolier freed by the cleansing mixture he had drunk after the fight with the vampire. It was worthwhile item to carry along. He had learned much from his fight with the vampire, but the prospect of a fight always loomed as he planned his next moves.

Urag had placed two scrolls on the table as they spoke. They were new, untouched and freshly inscribed. Their surface was clean, unlike any he had seen before. Urag said that items infused with magic tend to deteriorate faster because of the intense and high frequency waves of energy that ran through them. This was true with any kind of item, but fragile objects like scrolls withered much more quickly. The effect worsened as the power contained grew, and the magical vibrations coming from the folds of paper were quite powerful. 'These are my latest works,' said the Orc. 'I've etched them personally while Phinis and Faralda helped with the infusion. The one bearing the Daedric letter is a reanimation hex that works especially well on humanoid creatures. The one with the flame is a simple fire incantation that creates an expanding ring of flames around you. Simple and deadly.' He pushed the two rolls towards the Dragonborn and sat back in his chair.

By the time they had finished, Phinis was already in front of them, panting a little bit. He held a tome with the symbol of Alteration magic on its cover. It looked like a spell tome. Judging by the details, it's an advanced incantation. The mage breathed deeply before speaking. 'This is for you by Tolfdir. I was almost forgetting. He told me it is a spell that functions in the same way that the one to detect life sources does, but in reverse. It detects the absence of life. I think he meant the undead, but he wasn't more specific.' He handed it to the Dragonborn, who gave it a look and grabbed a tape. He studied where it could go on his armor. Afterwards, he raised his head.

He looked at them. At their worried faces. Yes, he was embarking on another perilous journey. One full of dangers and with a present possibility of death. He didn't feel anything particular about it. He had the necessary knowhow to approach the matter now.

He raised his shoulders consecutively, readjusting the cloak. 'Thanks,' he said, dispassionately, as he moved his first step towards the exit. 'So long.'

A/N: A quick note about suggestions or requests for this story. Day Keeper, Night Reaper already has a definitive structure and plot which is complex and would be very difficult to alter. Thus, big things are going to be discarded. However, small and inconsequential events that don't impact the story in any overly meaningful way are fine and welcomed.

A brief answer to the review left by Guest: Fine, noted. I'll keep that in mind as I proceed further on. It's no excuse, but I'm still learning to bring this more prolix style to its full potential. Thank you.