Day Keeper, Night Reaper

by Metatron Alastor

Eons pass, and Serana still sleeps. She feels only cold, hears only silence and sees nothing but darkness. On the surface, her kin are starting to get restless. The Vampire menace isn't a tale. Fear spreads like a ghastly blight, carried on the dark wings of mortal feebleness. The Godsplitter rides once more into the unknown, knowing a sole thing: The Winds of Change are blowing.

7. Chapter VI: The Winterborn's Flame

A/N: Here I am, with something more for everyone of you to sink your teeth into. If you're wondering why I put the Note here and not at the end, as per usual, do a thing. Get to the end, take a moment to process your emotions, good and bad, and then you'll understand my fear of ruining the ending by putting the Note there.
Thanks for the feedback everyone. There's some things to say regarding Azrael, but I don't want to touch on them now. I'll have them all the next time because we're still in this sort of three-chapter-part that concerns the liberation of Serana. Once this subsection is over, I'll say something more.
To originalmagicalartist, about your review; yes, Day Keeper, Night Reaper is different from The Assassin in some key areas. After all, everything I post here can be called an experiment. I do think it'll be worth the read, especially as we proceed into the story and delve deeper into the world and the character's minds.

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Chapter VI: The Winterborn's Flame

She batted her eyelids. Everything around her was fairly dark, but it all lighted up significantly after a short moment. Everything was suddenly clearer and the colors mode vivid. A very intense orange gave off the most light in the area.

Where am I? Slowly, her eyes picked up more and more details as she began to sense something of her body. She was sitting down, her back against the wall. There was a serrated spike behind her back which hurt her somewhat, but she felt infinitely better than when she fell had fallen asleep. Everything seemed to be more responsive. Her fingers moved immediately upon trying; all her muscles, thought stiff, seemed to be working as they should. More importantly, she was able to stay still without anything making her move. The bloodthirst had withdrawn, for now. She still had the taste of burned flesh on her lips. Not something she was particularly content with. I don't think I'd have been able to reach that corpse if not for the mystery man… Speaking of which… She turned her head around slightly.

'Behind you.'

The figure's voice had a strange effect on her. On one hand, it caused a wave of heat to flow into her cold body. On the other, it stimulated an opposite sensation of freezing paralysis. She turned slowly to the spot where he presumably stood. She was sitting on a corner and he was behind the angle, so he really was right behind her. She caught just a glimpse of his silhouette, leaning against the wall, just by turning her head. Something else came to mind immediately afterwards. He noticed I was looking for him by noticing me moving my head. He must be very good at reading others. That could play both in her favor and its exact opposite. I still have no idea of what he wants. Where has he brought me? Where am I? She needed to clear her mind, but it was really difficult. Intertwining with all those questions, she felt a strange shame of herself. The idea of him having seen her stick her teeth into that corpse and drink didn't make her comfortable.

She took a moment to quiet the utter confusion in her mind by first finding out where they had ended up. Or, better, where he had brought her. The corner where she sat was very close to the highest step of a descending stairway. In truth, after looking around, she noticed that the same descending stairs made up the vast majority of the room, its center being a square of flat, stony ground with a glowing brazier in the middle. It looked like a fighting pit; there were even three decorated seats of the opposite side of the central ring, which was encircled by four pillars with faces carved on them. They were still, apparently, inside the crypt, but she chose to get confirmation.

'Where are we?' she asked, trying to turn her head enough to at least give to impression of looking at him. On second thought, he could have been invisible if not for her empowered vision in the darkness. He probably saw very little of her.

The figure brought his hands behind his back and pressed against the wall, rising straight. He cracked his neck and then his fingers, stepping forward and aligning with and towering over her. 'Further into the cave,' he said, in his unemotional tone. His presence and closeness alone managed to calm her, in spite of the impassive delivery. 'There was a passage leading forward from the carven containing your former prison. I thought it was a good idea to explore it. I have found you, and I wonder what other long forsaken mysteries might be hiding in these walls.' A very dim and yet sharp and bitter sarcasm echoed in his words. 'We've just gone through a hall packed to the brim with Draugrs. This one looks like a ceremonial chamber. It's the resting place of a very powerful forefather.'

'How do you know?'

The figure's faceless hood turned slightly towards her, allowing her to see a sliver of the black void hiding his visage. 'Which part?'

'That someone powerful lies here.'

'Firstly, he's sitting,' he said, bending his knees and resting on his raised ankles. His head was only slightly higher than hers. He pointed his forefinger towards the three seats on the opposite side of the ring. 'Secondly, look. He's the one sat in the black throne.'

Between her and the seat there was a thick curtain of smoke rising from the brazier. She could hardly see anything, especially since the magic strengthening her sight made the flying embers flash regularly in small flares of blinding light. She could still guess the shape of the Draugr by putting together the small things she saw. On the armrest lay a limp arm, skeletal and rotten. The seats next to it were also occupied by similar shapes.

Since her redeemer seemed to know everything about their surrounding, she chose to ask. 'Is he buried here alone? Those seats behind him are taken, I think.'

'They are,' sighed the figure, rising once again. Serana noticed the bow and the longsword fastened on his back as he stood up. 'I would imagine,' he continued, taking her away from the findings, 'they were the lord's favorites. Maybe his bodyguards or sons. They should be a tough match too, but not like the one they served and protect.'

It was rather obvious that he was drawing mental plans for a fight as he spoke. She didn't feel too well, surely not well enough to hold her own in combat, but could still aid him. Instinctively, the spells and curses seemed ready at her hands. She turned again towards him. The mystery man stood perfectly still, probably moving little more than his invisible pupils, and scanned the chamber. She felt strangely embarrassed interrupting him. 'Can we handle them?'

'I've handled things far worse than Draugrs, but there's something else lurking around here,' he said, cryptically. He turned towards her, this time fully. She noticed her Elder Scroll tied to his back belt. 'Can you stand?'

She wasn't too sure of it. She put her hands on the ground, applying a growing pressure on the terrain and pushing with her legs at the same time. I can manage, but… She held out a hand his way, bending her head down. The wait felt infinite and for a moment she wasn't sure he would actually help her, but in the end she felt the cold, hard grip of his gauntlet clenching on her forearm and dragging her up. A she rose, the world around trembled slightly. The room blurred, the light began to sparkle without any reason, but it all went away after a short time.

He let go of her. She noticed that, standing side by side, he still looked quite intimidating. He was taller than her, a hand-breadth more than her roughly. While standing this close she noticed more details in the carving of his armor. The surface was rough and uneven, but it is an inevitable consequence of the quenching the metal in the blood of a Daedra. Forging this has taken a long time. I wonder who it was that crafted this. The cloak too was more appreciable from a short distance. It was very smooth and looked very soft, although it was understandably covered in dust.

She remembered something as soon as she turned away. 'Who's lurking around that's more dangerous than those Draugrs?' The tone he had used had left much to the imagination, it felt natural for her to ask.

'No idea,' he said, taking a couple of steps forward. 'Although, if I had to guess, I'd say it's someone of your kind.' He paused briefly, as if considering. She tried to understand, but he was undecipherable when he moved, talked or anything else he did. 'Serana,' he said after a moment, 'is the place you come from definable with "across the sea"?'

Castle Volkihar. How can he know? 'Yes, I suppose it is. How do you know that?'

'Not your concern.'

That hurt her a little bit. Why are you surprised? You shouldn't trust him either. Still, something about that managed to offend her. His usual cold tone had taken a very dismissive and brusque note in those few words. Of course, rationality pointed at that being a good factor and in some way it increased the respect she had for him, but on the other hand there had been a small, very small and almost forgotten dream that had been utterly crushed. She forced herself to look away, letting her gaze wander over the ring and the three undead warriors that would have been their next opponents.

Those thoughts managed to sidetrack her away from the gloomy ruminations. After being asleep for so long, she was surprised she still remembered how to move her body. In that moment, she had to proceed with every little splinter of hope and confidence she had left, because she knew nothing of what was happening. The current situation is that I'm being rescued by an unknown fighter with an unknown motive and that is treating me sometimes well and at times not so well for reasons also unknown. Moments ago he was about to kill me and know he's saving me. I need to focus. There's something going on here. The grown woman started to take hold, pushing the little girl into the unconscious side of her mind along with all the fantasies and dreams she held to. First we get out of here, then we get what we can out of him. It won't be easy, but we'll be able to. We surely outage him by ten times minimum.

'So what's the plan?' she asked. 'Do we take them down from afar or do we bring the fight to them?'

The figure turned around, very slowly. She had the doubt he was leering, very slightly. 'A change of heart?' he asked wryly. 'You're taking the initiative. Also…' His voice hardened a little. 'Don't backstab me. If you do, you die. Clear?'

'Yes.'

'Good.' He turned around, hesitating shortly. He had maybe stolen a glance at her from under the hood, but there was no way of knowing. 'The plan is that I eliminate the two bodyguards silently while you hold the strong one for a while. As soon as I'm done, I'll help you finish him off.' He paused momentarily, leaving her some time to object if anything was wrong. She didn't say anything, so he turned to the other side. 'Wait a moment before moving. As soon as you engage the Draugr, I'll kill the other two.'

He drew the dagger from its sheath on his belt and moved forward, prowling on the edge of the light and keeping to the shadow. The armor didn't look heavy but it was still made of metal, and despite that he made no noise walking. She tried to focus on her supernatural hearing and she heard something, but she never would have imagined it was him making that muffled sound, had she not known. She listened more closely and noticed that he was also holding his breath. While the hunger was stronger she could probably also hear his heart beat, but she had just fed and those feral senses weren't working as efficiently.

She observed him continuously as she made her first steps down the stairs, towards the central ring. The mystery man's hurtful words had been the first icy slap that had reawakened her rational mind, which she had developed precisely living situations like these. She looked at the frame of her redeemer lurking in the shadows and endless questions crowded her mind. Who is he? What race does he belong to? Why is he here? Unending mysteries piled on top of each other, creating a unique web of unknown information that would be so hard to unravel. She had understood some things just by observing him. There are things about a person that cannot be hidden, no matter how hard one tries. The coolness with which he had created a strategy and the clarity he had displayed in explaining her pointed at the fact that he was someone used to make decisions and draw plans. A strategist, a planner and possibly a leader, she summarized.

She stepped down into the central ring, feeling the heat coming from the brazier in the middle of the stony arena. Old coals were burning underneath the grate, sending sparkling embers through the bent iron bars and causing them to heat up, taking an igneous color. The light of the fire danced on the pillars surrounding the old fighting field. The fire crackled. She only then understood how banal her savior's intuition had been. Of course there's someone here… she thought, shaking her head in disbelief of her own lack of logic. This fire couldn't possibly stay lit for this long time. Because it's been a long time, I feel it. Someone has kindled it. Recently. A someone that was obviously already known to the mystery man.

Serana noticed only in that very moment that she had completely lost track of him. She turned to the place where she had last seen him and went in a straight line towards the three seats were the Draugr slept, but she didn't catch even a glimpse of him. A number of things started tormenting her mind, making her hesitate to awake the ancient bonewalker sitting on the black throne. Where is he? Has he abandoned me? Has he fled? Those fears were, again, quickly put into silence by a sufficient quantity of logic. The figure would have no reason to leave her and flee after having carried her that far and possibly having risked his own life doing so. It didn't seem like a rational thing to do and he was one of the most rational persons she had ever seen. That simple assumption was needed to quell her growing anxiety, even though his motives were still obscure to her.

She resumed her mission, the task he had given her. The Draugr sat, eyes closed, on the black throne. His arms lay lifelessly on the armrests, the body dried and desiccated. The flesh had decomposed, leaving the mummified muscle bundles and the decayed sinews completely exposed. Porous bones made up the vast majority of what remained of the old lord buried there. The helm with two horns on its sides fell further down that it should because the hair and the skin previously keeping it higher had completely dissolved. A huge battleaxe rested beside the bonewalker, laid on the backrest.

She looked for something. The ground was rocky, there had to be something she could throw to wake it up. She didn't want to use a spell, which might have waked and alarmed the two other undead next to her target. Beside the closest pillar there was a small area covered by moss. She moved closer, noticing a drop of water falling from the ceiling. There was a small rock, covered in dirt and wet with water, that looked big enough to do the job. She bent and picked it up, giving it a critical glance and holding it with the end of her fingers.

Upon looking at her bloodied nails, she remembered what had happened just before she fed on the corpse. She had attacked the figure, to little avail but she had still attacked him. Normally, she would have overpowered him easily with her unnatural strength, but something had prevented it from happening. Something he was aware of. It might have been the extreme bloodlust or the remnants of the spell imprisoning her. Whatever the case, she had lost control, attacked him and lost the struggle. He hadn't seemed too upset about it though. Most people would have probably been scared away or horrified by what she had done, but not him. He probably knew how to master her kind and, more importantly, how to master people in general. He wasn't afraid to interact with her as if she was completely normal. However, he had set very clear boundaries in regards to what she was allowed to and what she was forbidden to know. Is he my father's agent? No, he wouldn't have asked anything about him. Although, if he was just paid and send here than it could explain this… The possibilities tightened. He was either her father's thug or someone that was running his own investigation.

She focused. She needed to. She threw the stone a couple of times in the air to feel the grip and then aimed carefully at the head of the Draugr, casting the pebble with all the strength of her arm. A great deal of strength. Her vampiric might wasn't always present, it arose when she needed it. Thus, since she hadn't had any need of it since she had awakened, she had almost forgotten how much power she could call for. There had been the time when she attacked the figure, but then again, she wasn't fully aware of almost anything in that moment. An outside observer of her own actions, almost. This time it was different. The throw was fast and calculated. And hit with decent precision.

The rock bent the black helmet and snapped in two shards on impact. The bonewalker moved quickly in a strange spasm and its eyes lit up. A brutal white light burned in them as the undead rose from its seat and glanced down at her. The limp arms moved towards the battleaxe, readily grabbing it and raising it high above the head of the wielder. I wish I had waken up feeling that battle-ready, she thought with a sad grin.

The Draugr lumbered towards her, staggering every time he had to go down a step of the stairs. The monster had a single vambrace protecting its left forearm and a pair of ruined boots covering his calves and feet. The shoulders were also shielded by iron pauldrons with rich, flowing engravings in the metal. She unsheathed the dagger hanging by her side and stood still, waiting for the enemy to come closer. Fire would have been useful in that instance, but she had never learned to master the flames. On the other hand, she could have drawn the bonewalker near the brazier and threw it on the scorching metal.

There was little time left to plan. The two bony hands of the Draugr closed a little on the axe's shaft and brought the blade behind the bonewalker's head. As they started the swing, she realized the strike would be too strong to parry reliably, even with her strength. She positioned the dagger in a way that would cause the axe to slide higher than her head. It worked. The edge hissed a couple inches above her hair, leaving her some time to back away. The Draugr let go of the axe with one hand, completing the strike with only its right arm absorbing the strength of the parried blow. She stepped back, making sure her enemy would need to walk a few paces before getting in range. The undead did exactly as intended and rushed forwards with uneasy and heavy steps.

That was her moment. Before the monster could even wind for another round she dashed forward and stabbed it in the withered gut, rotating the dagger and destroying the dry ligaments. The bonewalker groaned horrifically and tried to hit her with the bottom of the axe's shaft, but she was quicker and stroke her enemy's head with her forearm, causing the undead to stagger backwards. She lunged again, slicing away at the chest. The Draugr snarled strangely and gave a sudden and very strong push with the weapon's shaft, aiming at her head. Her unnaturally quick reflexes allowed her to avoid the initial hit, but she failed to predict the circular movement the undead did using, once again, the bottom of the shaft.

The barbed end of the metallic rod struck her on the cheek. She was quick enough to move in the blow's direction and avoid the full strength of the impact, but she still felt the skin lacerating and the cool mixture of substances flowing in her vessels starting to drip out of the wound. Her vision blurred slightly. She stumbled backwards, trying to put some distance between her and the monster. But from what he could see, the Draugr wasn't trying to close the gap. It had spread its arms and was groaning strangely.

'Fus Ro!'

What is that? was the only thing she had the time to think before the blue circle of force struck her. The hit pushed her chest and abdomen backwards, threatening to crush both her ribcage and pelvis bone. The sensation proved, in the end, far different from the real outcome. None of her bones broke or snapped, but her feet couldn't remain firmly in contact with the ground. She tumbled rearward, carried for a moment and then continuing in a desperate attempt to regain her balance, swinging her arms around to stop herself from falling flat on her back.

The monster produced an awful sound that vaguely resembled a laughter and grabbed the battleaxe. It was ready to march her way and finish her off.

'Zu'u, Dovahkiin ahrk Thuri,' roared a voice in the chamber, strong as roll of thunder, 'laan aan grah.' The Draugr snarled and turned around before taking a single step back. It was looking at somewhere between the two opposite pillars. The echo had barely died off when the sound blared again. 'Krif uv Qiilaan.'

Serana completely lost perception of her balance upon hearing that voice echoing through the chamber. She fell down on the stairs and her dagger dropped from her hand, tumbling a few inches away from her hand. But she didn't need it. The bonewalker's attention was somewhere else, towards the voice that had spoken. She didn't know that language and had no clue as to what those words meant, but they carried a very strong feeling of power. Her surprise grew even more when the Draugr, the mindless creature she thought it to be, dropped the battleaxe and kneeled down in submission, letting its head dangle down.

The mystery man himself stepped out of the shadows in front of the Draugr. He held the dagger in his hand, a straight blade with a winding, barbed knuckle guard and a very highly refined open guard. The figure stepped calmly into the ring, covering a very large distance with each step and swiftly and silently moving forward. The cloak flapped languidly behind his back. He strode right in front of the monster.

'Aav dilon, Nikriin.' The mystery man grabbed the Draugr's head and slashed with the dagger, severing the neck clean from the body. The blade hissed sinisterly but made very little noise when cutting the bone and sinews of the bonewalker. The figure gripped the monster on the shoulder and pushed it towards the central brazier. The exposed leg, upon touching the searing metal bar, caught flames instantly. A fountain of sparks rose in the air as the body began to burn. A new sparkling flare flashed when the ankle, consumed by the heat, collapsed and caused the whole leg to fall on the rod. The blazes grew in height and light, slowly engulfing the entire frame of the undead, a once revered and proud lord that was now burning to ash. The burnt parts of the desiccated body fell through the grate and into the fire below, blowing a gust of smolder through the bars before forever being forgotten and reduced to cinders.

The weak sizzling of the fire was the only sound which continued to play out in the chamber once the final pieces had disappeared from her sight.

Serana's gaze moved from the smoldering remains of the Draugr to the frame of the mystery man. He was quietly and very calmly putting away the dagger. The odd thing about him was that there wasn't anything even remotely epic or dramatic about him. The feeling he gave was of a very deep rooted connection with the world and its not so pleasing characteristics. The beheading of the bonewalker hadn't been made theatrical in any way, only clean and effective. Memories of home came to her, and she remembered the pompous tone of the nobles and the serious, solemn way everyone spoke in. Her father was used to it, while her mother had taught her to be distrustful of those formalities. More by example than by word, but still. Her redeemer was everything but formal. Everything he did seemed to be direct and to the point, at the cost of sometimes being brash. In that moment, standard etiquette demanded him to walk over to her and lend her a helping hand. But he didn't. He knew she was fine. Something else, more important or at least more interesting than her, seemed to have grabbed his attention.

He climbed the stairs, going to a corner of the chamber that housed a concave wall with ancient carving on it. There seemed to be nothing special about it. To her, at least. While watching him striding upward, her mind clouded again with a plethora on unanswered questions. First things first, she told herself, sliding the dagger back into the sheath and getting up. With her priorities straight, she walked towards the elevation where the three seats stood. She had fought and almost lost to that Draugr, but there were two more on the other thrones that she wanted to see. The figure must had killed them. She could have learned something from their corpses, then.

While her thoughts lingered around the fight with the bonewalker, she thought about the strange magic the monster had used. For once, he hadn't used any magicka. She hadn't felt anything, not even a tiny alteration in the surrounding links with Aetherius, and she was a mage with two decades worth of training and a good fifty years of practice. The Draugr had also channeled the spell directly through its mouth, which was strange. The easiest and most used conduit are the hands. Other places were remarkably difficult, some completely impossible. She had no familiarity with that kind of magic.

She approached the three seats. Two of them were still occupied by a pile of bones. They weren't of a Draugr though, but of reanimated skeletons. The remains were scattered around, piled up on the thrones. The magic which keeps them alive usually is the same that maintains their bones together. In breaking the link with the necromantic energies, the parts of the undead dismantle. She didn't notice the cause of their death immediately, but after a while noticed that both had a very deep and thin cut on their first vertebrae. That small incision had been enough to sever the magical link. This man knows quite a lot about the undead. He knew what to do with me when he saw me freaking out because of the bloodthirst. He gets more interesting by the minute. And now… What's he doing now?

The figure stood in front of the concave wall positioned higher up in the hall. The surface was incredibly smooth and there were strange runes carved in it. He seemed very focused on those glyphs. Almost as if he could read them, she realized. It seemed a wild guess at first, but the utter motionlessness of his body suggested a very intense concentration. She looked better, but there was nothing else on the wall, only those symbols. There was nothing else she could see that could have possibly attracted his attention. What are you up to?

She walked towards him, careful not to approach him exactly from behind but neither to get in his way. Even though all she could see of him was the smooth fabric of the hood and then the black cloth of the cloak, but there was something about him that signaled to stay away and leave him to his investigation, whatever it may be. She intended to ignore that signal. More than anything, she needed to test where the boundaries between him and her lied. She stepped a little closer. 'Hey,' she quietly said, just to let him know that she was there.

A long moment passed. It felt like an hour to her. 'What is it?' he finally rejoined, shifting his head very slightly in her direction.

'Nothing,' she said, looking at the wall herself and observing the strange runes. 'I was wondering what you were doing here.'

'I was reading.'

Even though it wasn't a complete surprise, and objectively speaking it was one of the most logical solutions, she was still a bit startled. 'You understand those runes? I've never even seen them before.'

'Impossible,' said the figure, quite lapidary. 'You're a Nord, there's no way you've never seen draconic inscriptions.'

'So this is… Dragon Tongue? Written?'

'It is.' The figure stepped to the side, as if looking at something from a different angle, but soon came back beside her. 'Had the World Eater already been banished when you were locked away?'

She couldn't regain her capability to think for a moment. That came out of nowhere, she thought, suppressing every sign of shock that might have appeared on her face. 'No… I've never heard of such a thing.' It was something on the lines as the question regarding her home, which meant she wasn't allowed to inquire. She didn't make the same mistake, and didn't ask anything.

A quiet and wry laugh echoed against the wall and then inside the whole chamber. 'You'll hear of it as soon as we get out of here,' he said. There was a knowing, ironic tone to his words that grabbed her attention. She could immediately guess that there was something big behind those words, but she already knew him well. It wouldn't be him to satisfy her curiosity. Not in that moment, at the very least.

'If you understand those, tell me what this inscription is. Is it a story?' she asked.

'It's a memorial,' he said. 'Het nok kopraan do Svolo wo piraak mulaag wah kriin Dovah nuz ni gaan wah kriin pogaan,' he read. His voice sounded slightly altered, deeper and with something alien in its sound. It was the same voice that had called out the Draugr and had forced it to submit. 'Here lies the body of Svolo, who possessed strength to kill a Dragon but not the stamina to kill many.' As he translated, his voice returned to his normal, deep, sonorous and vibrant bass.

There were too many questions. She had to choose carefully. 'Where did you learn to read it? There aren't many that are able to do that, if I remember correctly.'

'You do. As far as I'm aware, the people able to speak and write in that idiom can be counted on one hand only.'

'Only five?'

'Unless you've got six digits, yes.'

Again, that pushed her away a little. His company wasn't an easy one, although strangely pleasant, reassuring and incredibly insightful. His use of words and the language in general had gotten really abstract a couple of times, and that last witty remark and confirmed her that he was pitiless towards those that didn't keep up with his reasoning. Surprisingly enough, something immediately came to her mind: a million different ways to excuse his behavior. She crushed those thoughts relentlessly. Why do I think he needs excuses? One look at him is enough. He doesn't need any excuses to be what he is. He doesn't need to prove his worth to anyone and isn't trying to get on everyone's good side. Especially not mine, I should remember that. Something else occurred to her. It came to mind at once when she thought about the brief exchange. She had started it with a question, and he had found a way to not answer it. By making a comment after, she had set herself up for being tricked into hearing something else. Had he done that intentionally, then he was really trying to be secretive. If he had done that out of habit, it meant he was used to being elusive.

Despite everything, she felt a connection to him. I wonder if he feels similarly or if it is just me. There was something that made her felt bound to him. He was the first living being he had seen after an unknown time which she had spent slumbering inside a stone, but it was more than that. He looked and felt promising, in two ways. The first, more down to earth way, was the calm manner in which he acted. He moved slowly, spoke clearly and unhurriedly and was took his time with everything. His attitude was affecting her, and she was usually someone that rushed from one thing to another without ever stopping. She had learned to hide that to an extent, but not fully. The second and more complex way was the amount of turbulent energy that seemed to linger around him. He was someone with a complicated personality. Difficult to know would be an understatement, she thought, I still know nothing about him. That sense of mysteriousness enticed her and, in her mind, it made for a great person.

The mystery man breathed deeply. 'We're near the exit,' he said, moving his head towards the door opposite to where they had entered. It was open. 'There's some cold air coming in.'

'I can't wait to get outside.' She followed his gaze to the wooden door. The fact that it was opened made her feel a strange worry, but she didn't pay much attention to it. 'I haven't missed the sunlight, but I have missed fresh air.'

'How come?' asked the figure, stepping in front of her and walking towards the door. 'You don't even breathe.'

'I still have the sense of touch. We merely don't need to breathe, that doesn't mean we can't do it. The pleasure of some air rushing into the lungs doesn't go away.'

He didn't reply. She was able to get some ideas together of the general lines around which he acted, but the reasons were still obscure. It was as if he calibrated the energy he expended extremely carefully, not even answering or giving any kind of feedback if none was needed. In that case, politeness asked for a reaction, which he hadn't given. He had kept walking up towards the door.

But he stopped, suddenly.

Serana saw the figure's hand dart to the grip of the longsword, his fingers closing strongly on the smooth black fabric that covered it. His right foot moved backwards. He shifted the weight on the same leg, assuming a defensive stance. Drawing the blade from his back and brining it by his side, he simultaneously brought his left hand closer to his chest and half-closed it into a loose fist. She lost sight of it, although she could swear she saw a weak light coming from his chest.

What's going on? Something he had seen had made him react that way. And here I was, thinking about low reactivity. When he needs to, he acts very quickly. She imitated him and drew the dagger from her belt with a swift movement. If something could make that man do what he did, it had to be something extremely dangerous. She felt a great deal of fear taking hold of her. As it happened so often, she completely lost control of her thinking. Mixed images appeared before her eyes, images both of death, blood and slaughter. She began questioning what was hiding behind that corner. Draugr? Undead? Or someone else? But who would venture that far into those caves? Her kind, like he had mentioned? The braziers were lit and the door was opened, she remembered. There was someone in there, and the figure had known it since the beginning. He had moved fast, but he wasn't frightened. His movement, thought swift, had been measured and precise. He was still calm, whereas she wasn't. She was scared.

'What's happening? Who did you see?'

The figure didn't respond immediately. He took a step back, this time putting all the weight on his left leg. He stretched his neck leftward, looking at the door, and then turned very slightly towards her. 'Are those friends of yours, by chance?'

She didn't understand at first, but then three silhouettes came out of the dark beyond the wooden door. They walked lightly on the ground, making very little noise. Even in the dark, some pieces of their armors glimmered weakly, reflecting the light of the fire in the middle of the pit. The dancing glow sometimes struck their faces, revealing their pale visages and bloodshot, bright red eyes. In the shifting shadows, their burning irises seemed to hover freely while they descended the steps and approached them. Her mind immediately went back to the figure's question. She didn't know the answer. Were those her friends? Were those vampires there to help her? She didn't know. On whose side I am? She couldn't tell. The indecision paralyzed her.

'My lady Serana.' She raised her gaze and met the eyes of the bald man walking ahead of the other two, which were women. The signs of the infection, though less noticeable than one of those diseased beings who dared assume the name of vampire, were there. A quarter-breed, she thought. The cross-shaped lips were testament. Still, he was her kin. But was he her ally? 'Our search has finally come to a close,' said the man in a solemn tone. 'Your father was sure we would find you, and he was right. He knew I would be the one to bring you back to him.'

'Really?' the mystery man intervened. She looked at how that single word, uttered in a whispered titter, managed to capture the attention of the three vampires. There was something about that word, maybe its echo or the irony in the tone, that compelled abandon everything and deal with its reciter first. 'I remember hearing those same words,' said the figure, 'from your friend and rival Lokil, just a few hours ago.'

'You shouldn't have meddled in our affairs in the first place, mortal,' spat one of the women standing in the back. 'Lokil is a—'

'Was. Lokil was a fool,' the mystery man cut her off, finishing the phrase without even having heard its completion. 'He's nothing but ashes, as we speak. He died by my hand and so will you.'

'Arrogant weakling,' hissed the man in the front. 'You don't know the extent of Lord Harkon's power, and of one thing I'm sure: you wouldn't like to find out. We have the Lord's favor and we will bring his long lost daughter back to him, safe and sound.'

The mystery man gave a gloomy chortle. 'The Lord's favor…' he sneered, before his voice trailed off. 'Something everyone says they have but that no one thinks he or she has. Long centuries of living death doesn't make one more intelligent, it seems,' he whispered, as if he was talking to himself. The hood shifted. His gaze was probably fixed in the burning eyes of the vampire. 'You're too late,' he said. 'I'll be the one bringing Serana to her father. You, since you're on my way, will die. Right here. Right now.'

Serana didn't move. The mystery man didn't attack the vampires, didn't charge in their direction nor did he continue to face them. The three vampires made some space, hateful groans appearing on their faces. White, sharp fangs glimmered in the shimmering light of the fire while they unsheathed their weapons. The figure hinged on his left foot, where he had shifted the weight, and spun around. He turned towards her, towards the woman he had saved. She felt his gaze on him, and she couldn't do anything.

'Iiz Slen Nus!'

It was as if a roll of thunder had come out of his mouth. She remembered that magic. The Draugr had used it just a moment before, but that was different. It was unimaginably stronger, it completely outdid what the bonewalker had done. Even before seeing what happened, she could tell. There had been a shift into a level of reality that no magic she knew could do. The initial strength of the sound and the sudden gust that came her way made her tumble back. But then, the gust became unnaturally chilly.

A breeze as cold as the winter reached her and clang to her. She looked down at her body. Ice was emerging out of nothingness and it was imprisoning her. It crept up her frame and trapped her entirely. Before she knew it, she was unable to move. Immobilized, she felt herself falling helplessly to the ground. There was absolutely nothing she could do. She tried to call for any amount of magicka, but she didn't manage. Everything was completely frozen in ice, the only exception being her mind. That still worked. And was trapped in a layer of ice no thinner than the one that entombed her body. The ice cage hit the ground and stopped. She felt nothing, aside from the cold.

It would seem impossible to turn, unleash such powerful magic on your own ally, turn around again towards your enemies and start killing. But as she regained some hold on the outer world, she realized that the figure had done it. The killing had began. She was so caught up on what had happened to her that she hadn't heard the groans and the growls. She hadn't heard the whistle of the blade either. The ice made it difficult to make out what was happening, especially since ever her pupils appeared to be hindered in their movement by the cold. Weren't I a vampire, this ice would be eating away at my flesh. Any common mortal would be twisting in pain. Or trying to. But that wasn't about her. It was about the mystery man. He had taken control of the situation, and was now dictating the rules of it as it unfolded.

One of the vampires already lay dead on the ground. It was the female one who hadn't spoken. Serana wasn't able to understand what exactly had come to pass, but she saw rather clearly that her kin was on the ground, cut down by a longsword's slash. The blade was by the figure's side, blazing weakly. The vampire's blood coated it, and it was evaporating because of the intense heat. She didn't remember having seen a fire enchantment imbuing the weapon, but there wasn't any time to think about that. If she wanted to have any chances of following the struggle, she had to assume as true everything she saw. Besides, there wasn't much else she could do anyway. With everything he knew of him, she could take for granted that he knew the ice wouldn't kill her. The figure, for unknown reasons, had chosen to keep her away from danger. Or avoid me stabbing him in the back… she thought, and a grip stronger than the frost trapping her seized her heart. I would never have done that… But he still prevented it from happening. I didn't think I had a choice in this, but he did.

The figure backed away from the dead vampire, creating some space between him and the two remaining enemies. His left hand slowly wrapped around the grip of the longsword just above the right one while he lowered the tip of the weapon, pointing it at his adversaries. The vampires stayed at a safe distance from him, casting repeated glances at their fallen companion. The bald one was groaning, his teeth coming out of his mouth. Nothing they could do managed to scare the figure, who kept his distance and adjusted to every movement they made, always keeping the same distance from the two foes. He wasn't giving them a chance to catch him together. They were two against one and they were probably stronger and faster, but after the death of one of them they seemed to respect his capability to pull off such a swift kill twice again.

The bald vampire growled. 'You should never have come here,' he hissed. 'This is our affair and it should be solved among us. You and your friends won't be able to stop the Lord, for his plans encompass way more than you could ever imagine.'

'If he has plans, tell me,' replied the figure, coldly and provokingly. 'I've struck down your friend. You'll fall any moment now. I'm stronger than you think.' The figure eyed the two enemies trying to surround him and he stepped to the side, resuming the positioning. 'It could be useful to have me as an ally. But first, you tell me what your Lord's plans are. I might agree with them and help you willingly.'

The vampire laughed hoarsely. 'A mortal won't agree to Lord Harkon's plan. They'll bring our supreme kind to the greatness they deserve, and there won't be any room left for you, mortals. My master's plans are of no interest to you.'

'They are. But he hasn't told you, has he?' The figure's voice assumed a slight wry tone. He had seen past that laughter, as had Serana herself. She new her father's court. Apparently they hadn't changed during the years. That bald man she didn't know, but he didn't behave differently from the others. When confronted with the truth, he seemed to shake a little. 'The Lord hasn't presented his great vision to you,' continued the mystery man, rephrasing and relentlessly exploiting that weak spot. 'You're not the favorite after all, it seems. But this changes nothing.' He stepped ahead, bringing the grip of the longsword closer to his chest. 'Your plans obviously involved the Elder Scroll, which is in my possession. Everything else is meaningless. Your living death ends here.'

The figure brought all his weight on the forward leg and dashed forward. His hands rose and the blade followed their movements, its tip aiming at the throat of the bald vampire. The movement had been fast and unpredictable, but it was a vampire he was up against. The man was quick enough to react thanks to his unnatural reflexes, but the strike from above he tried to deliver didn't look effective from the start. Serana didn't know a lot about sword fighting, but she knew the basics. The figure had put the weapon in a way that protected him from strikes such as his enemy's one.

Everything went down as fairly predictable. The vampire's blade hit the elaborate crossguard of the adversary's sword and managed to at least spoil the figure's aim and deviate the strike, which would had otherwise been fatal. The longsword shook in its trajectory and slashed the shoulder, just beside the neck. If unhindered, it would have pierced right through the throat.

A scream came from the vampire as the figure retracted his blade and leapt back. The blade was coated in even more blood, but this time the sword hadn't burned. There's something up with that enchantment, she thought. That told her two things. First and foremost, that blade wasn't only a masterfully crafted item but also one containing a very powerful and possibly very complex magical contraption. Second, if he had ignited the sword before and he hadn't done that now, it could have meant he was, in a way, aiming to miss. Despite the strike looking so on point, he calculated to not be fatal. That same strike to the shoulder with flames on the weapon would have probably killed the bald man, but he hadn't done it. And, as everything seemed to go with that individual, he had had a very good reason to keep him alive and only injured. As of now, the vampire was gripping his wound with an unnecessary strength and making even more blood flow out of it. The substance was quite light colored. They have fed recently, Serana was able to tell.

The other vampire, the woman, was now on the mystery man. She had a spiked mace, a weapon Serana remembered from her childhood. It was a popular weapon design when she was locked away. She could presume that club was that old and that there was someone maintaining them. The vampire swung the weapon in a way that was making the figure backtrack, though in a very controlled way. One foot after the other, but he spent more time with his left foot forward. He ducked the strikes, keeping the blade very close to his shoulder. There were moments when he rested the weapon on the left pauldron. In any other scenario, that would have threatened the enemy, but the vampire didn't see to care or even notice. She swung once, twice and three times. 'Die, mortal!'

Serana understood that, as always, the figure had a plan.

The mace swopped down. The mystery man dodged readily, and the strike missed him by a hair. His fingers opened slightly, signaling the beginning of an attack. He moved the wrists in one, sudden strike that drew a downward slash and then he brought the blade to the right side, changing up the guard and looking for another opportunity. The vampire moved her weapon around, trying to keep track of his movements and restraining from blindly attacking at the same time. The figure slashed rightwards, making her dodge and back off. The other vampire was slowly rising again and his grip on his sword looked strong enough. Serana could see the mystery man casting occasional glances over to his other enemy.

The female vampire's mace traced another sweep, and once again he evaded. The figure started a move. An extremely fast move. Serana had troubles keeping up. The sword seemed to vanish because of the speed at which it was being whirled at. The only way to keep track of the flurry of hits was to pay attention to the moments when it reached the target. The blade hit once on the shaft of the mace. The steely shadow disappeared again. The figure moved his arms and hands again, making it twirl. A flat hit reached the shoulder of the woman, throwing her off balance. She raised her head, and Serana focused for a moment on her groan. And just like her, she ignored the last hit.

There was a hard and then a softer sound. The figure's blade was aimed at the ground, the pommel closer to his right side and the tip pointing left. Near it lied an object. It was a human forearm. With still the hand and the vambrace attached. Serana's gaze shot up at the woman's arm, which had been cut at the height of the elbow. The severed flesh was smooth, ironically. The cut had been incredibly clean and had hacked through the thin protection with no problems. Blood was gushing from the stump.

The vampire gave off a deafening scream. Her fingers opened and the mace dropped to the ground, clanging as it repeatedly bounced off the stairs. The woman's face contracted, took on an expression that wasn't human anymore. The bared teeth were more like an animal's as it defended its life and the way the arms twitched resembled the motions of a Hagraven. With another scream, this time of rage, she slashed with her hands at the figure, trying to reach him with her talon-like nails. The mystery man stepped back and pointed the sword in her direction.

The vampire did something he clearly wasn't expecting. She closed her arms on the weapon, as if embracing it. She's completely frenzied, thought Serana. She tried to kick the ice and move, but the cage was still there, still inescapable. She would have liked to bare her teeth too. If only he knew how much I'd like to get out of here and help him… she thought, feeling a mixture of tenderness and blind rage flowing freely inside her. She couldn't do anything. She couldn't even control her own emotions. There was something about being physically inert that affected her reasoning too. As of now, she could only watch as the vampire basically speared herself on the sword. It would kill her, but it was causing some collateral damage, and the figure had noticed it. The bald vampire was now standing and coming for him from the side. With the sword trapped in the suicidal embrace, the mystery man couldn't defend himself with it.

One of his hands let go of the longsword. Serana followed it, observing where he was going to grab. The fingers moved nimbly down the armor and reached the belt, gripping the handle of the dagger and pulling it up without looking. He twirled it, changing the grasp and holding the tip in the vampire's direction. She was unable to guess if the bald man simply didn't see it or if he willingly ignored it, but he ended his charge by impaling himself on the short blade, much like the woman had done. Why did he do that? she wondered, but then noticed something. Curses… He has both hands occupied and can't react without dropping his weapons. They have another weapon. Please… No.

The bald vampire pushed himself nearer to the figure lunging his hands on his head. His left one gripped the mystery man's hood and pulled it away from his head while the other clenched around his throat. A wave of long, wavy, coal black hair fell down on the figure's back as soon as the hood was taken off. He was holding the arm gripping the dagger still, despite the desperate situation, and was still acting lucidly and calmly, but there was little left to do from what she could tell. The vampire thrust his head forward and snapped his jaws, closing his teeth on the enemy's throat.

Funny. She expected the figure to scream or shriek. She almost hoped he would lose his calm in a situation like that. But he didn't. Only a deep, raspy growl escaped his throat as the vampire drank from him. The woman, on the other side, backed away. The blade had penetrated her plate and a large wound marked her chest. Nevertheless, she wasn't a danger anymore. Not that it mattered, because the bald man was still stuck to the mystery man like a leech on its prey. The hand of the figure was circling, carving deep wound with the dagger, but the vampire wasn't backing off. Serana felt a strong sensation rushing through her body, from the belly to the head. Is this it? Will he die like that?

She wanted to look away. Bring her gaze far from that scene. However, just as she was surrendering, something else happened. The bald vampire was shaken by a powerful shudder, his knees bent slightly and his hands lost the grasp on what they were holding. He retracted his mouth from the figure's throat with a sudden movement before quaking again. He had his mouth full and his jaws contracted. A fit of cough got the better of him, and when his mouth opened all the blood he had ingested poured on the floor. The sound he produced was dry and horrific, a groan mixed with hisses of pain.

Serana was stunned. What's going on? What in blazes is happening? She tried to remember something, anything that had that effect. She wasn't even sure what exactly was happening. How did that even happen? He doesn't breathe, so even if some blood has gotten into the lungs it shouldn't be an issue. Not knowing anything about the figure, there was little she could deduce. It could have been his race, a spell, a mutation in his life substance, the dagger that had pierced the esophagus and caused the body to throw the liquid out in any way possible. She couldn't be too sure of anything. It wasn't a poison, since vampire are immune to them. That was just it. A reaction of that kind would happen only if something is actively destroying the body.

Another fit of cough made the vampire quiver. He put his feet back and tumbled away from the figure, in the general direction of the female vampire. Blood continued to drip from his mouth, as if he was unable to swallow it. The large, gaping wound on his shoulder bled profusely, but he didn't seem to have the strength to reach for it with his hands. All he could do was stare at the figure with his eyes, burning with hunger and with a primal fear that Serana knew all too well. It was the ice. She had named it thus, but she knew it was common to all vampires she knew of. It's the fear an animal might have. When their rational side gives way to instinct, their life systems readjust and rational fear and anxiety are eliminated, but that sort of panic rises. In situations like that, it's the only thing keeping the thirst at bay. Right now, it was overpowering the bald man's mind.

'Yol Toor Shul!'

The air was shredded and the ground quaked. That magic again. It caught her by surprise, because she was looking away from the figure. The same powerful tremor in the fabric of reality and the same, complete absence of tears in Aetherius that made it so incomprehensible. It was the third time she witnessed it being used in a relatively short amount of time, but it didn't stun her less because of that. The figure, while the vampire reeled back, had put on his hood again as well as he could. The right side was lowered significantly more than the other one. Even that looked deliberate, since it was the angle at which Serana saw him. He was hiding his face from her, it seemed. The piece of flowing, smooth and bloodstained cloth hid his face and more importantly his mouth, where that magic seemed to originate.

Red-hot flames formed from naught and were blown forward. The blazing tempest surged violently in the air and against the ground, heating the rock until it became incandescent. She was completely dazzled at the sight of the fire raging onward, blustering away the dust and burning everything with an unforeseen ferocity. It was strange, but those flames looked so alive. They were hungry, ravenous. They searched something to cage and in their igneous coils. The scorching flood reached the vampires and as it touched them it disintegrated them instantly, dissolving their armor and dead flesh into ashes in one, terrifying wave of unconceivable power.

The firestorm gushed across the hall, hurling their embers everywhere and consigning them to oblivion.

The roar of the flames gave way to the crackling of the fire. There were little things, small patches of moos, little plants and remains which had caught the edge of the conflagration and caught fire without being destroyed by it. They burned slowly, like the wick of a candle, the flame swaying barely in the still air of the cavern. The stone struck by the firestorm was slowly cooling, its surface drifting from an intense shade of red to a more normal, greyish color. Everything around had been heated, and not everything was able to disperse the heat.

One of those things was Serana's ice cage, which was cracking and thawing. There was water flowing down in front of her. Finally… She pushed with her arms and legs as strong as she could. She felt her boot sink slightly into the frost. Her hands managed to open a slim opening in the barrier. She pushed another time, this once synchronizing the movements. A long fissure opened with a snap and she managed to fit her hands into it and push to the sides. Her wounded fingers and her broken, bloody nails hurt as she pressed, but she endured. She had endured far worse. She ripped the fissure open and some air came inside. She head-butted the frost, cracking it and finally breaking the cage apart.

As it collapsed to the ground, the ice immediately started melting. The power keeping its temperature low enough to prevent thawing had ceased to work. She didn't give it too much attention and rolled on the side to get out of the pool of water that was rapidly forming on the ground. Outside the ice prison, the heat was unbearable. The air was hot and completely dry. The cloth parts of the armor, drenched in water, were steaming almost imperceivably. The water beneath her was dyed red when she rose her head. She touched her forehead with her hand and then brought it to in front of her eyes. It was bloodied. Her eyebrow was bleeding. She didn't care. Putting a fist on the ground, she rose to her knees and raised her head. She looked around, searching for the figure.

The mystery man was a few paces away from her, resting on his back and leaning on the shoulder opposite to the bitten side of his neck. He had a hand close to his mouth, but she couldn't guess why. The shoulder that wasn't on the ground rose and lowered in correspondence to his deep, hoarse breaths. He moved his hand away from his face and let it fall on the ground limply. After the clang on the armor hitting the ground, she heard the sound of glass breaking and saw small splinters scattering everywhere. A tiny bottle. He drank a potion, probably. The arms too began rising and dropping at the rhythm of his breathing. He turned his face to the ceiling and whispered something indistinct.

Serana rose to her feet and ran over to him, crouching and holding his head with her hand. The light came from a lower point of the room, and so his face wasn't visible even then, despite her being so close to him. 'You're fine,' she said, shifting the hood just enough to glimpse at the wound on his neck. It was a bad injury. The vampire had ripped his teeth out of him and left gaping slashed, but he looked all right. Whatever he had drank had probably put the blood loss under check. The wound almost distracted her from the figure's skin. It was ashen, colorless. She looked at the black shadow hiding his face. 'You're alive.'

'I suppose…' he muttered. He moved his hand over to his head and moved hers away, firmly but still gently. 'Listen,' he said, in between difficult breaths, 'I won't die. But, if it happens, get out of this place and go North. You'll find a road. Go East, and you'll find a settlement. Once there, ask for Fort Dawnguard and go there. Tell them Azrael has sent you, and they'll understand. They'll bring you to your father. Clear?'

'Yes, but… Who will I find—'

'No questions now…' he said. 'If you want to help me, carry me outside and let me rest. I'll bring you to your father. Or just stab me and end me.' A growl of pain escaped his throat and his whole body lost its tension. 'Laat los Pruzaan.'

He probably closed his eyes, but she couldn't tell. He took a last, deep breath before his body lost every sign of wakefulness.