Chapter XIV: Ender of Worlds

The Red Dragon waved his enormous, opaque wings forwards, slowing down his advance. The flapping sound filled the Dragonborn's ears for a short moment. He glanced down at the ground, where the mighty gusts blew down, raising the shallow stratum of fresh snow that had fallen in the last few days. The flakes rose in the flurry, cast into the air and shining brightly in the light of the Sun. Some of them, risen by only a few inches, fell back on the thick, impenetrable snow field that covered the top of the Throat of the World. The Sun couldn't melt them before they touched the ground. Even its heat was insignificant in comparison with the cold that lingered at those heights.

Azrael averted his gaze, which could see little else than the endless expanse of the sky. He had never had the need for the Red Dragon to carry him anywhere since heading for Skuldafn. Exactly as the Dovah had told him, he had been mesmerized by how different the world looked from above. Its colors, its shapes, they way it fit all together in ways that he had only imagined or mentally reconstructed in his mind. It had all lied before him, in its greatness and true essence. Nothing about that journey had been even remotely ordinary, but it had all began with that flight. It had been the first of many things which had changed him forever. A very sentimental definition, but not utterly untrue. The idea of instant change was for some reason alluring to mortals, even to him. The truth, or what went the closest to the truth, was that every change takes place in a long span of time. People who are unaware only recognize it once the whole process has gone down.

Back then, the vista only reinforced the impact the flight had had on him. It had been unexpected, the process had been incredibly fast. He had since then longed to return there and see Nirn from above, but he knew that it was a caprice he shouldn't have indulged. His disrespect for many things that belonged to the world below allowed him to do certain things that many wouldn't dream to do. However, there was something immensely different about the Dragons and the sky they inhabited. He had never considered any one thing sacred and sometimes doubted his own knowledge of that concept, but if there was something he indeed considered hallowed, it was his brethren's realm. He knew he would only access it again when the time called for it. He hadn't taken that decision lightly, despite having made it quickly. That's a difference I've learned after a long time.

And yet, in spite of the time he had yearningly waited to fly into the skies, he now felt unable to appreciate such beauty. His attention was invariably drawn inwards, just as had happened in the last two weeks. The deep green of the firs made him think of certain things while emerald-colored grasses, still striped with white by the snow snow, sent his thoughts somewhere else entirely. It's as if the whole world is just a reflection of my mind. The dark grey of the granite walls and gorges of the Throat of the World together with its diaphanous glaciers had cast him back to the strength and control that he had lost, making the thought obsessive and incessant. He had thought about it already, more than he should have, but since the feelings wasn't gone he followed the same pattern once again. He felt a myriad of things because of this, and a lot of them were directed towards himself, but knew he had to let them flow. If I tried to resist every single one of them, I would have succumbed to madness. He didn't really have a choice. And having no choices means having no power.

Underneath him, the Red Dragon descended unhurriedly. The powerful whirlwinds caused by his wings waving in the effort slow down their descent continued to launch the snow into the air. The thin crystals rose even beyond the wings and fell down near him, on the back of the Dragon. The cold air seeped in his armor, vastly neutralized by the enchanted gambeson. However, to be fair, the cold has been the last of my problems since I've been turned. It's of very little comfort, but that doesn't change the facts. He didn't mind the cold anymore, and sometimes he completely failed to notice the lack of any heat coming from his body.

The gusts of air stopped as the Dragon landed on its rear legs. Azrael grasped the spikes coming out of the Dragon's back more firmly, hearing the sound of the talons reaching down to the ground, producing a sharp scratching sound. Odahviing's claws had scratched the ice underneath the fresh snow. Azrael noticed him lowering his head and reading to stop completely by extending his wings gradually.

And here we are. The Dragonborn swept his gaze around him as the Dragon withdrew his wings, positioning them on his sides and leaning on them, still scratching the ice with his claws and stabilizing. Azrael let go of the spikes and looked for a good spot to jump down to. He didn't keep looking too long, mainly because it was largely unnecessary. The top of the Throat of the World was unchanged since the last time he had been up there. Nothing about that place, not counting the specific amount of snow covering it, seemed to ever change. The very peak of the mountain, roughly a thirty ells above them, was hard to look at because of the light it reflected. The plateau where they had landed was also the same as always. It was the closest thing a mortal could see that resembled eternity.

Odahviing shook his head sideways, shaking the snow off his head. He brought his folded left wing backwards, which would allow Azrael to get down safely. He clasped the bony spikes on the Dragon's back with his hands once again and rose to his knees. He searched for a place where he could jump off. The junction between the neck and the rest of the body is the lowest point. As he moved his first steps, crouching on the Dragon's back, he smelt the fresh, pure air of the mountains, which always carried a scent he had trouble recognizing. This once it feels different, though. He could barely smell anything, in fact. He gripped the spike nearest to the spot where he could get off and turned around, lowering himself down until he heard the soles of his boots touching the snow, at which point he let go and landed. Very softly too. The thoughts about his stifled sense of smell were sharply replaced by others. Lowering myself with all this caution was unnecessary, he thought. I'm a lot lighter now than I used to be. He had noticed it for the first time in the crypt, when he had first had the later confirmed suspicion that Serana would be very easy to carry. A body without water loses much of its weight. That's also probably the reason why Vampire Lords can fly, he mused, raising a hand in front of his eyes to cover them from the light reflected by the snow and turning around.

In front of his there was a Nordic Word Wall. The sight of it was very familiar. That semi-circular piece of architecture stood on the western rim of the mountain. The left half had been torn down a long time ago, while the right portion had remained standing. The metal decoration in the center had endured the test of time, but the iron was chipped and covered with rust. I guess it still serves its purpose, however. And that was true enough. The runes of the words in Dovahzul on the inside were still clearly carved in the stone, which was also damaged, but not ruined, and the Words could still be read after all that time. Azrael had read them once, the first time he had encountered Paarthurnax, who had used that wall as his perch for as long as he could remember.

And speaking of the Old One. Paarthurnax was atop the destroyed part of the wall, as always. The barbed chin was slightly raised, the head still and its deep eyes looking intently at the Dovahkiin and the Red Dragon as they landed. Azrael looked back at him, not moving forward yet and observing the Dragon from the jaws to the tip of the tail. The spiky arches above the eyes and the long black horns which ended his flat forehead were reminiscent of his elder brother, but aside from that there wasn't much else that was similar. The scales, from the thicker of the back to the thinner ones on the abdomen, were bone white. The wings were folded and resting on the wall. Just as the place itself, he was the same as ever. There was just the bite marks on his neck, the scars that Alduin had left him, that reminded of the event that had transpired.

Azrael shifted his gaze and locked eyes with the Dragon. The gaze of his deep, golden eyes wandered over the Dragonborn's entire figure, as if searching. The semblance of curiosity he showed was different from its mortal counterpart, and combined the complete lack of anything that could resemble etiquette or a mortal's sense of modesty it made for an intense and penetrating gaze. 'Dovahkiin, Thuri,' he said, peering in the Dragonborn's eyes intently.

Azrael gave a short, slight bow of his head, hiding his own eyes from the Dragon's stare for a short moment. 'Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, Secondborn.'

More scratching noises came from behind him. Odahviing's claws scratching the ice once again, repeatedly. He cast a glance back to see, but he could guess that the Red Dragon was climbing on top of the boulder just above they spot where he landed. The talons of his wing were clutched firmly on the rock and he was using that hinge to drag himself upwards. Azrael turned his head around once again, his mind so caught up in its own muddles that he barely heard the rest of the noises. Paying attention to anything which was new and not utterly clear was a very useful, if not essential, habit of his. However, it quickly lost its grip on his reactions once all its cues had either ended or weren't relevant anymore. Besides, he could anticipate what the next sounds would have been. Some more scratches would have been followed by a final, longer sound of the Dragon finally pulling himself up on the rock. Odahviing already knew everything, which was why he had taken a comfortable place on top of the boulder. He knew he'd be standing there a while.

The Dragonborn's attention turned once again on Paarthurnax, and now that he had to repeat for the second time in less than an hour what he had already told the Red Dragon he felt overwhelmed. Now that he had to explain himself the reason for him being there, it all seemed all a mistake. I could just tell Odahviing to bring me back and tell him not to utter a word to Paarthurnax. He wouldn't dare betray me. That thought was just one of those who were sneaking in his mind, telling him to go back and do things his own way, like he had always chosen to do. Being here is a mistake.

For the first time in what he could remember, he was alone against his own mind. Usually it had been himself, an entity which he had always thought to be freely interchangeable with his mind, against his body or, more rarely, against his feelings. Now it was himself against his own mind. Which means… he thought, and this time it was a different thought, a higher version of thinking, that I'm not my mind. I'm something else. The revelation was as curious as it was dreading. Being something separate from his mind meant being nothing at all, pretty much.

He powered through his own antagonistic, lower thoughts and raised his gaze into the golden eyes of the Old One. 'Aak Zu'u Yak,' he said. The thing he most wanted in that moment was to be able to exhale in correspondence to his words, but he wasn't able. 'I seek your help in a matter that has already threatened me and the world around me.'

Paarthurnax lowered his head every so slightly and brought his gaze away for a moment, just as Azrael had done in the beginning. 'Thuri, Dovahkiin. I am at your service.' The Dragon spoke slowly, his voice rough and cavernous, echoing inside his own abdomen before emerging from his throat. 'Of what Kod… Of what usage can I be?'

The Dragonborn could refrain from speaking entirely. He had discussed this at length, by draconic standards, with Odahviing. He had no idea what exactly was happening to him and he couldn't think of anything that could frame it in a way that would be fully understandable to the Dragons. However, the Red Dragon had helped him. His ever-faithful second in command had advised him before, and now he spoke in his stead. From behind him, he heard his deeper, suffocated voice. 'Jun,' he said, 'Krif Vokun Ko.'

Even the initial, shallow understanding Azrael had of the Words piqued his curiosity and stirred strange feelings inside him. That's interesting… The Dragonborn had trouble understanding the essence of what the Dragon had just said. He had referred to him as King, which still managed to evoke stronger emotions in him than most of the things that were left for him in the world. The banal translation for the phrase that followed would be that he was fighting against the darkness inside. But it was much more deep and complicated than that. Krif didn't just mean fight, it was more specifically referred to a battle to the death, which was meticulously appropriate for what he had gone through. Ko was simpler, but Vokun wasn't. It was a darkness that didn't just mean the absence of light, but also a shadow that devours and swallows everything in its way. It was associated with the mortal concept of doom and, sometimes, evil. If he had chosen for himself, he would have picked the similar Word Vulom, a darkness that is associated with loss of hope. Neither of the two was perfectly accurate, but it mirrored their point of view. It's clear that what I see as something associated with despair, they see something associated with evil.

Once he had scrutinized the phrase for long enough, he looked once again at Paarthurnax, whose gaze was now strangely absent, not focused on either him or Odahviing. The Secondborn's jaws were moving slowly, in a motion that Azrael had never seen him execute before. A feeling, lone and without any clear origin, simmered to the surface of his consciousness. It was merely an intuition, or perhaps a premonition. Sadness. The thought was swept away by the sound of the wind, which grabbed all of his undirected attention. It was howling softly, raising small, white clouds on the edge of the mountain on which it blew, carrying the small crystals towards the North. The flakes would be carried by the breeze and fall somewhere in the other parts of Skyrim. Maybe one of them will make it to Castle Volkihar.

A scratching sound brought him back. His sight ceased shimmering and focused accurately on the Old One, specifically on his grim gaze. Now, his previous intuition seemed more solid than before. The Dragon looked the draconic equivalent of troubled. 'Aaz Hah So,' he whispered. 'What would you have me do?'

Azrael took note of what he had said to be dissected immediately afterwards. He, as always, pushed back the inevitable feelings that came with those thoughts and regained his self-control. He knew what to answer. It was probably the part of the conversation he had imagined in more vivid detail. 'Bel Fin Zeymah,' he muttered, completely expressionless. He was amazed himself at the lack of life he had conveyed. He had overcompensated for the intensity of his fear. 'Beckon our kin, so they can judge me.'

There was a deeper understanding in the inhuman gaze of the Dragon than Azrael had seen in the eyes of any mortal in his entire lifespan. He had always been an outcast, someone who shared goals and perspectives with a very low number of people, if any, but it was only when his lonesomeness was reminded to him that he felt it. Paarthurnax slowly raised his neck, arching it to the sky slowly and gradually, the fang marks showing clearly on his neck. That very brief moment, most likely a one-way exchange, had shaken a congealed part of his deeper emotions. He never felt lonely and he never suffered because of that, but he had long lacked someone whom he could truly understand. Was that because of his melded, mixed soul? I don't know. I can't know. It could have just been that he was like that because of his shared soul, or that such a soul had been given to him because of that trait, or maybe it was something utterly incidental that didn't have any specific meaning in the Vennesetiid, the Currents of Time, which he had once believed to be destiny itself.

The Secondborn looked to the sky for a moment longer. The Dragonborn waited, and while he did he also reflected on what he had just been told. The Old One had said something that couldn't be mistaken for anything else, not in the Dovahzul. Aaz Hah So. He had expressed his sympathies, he had told him that he knew what was plaguing him and he was immensely sorry for it. Even in the face of that, he still had trusted him and had acted according to his command. The mere fact that such a thing had been said confirmed what he had thought. Maybe all that he had gone through was indeed relevant and related to the Dragons and everything that had gone down while he was among them. The near future seemed to hold more answered than it had in a long while. Too long.

Paarthurnax's straightened his neck and opened his mouth. 'Dov!' The scream tore Azrael away from the few thoughts still around, mostly because of the quake that traveled down his spine. The ground beneath him had seemed to shake and the air carried the sound as if it had become part of the sky itself. It rang loudly as it crashed against the mountain and the energy it irradiated was immense yet impalpable. Azrael felt himself being called forth and reacting. Calling all Dragonkin meant calling him, too. The one who originally killed them. The echo hadn't even began to die as the Dragon spoke again. 'Dovrahkren Bel Hi!'

The Godsplitter summons you… Azrael translated silently, clenching his right hand into a fist and paying close attention to the sound made the sharp end of the gauntlet's fingers grazing the palm. The tension, incapable of dispersing in any other way, was taking the shape of strong tremors in his limbs. Now I either live or die. By someone else's verdict. Buried underneath endless layers of hazy thoughts, confused emotions and vibrant sensations arose a strange feeling of satisfaction. Maybe, just maybe, I have broken free. This is what Harkon never expected me to do. This is what Alduin never did. He had the unexplainable feeling of finding himself standing there without knowing why. But someway, somehow, he knew he was in the right place. Possibly, at the right time too.

Meanwhile, they had to wait. Not all Dragons would summon the call, but those who did could probably be not too far away at that time. Many of them were probably resting near their burial mounds or on their own lofty mountaintop. From the Throat of the World, the nests of the more ancient and revered among the Dov could be seen. They could be seen themselves when flying around them as they circled in the sky. Some did it for fun, others to scare away passing travelers, while others did it to flee away from danger. There were still dangerous things around Skyrim for a Dragon.

Azrael's thoughts went on a tangent, and he didn't mind. He sometimes felt like something in the complex architecture of his consciousness had yet to understand he was the leader, if it could be called that, of the Dragons. Before that, he had been their hunter and now he was their protector. One year had passed since their reappearance, more or less, and all sorts of methods had been employed to take them down. Very few of them ever worked and, to the Dragonborn's knowledge, none worked more than once. Still, it was best for them to be careful, and he was the one reminding them of that and telling them how to avoid contact with ill-intentioned Joor. Mortals. He was the one that had persuaded the Dragons to be peaceful towards them, right on the day he had defeated the World Eater and had become their lord. Alongside Paarthurnax, he had managed to make them agree to never hurt anyone unless it was to protect themselves. The strength of their word had been tested more than once in those few months, but not one of his subjects had defied him. A Dragon's word of honor is a lot more valuable than a mortal's, he had realized. They were cunning and intelligent creatures, but in their dealings they were sincere and honor-bound to the point of looking naive, by mortal standards. That was one of the reasons why he trusted that some of them would come, and that they would pass their judgment impartially.

Joor. He thought about that Word for a moment. The relation between the vampires and the Dragons as is intense as it is non-existing. His gaze sharpened, and he found himself still looking towards the Old One. I wonder if he noticed that I've been turned. Maybe it doesn't even matter to them. That in itself would have been something interesting to consider. All Dragons are immortal, and that quality had been passed to him and was perpetuated thanks to his merged soul. What made a Dragonborn special was exactly the coexistence of mortal and immortal in his very lifeblood and soul. What he had become now was something strange. He was a being who possessed an immortal soul and an immortal body, but they were not the same thing. Likewise that was never meant to be. There was no way to know how his brethren would acknowledge it, if they even would. Paarthurnax had looked unfazed by the change of color of his eyes, but that meant ever so little.

A new, distant pounding of wings made him turn around. He could hear it clearly if he paid close attention. There's two there. Three actually, he counted, making out the shapes with some difficulty due to the light of the Sun. Two were coming from the North, and yet another one from the West. More would come, but they were farther away and not as strong. Even at that distance, he recognized at least two of them. A king knows his subjects. Even among mortals, if to a degree. And even among mortals, a king does know his most important subjects, such as those who were approaching.

Fodaantuz came from Mount Anthor. The Blade of Frosty Doom. Azrael knew him very well. That ancient member of Dragon-kind had been Alduin's trusted general for a time, and had been among the first to be resurrected. He had ever since remained in the mountains, awaiting further commands from his lord. The day had never come, and during the wait he had terrorized the nearby lands indiscriminately. Long fangs emerged from his jaws and thick horns ran along his neck. The frame, relatively small for a Dragon of that age, was marked by light blue traces that intertwined with the pale violet of his head and back scales. His breath, of the coldest frost, had been the dread of many Skyrim merchants and even more members of his own kin, in the days of yore. After Alduin's defeat, he had yielded gracefully and had been one of the last to leave the circle after the decision. He was revered as wise and cunning. Odahviing had told him his story, along with some sage advice: always consider his counsel.

Nahmuldinok was the one that came from the West. The Wrathful Strength of Death. If Fodaantuz was the sage one, then he was the berserk. A thick ridge of bones encircled the burning, sizzling eyes of one of Alduin's bodyguards, one of the fiercest fighters among all the Dov. His deep orange scales were stained with black in multiple parts of his form, especially on the abdomen, and the wings bore the longest claws among the Dragons. He had no real home and ventured across the land, punishing trespassers. He was a born hunter and adored killing, which made his self-restraint in respecting the Dragonborn's peace that much more important. 'Mey Aal ni Mindok,' Odahviing had told him. 'It would be most foolish to ignore his might.' But unlike many strong mortals Azrael had encountered, Nahmuldinok valued his own strength enough to not see any shame in submitting it a higher authority.

The third, the one coming from the North along with Fodaantuz, was Vulahvonun. 'Dovahkiin, Thuri!' he roared, bending to the left and tracing a wide circle above them in his flight, preparing to land in the vicinity. The Obscure Hidden Hunter. He was an agile one, a scout and a very nimble fighter. Him and the Dragonborn had fought once when they were still enemies. I even won that fight. The Dragonborn, however, had never been able to finish off the weakened enemy as he flew away swiftly, avoiding all of his arrows.

'Dovrahkren.' It was Odahviing's voice, from behind him. Azrael turned around, crossing eyes with the Dragon and spotting a grim shade in his pale, red-marked eyes. 'Pruzah Bo Gut. It would be wise of you to leave your Kendov… Your subjects, to discuss.'

In the azure sky, more Dragons were coming.

First the tremor, which shook his shoulders and almost made his neck hurt. Then the sound, loud enough to be partially heard as a muffled hiss. Somehow the vibration seemed to be still lingering. The snow around him was slightly shifted and hewn, as if touched by the sound as well. Only after a moment Azrael realized that the quake and the sound hadn't followed one another, but were the same thing. A Dragon's roar? he thought, that being the only thing he could associate something so strong to. The anatomy of the blare was the one of a thunder, but there weren't any clouds in the sky.

Bringing some attention away from the identification of the sound, he detected his body's reaction all at once. The hand had so automatically risen from his lap and darted towards his shoulder that he had barely noticed it, while the other was already dug in the snow, pressing against the ice underneath and providing a great pivot in case he would need to rise abruptly. His legs were tensed and ready to straighten at any follow-up sign of danger. Aside from these normal ones, he could clearly tell the ones tied to the vampiric side of his reactions. His eyes felt heated, sparkling, and the surface of his body was experiencing a heightened sense of touch. The same thing was happening to his teeth, as before, which felt the cold more accurately than anything. Overall, the sense of agitation was very strong.

All right, calm down… he thought, employing the same scornful tone he sometimes reserved for other to himself, something that had started happening only recently. Focus. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, in the direction of the Velothi Mountains. Beyond them lies my old home. Despite that being the first thing he could think of while looking at them, he had spent a very short amount of time thinking about it. Nothing about his absorption in his own thoughts had changed. As had happened during the flight, every element of the landscape immediately sent him back to a feeling that had no image in his own mind. He realized only then that he had been distracted again. Fine, fine, but what's happening now?

He tried to recall anything that might have been of use. During the time that had passed, he heard the Dragons at intervals. Sometimes he did and even tried to grasp everything that they were saying, and at others he couldn't have told if they were silent or not. The discussion had been getting more heated as time went by. He couldn't tell exactly how much had passed. I haven't looked at the Sun when we arrived here, and there's no other way to guess. Although… The light was still strong and partially hidden behind the peak, which meant it was still in the southern part of the sky. It was shortly after noon, if that was the case. As little as half and hour had passed, or maybe more. Regardless, since the second half of that time had ensued, the roars had been getting louder and some short gushes of fire and ice had been spewed out. So that was a roar indeed. It was different, though. This once it's probably best to check.

He leaned on his right arm and rose to his feet, aided by the low weight of his body and the strength brimming in his muscles. I almost forget about it every time I stop moving. He was moving hurriedly, but the reflexes tied to the mindset of fighting were playing out as per usual. His right arm checked if the potions were in place, his left if belt and bandoliers were well fixed and if the cloak was tied correctly around his neck. Lastly, if both of his weapons could be pulled out within fractions of the following second.

'Ruth Strun Bah!' The sound came from behind as he was still turning around. Azrael he recognized the voice nonetheless. It was the same Dragon that had screamed a moment before, and the meaning of the Words he spoke mirrored the fury that had echoed in his previous roar. 'Faaz Nah!'

'Kren sosaal!'

Azrael recognized that second voice too, but the information remained tucked away somewhere else in his mind. He had now turned fully, and the first set of information he wanted to scrutinize was the once coming from his eyes. The infinite details that crammed his field of vision went almost unnoticed, and he focused on the movement, which was all centered in the middle. A Dragon, a young one, with green scales and a large flat tail, had brought his wing forward, signaling a clear threat. He was no doubt the one who had roared before. How bad is it? Claws extended. The rear leg… The talons of one of the rear legs were stuck in the eyes, and would aid a sudden charge forward. Azrael cocked an eyebrow instinctively in an ironic gesture. It's all about to go down.

The adversary of that fiery youngling was none other than Odahviing himself. The little one either has a death wish or really was troubled by what was said. The Red Dragon was taking on a high stance, ready for a defense. His neck was bent to the side, an automatic response in Dragons that anticipated the way they moved their heads when they bit to kill. It's too late, Azrael thought, unable to see a peaceful conclusion to that confrontation. Nothing had happened already, but it was as if it had already.

He glanced up at the other Dragons, because there didn't seem to be anything going on among them. True enough, none of them was moving. That's almost good, under a certain light, he thought, after a short moment of consideration. If no one is meddling, it means that they don't know what side to choose. That might mean that a difficult point has been touched, and possibly a core one. Nothing could change the fact that the two would clash in a matter of moments. Actually… He mused, noticing the green Dragon closing the talons of his rear leg, right now.

The young Dragon had reclined both wings and arched his back, grazing the rock underneath his legs with the end of the talons. Even among the cavernous breathing, it could be heard distinctly. With a brief, sharp movement of the wings he gained the strength to dash forward with enough strength to reach Odahviing, who was not very far from the Word Wall, right under Paarthurnax's shadow. The young one's frame blurred as he darted forward, raising the snow from underneath his legs with the claws. Azrael caught a glimpse of the jaws opening and aiming for the side of the elder Dragon's head.

The great gust caused by the sudden movement of such a large mass blasted Azrael with enough strength to make him recoil. He moved his left foot backward and turned his head around, and even then small flakes of snow reached his throat. He heard a thump and a vicious growl, but waited for the only sound that would mean something. The Red Dragon had probably understood the other one's tactic right as he moved, so he should have known that he was about to be bitten if he didn't move. Any second now… The snap of jaws closing on themselves, together with the sound of fangs grinding together, confirmed his suspicion that Odahviing hadn't been caught off guard.

He turned his head around again now that the fight was more static. He heard a bump, which he quickly identified as the Red Dragon smashing into his adversary as he backed away slightly. He had brought his head out of the young one's alignment and prevented the bite from connecting that way. That's a defensive move, though. How is he going to react? Azrael watched, his interested piqued by his second in command's tactic. Odahviing wasn't the strongest among the Dov, but he was among the most lethal. He was nimble for his size, and he was clever. He would not back down unless he had a very specific reason for doing so, and for the time being the Dragonborn could not see it. I probably could, if had possession of all my mental capabilities, he said to himself bitterly in noticing the chatter going on in the back of his mind even then, but pushed away the thought.

Through some very basic predictions he could guess what was going to happen. There weren't any surprises ahead, from what he could see. The young one, after the impetuous charge, had lost some of his momentum. The tail was flat on the ground and he would need a lot of strength to attack with that, which made it stupid. The only thing he could move reliably was the wing, and as soon as he could he rose his right once and brought it down to the ground where the back of the Red Dragon was.

Another strong gust came from the movement, but this time Azrael had already his foot backwards and endured the rush of air. The impact of the wing's claws on the ground came as a sound muffled by the snow, and as soon as he ripped the talon out of the white entire plates of icy snow were thrown into the air. The Dragonborn hadn't paid attention to Odahviing's precise movements, but he had dodged the strike. That was enough to know. His spike nose was emitting hazes of light-colored vapor, which dispersed quickly as the Dragon bent his head backwards to the side with a deep growl. Oh yes… Azrael said to himself, right as the Red Dragon brought his head in front of him once again. He had the time to move his head away. I've been on the receiving side of that back in Whiterun.

'Yol Toor Shul!'

Azrael didn't see the flames come out of the Red Dragon's jaws, but he saw their scorching coils licking the snow and vaporizing it. A bright shimmering light came from the direction of the Dovah's head. The only thing that was left in his sight was one of the rear legs and the tail of the green Dragon. The flames rushed even that far, spiraling around the scales and enveloping their frames. They burned and vanished moments after, without leaving a single trace in the air, and then more of them came. There was no smoke nor vapor left behind. The fiery flow kept on going, but the rumbling sound of the fire being spewed was getting ever so quiet. That's the clearest sign.

Azrael began to turn his head around again, and as he did he heard a sonorous crash. That I did not foresee. The sound had been echoless and deep, but he had heard it before during the fight. As he looked again, he saw Odahviing very near to his adversary and moving his wing to try and keep him in place. Azrael understood then. It had been the impact between the scales. Now, the rasping sound of Odahviing growling in anger was the strongest reaching his ears.

The Red Dragon withdrew his neck, menacingly opening his maws. The teeth, each of them as long as Azrael's dagger at the very least, blinked in the sunlight. What is he doing? The neck is tense, but the rest of the body isn't. With a quick calculation, he guessed the estimate distance between Odahviing and the green Dragon was lower than the ones the former could reach if he decided to bite. That would be clever, actually. It was hard to say if it was a result of the Red Dragon's tactics or pure combination of events, but the young one was exposed and had very little chances of protecting himself. Azrael couldn't infer anything new before Odahviing lunged and snapped his jaws.

'Fus!'

A tidal wave of snow rose in front of the two fighters and was propelled backwards. The frames of both Dragons disappeared for a moment in the cascade of icy crystals, from which came vicious growls and then a sharper scream. It covered every other sound as the flakes began to deposit, allowing Azrael to glimpse at the scene again. He had his other hypothesis of what had occurred, but he wanted to see to be sure. Just a moment longer. The snow kept falling down, and he believed he could see it clearly enough. The green Dragon was immobile, only his head was moving frantically from left to right. A red frame, what he could see of Odahviing, overlapped with the green one where the latter became thinner, and as yet more crystals fell down to the ground, there were no more doubts left. Odahviing is biting through his neck from the side.

There was a sudden and hard snap, which resounded for a moment in the Dunmer's ears, covering the silence just a little longer. I wonder if I'm only imagining it. Time feels… slower. He wasn't moving himself, and there seemed to be a strange lack of movement around, an impression that lasted but a few instants. The Red Dragon opened his jaws. Azrael detected the head of the green Dragon bending forward imperceptibly, and so did the part of the neck closer to his core, while the fangs of Odahviing almost touched one another. He crossed gazes with the Red Dragon, and there was something new in them. The red lines that marked them were evidently more vivid. The lifeless head of the young one dangled forward momentarily. It swung once. The scales were still stuck and bound by the teeth, but the weight would do its work given the time. It swung twice. The parts closer to the center of Odahviing's maws were splintered. It swung for the third time. The movement was slow and hypnotic, but it fell down as it moved for the fourth time.

The snow gave way and buried the head up to the higher jaw, leaving the vitreous eye emerging just above the layer of white. The small part of the neck attached to it was marked by two deep incisions. They were the signs of the teeth that were not meant to rip away, but to chew. The scales closer to the chewed off piece were split and broken. Odahviing's teeth are intact, incredibly, Azrael noticed, sincerely surprised. He wondered if they were naturally this hard to break or if they got more resistant as they grew older.

On the other side of the Red Dragon's head, the headless carcass had collapsed a moment before. The rear legs, tensed and out of balance, bent and dropped down, buried by the snow. The abdomen, the heavier part, dipped inside the white as well and dragged down the tail, the flat end of which prevented it from plunging below the superficial layer. The neck, the longer part, fell to the side and managed to crack the solid surface of the snow, which submerged in it up to almost half its diameter.

'Vahzah…' Odahviing growled.

Azrael was distracted from what was going on around him, because a silent whisper had began to fill his ears as well as his body. He knew he would not be able to anything that would happen externally in the next few seconds. All the winds that were blowing seemed to gather and blow towards him in unison, while the scales of the young one began to dissolve. He felt shaken in all direction, managing to stand only because the forces pushing him around were equal from all directions. The scales, what might seem to a mortal as little more than organic plates, were softening. The winds carried the torn fragments in currents, long streams of pure energy that shone blue and orange as they came closer to the Dragonborn and enveloped his body. He had to brace strongly when he felt the defeating echo of the green Dragon's fear, felt in the final moments before his demise.

Azrael felt himself shaking, and that once he could testify once again that he was completely captivated by the energy flowing in him to notice anything. He could safely classify the absorption of a brother's soul as one of the moments of highest intensity he could remember. His first kill fell somewhat near, but it was a lonely example. He had also noticed that with every new Dragon he killed, he noticed more things. His first times, only the staggering difference between mortal and draconic thought had seemed apparent, but afterwards he had began to notice so much more. An eternity of knowledge, desire and experience were passed on to him, and although much of it was inaccessible to his mind, he could still feel its presence. He was largely unable to think when receiving all those information, and perhaps it was for the best. He managed to welcome everything without judgment, this way.

However, when thinking came back, he still wasn't keen on making a hasty analysis. This time in particular, he thought, recovering from the overwhelming sensation, I don't mean to judge him in any way. As he had felt the fear of the Dragon right before he died, he had made his decision. He has to live. Merely killing was what I did as a hunter of Dragons. Now he was more. He was their kin, and the one who had been killed was his subject. Speaking strictly in mortal terms. He understood that that young Dovah probably had little appreciation for him, hot-headed he was, but Azrael was not Alduin. He and his brethren had to all walk the same path together, and even this young one would respect the one who had defeated him.

He waited for the senses to come back. The blue and orange shades stopped gleaming in front of him almost instantly, right after the sound and feeling of the winds pushing him around had diminished. The sense of touch crept back all the way to the tip of his fingers, feeling the flawlessly-modeled metal of the gauntlet on both sides. He felt the weight of the armor dragging him down to the ground and the sounds disappeared once by one, only to be replaced by the real sound of the mountain breeze and the rhythmic breathing of the Dov perched on the rocks in front of him. He was back to his normal state, and his eyes hadn't moved. Now they stared at a skeletal figure, the bones covered by white crystals of snow.

He closed his eyes. The fibers of his body trembled, being drained of their energy. That force was channeled through his body and blood, imbuing him with the nature of the Word and altering his perception briefly. The world assumed entirely new colors for the moment the force overflowed, just before he could release it completely. As per usual since the transformation, everything felt amplified. The surge that ran from his chest and gut upwards to his throat shook his lungs and his neck, resting in his gorge and shaking strongly, waiting to be set free.

'Slen Tiid Vo!'

It's a strange feeling… Energy had flowed inwards before. The soul of his older brother had fused with his own and now it was torn away again, carrying along a small fraction of his own being. The wind blew out of him this once, because he was the source. It carried the soul to its true owner. The feeling had not been pleasant the first time around and it wasn't now. It's as if… Azrael thought, fighting to maintain his clarity. It's as if something was ripped out of me. His body almost couldn't contain the fleeting energy, which flowed out all in one like a shadow of him that split from his physical form. The fists were clenching, the lungs felt completely empty. There was a fleeting thought in his mind. He has stolen from you. Depending on the point of view, that could have been considered partially true.

As the energy left him, Azrael felt immensely tired and confused. As much as I claim to use this for the good of the Dragons, it's something that was never meant to be. Just as Dragonrend was, or even worse. His whole body, his limbs specifically, trembled and vibrated. His sight, previously altered by the use of the Words, was now blurred and unclear. He could feel his eyes burning brightly. His vampiric functions were probably trying, and failing, to understand what had happened and trying to make it work again. Another two things that were never meant to interact, it would seem. Well, I've controlled unnatural things before.

As his vision cleared, he looked at the green Dragon, but he couldn't ignore all the Dragons on the sides of his field of vision who, with no exceptions, were bowing their heads. He moved his gaze from one with a flat head and lean frame to a white and blue one to the one just beside, who was Nahmuldinok the berserk. His head was lowered, but he also seemed to be moving his jaws. What is he doing? Azrael shifted his gaze from him to the one perched just above him and then to yet another, and they were all doing that. Their mouths were moving, so slowly and slightly that he almost hadn't noticed, but they were all moving as one. The question arose immediately, even before the sense of curiosity. What are they saying? He thought he couldn't hear them at first, but that probably because the imagined sound of the wind had been strong enough to dull his hearing.

If he listened intently, he could hear it. 'Ofan Zii Du'ul.' It was merely a whisper, and it came repeatedly. They were not uttering a long phrase, but repeating the same three Words over and over. 'Ofan Zii Du'ul.' He had never heard the phrase and he found if very difficult to understand. His understanding of the Words that were akin to the concepts of things that were violent, dark and abstract was strong enough, and those three Words were nothing of the sort. The easier was the last one, Du'ul, which meant a physical embodiment of symbol of power. Paarthurnax had once used it alluding to a crown. Zii meant the life essence, while also encompassing the concepts of soul, spirit and consciousness in a broader sense. Ofan, despite being a known Word, was one he struggled with. While banally referring to the act of giving, it carried a meaning that he had yet to comprehend fully. 'Ofan Zii Du'ul.' The Dragons were recognizing the goodness of his ends and showing acceptance to the means with which it was given. It's as subtle as it is interesting, he thought. They're saying that I give life through my power, but they're also saying that giving life is the symbol of my power. While a phrase with a double meaning as something difficult to construct in mortal languages, it was something immediate in the Dovahzul.

With his sight now clear, he looked at the young one. The green Dragon was lying on his chest, still too weak to lean on his wings or stand on his legs. Weak, but alive. The last fragments, shimmering in the sunlight, were hovering above his still translucid scales and coming in contact with them. Azrael looked the Dovah in the eyes, but he didn't seem to have any intention of looking back for now. There was no hostility in their golden light, however. 'Hi Ni Vokul,' said he. A light cloud of smoke came out of its mouth. 'Krosis. I was hasty to judge.' His voice was less rough than the ones of his older brethren, and there was a note in it that he had rarely heard in other Dragons' voices before. There was pride in it, but of the kind that isn't arrogant. He wasn't one who fell into melancholy as the older ones did. And as I do, as well. With a slow, almost languid movement of the head, the young Dragon looked back at him decisively. 'Zu'u Naaknahlol. Thuri, Dovahkiin.'

He put down both legs on the ground and pushed, leaning on the bent wings to have some more strength. Naaknahlol, mused Azrael, trying to remember if he had never heard that name before. He didn't think so. He would have remembered him. That roughly means Devourer. It's fitting, for one that aggressive. Paarthurnax had once explained him that there is never such a thing as a name that fits a Dragon's character. The name and the character are the same thing. One doesn't come before the other, as they're inseparable. That seemed very true for Naaknahlol, who now stood on his own feet and backed away from the battleground and stopped on its rim.

Azrael felt his flesh filling with frustration as he tried and failed to draw a deep breath. We're close to the solution, with some probability, although that was a thought he didn't felt as his own. It was cautiously optimistic, which meant he hoped something good would happen. When hope became a factor, it meant the situation wasn't under his control anymore. Despite having just dealt with a very difficult situation, something that couldn't be denied rationally, he felt an insatiable urge to push forward. Almost as if I was afraid of stopping. He tucked away his thoughts and feelings, even though the Dragons would have certainly given him time to process them, and raised his gaze.

He stood in the middle of the plateau, and all the Dragons perched on the rocks above could hear him and see him. He cast his eyes around him. Paarthurnax observed silently from the top of the Word Wall and Odahviing had backed, now with his wings folded on his back and the cruel light gone from his eyes. His gaze returned once more to the Dov that waited on the side of the peak. 'Drem. Onikaan' Peace and Wisdom, Azrael said. 'Fun Miiraad Drun.' He wanted to know which choice they had made.

Off to the side, he heard a low grumbling. Fodaantuz, he recognized at once, knowing instantly where to turn his head towards. 'Motmahus…' the Dragon murmured, bending his horned head to the side and directing a gaze more penetrating than every mortal's in Azrael's hidden eyes. 'Faas Vul Ko. The Dov fear the darkness you could bring.'

Azrael was struck by the Dragon's literal but inaccurate translation of Drun, which didn't just mean carrying or bringing but also ushering in, because the cause of something. The various branches of reasoning that tried to understand what exactly he could mean by that were all interrupted by Paarthurnax's grumbling from beside him. Dragons always murmured or muttered something indistinct before they started speaking, which was turning out to be particularly useful when there were so many of them. He turned towards the Old One, who was logically the one who had the deeper understanding of both the mortal plane and the Dragon's mind.

'Un Zeymah, our brethren, fear that the same darkness that gripped Alduin has now conquered you.' His voice was as slow and serious as the first moments after his return to Nirn, after defeating the World Eater. This time he wasn't sad, but worried. 'Vokun. Be wary of the darkness, Dovahkiin, because something has waken it.'

Azrael lost himself in the intensity of the insight. Indeed, the problem ran a lot deeper than I might have expected. And, as both Babette and Karliah said, it traces back further in time than I first thought. Despite looking like it, vampirism wasn't the biggest problem. It had never been. Once again, perceptions prove inaccurate. His turning had just been what had exposed at last the sweltering mass underneath the immediacy of his internal awareness. Right then, he didn't feel too shaken by that discovery. Which only means it's too big to be assimilated in a single instance. I'll probably need time.

Regardless of how the elements now might be reassessing and changing, the mere feeling of every little piece of the puzzle falling into its place was giving him a sensation of calm he had never felt in the two week that came before that moment. A fragment of the peace he had been searching was already there, and not found anywhere external. As he might have expected, he had found it inside himself, when the right conditions were met. I had better not be overly optimistic, he reminded himself. Unlikely as it may be, they might still decide to kill me. As a start, I need to explain everything concisely and clearly.

'Joor Dur Gron,' he said, and it was the truth. He was bound by a mortal curse. 'This Dur, this curse, awakened the darkness in me.' There wasn't the need for any other preamble. He hadn't, and couldn't have lied in saying those words. Is it even possible to lie, while speaking Dovahzul? Another branch of knowledge where he might end up breaking the rules and crafting things that were never meant to be. Regardless, for the time being, he would get his answer. 'Gahvon Daar Hi? Do you accept this?'

'Geh, Dovahkiin.' Paarthurnax had just drawn the line. He would not die. And in spite of it, Azrael found himself largely unfazed by it and continued to listen to the Old One. 'Drog Hin Dur, Meyz. You have attained the strength to be the master of your own curse. Mu Pah Dreh. Every Dovah has to control it. Mindoraan Enook Aus.'

With the corner of his eyes, Azrael caught a mass movement. More specifically, a series of small and slow movements that all together created a great deal of change. He turned his head to the side, looking at the Dragons on the side of the mountain. It's like before, he thought, recognizing the same pattern and consequently checking for the same elements. The Dov had bowed their heads, as they had done before, and they were all moving their mouths, just like before. This once it was easier to understand what they were saying, because he had just heard the phrase being spoken. 'Mindoraan Enook Aus.'

That wasn't such a hard phrase to comprehend fully. You, left unsaid, understand the suffering of each and everyone of us, very brutally put. As was often the case, another few meanings ran deep into those Words, but the concept they wished to convey was clearly that one. He glanced up at all the Dragons, still murmuring. 'Mindoraan Enook Aus.' For that period of time, he had unknowingly been conscious of their own torment. If they felt half as bad as he did, it was no wonder they went rabid without a firm leader and easily sunk into melancholy. He was falling into that trap himself. Even with this knowledge, very little will change. Laas Bo Nau. Life flows onward.

'Mindoraan,' he said. He understood truly.

Odahviing, by the foot of the peak, raised his wings from the ground slightly. Keeping himself standing on his rear legs, he drew the claws closer to his sides and put them down again, assuming a higher stance. Unrolling his bent neck, he faced the skies and screamed.

'Dovahkiin, Jun!'

Dragonborn, King. Azrael shifted his eyes back on the Dov on the side of the mountain, as they all brought their wings closer to their center of gravity and turned their eyes at the sky. The lighter abdomen scales of many of them shone in the sunlight.

'Dovahkiin, Jun!'

The Red Dragon spoke again. 'Dovrahkren, Thuri!'

Godsplitter, Overlord.

'Dovrahkren, Thuri!'

The Dragons brought their wings back to their previous position, letting their necks lower and their gazes return to the ground. Azrael looked at them, but they all responded with inexpressive glances. They had nothing more to say. Not one of them was angry or afraid. On the top, a Dragon with grey scales that vaguely reminded him of Mirmulnir waved his wings and lifted himself into the air, readying to leave the Throat of the World. Stay strong, my brethren. Soon, they would all go. Their judgment had been passed. I will live and I will still be their king.

'Vulom Yolos Paar.' Azrael turned around, not only because it had been Paarthurnax who had spoken but because he felt strangely mesmerized by those three Words. The Old One had even lost his grim attitude and seemed more tranquil. 'Mindol… Reflect on these Words, to that they may ease your pain. Let them be your Thu'um.'

Vulom, the very idea of darkness and loss of hope. Something so obscure that blocks away everything and completely annuls one's will to endure whatever he has to face. Yolos, a more refined a sophisticated concept that the simpler Yol, which meant Fire in its purest essence. Yolos could be thought of as single flame, the light a candle. Azrael did not understand the logic immediately, but he could afford a luxury when talking to Paarthurnax: trust. Paar, lastly, was ambition unrelenting. The constant ambition that drove one to the tantalizing power one could acquire.

'Thank you.' There was no word in the Dovahzul to express gratitude, and Paarthurnax was the only one among the Dragons who even understood the concept.

'Hevno, Dovahkiin. You carry a heavy burden. Nuz Dahmaan, remember that no Vul, no darkness can touch you. Vokul Ko Hi. Evil… Dwells inside you. The one who was crowed Oblaan Do Lein, Ender of Worlds, is no more. Alduin, Dilon. Undone, by you. You were given his mantle. You were given his Paar.'

Azrael felt cold winds blowing through his mind, their cruel chill putting everything unwanted to rest. The rebellious thoughts were left without kindling, and they drowned in a sea of chilling cold and unrelenting rationality. His mind once against expanded until it touched his entire body. He felt, after a long time, tranquil, and yet there was a eerie feelings haunting his quiet mind. 'Ni Gein Aus,' he said. There wasn't only one source of pain in his mind, apparently. 'Hi Minrodaan Nii?'

Paathurnax's gaze was unreadable, but a short moment went by before his answer. 'Nid, Dovakiin. Krosis.'

'Dreh Ni Kos.' It wasn't as if he had expected him to know. It's high time I took matters into my own hands.

A/N: Writing this one was fun, in an auto-ironic and masochistic way. When I finished it the first time I went through it and wondered who had been the idiot who had written it in my stead. Second time the feeling was the same, but slightly less strong. The third time, I realized I had to re-write almost everything regarding the Dragons — which is quite a lot — because I had imagined them with four legs and not two, like they do in Skyrim. Maybe, I've been fighting Darkeater Midir a bit too many times.

Regardless, after all the incoherences and multiple drafts, I think the chapter came out fine. It retained a good amount of the dream-like quality I wanted to weave in it.

And, one last thing before I let you go: Since it took me more than a month to finish this one, and it might take even longer for the next one, would you prefer if I brought back the old "Previews" where I posted the beginning of the chapter before the whole one was finished? I doesn't change anything too greatly on my part either way.

So long, my friends.