Chapter XXIII: Forerunner of Fate

Incredibly, there was some snow still intact as they entered. Serana felt it cracking under Azrael's boot before she could see it herself. It was a thin layer, uneven and flayed by the wind that blew from the North right into the cavern. The crystals were barely emerging from it. But this light… It didn't come from behind them, because the opening in the rock twisted and didn't let a single ray of light in. The brightness came from ahead of them. Well, we'll see soon enough. For now though, she emerged from the dark and shook her head to recollect her hair. She had cut them that night, and she needed to get used to them. 'You were saying?' she asked.

'Ignore me,' Azrael said, casting a sweeping glance at their surroundings. 'It was nothing important.' He was paying particular attention to the vegetation, gazing on one of the low firs and then on a series of roots that crossed the path. 'Did you know there is no C in the Draconic Alphabet?'

'Really?' She stepped over the roots, looking at them but no catching what had made them an object of interest for Azrael. 'Is it not used or does it really not exist?'

'There is nothing that corresponds. The Dovahzul doesn't have soft sounds. That makes the presence of that letter pointless, but it intrigued me at first.'

No other alphabet I remember lacked letters. It had more, if anything. The mere fact that the Dragon Language was an alphabet and not a sequence of symbols that weren't letters was new to her. I guess the Tongues had not yet come. Dragons weren't a part of anyone's life back when she lived in the Castle. They would sometimes fight among themselves and attack those who breached their territory, but little more. It seemed that a lot of events had gone down since then. The time between midnight and dawn had been definitely too little to even get an initial grasp of it. But they had the time to continue, depending on the outcome of the quest they were currently on.

And as far as she could see, things didn't look too promising. That place was marked by pile of rocks that seemed to be very old. Nobody had been there in a long, long time. 'This place,' she said, 'it's not very impressive, is it? If this ends up being a wasted trip, my friend Dexion and I are going to have some words when we get back.' A couple of thoughts floated through her mind. 'Well, if we get back.'

'Good point,' Azrael said, 'but underneath the surface it does look promising.' After saying that, he stopped in his tracks.

Serana halted behind him. She didn't need to ask why, because she saw a large gap in the terrain that went from their position to where they were heading. The light was still coming from that way, and there weren't any tracks that went round that crevice. 'We can jump, I think,' she said. She didn't understand his uncertainty.

'Down there,' he said, 'there might be a way to read the Scrolls, but not one that is assured to leave us in good health. Neither of us is a scholar with the necessary preparation.' He waved his index from one end of the gap to the other. 'If either of us faces unwanted consequences, he might not have the lucidity or the strength to make this jump.' Upon finishing, he turned to his right.

Serana looked at the bottom of the dip. 'You're scaring me a little.'

There was a prolonged sound on her right, and she turned around in a flash. Her eyes focused quickly on one thing at a time, first on Azrael grasping the trunk of a tree and then on roots of that very same tree, torn out of the ground and covered by fungi and parasites. It's been dead for quite a while. The Dunmer walked sideways with the trunk firmly in his hands, peaking around it to see where he was going. Once on the edge of the dip, he put the torn roots down onto the ground, let go of the tree and pushed it forward.

The trunk shook the ground as it fell, and its middle section cracked inwards a little bit. 'Let me see if it holds,' he said, stepping on it. The wood was green with moos and rotten, but it had endured the impact and would surely endure the two of them walking on it.

She had a question, but waited for a moment before speaking. Despite his faith in the relevance of the place, it couldn't be denied that it had been long forsaken by whoever had built it. The fact that a fallen, rotten trunk was the only way through the small dip in front of her was proof enough. She stepped on it carefully. Under a living man's weight it might have collapsed on the spot, but two starved vampires could walk on it without too much worry. Neither of us has fed for a long time, she realized, raising her gaze and eyeing Azrael waiting for her on the other side of the dip.

'How are you so certain,' she asked, 'that this place is what we're looking for?'

Azrael turned around, facing the only clear way in between the bushes but casting darting glances around as if searching for something. Serana searched for some kind of link between the things he was looking at, but didn't found any. 'Do you know why they're called Moth Priests?' Azrael asked back, looking one of the plants a little longer and extending a hand towards it.

'No,' she said. She looked carefully at the way he tore a single leaf from the plans and always kept it horizontal. There was something on it, something whitish, and an idea sparked in her mind. 'Do they have something to do with actual moths?'

Azrael closed his index and thumb around the end of the branch that he had torn away with the leaf and turned halfway around, handing the leaf to her. She opened her hand horizontally as he had done and closed her thumb on top of it to make sure it didn't float away. Azrael let go of it, without saying anything else. There is something I need to see before he can go on explaining. And there was little doubt that it was the whitish thing that she needed to look at. And I already have an idea of what it might be. She retracted her arm and looked carefully, and the small thing glued to the leaf was indeed a small cocoon.

She looked around, with a question bouncing around her mind. 'But, Azrael,' she said, 'why is there a cocoon here and no moths flying around?'

'We're headed towards a source of natural light, so I assume they all gather there. What's more interesting is the cocoon itself. An alchemist once showed me all the cocoons of all the species of butterflies and moths that there are in Skyrim. And yet, I do not remember one that looks that that. It's bigger, paler and it's laid on a leaf instead of in the ground. That's a type of moth that isn't registered anywhere in Skyrim, which in turn means that lives only here. Since there are Moth Priests involved, it seems likely that these species is the one that has ties to them.'

Clear and synthetic. She put the leaf on top of another plant that had a foliage of the same size and followed along, now a bit more hopeful that it was the right place. Azrael had slowed for a moment to observe the rocky passage that they were about to enter. He hadn't found anything wrong with it, it seemed. He took a turn and Serana followed in tow, casting one last glance at the gloomy hollow they had just traversed before taking the turn herself.

Azrael scoffed lowly, and his next two strides were slower and more cautious. 'I think you'll eat right back most of what you just said.' He had reached the end of the passage, where the pathway seemed to widen. He stepped to the side just enough for Serana to get a glimpse before she arrived in his exact spot.

She looked at the glade. The light that came through did indeed come from there. The ceiling, his above them, was cracked in two and the bright of the rising Sun shone through. The place was a hollow with a somewhat circular shape, with multiple levels as it went up towards the opening. From a couple of the ridges, large streams cascaded down into drizzling waterfalls. On the sides, especially towards the bottom there were a few firs that resembled the ones in the cave before in shape but not in size. These were fully grown, and magnificent. At the bottom of the glade, on its lowest level, there was a tree different from all the others she could see. It was a large-leaved plant, but its color was what caught her attention the most. A faint, rosy red.

Something scratched her face on the cheekbone. The sensation had been light and fleeting, but she felt her muscles tightening. 'What…' She backed away, her hand darting up to her face to cover to the spot, but there was no need for it. Whatever it had been, it was no longer on her face. But what was it? She turned still, looking around. She caught a movement on the leaf on a nearby bush, and she observed. 'Wait…' she breathed. It was a large, beautiful moth. 'Are these…'

'They're the moths,' Azrael said, stepping by her side. He pointed towards two trees not too far from the two of them. Serana didn't immediately realize that he wasn't interested in the trees but in the swarm of insects that was flying in between the two.

'You were right,' she said, looking again at the entire glade. 'Nobody's been here in centuries, at least. This was forgotten by everyone except the Moth Priests. I doubt if there's any other place like this in Skyrim.' At the very bottom, there were pools of thermal water emerging from the ground and releasing a steamy mist. Even on the edges, she could feel the air was damp. That faint heat and the sight were affecting her, and more deeply than merely the senses. 'It's beautiful,' she whispered.

She sensed something taking a hold of her hand. It's him, she thought, recognizing the shape and the cold of the metal. Azrael run across the entire width of her palm with his thumb, tracing a cool line that lingered even after he had touched it. She didn't look. She didn't need to. The pressure on her wrist soon disappeared and the Dunmer walked past her, looking to the opposite side. It's the little things. The line on her palm lingered until she closed and reopened her hand.

As she moved the first steps, she felt her thoughts claiming her attention. Azrael was leading the way and he would have warned her if anything was wrong. She felt calm, and that was the point. She felt calm. In trying to remember the things she had felt the night that had just gone by, she had troubles identifying herself with the person that had felt them. I can't know if it's just a momentary thing, of if the change is deep enough to be permanent. Nevertheless, she felt good in that moment. It was amazing to recognize how the narrowness of her thoughts had been the cause of her suffering in the days before. Her head had been filled with her nostalgia and her tension. Now, despite being both homesick and tense, she felt that she could live with both. They were there, she could feel them, but they weren't her entire reality. The scope, the perspective was important. Never before that moment she had seen things with the right point of view.

She eyed Azrael for a moment, because she had finally come to understand how to assess his role in all of that. Part of my wellbeing does depend on him, but instead of talking about blame or merit we could simply talk about responsibility. In every meaning of the word. It was a wise middle ground. Nothing was no longer his fault or his virtue, but merely his responsibility. Everyone has a role and he has one, too. He can move in both directions, but that doesn't change anything. It was a plausible thing that his level of tension partially reflected on her, even, and now that he was less nervous she could feel it too. Once, I said that he had the ability to think for both of us. But never before I had realized that it is me that can feel for both.

The brief time that they had spent after leaving Falkreath, which was less than a quarter of a day, had held more surprises than many of the weeks they had spent together. He was still the same person. There hadn't been any radical change. Azrael was still Azrael, with all his particular ways of seeing and thinking things. But again, perspective. What she had experienced for the last hours was an exclusive vantage point. He showed me a part of him that I doubted even existed. Under the cold demeanor, which he never abandoned nonetheless, there was a streak of melancholic humor which he often turned into biting sarcasm. Perhaps, under the analytical and investigative viewpoint there was something inside him that was softer. He's smart, yes, but also very intuitive. And yet again, for what seemed the hundredth time, Elisif words had come to mind. The difficulty to merely live, she had said, the unending grief and distress of life. That was the thing they had shared.

It was all new and curious. And as with many things, the Dunmer had set very clear limits as to what he would allow. She was fine with that. On the other hand, those few hours had been nothing like she had ever imagined. She had envied the couples of which she read in books when she was a girl, but now she suddenly found them pretentious and stupid. All of that shown affection… It was because they didn't share anything but that. Azrael and her shared so much more, even if she had been blind to it all that time. They had a common goal, common enemies and above all they were the only two in the world to be aware of secrets that would have ripped countries apart. There wasn't the need for effusions of love. They could stand at several yards from one another and still have a semblance of connection with the other. Right there and then, they were walking down the pathway and she felt as if they were staring one another in the eyes.

'Azrael,' she said, trying to exhale but not finding any air. 'I know Dexion has told me what we need to do, but what exactly does any of that have to do with the Scrolls? Couldn't we just read them?'

He turned halfway around, making a slight waving movement with his hand as if saying that it was close but not quite. 'Perhaps, but I don't want to take any chances. When I read the Scroll, I was at the Time Wound. I suppose that is what made me able to read it. Perhaps this ritual gives us the power to do the same without risking insanity or blindness.'

She furrowed her brow and half-closed her eyes, trying to remember. 'Insanity? When has Dexion ever mentioned someone going insane from reading the Scrolls?'

'Never. I have personal experience with that. I once encountered a mage who had studied them.' He turned around a little again, slowing his pace ever so slightly. 'Studied,' he repeated, 'he had never laid eyes on one, mind you. Merely studying them had driven him mad. When I found him, he was confused and obsessed with something that ultimately proved his undoing.'

'These Dragons seem to have caused quite a handful of issues.'

'Yes, they have,' he said. His tone was pensive, absorbed. 'Even without counting the damage they caused directly, they did rouse troubles. In and of itself, taking down a huge, winged monster that spews fire is difficult on its own for the common folk. I call that a Turdas, but being normal isn't exactly up my alley.'

She chortled lightly, shaking her head and looking around again. They had almost reached the bottom. Aside from the fact that she could see it, she also felt the air becoming hotter and more humid the more they advanced. Azrael was looking at something in the middle of the rise that occupied the center of the glade, and she looked too. It was a stone monolith, carved with symbols that seemed bizarre to her. Most interestingly, it was hollow. She could just about see it, but the stone was pierced from side to side. She glanced at Azrael again, and he was trying to find a way to climb directly there. Fine by me. I'll look around.

There were some other things that she hadn't seen from above. While so focused on the natural elements, she had almost ignored the few remnants that humankind had left there. There were at least a couple constructions. They were simple, long rocks that had been put on top of one another to form something that resembled a door or a passageway. They were ancient and the fact that they were made of three or four pieces at maximum was telling. They couldn't date back to a time where instruments to cut the rock didn't exist, so that must had been a choice. A choice for simplicity.

Well, now I'd like to get close to one of those Canticle Trees. She had seen one from above, but there were more. She glanced up to where Azrael was and guessed where he had climbed to reach that place. The elevation was simple enough to reach, but most of it was covered in thermal water which flowed out of the pools. She made a long stride to pass though one of the streams and then up a rocky part of the slope. They're not leaves, she saw, seeing the trees up-close. They're flowers. It's spring, all right, but they might actually bloom for the entire year. She made the last three steps and reached the level of the roots.

It's beautiful. The stem of the tree was pale, and dotted with spots where the bark was thicker and of a darker color. She raised a hand, and she found herself hesitating before touching it. I'm not afraid, it's just… reverence, almost. That plant was incredible. I don't feel any magic in it, but maybe it's not conventional magic that sustains it. It didn't look like a normal tree. Although it could be argues that what the Canticle Tree did wasn't exactly magic, there was some form of supernatural element involved. That was what intuition told her. In the end, the plant had roots growing out of what seemed to be only rocks. Unless they penetrated to a deeper stratum of dirt, which she doubted, there was no way for it to be alive.

'Pardon me, princess.'

Serana stepped to the side almost without thinking about it. Azrael came closer to the tree, looking at the trunk specifically. What's that in his hands? He held something, a curved blade that had the shape of a half-moon. Interestingly, it was sharp on the inside of the curve instead of the outside. It must be the draw knife. She quickly glanced at her side, suspecting something. The carved stone in the middle of the elevation. The hollow that crossed it was empty, but it was of the perfect size to house that sickle.

Azrael grabbed both handles and laid the knife against the tree with the bent in the blade upwards. He pulled asymmetrically, first down from the right side and then from the left, very lightly, as if testing the balance. He repeated that once more, and then drew down with both hands, pressing with significant strength against the wood. The bark wasn't cut cleanly, and much of it splintered and turned into sawdust. 'The blade is dull,' Azrael told her, without moving his head. He drew down again, this time managing to cut away a sold layer. He raised the blade to its starting position and pulled down, focusing on the existing slice. He repeated it twice, but the trees' husk wouldn't detach. As he pulled down for the third time, the bark fell down.

Third time's the charm, Serana said to herself, extending a hand his way. Azrael nodded and gave her the knife, holding it from one of the two handles and leaving the other for her. 'And now what?' she asked, as she took the weapon. 'The moths should start coming to you?'

He flipped the piece of bark twice in his hands, looking at it from all directions. Serana felt her lips tightening. If only I could see all the things that he's seeing. To her, that was just a piece of a magical trees' bark. It was something special, but there wasn't anything beyond it. The Dunmer raised his hidden face and looked her way. 'Apparently so,' he answered. He bent his head to the side. 'Come. Let us see.'

She glanced at the slice of bark. but there didn't seem to be anything visibly unique about it. It was just a piece of wood, and easily mistakable as something that came from a normal tree. There were jagged dents on the inside, where Azrael had pressed with the blade for the first few times. Doesn't look special, but since it's coming from a tree that doesn't need any terrain to grow, it might be worthy of our trust. She raised the draw knife higher and looked at it. That didn't seem special either. She walked towards the stone in the middle, still looking at the ceremonial weapon with a bit of skepticism.

We shall see soon enough. She put back the knife in the circular hollow where she presumed Azrael had picked it. The semi-circular shape fit perfectly. This must be it. She had not asked before the Dunmer hadn't said anything. She had assumed that if he had judged the task of putting the weapon back just a tiny bit too difficult, he would have instructed her. He hadn't, so it was fine to follow her intuition. If I had to consciously remember all the details and circumstantial rules of our communication, I think I'd go mad. But since she hadn't and those details were part of her normal thoughts, everything was fine. In some ways, more than fine.

She heard a snarling sound coming from her right. It as a scoff, but Azrael's raspy tone had made it seem like a growl. 'I suppose you would have liked this,' he said as she turned towards him to see what was happening. 'I already loathe these irritating little insects…'

When she turned, she immediately saw something strange on Azrael's frame. As if guided by the words she had said, her eyes looked for the insects that had been mentioned, and found them quite quickly. A swarm of moths not unlike the ones she had seen in between the two trees had surrounded him. Some were walking around on his armor and cloak and some were flying very close to him. Serana could count a dozen at the very least, and there seemed to be more coming from a nearby shrub.

Azrael was absolutely right. I would have really liked it. A girl who didn't enjoy luring butterflies onto her palms or fingers was a girl without a childhood, in her book. And now, magically, swarms of them arrive. She felt her mouth stretched into a smile and she chuckled. 'They really like you, don't they?'

'If I didn't need them I'd squeeze them like the bat…' He let the sentence drop and his words faded, echoless. He turned his head around, and a moth which was advancing on his pauldron took flight at the sense of the air moving. Serana felt his gaze in her eyes and didn't move them, leaving him the time to think. 'I have never told you that story, have I?'

He had said that more to himself than her, in truth, but she was too curious to keep silent. 'Which story? And how are bats involved in anything that's worth telling?'

Azrael turned around and repeatedly moved his head around, probably searching for more swarms of moths. He walked forward, following the course of a small creek that came from a hole in the stone walls of the glade. 'That fight is actually the beginning of this whole story, for me. It was my first encounter with a Volkihar vampire, and it was quite the presentation. I found a corpse, not too far from the crypt where you were sealed. I followed the trail of blood, and it led me to the temporary refuge of a vampire.'

'And how do you know he was part of the Volkihar?'

'Well...' he said, with a sarcastic undertone. Serana knew at once that she had asked a question that had some very obvious answers. 'He was wearing the same suit of armor that I have seen you and your father wear, for one. Secondly, he transformed into the Vampire Lord halfway through the fight.' He threw a backward glance at her.

She didn't find any words for a brief moment. 'You… You defeated a member of the court singlehandedly, while not yet—' Something came to her. Yes, of course… How could I have been so blind? 'Azrael, wait… Was he an Altmer? Tall, high cheekbones, just… An Altmer?'

'Indeed. A sorcerer, versed in shock and ice magic. He didn't carry any weapons.'

'Angaron…' A rustling sound reached her ears, but she couldn't link it to anything. She wasn't really looking anywhere because the image of High Elf was lingering in front of her eyes. How long have I wondered where he had ended up? My father and I assumed he was gone but… She moved her lips wordlessly, until one sound escaped them. 'Dead.' She batted her eyelids. And he was the one. He took down that beast by himself.

'You knew him.'

'Yes, I…' she said, raising her head, but she stopped once again. At first, she only noticed that the rustling sound had been Azrael turning suddenly and making his cloak whirl. But in seeing the cloak, she also noticed something off with the light. There was a yellow light that was coming from Azrael's frame. 'Azrael, you're…' All around him there was a halo of light. 'You're glimmering.'

He slowly raised his left gauntlet, bringing it up all the way to the height of his eyes. He rotated it in both directions, and with every movement the moths that were walking on his body rose into the air and joined the others, only to come down moments later. There were more than forty surrounding him now. 'Am I?' the Dunmer said, lowering his forearm. 'I can't see it.'

'I don't know,' she said, hesitating. 'Maybe it can only be seen from the outside, I have no idea. If Dexion was here, he would know,' she said dryly, twisting her lips into a sardonic smile. 'Well, I can only think of it as a good thing. At least something seems to be happening, and something is better than nothing at this stage.'

'I concur,' he said, glancing around. 'You haven't answered me, though. Did you know this Altmer?'

You had not posed a question in the first place, she thought, but laughed at that silently and didn't mention it. 'I did, in fact. He is, shall we say, an original member of my father's court. He was there with us the day we were turned, and he accepted my father's offer to join the new family.' Even after all that time, she still found it difficult to find adequate words to describe those events. 'He was a very proficient fighter, and he knew magic extremely well. He had a sort of instinctual, natural inclination towards the arcane arts. He never studied them in depth or theoretically perfected their use, he just used them as he could and was good at it. He had one flaw, and that was his fiery temper; as my father tells it, he has grown even more irritable over the centuries. I can only imagine the extent of his anger as he fought.' She halted for a moment. 'How did you defeat him, anyway?'

'I'd say knowledge, but you could consider it luck. He disarmed me and had the upper hand, but instead of killing me…' Azrael brought his left hand up again and raised the middle and the index finger, keeping them tight together. He beat with them three times on the side of his throat. 'He bit me.'

A sour taste filled her mouth, and her throat closed as if something from her stomach was crawling back up her esophagus. It's the most unpleasant thing ever. She tried to swallow, but there was no saliva. 'Did he end up like I did?' she asked.

'Not quite. He ended up like the one who bit me in Dimhollow. As soon as he realized that something was wrong he backed up, but it was too late. I managed to kill him while he was still weakened.' He sniggered grimly, although absently. 'It still took one of the most experienced healers in Skyrim a full night to ensure my survival, and a few more days to recover. It wasn't easy.'

Serana looked at him for a while, sensing her jaws closed tight. I just don't… She shook her head. 'You're mad.'

'Good,' he whispered. 'Life has nothing in store for the sane.'

'I suppose that's good consolation,' she said, laughing. 'Those moments when you don't really have a choice…'

The sudden movement Azrael had made might have hinted at something being wrong, but she didn't need any hinting. She had heard it too. Several muffled sounds. She had felt them through the terrain rather than the air. The sound of the waterfalls made it hard to detect anything else in the damp air. The ground however, perfectly still until a few moments before, had started to quake so faintly that none other than a blood-starved vampire would have noticed it. Both her and Azrael's senses were sharp as a razor in that moment, and they had both felt that vibration. A repeated movement. A repeated movement that could have been unmistakably divided into multiple pairs.

Footsteps. There was no other solution. She looked at Azrael for confirmation. He seemed to have noticed it just a moment before she had, and his eyes had darted to the only entryway into the glade. Yes, footsteps. For what other reason would he be searching for someone that was entering? She couldn't tell if the tremors had come from there, but where else? Unless a very big animal was stomping right outside of the opening on the cavern's ceiling, that passage was the only way the footsteps might have come from. And also… What big animal? These are dozens of footsteps. No, those were mortals. Humanoids. A lot of them. The scent of blood… Their trace was filling the air, a mixture of fear and something else, something that caused them to tighten their muscles. Frustration. They were afraid and tired. She could smell it in their whiff, although she couldn't hear it in their strides. Those were regular.

'Azrael…' she said. Her eyes moved hysterically from him to the passage and remained still. We were so close, why did this had to happen? A cold, hard grasp seized her shoulder and drew her backwards. Her fingers rushed to grab the back of his hand, although finding only the barbed metal. 'Who is that? How did they find us?'

'It's the Dawnguard.' Serana almost didn't recognize his voice. It was again the one she had heard so much time before, before they had arrived to the Castle. A voice devoid of all emotion, deep and vibrating and yet distant. 'They…' That tone cracked, shattered in a thousand pieces. It was even deeper now, and not empty. And was full with tenebrous and sweltering notes, through and through. 'They tracked us down, but how… I don't know.'

She batted her eyelids. Stay calm, she told herself. It's still all fine. No one had appeared yet, in spite of the sounds. There was still some time. 'Falkreath,' she said. 'We stopped a few hours ago, maybe they had a spy or… an agent there.'

'Probable,' he said. His voice was different still. Now it was the normal tone he had when he was thinking intensely, when his mind was using all of its resources. It was cold and detached, the words uttered slowly and with focus. 'However, how did they manage to reach us? Were they right there in the city, ready to pick up our trail? Someone set us up, Serana.'

It can't be. Who might have done that? No, no I refuse to believe it. That had to be a coincidence. They had been careful, they had covered their tracks in whatever way they could and had avoided any large settlements on purpose. We have been seen yesterday late at night, but six short hours have passed at most. It was a coincidence. It had to be. A very unlucky one. They were camping nearby and an informer who saw the two of them at the city warned them; they had managed to follow their trail and they had arrived in that place. I didn't sense them at any point. They were following us, ready for an ambush.

The clutch on her shoulder strengthened and she felt Azrael pulling her in. She spun around, but shifting her eyes from the entrance to the glade wasn't effortless. I'm tense. As she turned, Azrael grasped her other shoulder. When she moved her head at last, she found him looking at her intensely in the eyes. 'Listen to me,' he said, 'do you think you can hold them off until I finish reading the Scrolls?'

She nodded, bringing her hand away from the back of his hand. 'Of course I can. I'll keep them away from the center of the room. The pathway is small, I can manage.'

'Are you sure? They are a lot.'

No, I'm not sure. She wasn't at all. If fact, she thought she couldn't have. She easily saw herself die trying. The footsteps were getting closer, and they were at least twenty pairs. That was at least two dozen men. But I must, what other alternative is there? She had taken on that task, she had accepted to come with him and now she was willing to risk everything for it. It was natural. 'Yes,' she said. 'I am sure. I will hold them off.'

Azrael scoffed, and she couldn't tell what filled that sneer. 'I'm not the only one who's insane here.' He glanced up at the way out of the passage in the rocks. Serana didn't turn to look. He still held her shoulders. 'Listen,' he said, 'When they arrive here, I'll handle them. When I tell you so, or if at any point they threaten to attack me, you distract them.'

'But, Azrael, reading the Scrolls…' They were both risking a lot, the perception was catching up to the thought, but she felt that what he meant to do was even more dangerous. 'It could leave you unable to defend yourself for quite a while. If they get to you…'

'Don't worry about me. Even if they reach me, leave me. I'll manage. Focus on saving yourself before everything.'

'You cannot seriously ask me to—'

He shook both of her shoulders briefly but firmly. 'Focus on saving yourself.'

She moved her hands forward and she reached up for his face. She found it immediately, even though it was completely hidden. She cupped his chin with her hands, looking in the faint igneous shine of his eyes. 'If you're in danger,' she said, 'I won't leave you there to die. I can't. If anything should happen, you can continue this journey alone, whereas I can't.' She wasn't aware of what kind of expression might have been on her face right then, but she knew what her eyes were saying.

Azrael turned his head sharply around, letting go of her shoulders and forcing her to withdraw her own hands. Serana retracted her arms, unsure of what to do for a moment. This is the most conflicted I've ever seen him, she thought. He kept his gaze down to the left, a very clear sign of the worry he felt. But he never becomes anything he feels. I sometimes act as if I am my fear, whereas he just feels it. And he's not really anxious either, he just doesn't know what to do. Feelings were just variables. Serana knew all too well that it would have been better to leave him to his own devices should anything happen, but she simply could not. Now that she was blood-starved, even less so. In the frenzy of the fight, she couldn't have resisted the impulse. And more importantly, I do not want to leave him be.

'Fine,' he said slowly and grimly. 'If your conscience gets in the way, do what you want to. But as much as possible, take care of yourself.' His fingers were still bent inwards, as if still gripping something. Serana saw his eyes wandering over the entrance. 'We'd best get started. They're here.'

She turned. The scent had become much stronger, and the men's fear had grown as well. The deeper they had ventured into the cave, the stronger it had become. She saw only the trees at first, but then the figures walking in between the shrubs became quite clear. Her eyes adapted to the slight change of light, now that Azrael and all his shine was out of the way of her sight. She recognized the colors they wore and the shape of her weapons immediately. They were the same warriors that they had fought in the Holdout. Those were fourteen and they had risked their lives. This once there were at least twenty. She was tense, yes. But she was also thrilled. So much blood. The core of her vampiric instincts was awakening, beating stronger than a mortal's heart.

'Serana, the Scroll.'

She shook her head and batted her eyelids. She quickly tightened her lips, not liking the malicious grin that had twisted them. 'Oh, yes,' she said, reaching for the part of the roll that stuck out from her back. She grabbed it and brought it in front of her, turning around and giving it to Azrael. He had already untied the two he kept himself. The moths that surrounded him were at least fifty or more now. If my mother knew of these, she would probably take a stock of their wings. She looked sideways at Azrael for a moment, thinking that he had probably already done that. She shook her head again. The Scroll wasn't in her hand anymore, and those sparse thoughts were attempts to flee from her fear.

She felt a rather large tear opening between Aetherius and their plane even before she could spot the translucid purple polygon that was shimmering in Azrael's palm. 'You go and hide,' he said. He spun his hand around, facing the ceiling with the palm, and then opening it in Serana's direction. Magicka bled through the tear before that was closed shut, and Serana felt a strange tickle all across her body. She raised a hand in front of her face, and it was invisible.

She would have liked to thank him, but her unfamiliarity with conventional forms of invisibility spells made her choose to avoid it. She did know that a hit too strong or contact too prolonged with anything other than the ground could break the incantation in its entirety, but she didn't know anything more. When one is invisible, there isn't the need to talk a lot and so that might have been one of the conditions that weakened or broke the spell. She didn't want to risk it. I do not have much time. Most of those charms didn't last for a long time, especially complex ones like that.

She turned around, looking for a good place to reach and to hide. The path that leads down ends in a set of dilapidated stairs, she remembered, and she quickly found the place. She looked around it, but there was a steep slope on one side and the other corresponded with the stone wall of the cave. If I attack them from behind… There was a spot, an elevation on the side of the glade that could have allowed her to pick off enemies that came down the stairs. The line of fire seemed particularly comfortable even to shield Azrael with a barrage of spells, if needed. That's fine, then. There was a strange energy running through her body that somehow extended to her mind. She felt awake and focused. And that's just fine for the situation.

She treaded towards the selected place, putting her feet softly on the ground. I need to avoid the water at all costs. That wouldn't have broken the spell, but the ripples could have easily given away her position. Besides, those vampire hunters would be ready for a fight with invisible foes. Azrael had been prudent in using a spell, thus making sure that she could have access to her vampiric powers later, but it wasn't strictly necessary either. She could have turned invisible by herself without too much effort. She stepped to the side of a puddle of thermal water and moved on, seeing the path clearly in her head.

She mentally rehearsed all the spells she might have needed to use. There will be no space for hesitation, she thought, I will have to unleash the full arsenal and quickly. She pondered her options, with the backdrop of a loathing thought telling her that those things were better left to the Dunmer in the middle of the glade. Strategy seemed to come naturally to him. If I… No, it would be best to raise a corpse. I cannot really count on it causing too much disarray because they seem to know what they're up against. However, raising a corpse first entailed killing on of them. I need to pick off someone close to me in order to revive him. What Azrael seemed to be able to do was seeing all the options in front of him like a map, whereas she could only keep in mind one at a time.

There were also other spells she knew how to use, besides the one she was thinking about, but she cast them away and barred them behind the conviction that she would have used those if the situation turned incredibly ugly. Having just talked about Angaron, she could almost see all the grisly powers he used when fighting. And she wasn't a half-breed like Azrael or Angaron. She was a Daughter of Coldharbour. The might she could summon at will, even while not in her transformed state, could be immense. She had always noticed how the powers of the Vampire Lord sort of bled through to her. But she had never used any of them. No moment in her life had ever called for it. But it might be now. Doing something bad for the right reason? It was as poetic as it was frightening.

'Hey, you…' The voice came from above her, from the last turn of the stairway before the small section that reached the bottom of the glade. She looked up, and saw the man that had spoken. He wore an helmet, but she could see the dark skin of a Redguard in the opening and a long beard coming down. 'Dragonborn, what are you doing? Stop!' The voice was deep and gruff, but Serana didn't pay attention to it.

She turned towards the center of the glade. Azrael was there, standing near the stone that held the draw knife, with one of the Scrolls in his hand and the others under tightly held under his armpit. He's shaking. He was holding open the roll and staring at it as if incapable of bringing his eyes away from it, and he was quaking visibly. His hands especially. It seemed to be taking an enormous effort just to keep the thing in his hands.

'Dragonborn, stop this!'

Azrael let the Scroll fall down, but he readily grabbed the second one and opened it. If I didn't know him better, it would seem he has a death-wish. He was quaking still, but not stronger, and he was able to hold the Scroll open. She couldn't tell what he was seeing, if good or bad things, if images or words, but there had to be something. She also couldn't tell what had gone by in his head. She thought they would have repelled the enemies and then read the Scrolls. But no, somewhere in his calculation he had seen a better chance of surviving doing that rather than what seemed to obvious thing.

The footsteps became hurried and heavy above her. She saw the group of warriors hastening towards the bottom of the glade, not running but proceeding at quicker marching speed that kept them all organized in three columns. Aside from the man at the front, who carried a hammer, the fighters in the first section of the group were the ones with the crossbows. They would fire, and then the melee fighters would come around from the back and halt any enemy that comes close. Whatever they were expecting to find, they had planned it quite well.

She turned once again towards the middle of the glade. There was a cold grip on her stomach while she saw Azrael like that. The second Scroll had fallen on the ground, and he held the third one in his hands. The swarm of moths was frantically flying all around him, and the glow that permeated his frame was becoming more vivid with every passing moment. His hands, vertically aligned to keep the roll straight in front of his eyes, were slowly beginning to return to their respective sides.

'First line, release!'

Three sharp snaps came from where the man's voice was. They were almost at the bottom of the stairs. Serana just about managed to remain still. There's nothing I can do. Stay here. She tracked the flight of the bolts in the air, feeling her throat closing. Everything went by so slowly that she thought the flight of those projectiles would never end. They reached Azrael at the same time, but she saw with some relief that none of them could have proved lethal. Two struck his cuirass and bounced off, snapping in two. The third, interestingly enough, hit the Elder Scroll and recoiled without damaging the object.

Azrael staggered backwards, letting go of the Scroll. The roll fell on the rock with a thud, and he collapsed to the ground soon afterwards. His head fell to the left, reclined on his shoulder. He was still shivering.

'Isran,' muttered one of the fighters. Serana knew the tone. Surprised, but mixed with fear and hatred. 'He's not breathing. He's trembling but he's not breathing.'

The man who stood in the front, the one named Isran, remained silent for a moment. Serana could catch glimpses of him through the foliage, and he was stiff as a tree's stem. His shoulders were raised and rigid, and he was utterly motionless. The fighters behind and beside him were dead silent, but they conveyed the same feeling as the man's tone. Fear and surprise. They didn't expect him to be a vampire, she thought. He had managed to hide it from them for all that time. And they're the only one that know, I would guess. Azrael directed the underworld, but he was a known character. The people couldn't know he was fighting on the opposite side, even if to a point.

Serana looked down and she saw her knee, pointed against the ground. She was visible again. The spell's effect had run out. Her hiding place in the shrub was good enough for now, but everyone would have been able to pinpoint where the barrage of spells came from, if she was to fight. She either committed everything or kept hidden. But that's up to you, she thought while looking at the line of combatants that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. You lay a finger on him and you're dead.

Azrael was still down on the ground with his back leaning against the stone. He was still quaking through and through, although his hand seemed to be moving intentionally towards the side of his leg. He's probably trying to pick himself up, she guessed, but whatever he was trying to do it was clear that reading the Scrolls had disrupted him. His head was still reclined on his left shoulders, and it was moving up and down in irregular spasms.

Serana saw the man leading the Dawnguard members stepping down into the glade. He wore a heavy suit of armor and carried a warhammer on his back. 'Apprehend him,' he cried. He turned sharply towards the fighters behind him. 'Apprehend him, quick! Before he comes to his senses.'

Not today. The rift in Aetherius opened, and almost wider than when Azrael had turned her invisible. The magicka seeped through the tear, reaching her arms and being channeled into her hands. On her palms, it froze and produced repeated cracking sounds, like a glacier that melts under the midday sun. She looked at the man, and she had a clear view. There was a straight line without any trees in between, and she brought her hands closer to that point. She joined them together, and the cracking increased even further. Now, a cold wind seemed to be escaping her grasp.

With a hissing sound, the frost spear shot out of her hands. Serana didn't wait and immediately readied her new hex in her left hand. Similarly to how the flight of the bolts had seemed never-ending, the projectile seemed to take minutes to reach its target. She saw how it spun in the air and the small shards of ice that it left behind as it dashed toward its target.

The tip of the spike hit the man's side, shattering on impact but penetrating the relatively lighter protection. The cuirass they used was heavily armored both on the front and back, but she had already had a taste of how much less tough it was on the sides. The spear continued its course and embedded in the man's flesh deeply. Almost half of its length. When she saw it, she fired the surge of necromantic energies she kept in her left, opening the palm and releasing it towards the body.

Isran fell on its knees. Yeah, you're probably got a shattered lower ribcage, munched intestines and a bleeding liver. His hands collapsed to his sides, just moments before the orb of energy struck him. He was strong, but that hex will be enough to revive him. He will be a useful ally. The surge struck him, shattering on his skin and sending pale flows all around his body. However, the blue light faded and the white hues dispersed in the air after a moment. What? She looked at Isran's body hitting the ground, and despite its appearance she knew one thing. He's still alive.

'There! In the shrub!'

A cacophony of noises broke out after that sentence. 'Protect Isran!' someone cried. There was the sound of more footsteps, of people running, of people drawing weapons from their belts. Serana was too shaken by that miscalculation to remain lucid, and while she was still trying to understand how he could have survived her spell, her instincts took hold. A powerful surge of energy rushed through all of her body, and the world began to shimmer. A blood red light died it. Bleed before me, mortals.

Another spell was ready. There were many enemies, she couldn't afford to pick off one at the time. The tear in Aetherius widened as she summoned more magicka. The ice cracked again in her hands, and the seed of a blizzard left her hands. The ice storm flew upwards, towards the staircase, where all the men were aligned. She looked away, knowing that two or three fools would have paid for their arrogance. She moved her arm away just in time to avoid a crossbow bolt coming her way. She dodged it, and she heard it stick in the humid terrain near her foot. The sounds of agonizing screams came from the stairs. Another bolt came, and she dodged it too. This one flew onward, and she heard it shattering a few feet behind her.

'Protect Isran!' cried a voice, the same one as before. 'Get the Dragonborn and let's get out of here!'

A new spell was ready. The time violet sparks were crackling in her hands, sometimes escaping her control and zapping the air. She brought her hands forward and opened her palms wide in two different directions. There was a grin on her lips. The purple lightning flew out of her skin and against the men on the rim of the stairs who were aiming at her with the crossbows. She heard the screams, glancing in between to see. The man hit by the one she had aimed at with her right's ray of energy had been struck in the throat, and a crevice of burnt flesh sizzled where his collarbone had been. The one on the other side had his abdomen pierced and scorched. She didn't clearly see the ones hit by the lightning bouncing, but she had heard their screams. And I enjoyed it.

She turned abruptly to the opposite side, where the twelve or so men armed with melee weapons were running. They're going to get Azrael, she thought. They were all going in that direction. She charged up one more bolt of lightning and released it. One of the fighters, however, jumped in front of it and raised a shield that bore the emblem of a dawning sun on it. The lightning bolt struck the protection. The shield dyed a sweltering red, bent and shattered in a hundred pieces. The combatant, a woman, screamed in a way that she found delicious to hear. She dropped the shield's handle and Serana saw that her whole forearm had been burnt to a crisp, the flesh torn away from the bone. However, none of the spell's power had done anything to her allies.

Serana dodged another bolt. There were still three shooters on the high ground. One was busy putting the bolt in position, one had just fired a shot and another one was ready to release. She looked out for the last one, who had a different expression on his face. There was a sign of clever satisfaction in his features. Serana grinned and bared her teeth, hearing the snap of the string springing and the bolt flying her way. That clever expression. We'll see how clever you are, weakling. She moved sideways, and the bolt would have missed her by a few inches. She readied another spell as the bold touched the ground. This one, however, made a different sound as it landed.

A gust of heat came from where she thought it would impact. The temperature rose and before she could realize what had happened red-hot flames were coiling around her. She turned, seeing the bush around her catching fire and the blazes consuming the small branches. The leather of her armor was heating up as well, and the spot where the bold had landed was covered in grease. A fire was rising from that spot. It burns… She shuddered. She jumped to the side, but the fire had already touched her. The pain crept up her body, and she agitated violently in the attempt to put it out.

'Take that, blood-sucker!'

She kept a hand on her side. That was where the flames had touched her first, and where the burn was most painful. She turned around, looking in the voice's direction. It was the man with the clever grin. It had been him to shoot that fiery bolt. She raised her hand, ice cracking in it. A shadow crossed the area beside her that she only saw with the corner of her eye, a fleeting and swift object. She didn't think anything of it, but when it reached her she couldn't help but recoil backwards. She threw the ice spike from her hand, and then looked downward. The fletching of a crossbow bolt stuck out of her ribcage, just under her left breast.

She raised her head and her gaze accordingly, determined on looking the man in the eye before he died a horrific death. You're going to bleed. However, a scream came from the left. It was easy enough to pinpoint. It was where Azrael had been, but the scream wasn't his. The Dawnguard warriors had gone there to capture him, and now they had started dying. The crossbowman that had just shot her turned around as well, his eyes expanding to their maximum width at the sound of that shriek. Serana ignored him and turned as well. Your end will come soon enough.

At her left, a completely new fight had broken out. The scream she had heard belonged to a man that was now dead, lying on the ground with his arms limp and thrown backwards. There was a gaping gash on his throat, a blow struck with precision but by an unsteady hand, judging by the irregular edges. It wasn't the only one. As she turned, she heard another one. A woman's, this time. She was stumbling backwards in the arms of a comrade that happened to be behind her, and the armor under the armpit was torn and bled profusely. The scent of fresh blood filled the air.

Azrael stood in the middle of a circle of eight Dawnguard fighters, all with their weapons drawn and their eyes fixed on him. Two more of them were carrying Isran's body away from the fighting, and one more was shouldering the woman with the seared arm. The Dragonborn's tall frame was hunched over, and Serana could see him still trembling. The wounds that he had inflicted, although lethal, showed the signs of his fatigue. He was surrounded on all sides. The longsword was trembling. He's weak… she thought. He can't defeat them.

She spun around and bolted, still keeping her hand on her side. It burns… She noticed herself stumbling as she ran forward, and although she didn't feel any pain where the bolt had struck her ribs she could sense that she had difficulties moving that side of her body. Keep fighting. On the one hand, there was a stern determination that came from a place in her mind that felt distant from where she was now. All she could clearly feel was the thirst. Fresh blood, all around. The edges of her field of vision were shimmering red, and the unholy energy still rushed through her body. The feast. The feast that there will be.

She heard another whistle. A bolt from behind. She heard it coming from behind her on the right, where she had seen the crossbowman the last time. She dashed in that same direction, seeing the bolt flying past. However, another whistle came and this one was approaching faster. She looked behind, but she didn't see it, and only after a moment did she understand that it was coming from in front of her. She caught a glimpse of it flying over, going straight towards her. It's going to hit me square in the chest. She dodged as fast as she could, raising her eyes and seeing one of the warriors with her arbalest raised.

As she heard the bolt reaching her, she also felt a strong shove to her left shoulder. In between the noise, the sound of something shattering inside her shoulder was the clearest one. The bold snapped in two and part of the shaft flew behind her, but the tip had wedged itself quite well in her flesh. Again, no pain, but when she tried to move the arm on that same side she was unable to do so. Despite feeling as if everything should have been fine, her arm didn't move. She could barely move her fingers, in fact. She tried to channel magicka into it, but it was equally difficult. The ethereal energy seemed to bleed out of the broken physical junctions. Her eyes rose on the woman that had shot her. You'll pay for that.

She was alone, and she alone had to pay immediately. The spell was simple. It took her less than a second, even while dashing through the glade, to prepare it in her palm. Her feet glided on the terrain, splashing in the warm water and jumping on the obstacles that she found in her way. She was close, very close. The sparks gathered into her right palm, and only had to bring it forward. The thunderbolt erupted from her fingers in a lilac storm of light. The lightning touched the woman's armor and melted it, digging a searing hollow in her chest.

'Behind us, look out!' screamed a man. He was a big one, tall and with broad shoulders. He wore the same suit of armor as their leader and carried a similar warhammer. Serana saw him turn after she had fired the lightning bolt, so he must have been distracted by the sound. But you shouldn't have turned, Serana thought, almost lucidly, feeling something that resembled a cruel mixture of scorn and compassion for the man. She kept running, grinding her teeth from the pain, waiting for what she knew to be inevitable.

Soon enough, a black shadow swept down at the height of his knees, severing both calves from the rest of the body. Serana looked past the man, collapsing to the ground and screaming so loudly that his allies either froze on the spot or backed away from Azrael. Even Serana felt the momentary instinct to put her hands over her ears, because the sound was ear-splitting.

There were only six men left that could still fight as far as she could see. They were all unsure what to do, it seemed. She launched on the nearest one. Bleed. She tried to raise both hands, but only the right one did. The left remained limp and dangling by her side, moving irregularly. She aimed for a lightly armored fighter, a young man didn't even raise the axe he was holding in his hands when he saw her dashing towards him with her teeth bared. The cuirasses of the Dawnguard were designed to prevent vampires from biting the wearer, that much she remembered. They were reinforced around the neck area in a way that not even the canine teeth of a pureblood could bite through. However, they were open helmets. Serana aimed for the lower part of the chin.

Her teeth sank in the flesh. They hit the skull as well, it was inevitable, but they penetrated deep enough. With her right hand, she grabbed the man's face strongly and kept it in place; primarily, she had to prevent him from screaming. He would have moved his jaw and might have accidentally freed himself from her bite. You'll stay right here. She pressed hard, and then tightened the muscles of his jaw and throat. The first gush of blood flooded her mouth. The warm life lymph of the man quickly rushed down her throat and into her body. It spread across the limbs, the shoulders and in the abdomen. The senses grew sharper. She could feel every single inch of leather touching her skin, the red lines streaking her eyesight and every little, muffled sound there was in the glade. Above all, she sensed the craved scent and taste of lifeblood. The warmth crept to her chest faster than she could realize, and the first heartbeat pounded like a drum. She could now feel a sharp pain where the two bolts had struck her, but she didn't mind. I'm alive.

She drank and drank, swallowed gush after gush, until there didn't seem to be anything more. When she looked at the man's skin, it was sallow and unnaturally pale. He had also stopped moving, but he was still breathing. He had only fainted, but he would have died soon enough. Serana released the grip on his face, eyeing her fingertips and seeing that there was blood on them.

Something took hold of her from behind. Two large hands, a man's. You'll end up the same way. She struck behind her with her elbow, finding a surface that seemed to be a Dawnguard's cuirass. There you are. However, she also saw something glimmering in front of her. It was an axe, but the blade was directed towards her. Something else was. A small, sharp, triangular blade that was on the dull side of the shaft. No… she thought, moving frantically. Something cold gripped her stomach. Get off me. The small blade neared and then touched her throat.

'Die, fiend,' muttered a man's voice from behind her as the small blade traced a line across her throat.

Her eyes looked forward. She felt unable to move. She felt the pain, but that wasn't what was keeping her still. She didn't know exactly what it was. It was something primal, just like the fighting instincts were. As she looked, her gaze fell on the dark frame kneeling in front of her. Azrael. He was down, with his head bent forward and looking down at the ground. His weapons… The longsword lay just out of his reach, much closer to her than to him. The dagger had been taken out of its sheath and had been thrown to the side. The bow was shattered in two, on the upper limb. The longsword. It was close to her. There were two dead near him. There are three behind me. Let go of me. As soon as you do, you're dead.

It was an easy guess. The hands let her go, and she fell. Unlike the flight of the bolts, the fall didn't last very long. She hit the ground swiftly, falling on her knees and hands. There was something thick in her throat, and she coughed. Those are… she thought, not quite understanding where the drops of blood on the ground were dripping from. She remembered immediately when the pain stabber at her throat. A vampire doesn't die from a cut to the throat, Azrael had once said. Focus and kill them. She leaned on her left forearm, which still didn't answer her commands to move, and extended her right hand as far as she could.

'No, no, no!' a voice cried from behind. Serana's fingers closed on the longsword's grip, and then she reclined backwards, dragging the blade with her. 'Strike her, damn it!' She sensed the same hand as before grabbing her on the side, as if trying to turn her supine. Yes, do that, she thought. She waited for the moment when her enemy initiated the movement, and when he did she spun in that same direction as strongly as she possibly could. She also dragged her right arm with her, and the longsword with it.

As she turned with her face towards the ceiling, she swung the blade in a wide arch. She felt resistance at one point, but it quickly disappeared. A few drops of warm blood fell on the piece of her chest that the armor left exposed. On top of her, there was the same man that had grabbed her. There was a deep, bleeding cut on his right groin, where the armor was lighter. His eyelids were batting frantically. Serana looked at the way he was bending. He will fall on his back, luckily.

There were still two of them. One of them was raising her axe and readying to drop it down on her. She brought the blade back to her right side, aimed the hit and extended her arm, going for a piercing strike. Maybe the one who was attempting to finish her off, a woman, wasn't trained perfectly or perhaps her vampiric speed was just superior, but she finished her attack before her adversary could react. The tip of the longsword fit in between the junction of the trousers and the cuirass and speared its way to the opposite side. Serana sensed heavy resistance, which could have only come from the armor on her back.

What's… What's happening… She was feeling strange. Her arm was lowering back to the ground, and she didn't have the strength to keep it raised. The world shimmered again, but this time with black hues rather than red. She heard the longsword clanging on her ground, falling down. Just the blade. She wasn't holding the grip, but that was still near her hand and it was already lying on the ground. The last one… She thought. There was a small tear in Aetherius opening. She could still feel the blood dripping from her throat.

The world faded gradually. She felt the pain in the shoulder and then under her breast. The outlines dissolved and all her senses ceased working. A dark shadow floated past her eyes as they did. Only her hearing seemed to linger a while longer.

'Who told you we were here?' The sound of that voice was deep, and it vibrated slightly.

'He went by "G". It's how he signed the letters.'

A cracking sound, and the silence.