Author's Note - This chapter is for Lawlrus. Thanks for the encouragement! Even if I have only one reader out there, that helps me keep going. =3

"Have a seat, Scholar."

"Y-yes." I barely managed to respond as I made my way to the only empty chair, poised in front of the Imperial and Breton that regarded me. The Arch Mage sat between them, his long, golden fingers folded in his lap as he met my eye.

"Allow me to introduce you to my colleagues. Raminus Polus." The Imperial nodded, grim and stoic. "And Hannibal Traven. This is the young Scholar I wished to discuss."

I flushed, worrying my lip. Discuss? The Breton smiled kindly, more grandfatherly than professional.

"Ah, yes. Good to meet you, my dear." I took the hand he offered, shaking it gingerly. His skin was cold and smooth, like leather, hanging heavy from his knuckles. "Ocato has informed me of your progress."

Ocato cleared his throat. I felt small under their gaze, small and childish. "Do you know why I have called you here, Miss Dust?"

"I… I'm not certain, Arch Mage." I faltered, reaching clumsily for my potion and wincing at his frown. "I had thought it was about the potion I was to make, to sell for University funding." The silence was oppressive, and I was desperate to fill it. "It boiled overlong, but I believe it will work all the same. I, I can begin labeling and selling immediately, or I can – "

"That's quite alright." Ocato's smile held a mixture of amusement and pity, making me cringe inwardly. "I'm afraid that is not the issue, although it is certainly more evidence to my point."

I dared to voice my thoughts. "Your… point, sir?"

The Arch mage glanced at Traven, some secret knowledge between them. "It has come to my attention you spend much of your time in the company of Bolor Savel. Am I correct?"

"…Yes, sir. I do." No point in lying. "I find him to be both an admirable colleague and a good friend. The aphrodisiac – er, potion," I winced, flushing. "It wouldn't have been completed without his help."

Traven glanced up suddenly, gaze sharp. "Why? What is in it?"

"Redwort, apple seeds, honey…" I pursed my lips, remembering my own scrawled recipe. "Powdered fire salts, aloe vera stalk, monkshood at his suggestion, plenty of water…"

"Ah." Traven relaxed. "Nothing… unusual, then."

"No, sir. I've always felt that the best ingredients are often the most simple." I paused. "Unusual?"

"Undead." Polus spoke, evenly as though chatting over tea. "Human hearts, skin, that sort of thing. No such ingredients in that, are there?"

"No!" I jerked, forgetting myself as I scowled. "It's for human consumption! I wouldn't…" I blanched at the men's frowns, swallowing. "I'm sorry, sir. Please, I'd never put any such thing in something that is going to be drunk."

"Good." Ocato sighed, standing and lacing his fingers together in thought. "I am glad he has not had such an effect on you. You are an intelligent student, Dust, an asset to this school. It would pain me to see you fall to his depths."

"Fall to his depths?" I echoed, brow furrowed. "I was under the impression that you condoned his work, sir. Bolor's study of the dead has had much effect on the art of Restoration, and – "

"I understand that, Scholar." Ocato cut me off sharply, eyes flashing. I shrunk. "However, times have changed. I can no longer tolerate Necromancy in this school, no matter what form it may take." He turned on me, frowning. "Bolor's experimentation has... once again become unethical."

"What experimentation?" Anger rose in me, injustice and intolerance. "What has he done except study the bodies of the dead? Arch Mage, why – "

"Do not presume, Miss Dust." Traven spoke, sighing. "The Arch Mage has lived far longer and seen much more than you or I. You must trust his judgement."

"Or have Savel's views effected you, after all?" Polus narrowed his eyes. "It seems the best and brightest always become the most corrupt."

"Corrupt?" I flared, rising to my feet and near shouting. "By what right do you – "

"Gentleman! Scholar!" Ocato waved his hand, hushing us both and making me shrink back into my seat with but a glance. "I understand your distress, Miss Dust. However, as Traven said, there is far more at work here than you may know. Bolor has a rather dark history, I'm afraid."

"…Dark?" I stilled, the word lodging in my throat until I sputtered. "I, I don't understand…"

Ocato sighed, a long, drawn sound that seemed to echo into his very bones. "In the past, Bolor exhibited great intelligence, great promise. As did another student, a Dunmer woman. They worked together often." He rubbed his brow, shaking his head slowly. "At first, the work they did was revolutionary. Slowly, however, it turned – unethical. Vile. Necromancy, and far worse." His gaze landed on me once more, piercing. "He and the woman managed to convert several students to their views, to a near obsession with power before the woman as expelled and the crisis diverted."

"Bolor was only permitted to stay because he swore off the studies he had conducted, swore to recant if he as allowed to continue his Necromancy. He was bright. We did not wish to lose him." The words echoed dully inside me, thudding in my brain. "I should have realized it was too late."

"Do you see now, Miss Dust?" Polus watched me, speaking as though to a child. "The Mer is corrupt. We have reason to believe he is engaging once again in unethical acts."

Corrupt. Vile. Necromancer. None of these made sense to me. All I could think of was sweet Bolor, stroking my hair, telling me silly stories, his long, dark fingers closing the clasp to my necklace. I fingered it, staring at nothing. "I don't believe that."

"A pity." Ocato murmured, eyes lidded, emotionless. "But I will not hold against you, Scholar. I understand that you are… close." I clenched my hands, watching my knuckles turn white. "However, understand that should you witness Bolor doing anything out of bounds – dissecting, grave digging, or even resurrecting the dead – you are to report it to me immediately."

The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them, cool and venomous. "And if I don't?"

"Then you suffer the consequences of his actions, whether you are a bystander or there is blood on your hands."

"So you expect me to – to spy on him, is that it?" I choked on my words. "Arch Mage, how can you expect me to do this? What dire acts did he commit, what atrocities, why - ?" An unvoiced thought – and why ask me?

"He may be a threat to this school, to all it represents." Traven spoke again, grim. "We cannot tolerate any such threat to the reputation or students of the Arcane University. You are bound to obey the council, or you shall be expelled."

"Arch Mage Ocato, you've never shown intolerance to Necromancy or Bolor's work before, not while I've been here." I stood and turned on him, eyes flashing. I no longer felt small even as he towered over me, my anger growing hot and sickly. "Why now? If he was so damned corrupt, why didn't you throw him out before? What has changed?"

A dangerous whisper. "Times have changed."

"But why - ?"

"I will speak of this no longer." Ocato's voice held no anger – only an unquestionable authority. "You will never speak of this meeting, you will do as you have been told and you will obey the Council's ruling – without question."

"The Arch Mage is showing you a great kindness, Scholar." Traven murmured, eyeing me with something uncomfortably like pity. "You could be prosecuted as Bolor will be, and this outburst could easily have had you expelled." A long, withered sigh. "I've seen your work, Dust, your Alchemy. I'm quite the Alchemist, myself." He smiled softly. "Don't risk your entire career because of this mer. You have much greater promise than that."

"I don't," I croaked. "Not like he has. I've seen his work, worked with him. I trust him."

"More than the Arch Mage, more than the Council itself?"

"N-no – yes. I don't know."

"I will add some incentive, Scholar, though you shouldn't need it." The Arch Mage said briskly, his gaze unnerving. "Hannibal Traven is one of the finest Alchemists to grace this school, and he is seeking an apprentice to carry on those skills. Should you report upon Bolor truthfully, you may accompany him to Summerset Isle – free of expense, of course."

Summerset Isle. A chill crept down my spine. Home of the first school, of the two greatest arcane masters to walk Tamriel. My words came brittle through my dry throat. "I won't need to report him. None of this makes sense, he's done nothing wrong."

"That is not for you to decide, Dust." Traven murmured. "Someday, you will understand."

"Come. We have spoken enough." Ocato moved behind me, escorting me to the door. "You understand what is expected of you, and the consequences. I will expect a report from you tomorrow evening on the eight hour, promptly."

...None of it made sense.

I left immediately, my footsteps echoing through the halls. Across the dewy grounds, the blooms with their heads bowed, under the cloak of night to the archives. I dealt with it the only way I knew how - research.

I gathered every book, every paper I could find on Necromancy - hardly more than an arm's worth. Books on the history, on the trials, on Mannimarco himself, but I only skimmed over these. It was the couriers I carefully read, my fingers dancing on each scrap of yellowing parchment until I found one that made my skin crawl.

Graves ripped apart. Secret cults. Attacks from the walking dead on small villages, picked clean for fresh corpses. My throat stung with bile as I turned the page over, my fingers curling away from the grotesque sketch of a zombie. It made no sense. I'd worked with mort flesh before, known it was once a living thing, but seeing it in ink with hollow eyes and a gaping jaw, knowing it was once not only living but thinking - made my stomach churn.

Did Bolor do this?

I set my jaw as I stood, crisply folding the page and slipping it into my robe. I would prove him innocent. I would show them, prove to them his value, if it took every last ounce of my strength and will. I marched to my room to sleep at last, determined and steadfast. I can change this. I can fix this.

The emporer died the next day.