Chapter 27: Darkening Horizon

The brazier came alight as they touched the solid ground. The lift in the Dwemer tower must have taken them hundreds of feet below. Yrith could hardly see the cavern ceiling, the reflections on it glittering like solitary stars. A sky of its own. A fitting image for a world marked by a tower with a golden astrolabe on its top.

They had spent the previous moments staring and gaping, admiring the craftsmanship of the old Dwemer. Centuries of constant refinement must have gone into those structures, with every detail as elaborate as a living organism. It was not the imposing grandiosity that struck Yrith with its magnificence. It was not the intricate patterns woven into the ancient stone either. It was not the gold springing out in veins through the marble walls and covering the carefully assembled tiles on the domes. None of them could measure up to the way the whole structure worked together. Like a mechanism where every piece had a designated role. Like a forest where every bee meant a healthy flower, where every tree gave shade from the heat and shelter to the birds who, in turn, rid them of pests. That was Bthalft.

The cavern was unlike any she had ever imagined. Light breeze blew through it from the waterfall on the opposite side from where Yrith and the rest of her group stood. Deep below, the lake glinted faintly, sending up a reflection of the scarce lighting. Over it stretched a series of narrow catwalks, arching from junction to junction, at times lit by a pale turquoise lamp, gentle to the eyes. Yrith could not fathom how they could still be working. The stone chipped. The engravings had been smoothed by the tooth of time. The lamps still glowed.

"Just how old is this place?" she breathed, almost afraid to step after the Dragonborn. He walked the nearest bridge, unconcerned, his steel boots barely making a sound.

"Word has it Ysgramor was still a babe when it was built."

She would have expected his voice to carry through the cave, but it stayed, as if confined to the little space they occupied. If there was a person standing on the next bridge, Yrith doubted they could have heard them.

She counted in her head. Ysgramor. That meant…

"Ten generations then."

She turned to see Leyna shrugging, seemingly unimpressed by Keneel-La's words. She was unbuttoning her coat, letting the flood of white-gold hair loose about her. Now that Yrith thought about it, it was becoming warmer as they went, despite the water on all sides. The heat seemed to be coming from the direction toward which they were moving, as well as faint puffs of air being pressed and released again. She could not see that far ahead, but a vast, shapeless silhouette revealed the presence of another great structure.

"Don't exaggerate," Cain said. "Fifteen."

"I'd say fifty," the Dragonborn chuckled. Yrith caught his look and the merry spark in his eye. She snorted, puckering her lips.

"Speak for yourselves," she muttered. They laughed.

So this structure had stood in the Merethic Era. It had stood thousands of years before she had been born, and yet for that age, it seemed almost untouched, as if time did not matter to it. Yrith felt small, and the vastness of the cave had nothing to do with it.

It must have taken them half an hour to cross the cave alone. By the time they stepped onto the dirt plaza spreading before them, all of them had unbuttoned their cloaks and removed their gloves. Even Keneel-La let go of his caution, loosening his cloak. Or so it seemed. Yrith wondered if they were safe now, but the lizard refrained from any comments.

Yrith's fingers smeared the dried blood from her garments. She kept rubbing them against each other, casting wishful glances at the water that was too far to reach. It felt like ages since they had fought the battle with wolves, even if it had been less than a day's turn. The memory brought back her exhaustion. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Cain and Leyna, trying to guess if their limbs ached as much as hers did, if they too fought for every breath. Secretly, she wished for them to complain. Neither of them did, but she could swear that out of the corner of her eye, she saw a trace of Cain's old limp in his gait.

As they reached the middle of the plaza, Keneel-La stopped. Yrith raised her eyes from the ground, disturbed from her moment of misery, and, for the umpteenth time that morning, opened her mouth in awe. Before them stood… a wall. Perhaps. Or a line of towers squeezed so close together that they left no space in between. There were five of them, sculpted into the rock behind them, forming a castle of sorts. The two smallest ones on the edges bore domes of gold. The middle one held a two-wing gate made of gilded lattice. But Yrith's attention was swayed by those on its sides, with niches hollowed out in their faces. Two piston-like mechanisms were embedded in them, each circled by a wheel with blades not unlike watermill paddles. They were still, unmoving, but Yrith doubted they were broken.

"Tonal resonators," Keneel-La commented, pointing his finger at them. "Neat little things if you know how to work them."

"And do you?" Leyna asked, not trying to conceal her interest anymore. Yrith was not surprised. They were work of art, even when she barely saw their shape. If she could ever see them up close, they would be a fine thing to study on long winter nights.

"They're for controlling the gate, aren't they?" Cain was straining his eyes to pierce the dark. "I saw something similar in one of the old temples in Morrowind."

Keneel-La nodded. "Correct. If you make both wheels spin in the right direction at the right time, the gate opens. If you stop them, the gate closes. You can always tell when it is open by the sound they produce."

"So how do you make them move?"

Upon her question, the Dragonborn turned to Yrith, his jaws stretching in a toothy smile. "Well, that's simple. You shoot at them."

"Just that?"

"Just that, if you know exactly where you want to hit. And if you can hit, of course. And since I have brought no bow, Cain, Yrith, I will need your assistance."

"What do we do?"

"Hit the blades. The resonator on the right needs to be hit on its right side, the one on the left on its left, so that the front part of the wheels spins away from the gate. Hit hard, you will not crush them. They need to spin fast."

Cain and Yrith exchanged a look, then stepped forward, each facing a resonator. Yrith tried to estimate the distance. The resonator was quite far, fading in the murk. But if she stepped closer, she would not have a clear shot of the blades, high as they were. This was not going to be an easy shot. But at least the target was unmoving.

"Ice would be best, wouldn't it?" Cain said absently, squinting at his own resonator. His hands were already crackling with a spell.

"Ice," Yrith nodded, following his example.

They took a moment for one final measurement and fired. Two bolts of ice shot from their hands, each aiming for its own resonator. Cain's hit a split moment sooner than Yrith's. The resonator began spinning, emitting a faint sound somewhere between a hum and a whistle. It was strangely soothing, the tone rising and falling ever so slightly, like an intense bird song. The other one joined it shortly, its own song joining in a billowing harmony. The sound made Yrith want to close her eyes. She rubbed them fiercely, refusing to let herself fall under the spell.

Light from the back of the niches revealed two lamps bursting into life as the blades rose, spinning so fast they were nearly invisible. The gate at the center of the wall split open with a loud screech. Cain grinned at Yrith. She answered with a feeble smile of her own.

"Good," the Dragonborn said with appreciation. "Let's go then."

They followed him inside, finding themselves in a vast corridor with steeply descending stairs. More turquoise lamps illuminated the way, their light narrowed by thick pillars holding the ceiling. The air was much warmer here, heavy and damp. From below, Yrith could hear pumping, humming and hissing, nearly drowning the sound of their footsteps.

Two mechanisms were hidden just past the first two pillars, reminiscent of small metal models of Nirn and the Sun's orbit around it. Nirn was pierced by a long axis with spheres on each side, as if there was more to it than a simple indicator of the Sun's position. As Yrith stepped closer to one of them, she registered soft, almost inaudible ticking. This was not an astrolabe, as she had initially thought.

Yrith's fingers itched with the desire to touch the construction. Tiny grooves on the Sun's orbit and Nirn's axis indicated a metering of sorts. There were more things she could tell from the positions of the Sun and Nirn and what she figured to be small models of Dominion Planets, Julianos and Arkay. Time, date, era. A clock and a calendar in one, and who knew what else. If she transferred the model on paper, it would be like one of the conjuration diagrams Singird had taught her about. One that could show very precisely the time and place she was at or identify another time and place in history or the future.

"Smitten?" Keneel-La commented with a smile. "Many people are. And most of those visiting the Dwemer ruins seem to think that these things actually do something. It seems the dwarves did a good job then."

He bent down, his hand finding a small lever at the side of the mechanism. He pulled it.

Nothing happened.

"And see," he walked over to the pillar next to it, toward the side facing the wall, "the real one is here."

The color of the lever he pulled next matched the surrounding stone perfectly. Yrith wouldn't have noticed it from where she stood. The bar sank. There was a clank, and the sound of resonators, still coming from the outside, weakened. The gate rang as it came into motion, until it snapped shut. Slowly, the tone from the outside faded, first into a quiver, then away, leaving nothing but the hum and sizzling from below. The Dragonborn clasped his hands.

"Well then," he said, the flicker in his eyes reflecting the turquoise light around, "I suppose we've been on our feet long enough. Let's go and find a place to rest."

They all stared at him incredulously, as if the words had been spoken by a ghost, not truly there, untouchable. Cain and Leyna, brave and tireless until that moment, nearly staggered. Yrith could notice wrinkles and shadows on the skin under Leyna's eyes, usually so fair and smooth. The limp in Cain's gait was now quite obvious. So they too had stayed quiet. They too had endured. Yrith felt a sudden urge to close them in a tight embrace.

"So where are we going?" she rasped.

Keneel-La waved for them to follow. They did, their pace slackening into a slow, weary drag. As they descended the stairs, they reached a fork. The right way seemed to lead to a dead end, while the left one, flooding them with so much heat Yrith felt like stripping entirely, turned somewhere deep into the bowels of the complex. The Dragonborn stepped out with confidence, taking the right way.

"Here?" Leyna wondered.

He smiled at her. "I don't much enjoy sleeping with steam pouring over my head, but feel free if you'd like it yourself."

With a heave, Keneel-La pulled out one part of the gratings covering the pair of massive pipes beyond. It revealed a gap between the wall and the pipes, wide enough for two people walk side by side along them. He gestured for them to crawl in. They did. Yrith could feel moisture on her face, not from the sweat covering it in copious amounts, but water rising in thick clouds from the pipes. Relief washed over her as the Dragonborn put the lattice plate back in its place, motioning them forward.

Somewhere along their way, the pipes entered the wall and the stone gave way to plain dirt. There were no more lamps to light the path. Instead, the walls were littered with faintly glowing mushrooms, reminiscent of jellyfish, embedded in a tangle of roots. The heat had subsided to mild warmth. Yrith could now feel fresh air in her face, coming to them in tiny, nearly imperceptible wisps. She suppressed another urge to close her eyes and indulge in the sensation. They must be reaching their destination. Her feet reminded her that it was about high time.

Her assumption proved correct when the passage opened to a vast space. Keneel-La stopped a few paces from the entrance, spreading its arms.

"Welcome to the Starlight Inn," he said, his jaws widening.

It was no inn, although Yrith found the name fitting. The place smelled of fresh moss, and muffled gurgling of water came from the distance, replacing the sound of engines and pistons from the Dwemer complex. The air now came in streams through a series of vents slithering their way somewhere up the wall on their right. No light came through them. Instead, the same glowing mushrooms they had met on their way were strewn across the walls, along with veins and chunks of stone glittering in blueish light. The same stone covered the ceiling.

"That's…"

Yrith found herself gaping at the place, unable to find words to describe it. It was about everything she had wished for. Warm and fresh. Cozy, yet grand. Quiet, welcoming. Safe.

She looked at the Dragonborn, as if asking him if it was real. Sensing the question in her eyes, he gave a nod.

"When you say Bthalft, most people will only imagine old ruins. Few scholars, those who have studied the Dwemer long enough, will talk about the Aetherium Forge. That would be the lava lake we would have reached if we had turned right at the fork. But this complex is much older than the forge itself, and the passages can lead you far to the north if you know the way around. Perhaps in this day, I am the only one alive who knows of this place. Or, I have been, until now." He smiled. Then, he cast a meaningful look at Yrith's clothes. "The water makes the place rather livable. The channel over there takes it from the lake and connects to the Treva River. It is good for washing. Not so good for drinking, though. We will have to travel a bit to refill our waterskins. These, however," he plucked one of the glowing mushrooms out of the wall, leaving a hollow of gently pulsing light, "are fully edible."

Sinking his teeth into the glowing meat, he took a seat by a solitary rock in the middle of the cave. Yrith eyed the mushroom in his hand suspiciously, deciding against her better judgement that she'd had enough food for the day.

They set up camp, too tired to talk or eat. Yrith had dumped her cloak and all her outer garments to the side of the cave, leaving them fallow while she rinsed her body and dried it with the help of her magic. Everything could wait. The world could end for all she cared. She quickly slipped into her spare clothes, crawling her way in her bedroll. The furs smelled sweet and inviting. Warmth battled the cold in her feet, until it seized her, spreading through her body and pressing her eyes closed. After the endless hours of walking and fighting, of fear and exhaustion, the bedroll felt like a palace bed, the fabric of its canopy made of the night sky. She let it carry her away, mindless of the Dragonborn's twinkling eyes, following her until she vanished from their sight, to Vaermina's land.


"Pain… relieve me…"

The words were hushed. They came out as a ragged whisper, carried on the gentle currents of the wind. Yrith must have heard wrong. Surely it could not carry such words. It was warm and cozy here, and the touch of fur on her legs was so soothing. There was no pain. Surely she was just dreaming.

She turned, curling up, embracing the heat of her own body. But the words cut through it like a blade of ice.

"Take me… burn me…"

Why? This was a place of peace. She wanted to sleep. To let the warmth engulf her. To let the quiet gurgling of the water fill her ears. She covered them with her hands. Still, the voice fought its way through.

"To live is to suffer…"

She knew the voice. It had brought comfort to her so many times. It was not meant to be this painful. The cold did not belong there.

"… and suffering bring life…"

She sat up, as if burnt herself. Next to her, she could see the Dragonborn's figure, bent over another. He touched its cheek, slapping it lightly.

"Wake up, ashling."

"Cain!" Yrith gasped, struggling with her bedroll to scramble to her feet. After two failed attempts, she simply wriggled out, tripping over a clump of dirt as she hurried to Keneel-La's side. Cain trembled in his sleep, his mouth moving hastily, muttering a litany of words that made Yrith's hair stand. She took his hand, closing it in hers. Next to her, Leyna rubbed the sleep from her eyes, searching for the source of the commotion.

Keneel-La put his hands on Cain's shoulders, giving him a shake. Cain let out a painful moan.

"No," Yrith whispered frantically, shielding her friend with her body. What was it that she had done the last time?

She closed her eyes, letting her magic course through her fingertips, into his body. She filled him with warmth, with the same comfort he had once given her. With images of ruffled duvets and cozy hearth fires. With the taste of duck soup and eggs. With the smell of hay and goose. There was no place for pain. She gripped him tightly, burying one glowing hand in his fiery hair. She felt his breath, first shallow and quivery, then slowly gaining depth. His fingers moved ever so slightly, as if testing the air. Then, an arm closed around Yrith, returning her embrace. She let out a breath, making to draw distance. But he held her tight.

"Yrith," he uttered weakly. "What… I…"

"Cain. Thank gods…"

His fingers found her spine, then her shoulder blade, as if trying to trace as many parts of her as they could. She felt so bare, as though there was no tunic between her and him.

"How do you always… what would I do without you?"

Fire burnt in her cheeks. They were watching, the Dragonborn and Leyna. Cain did not seem to care. He kept his arm in place, wrapped around her, pressing her to himself. She could not decide if she was more worried about crushing him or about her squeezed lungs.

"Cain," she managed, "I can't… we're still…"

"Stay… just a moment… please…"

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder. He was still trembling, remnants of his nightmare still coursing through his body. She let him hold onto her, his fingers dance against her the small of her back. Somewhere from above, she heard voices.

"Leyna? Would you mind helping me with something?"

"Yes?"

"It's just 'round the corner, if you'd follow me."

"Oh, certainly…"

There was quick shuffling, then footsteps. Then quiet, disturbed only by the gurgling of water and Cain's breath brushing against Yrith's ear. His hand went up her spine, then to her hair and face, yearning for a confirmation that she was still there. It touched her lips, then lingered, before sinking at last. Yrith moved away enough to gain space to draw breath, rubbing the nape of her neck.

"I'm sorry." His voice was but a rasp. He lay there, staring at the starry ceiling with doleful eyes, his breath still too quick for Yrith's liking. She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing, just looking, exhausted by living. She watched him with concern, half of her wishing to embrace him again, the other to create more distance.

"Nothing to be sorry for. I was… worried. Back in High Hrothgar, and now. Is the Demon…"

Cain shook his head. He sat up, shuddering. "He's not controlling me, no. The thing in me is… much worse. It's my own demon. Although I can't deny I owe him for its existence. But the Lone Demon, him at least I could perhaps keep away. This thing, I can't."

Cain's cloak lay just beside him. Yrith reached for it, slinging it around his trembling body. He nodded gratefully, pulling it close.

"I wish I could help," she said to him quietly.

Cain laughed. The sound sent a chill under Yrith's skin. "Help? You're already helping so much. No one has ever been able to shut that voice down. No one but you." He raised his head, piercing her with his crimson gaze. "You don't even realize how amazing you are, Yrith."

She shook her head. "It's… just my magic…"

"It's the way you use your magic," he corrected. "If I had your power, I would create the biggest fireball in history and smear all those who've hurt me out of Nirn's surface. Not you, no."

"Maybe my life would be easier if I could just smear everything away with a fireball," Yrith shrugged with a smile. He returned it.

"Maybe. But I'm not sure it would be happier."

Her smile faded. "I suppose."

"Say, Yrith."

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever… felt like you were losing to yourself?"

The look Yrith gave him slowly turned from curious to appalled. Cain's face was lost in a battle, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to glisten with moisture. Cold gripped her. This was not the face she was used to seeing. She lifted her hand to reach out to him, then pulled back again, lowering her head.

"All the time," she whispered.

"But did you ever… there is…"

He buried his face in his hands. Slowly, she slid to his side, touching his back gently. He pulled her close, pressing himself against her, squeezing the air out of her. She waited, feeling the hotness of his breath, unsteady, shaking.

"I… I can't do this, Yrith. Every time I feel pain, this… thing in me awakens. All I know at that moment is… the mantra. Our… my family's… their cult's… sacred mantra. It is like I forget that there is anything but pain. When I say I'm grateful for the pain, I… mean it. I mean it, dammit… because it's the only thing that is real. I… wouldn't exist without it…"

He shook his head, sprinkling tears over her tunic. Yrith let him in, wrapping her arms about him like the mother he'd never had, burying her hands in his fiery hair. He was so small now. Like that porcelain vase again, not the unyielding pillar she knew him to be. She had to become the pillar now. Her eyes burned, but she forced the tears back, fighting to keep her breath steady. She concealed it by tightening her grip.

"But you've made it this far," she said, "almost entirely on your own. And now you're not alone anymore."

"But… that's because of you."

"Am I the only thing that makes you forget pain?"

A wave of cold washed over her chest as Cain drew back, letting air between them. His eyes met hers. He looked horrible, more so in the faint light of the cave. The skin around his eyes had turned ashen instead of ebony, the eyes like two wells of blood against the ghostly silver glint of his tears. But still, they had ceased falling. He studied her, as if staring into a whole new world.

"Duck soup obviously does," he muttered.

Yrith smiled. "Anything else?"

"Twilight horizon, hearth fire's warmth and the smell of fresh fungus."

She looked at him in surprise, not expecting him to answer so readily. His eyes had brightened ever so slightly, kindling with a gentle spark. She considered his words in all their peculiarity.

"Fungus?" she asked.

He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "Have you ever been to a Telvanni dwelling?"

Ah, so that was the answer. She shook her head. Books spoke about the great cities of mushroom spires, breathing like one big, living organism, grown and nurtured by the highest members of the Great House Telvanni. She had never even seen a picture, let alone the real thing.

"This place reminds me of them. It feels alive, just like them. Their roots spread so far and deep that no amount of wind could take them down. Beneath the earth, they touch each other, share the soil and moisture, keep each other alive. You can feel their breath when you touch their walls. And their caps are so wide that when you open the door on a rainy day, you don't ever need to fear water splashing in your face." He sighed. "My family could never live in them. It is care that keeps those houses alive, and care they give in return."

There was longing in his voice, in the way he stared into the starry field above them, in his fidgeting fingers. A story he was reliving.

"I believe you could," Yrith said, finding her words to be as true as the unseen sun in the outer world.

"I wish I can one day. I wish…"

He fell quiet. Yrith waited by his side, watching his nigh invisible shadow as he searched for words. It shrunk as he stopped his shoulders, letting his head rest against his knees.

"My maid was a Telvanni. Apart from you, she was the best thing that ever happened to me."

His words were not happy ones. They were not bright as they should be. Yrith felt a chill in her limbs. She rubbed her arms, wrapping herself in the furs of her bedroll.

"What happened to her?" she dared quietly.

He trembled slightly, but his voice was firm. "A few days after my initiation, I was whipped unconscious. I failed to memorize the mantra…" He paused, looking away. Then he took a breath, rubbing his temples. "When I came to, she was wiping the blood from my back. I still remember the stinging when her tears fell on my wounds… that was the last I ever saw of her. Was it her care for me that made my mother punish her? Or her reverence for Azura and not the Demon? I don't know."

Yrith found her fists clenched so tight it hurt. She found herself gritting her teeth at the thought of Cain's own mother turning all of his life into an endless nightmare. Surely this was not about Azura. It was not about care. It was deeper, far beyond Yrith's grasp. And his mother had failed. Cain was here, gentle, caring, warm. Would he be the same had he not met his maid? Or would he have turned into another abomination, one day forcing his own children to learn to seek suffering, whipping them unconscious for failing to do so?

Her stomach was turning. She forced her fingers to unclench, seeking his hand. He looked at her with uncertainty in his eyes.

"Yrith?"

She turned away, unable to give him an answer. He was here now. But his wounds were still open.

She clutched his hand tightly.

"Azura," she whispered, just to have something to say.

Cain nodded. "The Prince of Twilight."

Despite his pain, Yrith sensed a hint of warmth in his voice.

"So that's why you like it."

He gave a sad smile. "It's amazing, how people tend to love those things they can never have, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you look at twilight, you can't tell whether it's day or night. You can't tell its color because it's always changing, and you can't keep looking because it passes so quickly. You can call it the end, or the beginning, or the middle, and you'll never be wrong. It is that moment in life when there is just about the right amount of everything. But just when you realize it, the sky grows dark and it is gone."

Yrith closed her eyes. Eternal dusk. That was something not even her magic could do. But then, it already dwelled in Cain's heart.

"Then you just have to wait for another one," she said simply.

He raised his eyes to her, filled with disbelief. Slowly, a soft smile bloomed on his face.

"I guess… there are countless days in one's life, aren't there?"

She laughed. "There are. And the cloudy ones pass eventually."

They fell silent, listening to the gentle gurgling of the water and the sound of pumping coming faintly from the distance. Cain watched her, his head tilted slightly to the side, his fiery hair falling into his face. He still wore his smile, not happy and not sad, simply filled with appreciation. His gaze was fixed on her, too intense, too long. Yrith looked away, knowing what he would say next.

"Your words are so beautiful," he whispered into the quiet. "You're beautiful."

She flushed deep red, hoping for the faint light of the rocks and sponges to conceal it. Her hand drew back instinctively.

"C-Cain…"

Without a warning, he moved toward her. She backed away, scanning every inch of his body. The fingers that supported the brunt of his weight, the knees he was kneeling on, the trunk leaning slightly toward her. Despite that, he stopped a short distance from her, allowing her the space she craved. There was something in his eyes that made Yrith's chest ache. Bliss with sorrow in equal amounts. A fading sun, a darkening horizon. The twilight.

"You always do this," he said wistfully.

"This?"

"Draw distance." He let out a sad laugh. "I suppose you've never seen me the same way I see you, have you?"

Yrith rested her head against the palms of her hands. She could not look him in the eye. She could not face his sincerity.

"I'm sorry, Cain…"

He touched her lightly.

"Why? Did you do anything wrong?"

Had she? She wondered what Cain would say if he'd ever learn she loved a teacher. That Singird Larkwing was the reason she could not return his feelings. Would he hate her? Would he hate him?

She sighed, still refusing to look at him.

"I don't feel sorry for loving you," he said softly. "I don't know what goes on in your mind, and I will not force you into something you don't want. But," he reached for her, turning her to face him, "know that I'm not planning to give up this feeling just yet."

He let go, caressing her cheek on his way. She stared at his smiling face, unable to move. Her chest was so tight she could not breathe. She could not name the feeling that overwhelmed her. Or perhaps it was a myriad of feelings, crushing her with their weight. If she could be half as brave in her confrontations, half as firm in her convictions as the man before her, she might perhaps feel like the strongest person on Nirn. And yet there was no pride in his eyes. Only the glint of unwavering affection.

Despite herself, she threw her arms around him. If there was nothing else she could give him, at least she would provide a place to belong.

Voices reached them from the distance. They drew apart.


Yrith woke up into the stone-lit darkness. Save for the humming stream and the beat of the Dwemer structure, the quiet was only broken with Cain and Leyna's light breathing. Cain was finally sound asleep, after Leyna's meticulous treatment of his aching limbs and Keneel-La's equally meticulous scolding. Yrith smiled. The only times when the great Dragonborn became angry were the ones when another's life was in danger.

Her eyes wandered to the lizard's figure. He sat afar, his back propped against the wall just below the vent. He seemed to be asleep, but she knew those beady eyes would open at the first hint of movement. She wondered when he slept. He never asked them to keep watch, simply taking on that duty himself. As she stared at him, he opened an eye, looking directly at her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly. "I wouldn't want another of you to nearly collapse on me."

"Cain was hurt," Yrith argued, gesturing to her very much healthy limbs. He shrugged.

"Exhaustion can be a treacherous mistress. More so than a wound."

Yrith raised her brows. "What about you?"

"Let's say I've had my share of fights after sleepless nights to know my limits."

She frowned. Surely his limits could not be boundless, but there was hardly any point in debating with the Dragonborn. She sighed, falling back into the soft furs of her bedroll. The stones flickered above her head in an eternal night.

"I wonder what time it is up there," she said.

"I'd say a little before noon."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "How do you know?"

He took a moment, scanning the place, his eyes stopping at the entrance, then the passage along the stream, and finally the vent. He smiled at her mysteriously. "I have my ways."

She closed her eyes, trying to feel the air. She could still smell the moss in it, along with a faint scent of something else. Up where the vent drew breath, flowers must have surrounded it. Indeed, this smelled like a bright day, too young to be ripe, too old to be morn. But from down here, it was almost impossible to remember the sunlight.

"You mentioned that the tunnels go all the way up north. Are we going to keep down here?"

"Miss the light already? Yes, that is the plan. It is safer. Hopefully, for those hunting us, we have vanished from the surface of Nirn."

"So they will not find us?"

"Ah, I wouldn't count on that. But it will take them a while. By that time, you might long be in Winterhold."

"How far do the tunnels lead anyway?"

"There is no end to your curiosity, is there?" he smiled. Yrith imagined the merry flicker in his eyes, her gaze still on the cavern ceiling. "Far and wide, hatchling. Most people in Skyrim are not aware of the world hidden under their feet."

"So how did you find it?"

Silence spread through the cave. Yrith waited for an answer, but none came. She turned her head to see the Dragonborn's silhouette. She could not see well the expression in his face, and even if she could, she doubted she would be able to read it. He sat still, looking away from her, into the remote, mushroom-covered wall. She shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry if I…"

Her voice trailed off as he gave a light snort. "I should have seen the question coming, eh? I would ask too in your place…" He sighed. "The memory is not easy for me. The first time I was sent to Blackreach was when I searched, ironically, for an Elder Scroll. The Elder Scroll. The one that would take me back to the time of The Tongues and let me learn a Shout to take a dragon down from the sky." He shuddered as he spoke. "The Elder Scrolls… they hold dangerous knowledge."

"That's why… you did not want to speak about the library?"

He took a moment. The breaths of Cain and Leyna still surged and faded, like an unseen clock, measuring time in its own subtle way.

"The library… no, that is something different. But equally as frightening…" He paused to draw breath, adjusting the sword, still attached to his hip. "The library is a path to finding the Elder Scroll, but I don't believe it is kept there. It would be too much for the mind.

"When I say library, I don't mean rows upon rows of neatly arranged books you can browse to your heart's content. Imagine instead that the books are transformed into fragments of reality, each of which pushes you in a different direction. That your mind is constantly attacked, that you never know where you step until you do. And at the end of your path waits a giant mirror. It will ask who you are. If you answer wrong, it will swallow you. If you answer right, it will offer a price. If you are willing to pay it, it may or may not point you in the right direction."

He shook his head. She waited, but he was silent.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"The library is like the dreams your Demon shows you. A reflection of a remote reality. Many realities that your mind has to hold together. But unlike the Demon, the library gives you a choice. You can pick a path to follow. Every choice you make is weighed and assessed. And if your senses cannot hold while you're inside… I don't even want to imagine the consequences."

Yrith frowned. "Does that mean that the place itself… doesn't exist?"

"Oh it exists. It simply borders our reality."

"But why? Why would someone want to go to such length?"

Keneel-La gave a mirthless laugh. "Why wouldn't they? What better way to guard knowledge than to make the minds of those who seek it act against them? You can hardly fight your own thoughts. The wiser you are, the more dangerous that place is for you. Intelligence is punished. Logic is punished. Experience is also punished. That place will attack everything you have taken for granted. And the less intelligent you are, the less danger you are to it. Quite ingenious."

"Then, is there a way to enter it safely?"

"None. You won't find any magic portals that will keep your mind safe here on Nirn, or any shortcuts through the place. The only way is for your mind to be hard as steel and for your will to be unwavering."

"So where is it? How does one enter?"

Yrith felt foolish for asking such a question. Was it even a question of where when it was her mind that had to enter? How would she find her way? Like her mind entered the Deadlands to search for her atronachs, spreading far and wide across Oblivion? That would be…

She gasped. Oblivion. Of course. That was what made the Dragonborn tremble. What else? A great library, laid at the boundary of realities. And not just realities. It lay at the edge of Time itself. How many times had she read about it? Even among scholars, it was a myth. Ordinary people hardly ever learned of its existence. But the Dragonborn had visited it. It had to exist then.

"Apocrypha," she whispered.

Even from the distance, in the darkness of the cave, it seemed to Yrith she saw the Dragonborn blink and wince. When he spoke, his voice was lower, deeper, hoarser.

"You catch on fast. I should really watch my words before you," he laughed glumly. "Indeed. The realm of Hermaeus Mora. Perhaps the most ancient part of Oblivion." He sighed. "Do not think too badly of me for this."

"But…" The cogs in Yrith's head seemed to move slowly, as if time had rusted them. Apocrypha, the hidden daedric library. It was different from the Deadlands whose connection with Nirn could still be felt at the places where Oblivion gates had spawned two centuries before. Different from Infernace and Levinace, frequent targets of Nirn's conjurers. Different from the Quagmire whose master so eagerly invited all the lost dreamers into her home. Apocrypha was a legend. It was meant to be a legend. No one was meant to set foot there. The Dragonborn had. How?

Only if Hermaeus Mora himself had willed it, Yrith answered herself in her thoughts.

She stared at Keneel-La, unsure whether she should be amazed or afraid.

"How… what… what are you?"

"Now, that's a question I could answer with one word or spend eternity trying to explain," he smiled. "I suppose you are asking about my affinity to Herma-Mora which, keen as you are, you likely figured. Let me just say this. I am no supporter of the daedra. I just happen to find myself in the wrong place at the wrong time ever so often. The daedra are drawn to power like flies to a piece of dung, so to speak. No matter their motives, they cannot resist it.

"Meridia is kind in her own way, waging an eternal battle against the undead. Azura does not take sides and her reign is just. Sanguine likes a good laugh and a good feast. Boethiah and Mephala both enjoy intrigues and treachery. Nocturnal is fickle, blessing or cursing you on a whim. Mehrunes Dagon and Molag Bal are plain vicious, each taking delight in different kinds of torment. Hermaeus Mora is… simply overwhelming. But no matter their manifestations, they all share the lust for power. They would do anything to obtain it. I have power. It was given to me by the gods, and so the daedra are drawn to me. You also have power. One that is a great mystery as far as I could understand. I can imagine that once Hermaeus Mora learns of your existence, he will be very interested in you. It worries me. He is ruthless. He will appeal to you, but once you are of no use to him, he won't go far for a kill. And if a daedra decides that you die, you die."

"But you're alive."

He laughed cheerlessly. "My power is unobtainable by the daedra. They can only have it by exacting control over me. It frustrates them, of course, but they can't learn it, and they can't get rid of the dragon blood by killing a Dragonborn. Another may be born, to anyone, at any place on Nirn. Controlling me is their only option. Your case may be different."

"But it's the only option I have, isn't it? The only way to find an Elder Scroll?"

"The only one I know of. I knew a scholar who specialized in them. He died by Mora's hand. He had a… particularly keen sense for detecting them. I do believe he has retained this ability, even in his death."

"So he… his… spirit is in Apocrypha?"

"I believe so. The daedra keep the ones whose lives they take. It is a good trade for them."

"Why did Herma-Mora kill him?"

"Why indeed? Perhaps because he was of no use anymore. Perhaps it was a personal whim of Mora's. Or perhaps because he set his eyes on a different target." A trace of sadness crept into Keneel-La's tone. He let out another quiet sigh, his finger tracing his forehead. His steel-clad feet ploughed the dirt. "I think gro-Shub is still secretly blaming me for his death."

Yrith lifted herself on her elbows, trying to take in all of the Dragonborn's figure. "Urag is? Did he know that man?"

"Know? Soul mates is the closest word I can think of when I remember them. Urag gro-Shub adored that man's work, transcribed all of it, guarded it with his life. He made copies of course, but I hear people barely ever touch them. Even before Herma-Mora had tampered with his mind, Septimus Signus was all but insane."

Yrith's arms gave way under her. Her face buried into the furs of her bedroll before she raised it again, eyes wide. Had the Arch-Mage, Keneel-La's sister, known all along where the path would lead Yrith? Had she just played with her that day when she returned the book to her, with the last pages unwritten? With the single line scribbled there instead?

"My master has come for me at last," she breathed.

"Excuse me?"

"Septimus Signus… I read a book from him. His… his last one, I think. It was unfinished."

"You did? Did you understand it?"

She stared at him. He did not understand. Of course he didn't. There was no way he could understand how much that book meant to her. She would meet him. Perhaps she could obtain the last pages after all. Perhaps she could use them. Then she would have her answers. She could change things. The things she could do…

She rolled over to her back, staring at the sky of rocks above, hardly realizing she was grinning. She had to reach that place. Now, her destination was clear.

"I think I did," she said.


So, I have tweaked Bthalft to contain a passage to Blackreach. I always imagined that the Dwemer actually had a great underground city underneath Skyrim, one that would connect all of those ruins, and not just the ones in the north. So there.

I guess my inspiration was the Osaka railway station. For those who have never been there, it is truly like a whole another city under the surface Osaka. If you ever visit Japan, go there. It is quite neat!

Lastly, I would like to dedicate this chapter to Christopher Plummer, the voice of Arngeir, Tolfdir and other Skyrim elders (and also the amazing actor of Captain von Trapp from The Sound of Music!), who passed away yesterday. May his soul find peace.

Sky above, voice within.