Chapter 30: The Path of the Mad

Yrith was falling. The world had turned upside down, then askew, all the shapes becoming blurry smudges on her way. The platforms with their tall fences disappeared from her sight. The air swooshed around her and stole her breath, whistling in her ears, sending tears in her eyes. But she refused to close them, looking ahead instead, to where the greenish surface was mercilessly coming closer. Soon, she would touch it.

But then, it opened.

She stared into a whirlpool raging underneath her. Masses of dark liquid swirled in an endless circle, inviting her inside. She was still falling, deeper and deeper, until the liquid was all around her. But she never made contact. Before she could, the world became dark, all vision fading into a shapeless blur. The sound of the wild waters all around her filled her ears. The uniform humming deafened her, taking away all sense of direction. It grew louder. Closer. Darker. Until it took every inch of her. And then, there was nothing at all.

She could not determine the moment it had become so quiet. There was nothing around, only emptiness, devoid of color, or sound, or warmth. Her world had shrunk into the sheer essence of her presence. She tried speaking, but she had no voice. She tried touching, but there was nothing to touch with and nothing to be touched. She tried looking, but there was nothing to be seen. It was void all around.

She wanted to scream. Her only companion were her frantic thoughts, searching for whatever was happening. Was she dead? Had she ceased to exist? But her mind still worked. It was the only thing that worked. She could not feel her body, she could not see. She was alone in complete darkness, in the middle of literally nothing. She would close her eyes, but she had no eyes either. Even a tremble of her body would be a welcome sign, but there was nothing. Fear gripped her. This could not be her destination.

She did not know if time passed here, nor if there was any at all. Words were difficult to form in her mind, as if they too did not exist anymore. There was something primal in this way of existence, like that single thought preceding all creation. It scared her that she could not take a breath to calm herself, or grip something, or do just about anything. She needed to calm down. She needed to find a way. But how when nothing seemed to exist here? In the end, there was still fear... fear of not having control. Fear of forgetting. Fear of vanishing entirely.

Instinctively, she clung to every memory she had. She pictured them in her mind as best she could, shapeless, colorless, odorless. But still hers. There was the sound of flapping books. The smell of dust on them, and the joy of sifting through them. There was Cain's lonely face, yet warm smile. Leyna's slender figure, sharp tongue and secret longing for affection. Keneel-La's beady eyes, lightly sparkling with kindness and hard with determination. Urag's brute features, and the grumpy voice that made her feel comfort. And Singird... the ever so demanding Singird, with his hard look, yet a gentle side that he so carefully hid from others. The smell of starched linens and smuggled tea on him. She fixed her mind on the memory of his person, picturing every line in his face, painting it on the canvas of nothingness before her.

The darkness threatened to swallow her, but sooner than that, she would swallow the darkness. She would drown it in thoughts, break free of its curse.

Slowly, her mind found peace. She kept picturing things. Everything she could remember. Everything she could think of. Mountains and snow, and the flapping of dragon wings. The sun's warmth. The sound of wind in her ears and its caress on her face. Trees and hills, and seagulls on the horizon...

The air was lukewarm and salty. She felt herself breathe. And shake.

She opened her eyes. She was staring into plumped dirt, smelling the fresh soil. Her body lay on the ground, twisted but unhurt. Shakily, she gathered herself and sat up. The land she had entered was not Apocrypha. There was sea, but its color was a welcome bluish green, revealing fringes of multi-colored kelp in its depths. Water lapped gently on the shore of dark soil and littered pebbles. She turned to the other side, finding a grove of larches and oaks. The sky was blue and white, sunlight streaming down from behind a bushy cumulus. Her eyes scanned the land over and over again, wide in disbelief. If she was in the Shivering Isles, they looked surprisingly... normal.

She stood, testing her strength. Her body listened without a hint of protest. Surely then, she could not be awake in her own world.

The trees in the grove rustled, inviting her inside. Yrith looked around, but there was hardly anywhere else she could go. Hesitantly, she took a step toward the wall of greenery. The ground seemed to hold her firmly. The air smelled of salt mixed with the freshness of the vegetation. She remembered this scent from long ago, when she had always stared at the vastness of the sea from the Daggerfall embankments, embraced by home, yet invited by that glittering horizon. She could imagine spending an eternity here, just looking, with no need to go anywhere. Her memories would keep her company.

She sighed, slapping herself lightly on the cheeks. The image of the Dragonborn and the purpose she had back where she had come from seemed so distant now. More distant than the far edge of the sea. Perhaps if she stayed long enough, she would forget them entirely.

Clenching her fists, Yrith walked into the grove. Immediately, the air felt cooler. She shivered, stepping over the roots of a crooked, ancient-looking oak tree. It seemed to have a wrinkled face, or, rather, several faces, looking into different directions. She stared at it, wondering if it was only an illusion or if the tree was staring back. She waited, but nothing happened. It simply gazed at her, as if measuring her worth. At last, she shrugged, searching for the place where the ferns and brushes would be the thinnest. There was no path to follow, no indication of the way she could go. And so she simply walked, letting her feet choose the way.

The infinite brushwood was difficult to cross. Her feet rose and sank in a nearly scripted pattern, scratched and whipped by the numerous twigs. She could see no regularities, nothing that could even remotely lead her in a definite direction. She looked up at the sky, but the thick vault of branches above her head obstructed her view. The leaves moved back and forth in a hypnotic motion, capturing her in a moment of stillness. The wind that brushed them whispered in her ears. Somewhere far beyond the rustling, she could hear its voice. And her name in it.

She turned abruptly to where the wind blew. It created a path, opening the branches and leaves to form passage. Yrith watched it with doubt, extending her hand into the air. If it was illusion, then it affected her sense of touch as well. Was she being led after all? She scanned the area around her. It was still the same place with plants anywhere she looked, wild, impassable. Safe for that one path that she was sure had not been there moments before. She searched for the way she had come. There was nothing. The thicket she had kicked down to let her pass seemed to have grown back to its full height. Maybe even taller. She bit her lip. This pattern seemed awfully familiar.

There was no other way but to follow the path that was created for her. Her feet trod lightly on the grass, finding the free, soft spots, following the whispers. She felt them more than she heard them, the beckoning, just like back in Daggerfall, but now they were so clear to her. Sweet. Meant for just her and her alone.

They seemed to lead her further and further into the wood. She stopped counting the time or thinking about her purpose. The whispers were now all she needed. This voice caressing her arms and hair. It was gentle, soothing. She could forget all the pain. She could leave it behind. Stay here forever.

The breeze had become fresher as she went. She looked curiously at the path ahead, stopping for the briefest of moments just to take in the scent. It was familiar. Too familiar. She buried her hand in the curtain of ivy just before her, moving it aside. Salty wind filled her nostrils. She stared at the shore before her, the same one she had initially left. Dumbstruck, she took a few steps, her feet finding the pebbles. It felt just the same as when she had woken up. She looked up and blinked. The clouds had not changed. The sun still shone from behind them, sending down golden pillars of light. She looked back at the grove, but the path she had walked was now lost. She must have spent hours there, but still, everything was the same.

"Impossible," she said out loud, wincing at the sound of her own voice. She put a hand on her chest and huffed. She was still breathing. She could move and speak. But the world around her was frozen in time. Or, perhaps, in a loop.

She looked around, but there was no way of circling the grove. On both sides, the rocky beach was surrounded by looming cliffs of black and red sandstone, too steep to be climbed. If she didn't want to go back, she had to step into the sea. But she doubted the same thing would work twice.

The grove twinkled at her with tiny droplets of water on its leaves. Yrith looked at it pensively. Before she knew it, she was making her way to it again, removing the branches that obstructed her entrance. This time, she circled the crooked oak from the other side, taking a different way. Again, she found no regularities, nothing to focus on. She took a random path, stepping over roots and vines of thornbush, removing the giant ferns. Again, as she went, she could hear the wind whisper to her, carrying the sweet sound of her own name on its currents. Sometimes it swirled around her, making her turn after it. As she did, she saw out of the corner of her eye the bushes move, closing one way, opening another. It did not matter anymore. The wind knew her heart. It wanted her to forget everything. The path did not matter. The purpose did not matter. She did not matter, and the thought was strangely liberating. She took in the air, stopping in her tracks. The moss was so soft and warm. She sat for a while with her back to a patulous tree, smiling at the patches of light showing through the canopy of leaves. What else did she need in the end?

She closed her eyes. The breeze was so gentle. It was warm enough to provide comfort, cold enough to feel refreshing. The moisture from the wood felt nearly drinkable. She did not miss anything. Darkness engulfed her. Sweet, soothing darkness...

Her hand reached blindly for the moss, brushing its surface. It felt almost like a duvet. Soft and welcoming, like an island of warmth in the middle of eternal winter. Except...

There was no winter.

She opened her eyes. How could she ever forget? Where would all the comfort go if there was no struggle to counter it?

She rubbed her temples, trying to focus on a single spot. A twig on the ground... but the ground moved. Just like everything else, even the moss under her was moving, shifting endlessly. There was no place that would stay steady, nothing that would not try lulling her into some sort of forgetful delirium. Why was she here? She closed her eyes again, visualizing a memory. Now, a single image was enough. A blind creature with ashen skin, raising its chitin blade to strike. Of course. That was where it had all begun. She needed to find Septimus Signus, talk to him and then go back to where the Dragonborn and her friends waited for her. She repeated it to herself once, twice, thrice. She kept repeating it as she jumped to her feet, covering her ears to shut out the voices from the outside. Blindly, she rushed through the woods, letting the twigs whip her and leave a vast net of thin red lines on her skin. She ran, kicking the vegetation away, not looking, not thinking. When the vines caught her hand, she twisted it out of their grip. When she tripped, she stood back and ran on. It seemed to take ages. Until, again, she felt the salty breeze on her skin and opened her eyes, finding herself back on the shore, still under that same cumulus obstructing the sunlight. She sighed, sinking to her knees.

"What in Oblivion is this place?" she hissed under her breath.

A laugh came in response, accompanied by the sound of clapping hands. Yrith turned around abruptly, staring at her unexpected company.

"What in Oblivion indeed? What in Oblivion... oh wait. This is Oblivion!"

The man's hair and beard were greyed, yet his golden cat-like eyes were full of life. He was thin, scrawny almost, but bore no signs of hunger. His garments were rich, half purple, half vermillion, almost like a jester's. He stared at her with a strangely crooked smile, seemingly enjoying himself for no apparent reason. Yrith stared back, wondering how she was expected to react.

"So... I take it I have reached the Shivering Isles?" she tried, feeling the ground become wobbly under her.

"Technically, you could say that. Although it has been long since my isles have actually shivered. Suppose they grew heavy with all that cheese their inhabitants consume!" He laughed to himself.

"Your isles? So you are..."

"No! Not yet! Don't say my name!" His voice fell into a whisper as he put a finger over his lips. "You'll spoil the surprise!"

Yrith studied his face, unsure what the man was trying to tell her. But after all, if this was the Daedric Prince of Madness, then she could expect just about anything. She cleared her throat, giving herself time to think before she dared respond.

"Surprise? For whom?"

"What?!" the man exclaimed, his eyes bulging. "Me, of course! Who else? Or wait... it could be the boneman standing right behind you, couldn't it?"

Instinctively, Yrith glanced over her shoulder. There was nothing. The man laughed.

"Ha! Gotcha! Can't see him, can ya? Well, he's really there! If you're mad enough to see him, that is."

Yrith smiled at that. "But I couldn't compare with Lord Sheogorath himself, could I?"

"Ah, now you've done it! You said my name! Trying to appeal to my ego? Or throw me off balance? Oh, you can't do that. You see, I have no balance!" He laughed maniacally. "Well well, but you do, don't you, little mortal? My tricks don't work on you. You have managed to throw me off my imbalance. To be frank, that's not a very nice thing to do!"

Yrith blinked. Was he blaming her? Did he expect her to apologize? If so, then for what exactly? Trying to stay sane while wandering through the whispering woods? Indeed, this was a land of madness. Was she supposed to give in? No, she couldn't. Surely if she had done that, there would be no way out. She would stay here forever, trapped in her madness, while the world outside continued its existence without her. Or it would silently cease to exist. She had to go back.

She bowed slightly, resting her eyes on his ridiculously ornate boots with raised tips.

"I apologize," she said quietly. "But it was necessary. I am searching for answers, not a place to spend my eternity."

"So you are," he said, drawing her attention with the sudden change of his tone. She looked up to find his face serene, free of its previous lunacy. "And now you think that you deserve them, don't you?"

She shook her head. "I'm not the judge of that. But I am willing to fight for them."

"Fight!" Sheogorath exclaimed again. "What fancy words you mortals like to use. Very well. Then tell me. What part of the Shivering Isles is this? Mania, the realm of bliss, or Dementia, the realm of despair?"

Yrith sized him up, pondering the reason for his question. He could be asking to simply guide her to her destination. Or he could be testing her. He could also be playing with her, driving her into giving a wrong answer. She pondered his innocent-looking smile, not too wide, but not too small. His eyes pierced her with sharpness she would never associate with a madman. Or a mad god, for that matter. Surely if he was asking her a question, there had to be a meaning for it.

Her eyes scanned their surroundings. The place looked peaceful enough to be Mania but dull enough to also be Dementia. There was sun, but there were also clouds. The grove she had entered was neither light nor dark. The wind that had whispered to her invited for gods knew what. She could imagine being lured into blissful forgetfulness or dumped into a pit of despair with no way out. Perhaps it could do both. And then, there was the walking in circles, through unexpected paths and openings. Thrilling in the process, frightful in its entirety. Where was she? At some kind of a boundary?

She closed her eyes and heard familiar words. Those spoken by Hermaeus Mora just before he had bid her farewell.

"Oblivion is not your world. There are no paths to walk or road signs to follow."

Of course. She smiled.

"It is both. Or none, depending how you look at it. Mania and Dementia were never places to begin with. Just aspects of this realm. Choices to be made." She threw up her arms in a gesture containing all of the Shivering Isles. Sheogorath laughed.

"Well! Well! Look at the little mortal, beating a Daedric Prince in his own game! Now, is your answer right? That's the question, isn't it? I'd say it's as good as any!" He gave her a meaningful look. "Suppose you want some cheese now, but not yet! But very well, you've proven yourself. You see, you've had your path open before you all this time. All you need to do is to go to that oak with four faces and ask it for directions! Isn't that brilliant? I'd say insanely so! Now go! Chop chop!"

Yrith raised a brow, taking a while to consider him. Brilliant indeed. She could not decide if he was mad or a genius. She settled for both.

He regarded her with a piercing gaze that could be both significant and impatient. She quickly bowed, backing away and making for the grove again. For the third time, she entered it, stopping by the old oak. It gaped at her with its mouths open and eyes wide, doing its mad home proper justice. She opened her mouth, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Was she really supposed to speak to a tree?

With a sigh, she shook her head. By the time she left this place, she would truly be mad.

"Er, hello?" she tried.

Nothing happened.

"I'm looking for Septimus Signus."

Silence. She waited, watching the tree closely. At one moment, it seemed as if its mouth moved, but perhaps it was just a play of light. No sound came out of it, no answer reached her. She rubbed her temples.

"He's a scholar. Specializes in the Elder Scrolls. And he was sent here by Hermaeus Mora."

Still no reply. She frowned.

"Hello? Is there anyone who could lead me to him?"

A quiet rustle was all the reaction the tree gave to her. Yrith looked around, wondering if Sheogorath had meant another tree, but there was none other that would even remotely resemble a face. Was she supposed to do something else? Touch it? Ask in a different way?

Gingerly, she extended a hand, brushing against the bark. It was coarse under her touch, just like she would expect of oak tree bark. She spoke to it again. A loud crack tore the air just beside her. With a start, she jumped aside, staring at the grinning figure of Sheogorath.

"Well, who would have guessed! At last, you fell for something! I was almost afraid this moment wouldn't come. All right then, I suppose you deserve some cheese for the entertainment. But really though, did you seriously believe that a tree would answer to you? A tree? A piece of wood?! Are you perhaps... mad?"

The last word was drawled with a generous amount of affection. He stretched his arms toward her as if to embrace her. Yrith's mouth twitched.

"I'm still not planning to be," she uttered curtly. She was quite certain that if Sheogorath simply decided to keep her, he would accomplish just that. She was entirely at his mercy. The thought gave her shivers. She scanned the pattern on his jester-like outfit, trying to figure out what it symbolized just to get the whole affair out of her head.

"That's a shame. Madness is liberating. You would see... but oh well. Not even a mad god can have everything, can he? Then perhaps another time." He gave a wink. "Now, what shall we do about you? Oh, I know! Haskill, dear, would you grace us with your presence?"

Yrith could feel a swirl of magic in the air before another figure appeared just by Sheogorath's side. This time, it was a balding man, very much unlike his master. A human for sure, looking almost unusually ordinary. As he studied the scene, he gave a long, weary sigh.

"Yes, Lord Sheogorath?"

"Oh Haskill, why the long face again?" Sheogorath gave the man an affectionate pat. "Now what did I... hmm. I forget. Never mind that. Let's have a cheese party! And a cake with topping made of people's entrails! Not bad, eh?"

Yrith's eyes widened in disbelief. Haskill simply rolled his eyes.

"That's a wonderful idea, My Lord," he said, and Yrith was quite sure he considered the idea to be everything but wonderful. "But before that, I dare assume there were some other things you wished to take care of?"

Sheogorath pursed his lips. Yrith pondered whether she found the childish disappointment on his aged face amusing or upsetting.

"My dear Haskill, must you always take the boring side? All right, all right. Please, escort our guest to the Link. And you, dear mortal," he turned to Yrith, "I will see you again, I am sure. You will remember me when the world leaves no place for sanity. And then you'll be plucking eyes in my name! Well, that's that. Don't forget to knock on your head before you enter it. We must not forget our manners, eh? Now, where was I? Oh, yes. I'm afraid I must leave. You be good now. Toodle-oo!"

With that, Sheogorath's figure dissolved, leaving nothing but a faint quiver in the air. Yrith let out a breath, taking a glance at Haskill. The man released another sigh, dusting his robes.

"Please, forgive my Lord Sheogorath's whims," he spoke, adopting a funeral tone. "He so does enjoy when a guest arrives to entertain him."

Yrith nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. One part of her wished to address Haskill's apparent normalcy, but she would prefer not to do anything that might upset the person tasked with guiding her to her destination. Even in this dream world, exhaustion was slowly beginning to take a toll on her. She missed the Dragonborn sorely. Perhaps she had already said things that would bring her demise. Perhaps she would say them shortly. For once, she would welcome the chance to say whatever was on her mind without the fear of being smitten off the surface of whatever land she was standing on. She missed Keneel-La's guidance.

"Where are we going then?" she said, trying to make it sound conversational, rather than pressing. Haskill sighed again.

"Ah, that. I must say Lord Sheogorath must be feeling rather generous today, not putting you through any real trials." Yrith contained a snort, wondering what Haskill would call the whispering wood. "So I suppose you would now like to see the Sage. Then I shall create passage. But on you will go on your own."

Yrith's brow quirked up. "The Sage?"

The man shook his head, looking at her like a father disappointed at his child's ignorance. "Have you not connected the dots yet? Is your pursuit blind, like a fly chasing the light at night in hopes to find the sun? Your journey here is no coincidence. It has never been. Even the Dragonborn realized it. A moment too late, of course. Either way, he could never prevent you from venturing here. If only you told him about the message you found in your parents' old library. He would realize then that he never had a say in where fate took you."

Yrith took a moment to process his words. What was he saying? No, it couldn't be...

Find the Mad Sage of Time.

Had she really been that ignorant? Had the answer been lying before her all that time? A book and a message from her parents. The last words of Selas Travi. They all had one thing in common. She shook her head, wishing for a bed and a moment of quiet to ponder everything, which she could not afford. A sigh escaped her lips. Her head hurt, heavy with turbulent thoughts. Dream or not, her head hurt.

"Take me to him, please," she said wearily. He nodded.

As he raised his hands, a portal glowing in shades of dark blue and violet opened before him. He stepped aside, providing passage to Yrith.

"When you enter this portal, you will find yourself in a cave. There, you will meet the Link. He will guide you on. You should hurry. Your mind is strong, but still mortal. You seem to be crumbling."

Yrith did not need to ask what he meant. She felt her strength leaving her slowly. She did not dare contemplate what would await her if she succumbed to the power of this realm. All she knew now was that she had spent too much time in Oblivion. Every moment now drained her. She had been foolish to think she could just walk it freely.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"I am only fulfilling my duty. Don't forget to call me when you're done. I have my doubts that you would make it out on your own. Although my Lord would be more than pleased to welcome you among his precious subjects."

She smiled faintly, nodding. Then, with a slight bow, she stepped forward, entering the portal.

Wild humming filled her ears. She covered them instinctively. Her head throbbed as though it should split any moment. She waited, feeling magic all around her. It enveloped her with its innumerous tendrils, pushing her forward, into a place unknown. She let it take her, following its lead. A few moments later, the humming ceased, leaving a thrumming echo in her ears. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness.

The room she had entered was a small square-shaped place, crowned by two very much unidentifiable armless statues, one looking up, one down. Between them was raised a platform, touching each of them with its opposite tips. On the remote tip from Yrith stood a throne-like chair. In it sat the oldest-looking man she had ever seen. Despite having barely any wrinkles, with his snow-white hair, ghostly pale complexion and deep dark circles under his eyes, he seemed ancient. Yrith stared at him, then winced as the portal behind her disappeared. He gave a low nod.

"Ah, so the doom is upon us," he said, his voice nearly as resigned as Haskill's. Yrith gave him a questioning look.

"Erm..."

"Yes, you want to know. Your face says it all. You want to know who I am, you want to know what I meant, you even want to know why you're here in the first place. You seek answers. One would say I should be able to provide them. All of them...

"My name is Dyus. You might have heard of me, or you might not have. I was once a librarian. The Librarian. The Keeper of the Great Library of Jyggalag. I was also once the Last Remnant, the only thing that was left of the said library after Jyggalag so unceremoniously transformed into Sheogorath. I am now the Link, which connects this world with the world of the New Jyggalag, and with some others. Ah, yes, and more questions bloom in your mind as I speak these words, don't they? No, I am not here to give you a history lesson. And no, I am not mad.

"As for your other questions... I cannot answer. Once, I believed that I knew every event that had ever happened and that was to unfold in the future. Every person, every fate, all was recorded. I knew the library by heart. And yet... two centuries ago, a person came who contradicted all the records and changed this land forever. Now you come. You, of whom there are no records whatsoever. We have entered a new era. A new timeline, perhaps. One where there is no such thing as certainty. One where the future is written as it unfolds and where even past can perhaps be altered as long as its memory remains intact. You are the Great Anomaly. I do not even know your name."

Yrith felt the urge to rub her head. She could not understand the man's words. Was he mad? No, true to his words, he did not seem to be possessed by the curse of this land. In fact, she felt as though few people were truly mad here. Maybe Sheogorath's madness was something that could be understood. Maybe it did not exist to begin with. She studied him, but there was nothing she could read from his face.

"Yrith," she uttered quietly. "My name is Yrith Ravencroft."

"Yrith, The One Who Speaks True, as spoken in the tongue of the old elves in times when they were all still one people," Dyus nodded in acknowledgement. "You carry a good name. Tell me, Yrith, what is it that you seek?"

"I'm looking for a man called Septimus Signus. But... I thought everyone knew. Lord Sheogorath knew. Haskill knew as well."

"I am not part of this world, and neither am I part of any others. Unlike them, I am confined here, with no ability to observe the outer realms. What they know, I do not.

"Anyway, the scholar. Indeed, he may have answers that I don't. But extracting them will not be easy. I am afraid the man is rather more... affected by his insight than I am. He was just a mortal, after all. And he has observed. He has calculated. He knows... too much for his own good."

"I was told," Yrith said. "But I still need to see him."

"So you do. At this time of the day, he is usually deep inside the tunnels underneath this complex. You will have to follow the stars to get there. He has a curious weakness for stars."

Dyus gestured to the statue on his right, the one looking down. Yrith stared at it, wondering what she was supposed to do. When he said nothing, she walked to the statue and circled it, studying its scarce detail. Only on her third round did she notice a tiny circle of stars embedded in the statue's pedestal. She touched it... and the statue moved, revealing a staircase.

"Quite trite, I know," sighed Dyus. "But he wouldn't have it another way."

Yrith smiled. "Thank you. I'll be going then."

"Indeed. I have a feeling you might not have the chance to say goodbye afterwards. I suggest you make haste. You look tired. I wish you safe journey."

Yrith dropped a curtsy before descending the stairs, his words weighing on her with the gravity of all Oblivion. With a dull, lifeless sound, the stone fell back in place. She gave it a frown. She had no idea how she could ever go back. It seemed that the path led only forward.

The corridor she had entered was lit by a myriad of tiny gold and silver stones covering the low ceiling, truly reminiscent of stars. Yrith noticed they even formed constellations, some of which she knew, others she saw for the first time. They seemed to form a pattern of sorts, like a chain that was meant to lead her somewhere. She followed it curiously, taking her time to scan the artificial sky. She saw repetitions, always in the same pattern, but never quite identical, as if the constellations shifted slightly as they progressed.

Staring at the strange path above her head, she cried out as she hit the wall. The stars made her dizzy. In fact, everything made her dizzy. She took a breath, speeding up. Now the stars seemed to be dancing before her. Above her. At her sides. Everywhere. Her fists clenched instinctively as she hurried through the years of stellar history, or at least that was what she suspected the incessant constellations to be. She wondered how long she had been here. Hours? Days? Weeks? Time was hard to count in Oblivion. For sure her time was up. She did not have long, and in that short time, she would somehow have to find the strength to gain information from a man she had never seen and suspected to be as mad as they said. She closed her eyes for a while, walking blindly, trusting her instinct rather than the sight that seemed to fail her. And then she felt the air swirl around her. She opened her eyes to see... the universe. It expanded before her, forming a dome of sorts, or whatever vast area she had just entered. And in its middle, on the biggest planet there was to see, sat a greyed man, whispering inarticulately to himself. She could only hope that this was Septimus Signus.

She walked closer, now treading over myriads of tiny flickering dots, hardly able to tell up from down. Her pace was slow and wary, her legs trying to keep the fragile balance that kept her, to her knowledge, standing. The man paid her no heed. He sat bent over something, entirely absorbed in whatever he was doing. But when the distance between them had shrunk to merely three feet, he let out a low growl.

"Not a step closer, abomination," he said, not bothering to look up.

Yrith froze. She did not have to see his face to know that he meant the last word. He knew exactly who she was. And she was not in his favor.

"I'm sorry?" she tried.

"Don't pretend you did not hear. Even the stars hear. Everything hears. You hear even better. Your auditory apparatus serves you well enough, does it not? Stars have none. Look how they flicker with envy at your life. And yet you waste it on meaningless squabbles, trying to decide the fate of the world that is well out of your hands. Your magic serves nothing. You might as well dissolve in it… and less harm comes to us."

"Excuse me, but..."

"Excuse you? Why should I? What have you done to deserve it? Your past is marked with blood. Your future is marked with your past. And your past is marked with your future. And therefore, your future... you should know the drill. What do you have to redeem yourself? You deny all the constants! The world has truly gone into a loop, and yet you stand here, unaware, your consciousness well out of the circle that you yourself have created. Do you realize what you've done? Of course not! Because you have not done it yet, have you? And yet you have. It is so simple, and still, you cannot grasp it. And to think you should have an exceptional mind. What do you truly have?"

Yrith's head hurt with all the words flooding in her ears, making as little sense to her as this whole place. She was tired. She wanted to just sleep. And she had no idea how she could ask this man for information.

She let out a breath.

"I only have questions," she said.

"Questions. Of course. We all have questions, don't we? Time is our ultimate question. Fate. It all lies in the stars. Tell me, mortal scourge. What guarantee do you have that if you ask me, I will give you a true answer?"

Yrith shrugged wearily. She was not able to play with him anymore, like she had played with Hermaeus Mora and Sheogorath. Her mind was cloudy, her legs shaking. "None," she breathed. "I'm willing to bet on it. You gave the Dragonborn a true answer when he asked, didn't you?"

"The circumstances were different! All probabilities worked in my favor. All eventualities would lead to the same conclusion."

"And now they don't?"

For the first time, he lifted his head. His eyes, as far as Yrith could tell in the dim light of the stars, were clouded, set deep in his wrinkled face.

"What?"

Yrith raised her brows, suppressing a weary smile. "I asked if they don't. The eventualities. Don't they lead to the same conclusion?"

"You really don't understand anything, do you? Time loop! There is no conclusion! Thanks to you!" He pointed an accusing finger at her. "None. There should be. But there isn't. Now where did it go, eh? Did you take it away? Someone before you? You don't even know, do you? But you are in the middle of it. You led the world here. Now lead it out."

The throbbing in Yrith's head grew stronger and louder. She wished to press her hands against it, make it stop at any cost. She could see no true madness in this man, yet she could not understand a word of what he was saying. Or was she becoming mad as well, feeling as though this place was rather filled with normalcy? What would happen if she did not make it back to her world? Would she stay and eventually be as mad as everyone here? She grimaced, half in exhaustion, half in concentration. What could she say to make him answer? What would she even ask? She had doubts he would answer more than one question from her. If he answered at all.

"Please," she breathed. "Name. I'm looking for a name... the name. The name lost in time. Could you help me?"

"Indeed you are, aren't you?" he muttered, turning back to his own shadow. Yrith, her eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the darkness, could make out the shape of a small circular platform. The man seemed to be drawing a diagram of sorts on it, even if she could not tell what exactly he was drawing. To her, it appeared as though all the lines and dots he made were invisible. Perhaps he was creating another constellation. She would never know. "The old secret. The one that you should have never uncovered."

Yrith opened her mouth to ask more, but closed it again, the words of Septimus Signus sinking in slowly, like a torn wing of a butterfly falling on the ground.

"You mean to tell me," she said thoughtfully, trying to place the new piece of the puzzle in her head, "that I... already did? Do I know the name?"

"Do you?" he laughed. "That is a wrong question. Did you? Yes. Will you? Yes. Or perhaps. Depends on how you look at it. Do you now? Take a guess."

"I..."

"You do not understand. I know. You cannot understand. You are a paradox. But you so desperately want me to be a part of it, don't you?"

He looked up at her, fixing his eyes on hers. She could see them almost clearly now. She wished she could turn away from his accusation, but she could not.

"That's not the point," she whispered weakly.

"What difference does it make?"

She tried to breathe deeply, not taking her eyes off him. Her chest felt tight, under pressure. Everything felt tight. Her thoughts mingled without order, escaping her grasp whenever she tried to get hold of them. She was in no position to reason with anyone. But still...

Unwillingly, she sank to her knees.

"What difference does it make?" she repeated, letting the words ring in her head. "What difference does it make if you tell me what I need to know, if the future is given?"

"Ah, that's the question, isn't it? If I gave you the answer, I might as well be telling you everything. And the world would burst and implode, and time would be no more. You will have to figure that out for yourself."

"But I have no means!"

The man laughed maniacally, leaning toward her. Her breath seized up in her throat as he drew closer, scanning every bit of her as if her sole existence amused him.

"Very well," he whispered in her ear, "I will make an exception, even if it makes no difference. You talk about means, and by means, you mean power. Power to bend time, power to leap, power to transcend the borders of your own existence. But there are three things that you should know. First, you, and only you, are the master of your existence. If it has any borders at all, those were created by you, and you are the one who can take them down. The world that you see – Nirn, this realm of Oblivion, Mundus, even me... this is your world, and it is shaped by your own mind. Second, everything lies in the stars. In their patterns... Magnus, in his rush, created a guide for our time. Magic pours through the stars, and this magic can be sent back. You have seen the mechanism before. The Dwemer knew it. The conjurers of the old knew it. And you know it. Only, for some reason, no one ever thought to connect it with just time. And third..." he let out a snort. "Well, you already have all the means necessary. What do you think guided you to me? The very thing you were looking for. By the time you learned about it, your fate was already written there. And it is being written as we speak."

"My... fate? What do you..."

The words died in her throat. Yrith gasped as the world turned with her, the stars from all around penetrating her closed lids to dance before her eyes in a mad waltz. She could not hear his next words. The darkness from her journey was forcing its way back in. This was her limit, she would not get any further. She clenched her fists, trying to remember how she would leave.

Oh, yes. Haskill...

"... go, before your life wanes... protect... time loop..." The words were muffled, nonsensical. With the last bit of strength, she gathered her magic. She had never tried to summon a person, especially not when in Oblivion itself. But it was the only thing she had, as her voice had left her. She concentrated on the flow, her mind clinging to it as though it was the only thing that existed anymore. She spread it and called. The darkness threatened to swallow her. She wanted to hear her own voice, to feel her breath, to feel anything. She called again. And again.

When nothing happened, she screamed, expecting the sound to die on her nonexistent lips. But it tore through the darkness, opening the view before her once more. It resonated through the air, flew into every crevice, penetrated the walls, until it was gone, leaving just a faint echo to resonate in her bones. Before her stood Haskill, giving his usual sigh.

"About time," he said dispassionately. "Even Lord Sheogorath started growing restless. Something about explosions and the end of cheese... Now I expect your business is done here, correct? Judging by your state, you would not do much of it anyway."

Yrith scowled, drawing a raspy breath. Her business was far from done. But she nodded meekly, feeling pain in her skin, as though it was dissolving.

"Yes, please..."

"Very well. Then sleep."

"What?"

"Go back to sleep. The real one. Let your mind drift away. Yes, yes, I know what you're going to ask. But see, it is that easy. You just leave. Awaken in your own world and let us exist a bit longer. Go."

Yrith stared at him, but before she could move a muscle in her face, he touched her temples and pressed. Darkness spread before her once more, but it was different. She felt herself falling, deeper, deeper, just like when she travelled here. She trembled, wrapping her arms about herself. She had enough falls, enough depths. If only she could rise. If only she could grow wings, like a dragon, so that she would not have to go through this. She was tired, so tired...

Then even the feeling of falling disappeared. Everything stilled for a moment, the absolute silence taking over for the shortest of moments, spreading cold throughout Yrith's body. Then, everything went alive at once. Her magic, her voice... she could feel them both bursting before leaving her lying on the floor, helpless.

She could hear the heartbeat of an engine. She could feel warmth, contrasting the rivers of sweat on her face. There was breath brushing against her skin. And whispers.

She opened her eyes and gasped.


He opened his eyes and gasped.

"Master Larkwing?"

The voice was curious, rather than concerned. Singird knew why.

"You heard it too," he exhaled.

"The Khajiit did as well," another voice joined, soft and velvety. Their silver-patched companion was looking eastward, into the distance. Somewhere beyond those clouds, a complex of golden-domed towers would stand proud, looming over a vast valley.

"Let's set out," Singird said firmly as he stood up, shaking his bedroll off his person.

"It's the middle of the night."

"And by daybreak, it may already be too late. Everyone knows where she is now. He knows..."

"But will we even make a difference?"

Singird gritted his teeth, forgetting his magic as he forcefully rolled up his makeshift bed, nearly tearing the belt he used to tie it apart.

"Let's just go and find out," he hissed. He did not know whether to feel happy or anxious. He finally knew where Yrith was. He could pinpoint her location with a needle on a life-sized map. But he was not the only one.


I found this wonderful Sheogorath & Haskill fanart which really wanted to share with you, but since FFN doesn't allow neither links nor pictures, I can't. If you want to see it, look me up on AO3 or Quotev - you'll find it there.