Chapter 31: Recalling the Transmundane

Those faces were familiar. Wrinkled, worried faces. Always worried. Always full of shadows from this angle. The greenish light from the surrounding lamps gave them an extra tint of unhealthiness. They were still, contrasting the constant drumming of the engines somewhere in the background, echoing from wall to wall, supplementing the heavy scent of dust and oil. Dust and oil for the old Dwemer automatons, sweat and blood for Yrith. She could feel every inch of them on her person.

She tried to feel her body. Bend her fingers. It did not listen. Her leg, the one hit by the venomous dart, burned, yet the pain felt as distant as the day it had been injured. The rest lay slumped, unable to move. She opened her mouth to speak to the faces above her. From her mouth came a primal, raspy sound, like the grinding of a whetstone. It hurt.

"Water," one of the faces said, and in that instant, a hand appeared just by Yrith's lips, holding a waterskin. She let them lift her and pour the soothing liquid in, fighting not to cough and spit it out instantly. A cold wave sank down her throat, spreading new life. Yrith blinked. Her vision sharpened almost painfully. She took in a deep breath to get her body to work.

"Welcome back," a voice said, "to the world of the living."

Yrith frowned, pondering whether the Dragonborn knew where she had gone, or if it was simply a figure of speech. At his sides, Cain and Leyna only expressed relief.

"How long..." Yrith wheezed quietly. The rest of the sentence froze on her lips. How many times had it been already that she'd asked this question?

"Divines only know," came a thoughtful reply. "We don't know ourselves how many days we spent searching for you all around Blackreach. Daylight doesn't reach here... We only found you when we gave up all hopes."

Yrith's eyes widened as she fought her exhaustion. "You... searched for me? When? Where? How did you find me?"

Three pairs of eyebrows arched at the question. Yrith scanned them cautiously, one after another.

"What?"

Keneel-La shook his head. "You don't remember getting separated from us?"

Yrith did not reply, but his nod told her he had read her face.

Leyna gave a quiet snort. "We lost you when the Falmer were chasing us. You helped us escape, remember? The two of us... raised a ward," her voice fell into a whisper. In the shadow of her face, dark against the bright, greenish light likely coming from one of the Dwemer lamps, Yrith could swear she saw a flush creep into her elven face. A flush and a hint of modest pride. "But then, when we broke into a run, you were suddenly just... gone."

"Gone where?"

"You tell us. The road did not fork anywhere."

Both Keneel-La and Cain gave supportive nods.

Yrith let her eyes close by themselves. She was quite certain she had not just lost her way. She had been led away from them, perhaps by none other than Hermaeus Mora. The only thing she did not know was what part of her journey had been a dream and what part had been real.

"Where are we?" she asked just to keep the conversation going. She heard a light chuckle in reply.

"That's the thing," Keneel-La hummed thoughtfully. "There's a story about this place. I will tell you once you regain a bit of strength."

His words woke her up with immediate effect. She opened her eyes, inspecting her surroundings. They seemed to be at the end of a strangely curved corridor. The path wound around something akin to a huge kettle made of the gold-like Dwemer metal. Occasionally, it was adorned by circular engravings. Lenses made in green glass had been planted on the perimeters of the circles, forming constellations of sorts. Strangely enough, they seemed untouched by the layers of dust which could be found everywhere else. From the top of the kettle shone light in many separate beams, painting a glowing kaleidoscope on the outer wall. The rest of the corridor remained shrouded in shade save for the few places lit by lamps.

Yrith tried to send out a thin strand of magic, touching the walls and sliding up. The kettle-like wall led to a dome elevated high above them, holding a rather complex mechanism of movable glass panes. And on top of it was...

She could not contain her gasp as her magic touched the object. If it even was an object. A great rush of energy greeted her, so strong she had never felt anything like that before, even counting the focal points at the College of Winterhold. It was ancient. It was powerful. She drew back out of fear of being swallowed. Then, she gave the Dragonborn a shy look. He frowned. He must have guessed what she had done.

"Later," he said firmly. "Let me bring you something to eat."

She was not hungry, but arguing with Keneel-La would be about as effective as trying to chase a skeever away with a slice of cheese. She sighed, trying to ignore the curious looks of Cain and Leyna, sitting by her side and roving between her and the Dragonborn. The lizard moved away, disappearing from Yrith's sight.

"Did he tell you what this place is?" Yrith turned to her friends. They shook their heads.

"First time hearing about a story," Cain muttered. "The two of you... spend a lot of time discussing things we don't know about."

If she had not spent the recent days lying injured in the middle of a Dwemer maze, Yrith would have blushed. Now, only the tingle at the nape of her neck reminded her that poor Cain knew nothing of what had transpired between her and the Dragonborn. Nothing about Apocrypha. Nothing about the Elder Scroll. She exchanged silent looks with Leyna. The elf gave an unreadable smile and nodded.

Yrith looked at the Dunmer boy at her side. When had she grown so fond of him? There was nothing left of that sly, mean classmate she remembered back from Winterhold. His eyes spoke pure affection. Devoted, unsuspecting, almost like a child that had not known perfidy. She sighed. He of all people...

The truth would hurt him. She could not do anything but help him conquer that hurt.

"Cain, there's… something I should tell you," she said, feeling a familiar lump settle in her throat. "A lot of things."

Cain froze. Then he frowned, forcing an unconvincing smile on his lips.

"You don't have to push it. I understand you have a lot on your plate as it is."

"No, I have to push it. You've given me so much… I know you're afraid for me. So then at least… let me be open with you."

Cain's frown deepened. "Which also means I will have to openly let you risk your life at every moment, won't I?"

Yrith looked away. It would be so easy. So easy to just take him up on his offer and back out of the conversation. The fruit of ignorance smelled too sweet. But she would only be extending the wait.

She shook her head. "Don't we all risk our lives at every moment?" she uttered softly.

"This is different…" he muttered.

"How is it different?"

She could see Cain's hands clench. "You're playing with divine powers here. If you get involved…"

"I was involved before I even knew it. And now it is too late to go back."

Cain did not like what he heard. She knew from his furrowed brows, from his bent posture that leaned slightly over Yrith as if he was trying to shield her with his own body. She knew from his trembling lips. But she also knew he had been expecting her to say just that. And hoping he would be wrong.

His fingers slid over the floor, his nails scraped the stone as his hand clenched again, producing a sound that gave Yrith the chills.

"Did something happen?" he asked.

Yrith tried to shrug in her prone position, half to shake off the unpleasant vibe. "I just spoke to two Daedric Princes."

There was silence, only disturbed by the constant pumping of the engines. Yrith felt the looks of her friends bore into her with the intensity of a swooping dragon. Then, three voices rose above the rhythmic thrumming.

"What?!"

Yrith's eyes slid over the sitting friends and up to the Dragonborn, standing now above them with a waterskin in one hand and a burlap sack in the other. They all shared the same, incredulous expression.

"I'll explain," she said.


"How are you still alive and sane?" Keneel-La wondered, handing Yrith another piece of dried meat. She did not take it. Hunger was the last thing on her mind. She felt the eyes of Cain on her person, urging her to at least take a bite. But it seemed the recent events filled not only her mind, but her belly as well.

"Is it so strange?"

"Strange? It's unthinkable! Normal people go insane after visiting just one realm. Exceptional minds, or people protected by things like dragonblood, like me, can take one. You just stormed through two and you don't seem even remotely disturbed."

"I was at my limit by the time I left," Yrith conceded. She was almost ready to ask what would have happened if she'd succumbed, but she did not want to imagine Cain's face after such a question.

"You could at least look it."

She gave a weak laugh, shifting her eyes to Cain fully. He was not looking at her, staring instead at the outer wall. Yrith doubted, however, that a wall was what he saw. Since the moment he had learned about the Elder Scroll and Apocrypha, he had adamantly refused to look at her. Leyna, it seemed, had given up all efforts to placate him, listening in silence, albeit intently, to the conversation. Yrith was almost afraid to ask the next question. And yet, it was all she could think about. She could still feel that field of energy up there, even without reaching out to touch it. It attracted her like a piece of lodestone would attract a hobnail. She was quite certain about what it was. After all, Septimus Signus had told her before.

"Will you tell me about this place, then?" she dared. The Dragonborn gave a long sigh.

"You will not rest until I do, will you?"

She shook her head and felt a smile play on her lips. If she had been tired before, all that exhaustion was now gone. If not for the fact she could barely move, she would have forgotten all that she had been through. She would have jumped on her feet and run to explore. Why she suddenly felt so eager and fresh, she could not explain. The gravity of the situation did not feel so heavy anymore. Even if somewhere at the back of her mind, the fear still lingered. Or perhaps it was the fear itself that now fueled her.

The Dragonborn's twitching jaws reflected her own curiosity.

"Somehow," he started slowly, "you were led in your delirium to the ruins of Mzark. The only thing left of them on the surface is the old tower – inaccessible if you don't have the right key. Which is the only thing that keeps me relatively at ease, because when you woke up, you gave a nice clear magical sign to everyone who might ever be looking for you. And to those who don't as well."

Yrith gazed at the lizard with wide eyes.

"I don't understand... how? Where are we? What happened? I mean... I managed to get in, didn't I? And what exactly is this place? What do you mean by sign? And..."

Keneel-La raised both of his hands. "Slow down," he said, drawing in a long stream of air as though he wanted to take Yrith's share too. "I know this is important for you, but let's take it one step at a time. In reverse, that is. I will have to answer your last question first.

"I suppose you didn't realize when you woke up, but... you screamed. And not just that. You released... a wave, I would say. A wave of magicka, not something that would shake us, but we all felt it. We felt your voice in it. Even if I'd been up on the surface, I could have guessed where you were. If the Demon, whoever he is, is looking for us, it's probably only a matter of time before he finds us. He must have already located us. Now he only has to find the way. This place is quite safe, but there is no place in the world that would be completely impenetrable. We need to get you on your feet and be gone as soon as we can. And as for how you got in," he took another breath, casting a long look someplace afar, which Yrith suspected to be the exit, "We found this lying by your side."

He took a moment to fumble around his pockets until he pulled out a metal ball, just enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Grimy but unscratched, it was covered in Dwemer ornaments, only partly discernible under the dirt. As the Dragonborn turned it in his fingers, it gave off a quiet, melodic hum. The sound faded as quickly as it had started. Leyna stared at it in unconcealed awe. Yrith could almost swear she saw her fingers fidget with desire.

"What is it?" Yrith wondered.

"A Dwemer key. This was used to access the secret parts of their ancient cities."

"The Ayleids used similar keys," Leyna added quietly. "The Altmer seem to have... lost this technology. But the tunes remain."

She fell silent. Yrith watched with her brows raised, but only the rhythmic pumping of the place came in reply.

"Tunes?" she asked.

"Melodies. These keys are attuned to the melodies of the lock. You can't hear the lock with your bare ear. But they correspond... similarly to how a normal key fits into a lock with its grooves, there are patterns that go together, but... it's practically impossible to make a replica of an attunement sphere. The lock and the fitting keys were made together by a Mastersmith. Once the keys were lost, well..." She threw up her arms to imply impossibility.

Yrith stared at the weathered sphere. So ordinary on the surface, yet...

"Unbelievable," she whispered. "But... I don't remember having one. Or finding one."

At her side, Keneel-La gave a soft snort. "Indeed. I would be surprised if you had. My guess would be that the daedric magic led you. No Daedric Prince can directly manipulate our world, but if they made a connection, it is quite possible that you, under their influence, walked the path they wanted you to take. Which leads me to the nature of this place."

He paused, staring into nothingness as he pondered his next words. Yrith wriggled in her bedroll, watching his jaws for a hint of movement. But then, her attention was swayed by his eyes. Eyes that bore the distant look of someone who was recalling something he would rather forget.

"Mzark," he said at last, "is the place where I found the Elder Scroll that helped me defeat Alduin." He let the sentence hang in the air for a moment. As Yrith opened her mouth to mark her triumph, he spoke again.

"I never thought I would return here. Maybe I would roam around through the Blackreach on my travels to disappear from people's sight, take the lift, but the oculory... Obviously, fate had other plans for me. Perhaps I am meant to be your guide. Although I find it rather curious that this place should host another Scroll. It would suggest that the one I found had not been here from the start, but rather it was pulled from elsewhere."

So it really was an Elder Scroll. Yrith fought to contain her smile. She finally understood the words of Septimus Signus. She really had found it.

"What do you mean, pulled from elsewhere?"

Keneel-La opened his mouth, only to close it again. He scanned the ceiling and the inner, kettle-like wall of the curved corridor, up to its top and down again. "That is..." he paused again, then shook his head. "Perhaps it would be best if I showed you instead. It's better to make haste anyway. Lest someone come... I suppose you cannot stand?"

He did not wait for her to reply, reaching out to help her up. Cain, despite his lasting deep frown, jumped instantly to her other side. She felt a fierce flush in her cheeks.

"Don't," she gasped, trying to raise her hands. They hardly listened. She closed her eyes to call for her magic. The touch of the Dragonborn's calloused fingers on hers stopped her.

"You don't," he said softly. "Save your magic. You might need it sooner than you'd wish."

"But..."

"Look at you. You're all bone and hardly anything else. How much strength would one need to support you?"

No amount of flush was enough to express what Yrith felt. Fortunately, there was no mirror to look into. She always hated mirrors.

She gritted her teeth, letting the Dragonborn and Cain lift her, raising her gaze to the kettle-like structure they were about to circle. Leyna kept in tow. Yrith tried not to imagine what the proud elf must be thinking of her now.

They walked in silence. The narrow corridor was rather barren, only the grey stone wall embraced it on the outer side, while the inner shone with the Dwemer gold. In her mind, Yrith painted tiny stars on them, just like on the way to Septimus Signus. Stars were magic, and now she felt closer to them than ever.

At her side, Cain gave a low grunt. They had entered a ramp and continued upward, against all gravity. The Dragonborn on the opposite side held firm, but she could feel him huff almost imperceptibly. Her brows knit into a single line.

"Let me do the rest," she muttered, calling upon her magic once more.

"No. You need to preserve your magicka in case..."

"And what good will it do if the two of you drain yourselves instead? Let me..."

She infused her torso, her limbs, every tendon in her, the spine that held her head, with the glowing energy, until she herself seemed ethereal. There was no need to hide her magic now. She was not cuffed and led to her death. And so she walked proud, leaving the three stunned figures behind. They would rouse themselves soon, and walk in her footsteps. But now she was her own master.

She steered her feet onward, up the ramp, watching the artificial horizon. The light from above drew a clear line where the ramp peaked. But then, her eyes found the ceiling, a dome of sorts, only split into a number of hexagonal panes. The light drew crooked ornaments on it as it shone through the mechanism. As Yrith ascended, she turned to whatever cast the shadows and found a number of massive metal arms, each holding an equally massive ring. The rings carried up to three glass lenses. From what it seemed, Yrith assumed they were supposed to move so that they could redirect the light that came down in the center in the form of a wide column. When she looked at the base where it fell, it all made sense.

A narrow bridge led over what she had thought to be a kettle, up to a small circular platform in the center. Instead of a kettle, she now saw a large gold sphere, holding another circle filled with lenses at is top. It was enclosed with a series of hoops of various sizes, one sitting on top of another. The one in the middle was adorned by four star-spangled arrows, each directed, as far as she could tell here under the ground, toward one cardinal point. She took a moment of silent observation, holding herself not to laugh. She knew what this was. She had seen it so many times already. But then, there had to be something to make the whole mechanism move.

She did not have to search too hard. The ramp she walked on led to a wide ledge. Six pillars were raised on it, if she could call it pillars. Five of them were cylindrical with chamfered tops, the four on the sides each holding a button while the middle one exposed what she assumed to be a star chart. The pillar closest to Yrith was different. A prism of sorts, reminding her in shape of the Arch-Mage's tower in the College of Winterhold. Atop of it sat a holder for something that was obviously missing. A cube, Yrith assumed instantly. It must be a cube.

She slowed down, until she was standing, forgetting her magic. She stumbled as her body broke, and quickly restored the flow. Her gasp felt almost like a roar. This place was strangely disconnected from the rest of the Dwemer complex. Quiet. Surreal.

The machine before her – underneath her – around her – even if made in Dwemer metal and style, seemed as though it did not belong here. There was something sinister about it. She inspected it, finding connections. There were tubes around the room and in the machine as well, connecting it to some outer sources of water and energy. There was wiring linking the pillars with the massive arms and their lenses. But there was also something else. The pillar of light shining from above was not just light. It was magic, in its purest form, and it came from elsewhere. No Dwemer complex could provide so much, and there was no end to it. As if Mundus itself powered this place.

She laughed at her own ignorance. It was not the Elder Scroll she had sensed earlier. It was this pillar. And the Dragonborn was indeed right. There was no Scroll here. It had to be summoned.

Her smile grew wider yet.

A huffing sound made her turn back where she came from. The Dragonborn stomped after her, Cain and Leyna at his heels.

"There's nothing one can do once you've made up your mind, is there?" the lizard snorted. Behind him, the Dunmeri boy gave an entirely different kind of snort. Leyna did not listen. Like Yrith, she was silently inspecting the place, her face motionless, but her eyes ablaze.

Yrith shrugged.

"So here we are."

Keneel-La's wistful tone made Yrith turn after him. He watched the pillar of light absently, fingers fidgeting with the buckle on his belt. She wondered what he was remembering now, but did not dare ask.

"It's been a long time," he said. "But not long enough."

"I'm so—"

"Don't be. We had to come here. Well," he quickly masked his face with a smile, "you can enjoy the place. Astonishing, isn't it? The Dwemer have quite a few of them."

Yrith raised a brow at the sudden change, but chose not to pursue it. She scanned the six pillars that would control the mechanism, then the lenses and the beam of light in their middle.

"Quite a few of them?" she inquired quietly. "Exactly like this?"

"Well, not exactly. The puzzles are different. The outcome is usually different. The system is often similar."

"So completely different," she concluded.

"Well, that's a bold statement," he laughed.

She shook her head. "This is no puzzle. And the outcome is the only outcome there can be."

Now he was the one to quirk his bony brows. "What do you mean?"

"This," she sent out a strand of magic, not bothering to make her arms wave in the direction of the mechanism, "is a conjuration circle. Well..." Her magic touched the light. A wave of raw power washed over her. She retreated, touching her chest as she took a deep breath. "Not a circle. A... something. It is three-dimensional.

"What Singird Larkwing wouldn't give to just get a glimpse of this," she added, more to herself.

"Your conjuration master?"

She stared at the lizard beside her. "You know him?"

"Well, given he was the one who made a deal with General Tullius that I be hired to rescue you, I've at least heard the name."

"What?!"

Yrith's eyes wandered to Cain and Leyna, both staring at the Dragonborn with the very same question on their lips. The silence of the following moment resonated in her ears.

So it was Singird. Not the Imperial General, but Singird... who appeared to have just the right connections. She forgot the machine, tossed the image of the imposing pillar of power aside. Singird... He had mentioned his parents had been recruited by the Imperial army. Now, despite all the undesirable effects, he had used this connection to... help her? How in Oblivion could he manage to convince General Tullius to invest the Imperial resources for such a cause? Unless...

Unless the case of his parents and myself had something in common.

She replayed that thought in her mind many times. As if reacting to her instinct, her magic made her body pace, but she ignored the movement. The physical reality, no matter how fascinating, faded in the shadow of this new knowledge. Singird had managed to get her out of death's grasp. Saving her... from Imperials. On the orders of their own general...

The Imperials had abducted her in the middle of a battle with the Stormcloaks where Leyna's father, a former runaway Thalmor, had also perished. And then she had been saved by the most powerful person in Skyrim, on the order of the Imperial General, because Singird had pleaded to him. This alone made no sense at all. Who was her enemy? Stormcloaks? Imperials? Thalmor? None? All? Had even her rescue been a ruse? Was she walking into a trap?

No. No...

Why Singird? Why would General Tullius listen to him?

Questions. So many questions and no answer. Just moments before, she had felt so close to the end of the journey. Now it was as though she had only just begun.

General Tullius would never have arranged for her rescue had he not had a good reason. Singird must have found something. Something that would make the General think it was worth hiring the Dragonborn...

"Yrith?"

She had not registered someone had been tapping on her shoulder. Or that they had been calling her name for quite some time. Up until now, she had not even taken notice of the three people staring at her with the intensity of a Winterhold blizzard. Even Cain kept his eyes on her now, his fiery brows furrowed.

"Yrith?" Keneel-La repeated. "Are you with us now?"

"I..." she exchanged looks with Cain and Leyna. For some reason, they seemed to be bothered more by Yrith's own shock than the fact that it was Singird who had arranged for their rescue. She gave a silent sigh. "I'm just confused."

"I can see that. Can you please be confused after we finish here? We shouldn't stall."

She nodded, trying to focus on the machine before her. A conjuration circle. She just had to arrange it correctly so that it would indicate a certain time, just like Singird had taught her.

Singird...

Singird and his conjuration ritual... his attempts, more successful than he would have imagined, to make Yrith study conjuration circles. To call his great-grandfather's soul from the depths of Aetherius, or perhaps from the depths of time itself. Because his parents had been, by his own words, obsessed with him.

Coincidence? She did not think so. There was something she was missing. Unnatural chill ran over her spine and spread across her body. Now of all times, she was afraid to take a step forward. Now, she realized how dark and deep the tunnel ahead of her was, and how she had no idea what was inside. In slow motion, she turned to the beam of light in the center of the room. She had to. She just had to do it. She would retrieve the scroll, return to Singird and ask him about it. That's what she would do.

She took a breath and turned to the Dragonborn.

"How do I work this?"

"That's a good question," he said as he made for the ledge with the pillars, gesturing for her to follow. She stepped toward him cautiously, inspecting the buttons and the tiny map on top of the pillars. "Last time I was here, I had a Dwemer Lexicon to activate the device. But I don't have it now. So, what surprise will you have for us this time, Yrith?"

Yrith's lip twitched. So she served the Dragonborn as a good source of amusement. She entertained the thought of asking him to pay her instead of him receiving all the reward. Perhaps she would one day, when they would stand on equal footing.

"What is a Dwemer Lexicon?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"The way I understand it, it's a sort of medium to store information. Something like a book, only this thing looks like a small dice that fits into any pocket and stores infinitely more content. It's supposed to go here," he patted the closest, prism-like pillar, "where it will activate. The Lexicons were apparently commonly used by the Dwemer back in the day. Though I suspect no living mortal can decipher them now."

So she had been right. A cubic thing belonged on top of the closest pillar. She touched it lightly and ran a finger through the empty space on its top. Three cogwheels skirted it, angled so that they would enclose three sides of the cube. Her fingertips found gentle patterns embedded in the cogs, likely something to fit into the Lexicon. A wave of energy pulsed in her fingers and shot up, into her arm and further. She gasped and pulled away.

She felt a presence at her side and raised her head to look into Leyna's face.

"May I take a look?" the elf asked.

Yrith stepped aside in a wordless invitation.

Now, Leyna's hand ran among the cogs and over the glistening surface of the pillar. She moved here and there, finishing at the same place as Yrith, on the cog engravings.

"These cogs don't turn," she commented thoughtfully. "So there is no place for combinations. I assume this one doesn't read mechanical inscriptions, but uses magical imprints instead."

Yrith raised a brow. "How can you tell?"

"My father's dictionaries. They contained information on all means of communication, even those long lost in the past. This could make it quite easy for you. A magical imprint is like an identification of sorts. Maybe just a bit of your magic would be enough to activate it."

"And how would it work?" Yrith asked, doubt in her voice, but she was already moving back to the pillar.

"You said this is a conjuration circle, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And you are trying to summon an Elder Scroll, I presume?"

"I am."

"So wouldn't it make sense to make an imprint of yourself?"

"So you're saying," Yrith said slowly as she processed the suggestion, "that I should feed this thing magic and it would somehow allow me to summon the Elder Scroll?"

Of course she would have to use magic, but she would have to first know when and where the object she was trying to conjure was. She would have to mark its time and place. Enter the coordinates and persuade the machine to reflect them. And only then she could summon the Scroll, provided she had enough resources to do that. Now that she thought about it, what was the use of launching the mechanism when she did not know the Scroll's location?

"There are far too many unknowns..." she added in half-whisper. "I suppose the Dwemer Lexicon gave the machine coordinates?"

"And your magic would too," Leyna concluded almost dismissively.

"I don't understand. How would that work?"

"It would work," Cain said, the suddenness making Yrith flinch with surprise, "because the Elder Scroll is tied to you."

Yrith outlined his figure. He stood with his head high, crimson eyes fixed on Yrith's face. She stared at him. There was certain clarity in his features, something she had not seen there before. His voice too had lost the familiar tremble. For a moment, Yrith struggled to concentrate on what he had said instead of how he had said it.

"W-what?" she asked dumbly, unsure what her own question was directed at.

"The Elder Scrolls, whatever they are, are tied to things. People. Creatures. Objects. Places. Time... Maybe all of them. That Elder Scroll was probably linked to you the moment you were conceived, and it will be linked to you the moment you die."

He was so calm. Unlike just a few moments before. As if he...

"Cain..."

He raised his hands in a silencing gesture.

"Don't. I know what you want to say. It is fine. Looking at this place, considering this whole situation... I should have known. Don't worry though," he added with a remarkably wide smile, "you won't get rid of me that easily. I wish I could have peacefully told you all that I harbor inside. But perhaps I can hold onto that wish and hope that one day, it will come true."

He gave a weak laugh. Yrith reached out her hand, but he shook his head.

"Fetch that Scroll. The story that is written inside it, or one of the stories, one of the possibilities it may present to you... hopefully it will bring an end to this."

"Indeed," Keneel-La joined. "But be careful. The Elder Scrolls are not supposed to be read just like that. Even the most erudite of Moth Priests can only gaze into one or two at most before they lose their sight... or mind."

Yrith frowned.

"But then, why am I supposed to retrieve it?"

"The Elder Scrolls work in mysterious ways. The one I recovered was the one used by the old Tongues to cast Alduin out of time. It was the Elder Scroll that revealed to me what had happened back then. It literally took me back in time. But it only worked at the Time Wound on the Throat of the World. I did not truly read it. I just... let it take me wherever... or, rather, whenever it would. Didn't Paarthurnax suggest you need something similar?"

She nodded.

"Then go and do your magic."

With a hint of hesitation, she touched the pillar again. So, a magical imprint...

Three of her fingers rested on the flat side of the cogs, letting her magic pour into the ornaments. A drop... just a tiny drop was enough for the whole mechanism, all six pillars, to light up at once. The stars on the central cylindrical pillar suddenly moved, taking the form of a new constellation. She blinked and stepped back. The light remained. It worked.

She backed a few more steps to observe the result. The buttons were alight with bright turquoise glow. The stars in the diagram on the central pillar shone the same, connected by a glowing line that went along the movable circular panes the map consisted of. So Yrith would have to transform this image into something three-dimensional. She was relieved it was only this and not something harder, like the five-dimensional charts of Septimus Signus. This, at least, seemed doable.

"So this... is my path," she said, half a revelation, half a question to the Dragonborn. He lowered his head in approval.

"Now the buttons..."

Yrith stepped forward before he could finish the sentence. She had to lift her hands to touch the buttons on top of the pillars that had likely been constructed with an elf's height in mind. She, small even for a Breton, now felt even smaller.

She tested the buttons gingerly, only giving each a light tap. One to move the lens arms clockwise, the other counterclockwise. One to move the sphere and the loops on it, the other to move them in the opposite direction.

The mechanism played a light game. Every now and then, a different lens redirected the light from the central beam. Or two lenses. Or three...

She just needed to find a match. All the lenses had to be involved. She had to recreate the constellation. Add a dimension. If she had Singird's maps with her, she could have easily found where it was, and perhaps even what time it indicated. Sadly, she had neither the maps, nor the time to do so.

Soon, her fingers moved almost on their own, following her thoughts. One forward, shift the loops twice, one backward...

The mechanism responded slowly, making her wait every time she pressed a button. It rumbled as multiple engines propelled the massive structures, but there was no sound of rust in the bends, nor did any dirt hinder the cogs. The lenses danced smoothly, if slowly, sending flares and glints on the metallic sphere, the stone walls and the four figures standing on the ledge and watching in awe and expectation. They turned... and turned... and turned... The whole world seemed to be turning.

Yrith was so immersed in her work she almost missed the correct combination. Her finger froze above the button just when she was about to press it. No. Wrong button... It was not the lenses she had to move now. It was the sphere. One more step, one more push... and the lines would connect.

She hesitated. Then, her hand moved to the right pillar and let the finger sink.

The device turned for the last time. Yrith squinted as the light assaulted her eyes. All the lenses were now connected by beams of light that broke apart only to join again, taking sharp turns, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. The machine made a resonating grunt, then a creak as a cocoon-shaped casket made of emerald glass made its way down to the center of the loops. It split in two as its ends moved apart and revealed a set of gilded bars. In their midst floated a scroll like none Yrith had ever seen.

It shone light silver, as though reflecting the color of Yrith's eyes. Its spectral fabric revealed the patterns and inscriptions recorded inside. She could see them move, constantly reshape themselves as the scroll turned in the air. Yrith wondered if she could even touch it. At her side, the Dragonborn released a sigh of astonishment.

"Now this is something... why does this look so completely different from what I found here?"

"I think..." Yrith whispered, almost afraid to break the silence, "I think it reflects how I imagined it in my thoughts."

The lizard stared at her, then the scroll. "Truly?"

"Except for the moving script, that is... Can't an Elder Scroll take on any form, depending on the kind of magic that summons it?"

"It is possible. I suppose I am more matter-oriented than you."

She smiled lightly as she stepped down the ramp, toward the scroll. But then, she stopped, gazing at its translucent form.

Matter-oriented...

So she was magic-oriented then.

With her breath held, Yrith sent out her magic. It bolted out in a clear line, illuminating the ramp and the gilded sphere in pale blue. The instant it touched the scroll, time stopped. Nothing moved. Silence was deafening. And then, it burst back. The scroll dissolved into a cloud of silvery glitterdust. Absorbed by Yrith's magic, it fired toward her. It enveloped her, head, limbs, torso, it filled her eyes and ears, it entered her mouth and soaked through her skin.

She knew this feeling. She had known it long before, when her magic began to awaken. Master Neloren had tried to describe it to her. And yet, this time, it was different. It was... everything. Pain and joy. Happiness and despair. Hurt and comfort. Hunger and satiety. There were people, both unknown and known. Memories from the past, snippets from the present, perhaps shards of the future, or things that may not happen at all. She felt them in her blood and bones. Instinct led her to focus on those she knew. On the hateful Cain, whose anger she could now taste from the other side. On the crying Cain. Smiling Cain. Peaceful Cain. Hateful Leyna. Joyful Leyna. Regretful Leyna. The Dragonborn and his thousand faces, his knowing smile that almost hurt to wear. Singird, uncompromising, then kind and loving. Then fearful, desperate... She stayed with him longer. Was this a premonition of the future that was to unfold? Or his past? No...

It hurt. Why did the pain feel so real? It was everywhere. On her skin and in the bones, it slashed through her muscles, it tore her lungs. A trickle of blood came down her brow and hindered her sight. His sight. She could not breathe. Her, his body had been ripped apart. The only thing that remained was one last, desperate thought.

Not her...

She screamed. Out. It had to go out. Out of her mind, out of her system, someplace she will not see, not feel...

"No!" she heard her own voice, drowned amidst the torrent of crackling blue light. It spurted out of her in every direction, wild, uncontrolled. She heard a crack. An arm of the ancient mechanism broke. It would never work again. Glass shattered in a myriad of glistening shards before they melted in the storm. Just like her own flesh melted in the pain. It would not leave. With every passing moment, it cut deeper and deeper. Without the help of magic, her fingers found her stomach and clutched it, locking her in an eternal loop of implosions and explosions. She screamed more, only to lose breath and triple the agony her torn lungs brought to her.

"No..."

"Yrith!" someone called. She could barely hear the voice. Her ears – her whole body – failed her. Sounds were distorted. Images wrapped in the fabric of the Elder Scroll, strangled by its script and buried beneath the scenes it showed.

What was reality? Was it inside? Was it outside? The voices multiplied, both in and out. They yelled, and whispered, they begged, and cried.

"Yrith! Yrith! The scroll!"

"No! No..."

"Let go!"

"No! Sin..."

"You have to!"

"...gird..."

No. It couldn't be reality.

"You can't..."

She had to listen to the right voice.

Not her, please...

The right one. Listen. Focus. You've done it before.

The scroll pressed on her mind. She felt her body hit the ground as the magic holding it upright sprang out of her control. Her fingers moved aimlessly, lightning crackling between them in explosive sparks.

Footsteps. She heard them all around, distant thuds, then fading patter.

"No..."

Her name. It was her name they were calling. Again, and again. As if it was a magic key to bring her back.

Name... a key. Names were good. Names meant something. She had to find the Name. End this, just like Cain wanted. Just like she wanted too. The Scroll was her tool. It was the key. She could not become its slave.

Her fingers clenched. The magic around them swirled and formed humming spheres. More images flashed before her eyes. With gritted teeth, she forced them out, crushing them and casting them to a remote corner of her mind. If they would not leave, then she would become their prison. She would bar them and not let them out. The Scroll would remain a hidden demon locked deep inside. Until she would need it.

They fought back. Her head throbbed, her eyes burned. Her magic changed color to fiery orange, then vermillion. Beneath the image of helpless Singird, Oblivion burned a thousand flames. Her teeth screeched. Yrith tore the scene apart and crumpled its remains. In her mind, she thanked the Scroll for the warning. She would not let it happen. Determination bloomed on her face. She was back in control.

"Yrith!"

The voices thundered, gaining in strength as their echo bounced over the circular wall. Yrith resisted the urge to cover her ears. She was panting, lying on the floor with her arms and legs spread wide in odd angles. Her whole body was sore and trembling.

"I'm alive," she muttered numbly.

"You are lucky to be." Keneel-La's usual mirth was now noticeably shaken. "Luckier than most of this place for sure… And here I thought this couldn't get any worse."

"I..."

"The Elder Scroll... what happened to it?"

"It's... inside. In my mind."

"Blazes," he breathed. "One doesn't get bored with you, eh?"

Yrith didn't have the strength to smile.

"Well, that at least saves us the trouble of having to carry a huge scroll all the way to Winterhold. Now, let's take you back. Rest as much as possible. We need to leave this place, but I can't imagine we'd have to carry you all the way."

"I..."

"No, you can't use your magic that way. You did it once now and look at yourself."

She wedged a hand under her head to get a better view of her body. Her clothes were torn. She was covered in a not too tempting mixture of dirt, sweat and blood. The leg that had been pierced by the dart now also seemed to be broken. Broken, just like the summoning machine that had offered its last Elder Scroll. At least the leg was not in thousand pieces, half of which had been melted into puddles of goo.

"Oh," she produced.

"Too tired to even be bothered. Now that's serious. Let's see if that stays. I'll try to carry you as gently as I can. No promises though."

He slid his arms underneath her to lift her up. As he raised her, cautiously, Yrith felt the weight of her injured leg pull on the supportless muscle and tendons. Her whole body tensed, teeth grinding against each other. But she could not moan. The Dragonborn was right. This was her fault.


"Leyna."

The bundle beside Yrith wriggled rather unwillingly. Despite the general warmth of the place, the only thing visible of Yrith's Altmeri friend was a flood of white-gold hair. The rest was huddled up in the furs of a bedroll. Keneel-La was out, scouting, it seemed. Yrith lay in his own bedroll, as it seemed she had managed to lose all her borrowed possessions on her journey. Cain's breathing on the other side of her was steady and peaceful. She would only have a short while.

"Leyna," Yrith raised her whispering voice slightly to add some urgency. The elf turned ever so slightly to gain a view of Yrith through the slits of her eyes.

"Hmm? Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I'm worried."

"Helps nothing at all," Leyna muttered, burrowing back into the fluff of her furs.

"No, Leyna! Listen to me!"

Twisting her face in apparent annoyance, the elf turned back to Yrith. "What?"

"Can you heal me? As much as you can. I'll give you magic. Just fix my body."

For a moment, Leyna just stared at Yrith, dumbfounded. Yrith did her best to appear as though she did not know how foolish her request was. She did know. She knew too well for her own liking.

A good while of staring later, Leyna sat up at once, eyes fully open.

"Have you lost your mind?!"

"Shhh! You'll wake Cain..."

"So what? You know it's impossible. People have met fate far worse than death when healers experimented with speeding up the healing process. Your body needs time."

"Time that we don't have. It's enough if I can move again. You don't have to heal it fully."

"Yrith, I have less than a year's worth of experience in healing."

"You'll still the best healer of us all."

"I could ruin your body!"

"You won't."

"You don't know that..."

"You won't. I am a walking Elder Scroll. If that was my fate, I would have known."

Leyna did not reply. She did not even move. As if frozen, she sat still, gazing at Yrith with wide eyes. Her features slowly reformed, from denial to sheer shock. She opened her mouth, but no sound left her lips. She closed them again.

"What did you just..." she mouthed, almost voicelessly.

Indeed. What had she just said? As if someone had said those words for Yrith. Was she really so bold as to claim she was a walking Elder Scroll? She had one inside her. One that could easily go berserk and take over, no matter how much she wanted to believe she had tamed its wild magic.

But now she had to say something. She had to heal. Both Cain and Leyna, and perhaps Keneel-La as well, would gladly die for her if she was in danger. She could not allow that. She could not afford to be immobile.

"The Elder Scroll showed me a lot of things," she said calmly, even if deep inside, the memory of the horrid display the Elder Scroll had revealed was all except calming. "I think Cain was right. They were possibilities. Eventualities. I saw so far past this moment. I don't think you can harm me."

"These things... they are fickle. You can't just..."

"I know," Yrith hurried with her answer. "But even so. Is there anything at all that can be done? I don't want to be a burden. I can't be. If anything happened, the three of you would not leave me behind, would you?"

Leyna sized her up, raising a brow. Then she shook her head. "Foolish question."

"Indeed. So can you heal me?"

"No. It's impossible. I can release some tension in your muscles, I can glue things together inside you, I can help you forget pain, perhaps. I can't heal you."

Yrith sighed a bit more loudly than she had intended. "Then do what you can, please. Do everything in your power so that I can move again."

The look Leyna gave her was all but disapproving. But she had not said a definite no. She was mulling it over. Thinking of her options, perhaps anticipating a challenge. Slumping her shoulders, she rubbed her temples, deep in thought. After a good while of silence, she finally set her golden eyes on Yrith.

"Maybe there is a way. I will try to fix you just a trifle. But I need you to work with me. To focus inside. To feel my magic in you and stop me the moment anything feels wrong. Can you do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Close your eyes."

Hesitantly, Yrith obeyed and let herself sink into darkness. Suddenly, the pumping felt louder and sharper. The floor underneath her felt harder. Her magic swirled, replacing her sight with mental images that were just as clear, if not clearer.

"Now," Leyna continued, "direct your magicka into your stomach. Touch it, don't interfere with it. Can you feel the stomach moving?"

It was harder than it sounded. Yrith had manipulated things outside before. She could send the magic to the focal points interacting with the outer world or withdraw it from there. She could manipulate her vessel, all those muscles that she normally controlled at will. But seeing her insides was another story. No, not just that. It was difficult to even locate her stomach properly. There was a whole new world inside her. Everything moved. Everything had a life of its own.

"Is that even... possible?" she tried.

"It should be for you. You can feel or manipulate anything with your magic. You would feel yourself, correct? It's the only way I can think of to make this safe. I need your feedback."

"So you've never tried this before?"

"No, but you can't really go wrong with mere observation."

Yrith gave a nod in the direction of Leyna's voice. She took a breath and tried to focus all her attention inside. To touch one piece of tissue after another, to feel every undulation, every friction. Little by little, an image formed before her closed eyes. An image of a vast network of nodes and connections. Veins, tendons, tubes, organs, joints, muscles… and things much, much smaller than her bare eye could ever see without the use of her magic. There were too many for her to observe at once. Too many to conceive.

"…rith?"

Somewhere in the distance, Leyna seemed to call her.

"Hmm?" she replied absently.

"What is it?"

"Hmm?"

"You're panting. Yrith?"

She opened her eyes and the image dissolved into the murk of the Dwemer corridor. The sound returned, the engines began pumping again. She had not even noticed them ceasing.

"I… I'm… sorry. There's a lot…"

"I suppose there is… specially for someone like you. Can you just focus on one place?"

She nodded again, taking a few more breaths. Her heart was beating fast, she could feel it. Now, even her magic responded to it. The things she could do this way. Every healer on Nirn would give their left hand to have just a glimpse of what she had seen. Why had she never thought of gazing inside her before?

Yrith closed her eyes again, inhaling deeply to calm herself. She synchronized her breath with the resounding hisses around. When she gained a steady tempo, she turned her attention inside in attempt to navigate through the infinite maze of links and intersections. She found her heart, the loudest of all. Its rhythm had stabilized, now beating in a series of pleasant staccatos. Yrith's magic poured over it lightly, leaving it to its own life. She found the lungs, air pouring in to freshen her blood, and then out again. The magic zigzagged through her, going from organ to organ, seeping through the tissue walls until, at last, she reached the stomach. It pulsed, very softly, hardly having had anything to digest in a very long time. It gave off a slightly painful tremble. A sensation that she, Yrith, as a whole person, had hardly registered beneath the layers of excitement and restlessness. A shaky sigh escaped her lips.

"I feel it," she said. "I feel my stomach."

"You feel what it does? What's inside? What's around it? How it is structured?"

She scanned the stomach again, sliding slowly along its inner wall, then outside, feeling all the folds and protrusions, the tubes it connected to, the liquids flowing inside and around.

"I do."

"Good," came the response. "Now, can you feel the legs? The wounds on them?"

It wasn't difficult now to steer her magicka down the leg muscles, feel the bones, the tears in her skin, the numb toes. In fact, it was much easier than navigating to her stomach. She was quite certain the previous task had been a test. A test with raised difficulty... She smiled. Leyna could very well compete with Singird Larkwing in teaching methods.

As she touched the muscles in the legs, she felt them prickle. Her whole body yanked up and down at the sensation. Leyna frowned.

"What is it?" she asked again.

"I feel them," Yrith exhaled. "It's a strange feeling."

"Very well. Can you tell me the state of your broken leg? Is the bone fixed right?"

Yrith's magic touched the bone where it had broken. The makeshift splint, made out of a light Dwemer tube that Keneel-La had brought from gods knew where, held it stable. At a closer inspection, however, Yrith noticed a slight twist, unnoticeable from the outside.

"Not entirely," she said.

"I see. So before I begin, you will have to fix it. This is a mechanical process, so you will do better there than I would."

"You mean, move it to the right place?"

"Precisely."

Yrith nodded. She strengthened the flow of magic, trying to move the bone. As if a razor-sharp blade cut through the limb, burning-cold pain flashed through it and shot up toward her spine. She hissed and gritted her teeth as she tried to contain the moan. Somewhere near, Cain was fast asleep, a state she wished to prolong as much as possible.

The bone moved ever so slightly. She rotated it again, fighting the tears that poured through the thin gaps between her eyelids. Just a bit, just a bit... until, finally, it clicked inside and the bone seemed almost whole. Almost.

Yrith let out a shaky sigh and opened her eyes. Her arm felt numb as she moved it to wipe away the sweat on her forehead. But at least that she could now move.

"It's there."

Leyna lowered her head, half in a nod, half to inspect the limb. She touched it lightly, almost too lightly, her fingertips tickling like feathers. Yrith's hairs stood upon the sensation. A few moments after, Leyna raised her gaze to meet Yrith's.

"Good. Keep concentrating on the bone and everything around it. I will feed it some magic. Note that it will not grow right away, I can't do that. But your body should be able to regenerate the tissue on its own within a few hours, maybe a day. At least to the point you can move it. Though it will still be fragile. But if you feel any change in the structure, you must stop me immediately. Do you understand?"

"A day is..."

"The best I can," Leyna said uncompromisingly. "And if Master Marence heard me talking, she'd skin me alive."

"Suppose Master Marence never expected us to get into a life-threatening situation?"

Leyna gave a bitter laugh. "We were in one from the start. A well-played game..." She shook her head. "Can we begin?"

"Take my hand. I'll supply you."

With a light flush, Leyna extended a hand, touching Yrith's. Soft blue glow enveloped their joined fingertips. Instinctively, Yrith's eyes closed again. She felt the energy inside her flow both ways now, out to Leyna and in to her leg. And then, a pool of warmth poured over the limb. The golden glow of healing magic gave her eyelids a gentle hue. It tingled on her skin, then underneath. It caressed the bone and the loosened threads of her muscle. Yrith gritted her teeth, expecting pain. But instead, relief was what spread through her, easing the tension, bringing comfort. Leyna's magic danced around the tissues, wove its way through their strands, filled them with new life. The elf's concern had been groundless. There was no restructuring. If Yrith had not known Leyna, she would have believed she'd come to a true master healer. Thread by thread, the golden magic formed a tapestry around the bone, then permeated the muscle, until it formed a protective shell over the skin. Yrith had not even realized how cold she had been before. Now, it was warm. Inside, and outside, amidst the furs of the bedroll, in the endless beat of the humming engines. Her mind stayed with the limb, otherwise pleasantly empty. The hue on her eyelids blurred and faded until it was peacefully dark.


"Yrith!"

Someone was calling her. The voice was strangely distorted. There were a number of other sounds, loud, piercing, tearing her from the depths of her slumber. Her brows creased by themselves. She tried to cover her face, but someone took her hand in a firm grip and pulled it away.

"Yrith, wake up! Hatchling!"

"Uhhh..."

A rough, calloused hand gave her a light slap. The touch was cold and sharp. Her eyes cracked open in an instant.

"What..." she uttered drowsily, but the sentence was promptly cut.

"No time to explain. We're leaving. Work with me a little, I'll carry you..."

Yrith took a breath to wake up. It did not help that the air was warm and the furs around her soft and cozy. She took another.

Leyna had been working on her leg...

She tried to move her toes, then raise her knees. Both of her legs obeyed.

"I can walk," she said.

"What? That's..."

With a quiet grunt, she forced herself up, finding purchase by the closest wall.

"I can walk," she repeated with growing confidence. It was not perfect. There was tension in her legs, something pulsed inside the muscles and around the bones. She could feel Leyna's magic still working, tingling, wading its way through the tissues one tiny strand at a time. Still, she could walk. At least walk, if not run.

The Dragonborn's eyes bulged for a split moment. He quickly shook the surprise off.

"I don't know what deity I should thank for this miracle, but that's a relief. Then come. I sent the elflings ahead. We're taking the lift."

"The lift? To the surface?"

"Yes. Come, I'll pack this."

"But you said..."

"Move now, talk later. Let's go."

Yrith was not much help with the packing. The Dragonborn's eyes shone the dangerous glow she remembered from their battles. He moved swiftly, with no hesitation, no needless gestures. The bedroll seemed to roll up by itself under his fingers. The scarce supplies soon rested among the few requisites he carried in his rucksack. One last check to make sure they had not left anything behind. Then, they moved.

For the Dragonborn, this might as well have been a light walk. For Yrith, after long days of motionless trance, it was a furious rush. She did not complain. She said nothing, even if her freshly healed legs prickled and stung. The wild tempo had taken the air out of her lungs. She closed her eyes ajar, fixing her gaze on the lizard's heels. She pricked up her ears for the steady pumping of the ever-present machines.

Hiss and whistle. Drum and thrum.

Tudum, tudum.

She set the rhythm and ran. Her mind was empty again. Unpleasantly empty.


A/N: I know it's been a while! Almost 9 months… and boy, does it feel good to write again! I can't believe it!

Since some of you might be curious, I haven't been sick and it wasn't work that took my time. It was something far better, though not always pleasant. I've gotten myself a baby! She is now exactly six months old (happy anniversary!) and absolutely precious. So now you can imagine what it feels like to write with a tiny squeaking bundle of cuteness by my side. :D

Anyway… I hope this chapter read well. I feel extremely rusty, I've done a dozen times more editing on it I normally do and I'm aware it contains an insane amount of information that will later need to be addressed. Don't worry, it will.

That said, I mentioned this earlier, but I had to increase the estimated number of chapters this is going to have from 35 to 38. That's the thing with mystery stories… piles upon piles of information that I somehow have to distribute and cram into chapters. But it's fun, hehe. :)

And you never know, the number may still change. But not too much anymore.

As always, I'd be happy to hear from you!

Mirwen