Chapter 1: Rude Awakening
Her mother's spell released Serana the moment dank air flooded her prison. Closed for so long, it took her eyelids a few heartbeats to remember how to open. Her hands and knees throbbed from their jarring impact with hard stone, and her head—
'By… the… blood…'
Serana cradled her aching head in one hand, the other pushing herself up from the floor. Her muscles cried out with every move she made. Why did everything hurt? Her foggy mind abruptly grasped the fact that the heartbeat in her ears was not her own. Too rapid, too strong… a mortal. So close!
Too close. A whisper cut through the still air and something sharp pressed against her throat. A trickle of blood ran down into the cold, constant sting of silver around her neck.
Serana's eyes finally snapped open, blearily focusing up the blade of a sword to the mortal holding it. A woman, clad from head to toe in form-fitting black leather armour. A masked cowl covered her head, leaving only her eyes exposed, as cold and hard as the steel of her sword.
The mortal's sword arm tensed. About to thrust?
'I don't think so.' Serana lowered the hand from her forehead to hold the blade between finger and thumb, wrenching it away and out of the mortal's grip, clattering across the stone floor.
"Void take it!" The mortal jumped back out of reach – almost tripping over the step behind her – and gestured upwards, purple light flickering in her palm. Her other hand drew a dagger from a sheath on her hip. Ebony, by the look of the pitch black blade. A Daedric sword flared into being in her right hand.
Serana slowly held up her hands, spread wide. Easy enough to assume a casting pose, but relatively non-threatening, and a universal gesture of submission.
"I don't want to fight you," she rasped. "But I will—" She coughed. "—defend myself."
The mortal groaned, her voice slightly muffled by the mask, "I'm going to regret this." She hesitated a heartbeat longer and banished the sword back into Oblivion. Another heartbeat, and she sheathed her dagger. She set a knapsack down at her feet, pulled out a bottle and tossed it to Serana, who almost fumbled the catch.
"Only water, I'm afraid I don't carry bottled blood around."
Of course that was when her head cleared enough to register the mortal's mouthwatering scent, all the stronger for the blood on her right gauntlet. Clearly a victim of her mother's trap for idiots too curious for their own good. Her own hand throbbed in sympathy… and with a phantom ache of pained remembrance.
"That's not on offer," the mortal snapped, fingering her dagger.
Serana pointedly uncorked the bottle and gulped down the water. "I wasn't going to ask," she said, voice returned to normal. Much as she wanted to sample this delicious morsel, it wouldn't exactly be the best reward for freeing her. She threw the bottle back to the mortal, who replaced it in her pack.
"Who sent you?" Serana attempted to stand. Her muscles screamed at her again, and she fell back onto her knees, sending another jolt of pain through them. Damn it, up until now she'd thought vampires couldn't get stiff.
"That's none of your concern."
"I rather think it is, actually, as it has everything to do with what you intend to do with me." Hopefully not to her, like attack her with that dagger she was still fingering. She'd probably be no threat – what mortal was to a Daughter of Coldharbour? – but she'd clearly killed vampires before. She could smell the rich tang of their thinner blood, both in the air and as traces on the mortal's sword and dagger. Including one turned by her father… perhaps this mortal would be a challenge after all. Especially for a vampire temporarily crippled by aching muscles.
Better distract the mortal before she did decide to do something to her… "So, who sent you? Who told you where to find me?"
The mortal scoffed, "No one. I mean, a group of vampire hunters sent me here, but nobody told me there was a vampire locked away in here. I knew these vampires were looking for something, but you? You're a surprise. A relatively pleasant one, considering you haven't tried to drain me dry yet."
Her muscles twinged as she shifted, but they were quickly getting used to the idea of moving around rather than standing still for however long it had been. "You went through the ritual to free me just for the fun of it?"
"Up until now I've never been able to resist mysterious buttons."
Serana finally managed to stand up, her legs only grumbling a bit. She noted that the mortal was about half a head shorter. Almost certainly not a Nord, then, which would explain her unfamiliar harsh and clipped accent.
"Where are you from?"
"Why do you want to know? Collecting different races as a vampire gourmet, are we?"
"Actually I'm trying to place your accent."
The mortal relaxed slightly, although she was still strung tighter than a bow. "Cheydinhal. In Cyrodiil."
"And what are you?"
"Ah, so you are collecting races, then?"
"Look, if I wanted to snack on you I already would have." Hopefully the lie was not as obvious as it felt. "Do I have to guess?"
"Guess away." Judging by the way the mortal's eyes sparkled and creased at the corners, she was smiling.
Serana cheated and inhaled, too slowly for the mortal to notice. Except it didn't help. The mortal didn't smell like anyone she'd met before. Not a Nord, or a Cyrodiilic, or a Manmer. Or whatever they called themselves now. Breton, that was it. She really would have to guess.
"Cyrodiilic?"
"Imperial, yes."
Serana blinked. "There's an empire based in Cyrodiil?" How long had she been gone? What had happened? Had the situation really still not been resolved?
'Where are you, Mother?'
"What are you?" A different accent slipped through in the mortal's shock, lilting and decidedly more pleasant, if accompanying plain rudeness.
"Charming," Serana muttered. "You had me at swordpoint, you must know perfectly well what I am. Or do you greet everyone you meet that way?"
"You're a vampire, but like no vampire I've killed. You've been in there for centuries if not millennia, yet you're not blood-starved, let alone feral. You could pass for human if I hadn't seen you fall out of a glorified coffin."
Serana flinched. While she mercifully couldn't remember her time in there thanks to her mother spelling her asleep, the mere idea of being trapped like that, surrounded by impregnable stone on all sides pressing in on her she couldn't move think breathe escape—
"…Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Serana croaked, and took a shuddering breath. She edged away from the monolith, all too aware of the gaping maw ready to swallow her whole again. She'd be a lot happier if she could get outside. Even bright stinging sunlight beating down on her would be better than this.
"You're not about to go feral on me, are you? That you're different wasn't a complaint. I'd be perfectly happy if you didn't try to eat me."
"It's not that. Don't worry, I don't go feral." Daughters of Coldharbour couldn't. Vampires only went feral if they got too thirsty, and a pure-blooded vampire couldn't get any thirstier. That was her blessing and her curse: constant burning hunger for blood. Her eyes were drawn again to the mortal's hand, to the drying blood there.
"What are you?" That was an exasperated mortal if she'd ever heard one. She could almost feel her blood boiling.
Serana laughed. "I'm not your average vampire. And you're not the average Cheydinhal resident, are you?"
The mortal snorted. "Far from it." That harsh accent had returned, sadly.
"Why don't you use the other accent?"
"What?" She seemed genuinely baffled. How strange…
"The one you were just using." Serana attempted to mimic that lilting cadence.
"…That was the worst impression of a Khajiit I've ever heard."
"You talk like a Cat when you don't talk like a grumpy human. Where did you pick that up from to slip into it without even knowing it?"
"I do? Well, I was raised by a Khajiit, and didn't spend much time with anyone else for about fifteen years. That might explain it."
"But you don't use their quirks. You know, 'this one' and 'Khajiit' this and that. You don't move like one either."
"Rasha didn't use them either. Not with me, anyway. And don't be daft, of course I don't move like a Khajiit. I don't exactly have the body for it." Her eyes narrowed. "It's my turn to ask the questions. Who are you, and why were you sealed away with what can only be an Elder Scroll?"
Serana suddenly registered the warm weight and ethereal presence on her back. Amazing what you got used to after snuggling with something for centuries.
"Do you talk better at swordpoint?" That purple glow appeared in her fist again.
"There's no need for that," Serana huffed. "My name is Serana, and… I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. I need to know where things stand. If you get me home, I'll share what I can, but not until then."
"I'm supposed to deliver an ancient and powerful vampire to her home, doubtless a cave full of equally ancient and powerful vampires?"
"We're not all cave dwellers, you know. I for one have spent more than my share of time in caves already."
"You spent most of it inside a tomb. Where vampires are right at—"
The rest of the mortal's words faded into hissing and a black void threatened the corners of Serana's sight. She staggered away from the stone monstrosity behind her until she was pressed against something reassuringly solid that didn't threaten to… She shuddered.
The comforting temptation of the distinctive lub dub of a living heart approached, and the mortal hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right? Wait. You're…" Her grey eyes widened. "Really? A claustrophobic vampire. Wow. That must have been like suffering in the worst plane of Oblivion for you." She awkwardly patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry. Whoever locked you away must've hated you."
'No, she loves me! Doesn't she? Is that why Mother began to push me away? I reminded her too much of Father? No. I won't believe it. She wouldn't have protected me from my stupid fear if she hated me.'
"No, it was to protect me. Thanks, though. Not many vampire hunters would be concerned for a vampire."
"I really shouldn't be. But I've never had much in the way of common sense." The mortal stepped back and retreated to where her sword had landed. She picked it up and sheathed it on her right hip. Left handed, then? Come to think of it, it was the one she'd pulled it from. It must've been stinging too much for the mortal to focus her magic in it.
Thinking of magic… "Why bother with that when you can conjure up a better one?"
"Because in my experience a Bound Sword buggers off back to Oblivion at the worst possible moment. That and there's times when I need a weapon that actually weighs something."
That just sounded inconvenient for someone with a mortal's pathetic strength. What could she possibly mean by that?
"Back to the matter of your request, it's not going to happen. Especially not with an Elder Scroll at stake. From what I hear, mess with one of those and at best you'll break yourself, at worst you'll break the world. I can't imagine a vampire is up to anything good with that thing. I should kill you and take that Scroll. It's what any sensible vampire hunter would do." The mortal toyed with the hilt of her sword.
Serana felt ice coalesce in her left hand and drew her dagger in her right. "I'd like to see you try!" 'Especially if I resort to that monstrous form…'
"Oh, please. Powerful vampire or not, you're no match for me."
Serana bared her teeth, fangs descending. "We'll see about that if you don't listen to me first! Kill me and you've killed one vampire. But—"
"Relax, if I was going to kill you I already would have. You're lucky I'm only a part-time vampire hunter and a pretty stupid one at that."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Serana let the spell fade away and sheathed her dagger. Her fangs retracted.
The mortal leaned towards her, head cocked to the side. "Can all vampires do that? The ones I've encountered always flashed their fangs when they talk. They usually lisp too. You don't, except with your fangs out just now."
"As I said, I'm not your average vampire. Anyway, if you're not going to kill me – or at least try to – what are you going to do with me?"
The mortal stared blankly at her for a long moment, her heartbeats filling the silence. "Good question. I have no idea. How about we get out of this cave-come-vampire crypt-come-Nordic ruin?"
"If I swear to you that the Scroll isn't going to be misused, will you be my guide? I really want to get back home. Please?"
The mortal dropped her head into her hand, covering what little showed of her face. "You'll forgive me if I don't trust a vampire or her word, no matter how friendly she seems."
"Look, if the vampires you've killed in here were looking for me, bigger things are going on. I won't let the Scroll be misused, but they want to. Help me get home, and I'll know what I need to do. Besides, depending who's home it'll be safe there."
"Why wouldn't it be safe there? If there's the slightest possibility that it won't be, why in the name of Sithis would I take you and your Scroll there?" That was exasperated mortal again. It was amusing, really.
Serana abruptly registered what her exasperated mortal had said and raised an eyebrow. Surely it wasn't normal for mortals to swear by the Void, or by the Dread Father? But then it had admittedly been a long time since she'd fraternised with mortals. Maybe they all worshipped Sithis these days. Whatever these days were.
"Because you're dying to know what's going on with me and my Scroll."
The mortal snarled, "Fucking vampire! You're going to be one of those people who are infuriatingly right all the time, aren't you? Fine. I'll guide you home. Don't make me regret it."
"You'd be wrong, mortal." She'd have seen her parental estrangement coming if she was always right… "Come to think of it, what's your name?"
"I'm your guide, not your new best friend. You don't need to know it."
"I've got to call you something!"
"Call me whatever you want, I don't care."
"Oh? All right, then. Which do you prefer: Mortal or Morsel?"
The mortal leaned away from her, eyeing her warily. "Eating your guide won't help you get home, you know."
Serana smiled, enjoying the way the mortal's heart skipped a beat when her fangs protruded. She sheathed them with the next heartbeat. "Don't worry, I don't really think of you that way. Or I don't want to, at least. I'd rather call you by your name. Who you are, not what you are. Is that all right?"
"I… Well, if you put it that way…" The mortal's voice sounded shaken, for some strange reason, although she tried to hide it behind indifference. Failing miserably, at least to Serana's vampiric senses. "It's Sithia."
"Pleased to meet you," Serana said. Finally she had a name! No more having to think of her saviour from the unthinkable as 'the mortal'. Now if only she could have a face to go with her name… And such an unusual name, unless it meant the cult of Sithis really was a thing now. "Is that a common name these days? To be named in honour of the Dread Father?"
"No, it's not. I know what it sounds like, and it's exactly that. My mother was part of a… questionable cult. I was born into it. Anyway, now you know, let's get out of here. Do you have any idea where to go?"
"I… No." Serana looked around the cavern helplessly. The only familiar things were the concentric ring of steps down to the – the monolith – surrounded by braziers flickering with cold purple flames. Nothing else. She didn't even know which way her mother had brought her in, and her scent was long gone. "Someone really got carried away with building arches since I was locked away. This place looks completely different."
"Is that why you need a guide? You think things out there have changed just as much?"
"Even if they haven't, I don't know the way home."
"What did you do, blunder all of your way here with your eyes closed?"
A suitable retort died on Serana's lips, her head snapping towards a strange sound.
Crunch.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
There it was again, louder this time. Crack.
Then Serana saw them. The statues lurking in the shadows across the bridge behind Sithia, where mortal eyes couldn't see them. Gargoyles.
'Damn it, Mother! Just because I remember how to fight doesn't mean I want to with your own creations!'
Two of them. Their façade as statues shattered completely as Sithia spun and took a step towards them.
She drew her sword and almost dropped it when one of the gargoyles charged into sight. "What in Oblivion?"
Serana pelted it with shards of ice, vaguely registering the chill from the ice in her palms. It staggered to a halt, just in time for Sithia to lunge at it. Her blade pierced its eye socket, and it collapsed, tearing the sword from her hand in the process.
The second gargoyle roared and rushed towards them, wings spread, claws outstretched. Sithia cursed and flung herself back, the fell glow of conjuration forming in her hand.
Serana already had a handful from that same school of magic. She clenched her fist, the purple light flicking to the dead gargoyle and sinking into its eye sockets. She smiled as the glow crisscrossed that stony skin.
'Done and done.'
The undead gargoyle reared up into the path of the second, knocking it down into the moat surrounding the artificial island they stood on. It sank into the dark depths like the stone it was made from.
Startled, the magic died in Sithia's hand. She approached the dead gargoyle. It looked placidly back at her.
"Didn't I just kill you?" Sithia reached up and tugged her sword out of its head. She looked back over her shoulder at Serana. "You could have warned me! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a vampire dabbles in necromancy."
"Dabbles?" Serana huffed. "I'm capable of far more than…" She stumbled, her vision blurring for a moment. Her gargoyle collapsed into a pile of rubble, as her hold faltered long enough for the unruly Daedra animating it to slip back into Coldharbour.
Sithia caught her arm. "What's wrong?"
Serana blinked at her, trying to force tired eyes to stay open. "Need to feed."
"I guess it has been a long time… Can vampires die of thirst?"
"No. We shut down, sleep. I do, anyway."
"Except when someone living gets close enough for you to pounce, eh? Haven't you slept enough already?" Sithia steered her over to perch on something. One of the braziers, judging by the gentle tickle of the cold fire. "Well, I'm not about to feed myself to you. Will a stamina potion work?"
"No. Not on undead. Same with healing. Check the dead vampires for potions – a blood potion." Serana's arm flopped in the direction of her dead kin.
"So you really do have bottled blood… But I'm afraid you're out of luck. They don't have any potions, I already took anything of value from them. Can you eat the dead? Vampires, their human thrall?"
Serana whimpered at the thought. No matter how thirsty she was, it had to be fresh blood. A potion of blood was different, kept fresh and warm through enchantment.
She looked pleadingly up at Sithia. "Can I feed from you?"
"No!" she snapped, and heaved a sigh when Serana flinched. "I suppose I should be grateful you asked and didn't try to take."
Serana closed her eyes and groaned. "The thrall, if I must. Dead taste so stale."
Sithia's heartbeat moved away, and returned with the sound of something – someone – dragged across the floor. And dropped at her feet.
Serana slid off the brazier and straddled the thrall's body. It was a struggle to get her fangs to budge, and even more so to bite into that cold neck. Cooling, thick, clotting blood. No flow. No heat. No life. No satisfaction. She grimaced and forced herself to swallow.
Ugh, he'd already been fed from recently too. Clearly his owners hadn't bothered with blood potions when they had a willing – if enslaved – mortal to feed from. The only thing that could be worse was drinking from one of her dead thinner blooded kin.
She tried to think of something other than the revolting bitter taste of dead pain and fear. Unfortunately dwelling on Sithia's scent only made it worse. The thought of finding out if she tasted as good as she smelled, feeling the beat of her heart in the most intimate way possible for a vampire… She was standing so close, too. It would be so easy!
But no, eating her guide home would be frowned upon.
She gulped down as much foul blood as she could make herself, then pulled away, shuddering. "Ugh. That was my worst meal ever." Not remotely satiating either this time, no precious fleeting relief from her burning thirst.
Judging by the glint in Sithia's eyes, she was amused. Damn mortal. Not letting her feed on her, and smelling so tasty. It just wasn't fair.
"It seems to have done you some good. Presuming your eyes are supposed to glow like the embers of a fire, anyway."
"Yes, they are. Can we please get out of here? I could quite happily never sleep again, but I'll need to feed again sooner or later. Especially if we need to fight past anything else. Why don't we go back the way you came?"
"Because I don't want to go all the way back when there might be a shortcut up there—" Sithia pointed in the direction the gargoyles had come from. "—through this Nordic ruin you vampires built your crypt in. There's been one to the entrance or a back door in the other ruins I've had to explore. I'd be amazed if this particular one doesn't run right through the mountain. Certainly feels like it's gone on long enough."
"Well, all right. But are you sure you want to go where more gargoyles might be lurking?"
Sithia responded by walking towards what had been a gargoyle. "What is wrong with you vampires? Ugly statues coming to life, creepy undead dogs with a freezing bite… It's no wonder people don't like you much, you know," she grumbled, kicking at the rubble as she walked over it.
"It's not really any different to having spellcaster traps and guard dogs. Gargoyles are magical constructs, my mother will have created those ones." Serana stepped over the remains of her dead gargoyle.
Sithia stopped and looked back at her, her gaze for once softened. In fact it looked an awful lot like sympathy. Similarly, her voice was not quite as harsh. "Is she the one who locked you away? She really must hate you to have her pet rocks try to kill you after shutting you away with that fear of yours."
"It's not like that." 'I hope.' "They can't be controlled. They're animated by particularly unruly Daedra. I told you, she did it to protect me."
"Your mother entombed you for centuries. To protect you. That reminds me of a story I read once. Except it was a tower, the girl was blonde and had far longer hair. But it had the same 'mother knows best' theme. What was she protecting you and that Scroll from? Those other vampires?"
"Get me home and I'll tell you what I know."
Sithia shrugged. "Worth a try. By the way…"
"What now?"
"If you were trying for stylish war paint, dirt isn't the best medium." Sithia touched her cowl over her forehead.
Serana looked down at her hands. Sure enough, there were traces of grime from catching herself on the dusty floor of the cavern. She groaned. Really not the first impression she wanted to make. She coated her hands with a layer of ice, let it melt and take away the dirt in the process, and repeated it with a hand laid on her forehead.
"Huh. First time I've seen destruction magic used for cleaning."
"Just because it's called 'destruction' doesn't mean that's the only use for it."
As Sithia set off again, Serana realised that she couldn't hear her footsteps. Those boots had to be enchanted, Sithia didn't have the magicka reserves to cast Muffle all the time. Like called to like – she could feel the deep well of magicka in the mortal, but it was a drop in the ocean compared to her own. Although… there was something strange about Sithia's power. Something almost wild about it. Something inhuman. But not Daedric – she would know. Like called to like with that as well.
After they passed under an ancient broad stone archway with a crudely carved head, Serana glanced back. The route they'd just taken looked familiar. Retracing her own steps? She couldn't be sure. At the time she'd been hurried through the roughly hewn stone passageways as fast as two vampires could walk.
The rest of their trek through the dimly lit and dusty corridors into a cavernous chamber was uneventful. Apart from the draugr and skeletons, but they weren't much of a threat to a vampire, or to a vampire hunter, judging by the ease with which Sithia was cutting through them. Just as slow and gullible as they'd always been.
"What's happened since this empire of yours was founded?"
"Oh, the usual." Sithia ducked a draugr's powerful-but-slow blow, and sliced through the exposed tendons in its arms. The draugr dropped the axe, the cold blue glow in its eye sockets flickering in confusion. A shard of ice courtesy of Serana put it out of its misery.
"Founding emperor died, ascended to godhood. His heirs eventually descended into petty squabbles over the succession, which wreaked havoc over the entire empire. Things settled down in time for the last Septim emperor and his legitimate heirs to be assassinated about two hundred years ago, leaving his bastard son to save the world from a Daedric invasion, dying in the act."
"…What?" Serana almost missed the skeleton creaking its way towards her. Her Ice Spike struck it with a glancing blow, but even that was enough to knock its skull off. "Godhood?" She wondered about the Daedric invasion too, but those weren't unheard of. A man becoming a god, though?
"The Ninth Divine, Talos. Tiber Septim as a man. He was Dragonborn, as were the rest of his dynasty."
"The elves must love that, a god younger than some of them are." Younger than she was too. It was a strange feeling to be older than a god. Not that she'd believe this Talos really was a god until she saw one of his shrines bestow a blessing, and that would have to be from a distance.
"Oh, yes. Especially the Altmer. It's been the cause of two wars so far, one of which ended in a truce leading to this ongoing one. You've woken to interesting times. A rebellion in Skyrim against the Empire, and the dragons are coming back to life."
'Very funny, see how gullible the ancient vampire is.' The thing about the hero-god of Mankind she might have swallowed. Dragons on top of that? She wasn't stupid. Everyone knew most of them had died in the Dragon War, and their dry bones couldn't be brought back to life. Her mother had tried. Her father had uncovered another pointless prophecy, something about a World-Eater waking up and turning a wheel on the last Dragonborn, but that was about as likely as vampires ending the Tyranny of the Sun.
"Is that all of them?" Sithia looked around. "What about that one?" She pointed at a enthroned draugr overlooking the sacrificial fire pit below, its horned helmet resembling a crown.
It looked dead enough, but then draugr were masters at playing dead. Serana closed her eyes, concentrating. "It's a live one." She could feel the concentration of magic around it, the malevolent watchfulness just waiting for anything to come near it. Wait, something wasn't right. That was no ordinary draugr…
By the time she opened her eyes, Sithia was already creeping over to it. For a moment it looked like it wouldn't even wake up before her blade put it to sleep for good. Then those ghostly blue eyes flared up, and it took a deep rattling breath.
"ZUN HAAL VIIK!"
Weapon hand defeat…
Before Serana had time to wonder what the Shout meant by that, it ripped the sword from Sithia's hand and sent her tumbling down the steps.
The draugr stood, Ebony greatsword raised. Serana's Ice Spikes failed to penetrate its armour, but knocked it back against the throne. That gave Sithia time to roll to her feet, draw her dagger and pounce. The draugr fell slack, that small Ebony blade buried up to the hilt under its chin.
"Teamwork, right there."
Sithia pulled her dagger free and wiped off the blackish blood on the truly dead draugr's skin. "I have to admit it's handy to have a pet vampire. Especially one who's good in a fight."
"You're pretty good yourself." She retrieved Sithia's sword and handed it back to her. "Although you're lucky I'm good enough at spellcasting not to hit you by accident. You're unpredictable – I don't recognise your fighting style."
Sithia sheathed her sword and picked up the draugr's sword, weighing it in her hands. She let it clatter down onto the steps. Too heavy, probably. "I was trained to kill, not to fight."
No doubt thanks to her upbringing in a dubious cult.
She watched as Sithia wandered over to a curved wall with some sort of inscription. Dragon Language. Incredible – a word wall!
Much as she wanted to get moving and finally get out of this damn cave, she understood Sithia's fascination with it. She walked over to inspect it herself. It wasn't every day that she got to read that language outside of books. It was a pity her mother hadn't spared time for them to see it all those years ago.
Sithia was running her fingers across the last inscribed word. "Lah," she whispered.
Magicka.
Serana raised her eyebrows. This mortal kept surprising her. "You know Dovahzul? And at your age? I'm impressed."
"I'm not fluent. I just know a few words. I have no idea what the rest of it says."
Serana ran her hand over the carved dashes and dots, translating each word as she touched it. "Lungerd raised this stone in memory of her husband, Thorgrima, keeper of the crimson flame, and lord of Magicka."
"When did you learn Dragon Tongue?"
"I've been around for a while. A girl has to do something to keep boredom away."
"Including learning foreign languages, apparently."
"It comes in useful when you like to read as much as I do. I can't wait to get my hands on all of the books I must have missed."
"Eager to leave, are we?"
"Absolutely." There was a door up the stairs behind that last draugr's throne. Serana shoved it open. Her breath caught. Finally. She'd never been more glad to see sunlight.
Sithia caught her arm. "What are you doing?!"
"Being in sunlight will be better than a moment longer in this cave." Nordic ruin or not, it was still a cave, right down to the ragged gap in the rock that served as the back door.
"Do you want to burst into flames, or have you forgotten what happens?"
Serana smirked. "Don't worry, I already said that I'm not your average vampire. And even your average Skyrim vampire doesn't burn in sunlight. That's what Cyrodiilic vampires do. It's just unpleasant for me." She shrugged off Sithia's hand and hurried outside, pulling her hood up.
She regretted it the moment she stepped into the light. It was like running into a wall. Every breath hurt, and her exposed skin stung. Her head ached despite the shade provided by her cloak. Not the usual dull ache either, this time it was blinding and sharp.
So bright. Sunlight was bad enough for that, but when the ground was carpeted in snow? She'd have to walk around with her eyes shut for this to be bearable.
Still, it was worth the pain for the exhilaration of fresh air on her skin, the rush of the bracing wind! The scent of the pine trees, and something else… what was it? She longed for the moons to rise. Her senses were worse than a human's in sunlight. Probably. She couldn't really remember.
"Serana! Get back in the cave!"
She turned to look at Sithia as she rushed out. "I told you, it's just unpleasant—"
"Get back in the fucking cave, you stupid vampire!"
Serana bristled. Angry words died on her lips when a shadow blotted out the sun. A roar unlike anything she'd ever heard split the air. She looked up.
'By the blood…'
There wasn't any wind. Just the beat of those enormous wings.
She couldn't move. Not to speak. Not to breathe. Not to ready her magic. Certainly not to run.
The only fear that came close to the one she'd faced back in Dimhollow, the fear all vampires shared: eternity cut short by consuming flames.
'Please don't be a fire-breathing dragon.'
"YOL—"
Fire.
"—TOOR—"
Inferno…
AN: I should perhaps mention that I may be a little addicted to cliffies. But I don't think that one is too bad. This would be an awfully short story if I killed the protagonists off at the beginning.
So, what do you think of the story so far, and of Serana and her pretty stupid Dragonborn? I had quite a lot of fun writing this. I hope it's fun to read.
Coming up next: Serana's first dragon fight, the journey home and her first meeting with her father in a very long time.