A/N: I've been talking with nightdragon0 about this story by e-mail a bit recently, and he convinced me to bring back an old idea for a plot-twist I'd previously scrapped for this chapter. Anyway, I think it will work into the plot quite nicely, so thanks nightdragon.

This chapter has undergone minor revisions since the final chapter of this story was released. Please note revised chapters may be inconsistent with reviews and author's notes from unrevised chapters.

Sun's Height 6, 4E1

(Tienaava): Living Quarters

There was silence. She was not responding. She had slaughtered her family mercilessly, and yet I would die with no clue as to what it was all about? Stabber and I were worried she might one day take the path of Goes-in-heavy; there was something deeper behind her greiving than simple loss. There were thoughts she was hiding. It was evident from the day we travelled back to Cheydinhal to the last time I'd seen her. Yet now it was clear Lucien had known. It was a moment I'd never imagined in my wildest dreams.

I continued to lay on my back, trying to contain the blood. Last time I checked I'd spilled more than I estimated I had in my entire body. I didn't dare look again, though. I just silently prayed. There was no severe pain, oddly, only light-headed panic and a slight ache as I thought about the horrors of exactly what had been done to my body. They thought I was dead, no doubt, as they conversed in the hall. I could still breath, so my lungs were intact, but even so I hesitated to breath hard, or do anything that might reck the fragile safety of my current position. I knew I'd need to heal this wound soon, but I was afraid to get into any position where gravity could rob me of what little life I still had in me, even once they left this place.

Then the silence broke again. "Listen well, child. No longer will you receive orders directly. Instead you will visit dead-drop locations scattered throughout Cyrodiil. Your first dead drop can be found on Hero Hill, South-East of here. A hollow in a moss covered rock will contain all you need to know. Now return to me at Fort Farrgut, so we can make the final preparations for this new stage of your life's dark journey." Then there were footsteps, getting fainter slowly. Two pairs of feet. What did her silence mean. Bitter compliance? Quiet loyalty? Fearful obedience?

They were leaving, and I was here, a gaping wound allowing blood to flow from my body far too easily. I didn't dare look at the wound again. I knew I was only minutes, seconds even, away from death if I lost this fragile harmony with gravity. Yet I needed to stop the bleeding altoghether. I needed to heal. I was sure there was extra healing potion in the bag.

I knew I needed to stand up. I needed to hold the wound as best as I could with my hand to keep the blood in. Even so, I was hesitant to touch it. I was hesitant to confront the devistation to my body, worried that touching the area might set off some horrible pain, and worried simply out of fear of the unknown. None the less I lifted a shaking hand and slowly, gently, placed it over the broken scales. I let it settle briefly, being as tender to this door to death as I could.

Then I braced myself to stand, knowing my life was kept right now only by a very delicate balance.

I finally stood up, the implications of gravity immediatly dawning on me. I felt conciousness fading, and noticed my vision getting smothered in odd, dark colors. Weakness was engulfing me. In a moment of desperate panic I stumbled towards the bag, grabbed a bottle, and purposely fell onto my back again. Above me it looked as though oddly colored sparks were gliding above me. The product of a fading mind, most likely.

I was once again blind to my now-scarlet clothing and hands. I lifted my shaking hand from the wound, once again exposing the injury to the cold air of the sanctuary. I felt the glass bottle and uncorked it. Then, moving it carefully to the position I knew was just above my wound, poured the entire bottle. I felt an urge to cringe a moment before the liquid made contact, expecting pain to come to the wound at any instant, but it did not. I let my body relax again as the wound mixed with the healing potion, and I stared at the ceiling. I wasn't sure when I'd finally get up; I was afraid to, but for now everything was still. I could relax, and maybe try to put the pieces toghether, if I could think straight with all that had transpired.

M'raaj-Dar had attacked Feekaava just this evening. She left only briefly after that, and then I heard the noises, the thuds, the screams. Then Lucien showed up the applaud all this horror. He even mentioned Sithis being appeased.

And what about the others? What about Stabber? I had not heard her scream, and assumed she alright. But then where was she? If I was alive there should have been hope for the others.

That gave me a mission. I was part of something bigger: a collective soul of the Dark Brotherhood.

I grabbed the wound, which now had its own distinct tempurature from the healing potion it had been drenched with, and stumbled to my feet again, catching my balance right in front of the bag. There were two bottles. With my free hand, I crouched and reached in. I managed to grasp the tops of both bottles uncomfortably between the fingers of my free hand, then continued forwards, trying not to move any part of my body that I didn't need to. I wasn't sure how much the wound had been healed, and I was still somewhat light-headed from the blood loss. I knew I'd have to let go of the wound eventually, but I wanted to keep the wound contained as long as possible.

I made my way to the hall and turned my fragile body around. There were two family members motionless on the ground. Antoniette Marie, as I expected, and another: Stabber. Fluently accepting my duty as a Dark Brother, I took my hand off my wound. I was relieved to see the bleeding had stopped, but the sight of their bodies was a source of great panic.

I crouched quickly and felt for Antoniette's pulse, briefly steadying my shaking hand. Nothing. But I didn't dwell on it, my sister, my real sister, was more ingrained in my mind, and I quickly rushed over to her with a soldier's alterness and unhesitance.

She was on her back, holding her throat. It was a disconcerting sight. I now knew why she didn't scream. Was that what Sithis wanted me to believe? Now my hand was quivering violently as I lowered it over the artery, knowing I was about to come to terms with the most significant truth of my life.

Nothing.

(Surveys-from-above): Eastern Cheydinhal

Shifting my clothing carefully once again to conceal my lock-pick, I opened to door into the Cheydinhal night. Even as I walked East my eyelids felt heavy, and my preparations had been delayed by constant loss of focus. Even the crickets seemed to cherping faster because my mind was moving so slowly. I couldn't wait to have this last check of Fort Farrgut over so I could get some sleep.

The night was placid, and I only wished I didn't have to delay from falling into its embrace. I'd become accustomed to the idea of helping Learns-fast with his mysterious new agenda, whatever that was, so visiting Fort Farrgut no longer got me charged up and filled with curiousity. Nothing ever changes there. All that changed was me, it seemed. I was starting to get homesick. No pleasure really felt complete without the loving touch of home. Everything I did here felt like killing time until I could get back to Gideon. No doubt Distracts and Hides-in-shadows would want to hear anything I could tell them.

I knew, whether I was truly enjoying it or not, this was an amazing oppritunity, to see Cyrodiil four years in advance that is, so I tried to soak up the ambience of Cheydinhal, reminding myself repeatedly where I was and what it was like. Even so it felt more like I was staring through Cheydinhal than staring at Cheydinhal in my current state of exhaustion.

I ran my hand across railing of the second bridge. Continuing East, I began thinking about Gideon again. There were some things there that it just seemed couldn't be replaced. If I had been a bit more awake, I would have worried about how I'd handle my transfer, even though that was four years away. Everything felt kind of withdrawn and artificial here with the urge to go home so prevalent.

Now I was very close to the Eastern wall. As I remembered, I needed only to turn left to see the other gate, through which I could exit, and then walk to Fort Farragut easily.

This mission was weird enough. As best I could guess, it was a test. That way they could get an idea of my skills and teach Mr. Lachance how to improve his security, or something. I couldn't imagine why else the Argonian Royal Court would want me to spy on him. It certainly felt funny.

Then the abandoned house came into view. Yet a moment before I could turn left I noticed the door to the normally stagnant house opened.

At first I wondered if it had been in my imagination, because imagination and reality felt hard to distinguish at the moment, but no, someone was coming out of that door. An Argonian. He was moving awkwardly, not quite stumbling, but akwardly none the less. There was a large blotch of crimson on his otherwise tan shirt. Blood? He walked closer, my weariness vanishing. The house had been a curious enough anamoly every time I'd passed it, and now someone was coming out of it bloodied. It was eerie. I got a feeling like I was the play thing of higher, manevolent powers. A fear of the vast store of world-warping terrors the unknown might contain came to me. Then the bloody figure looked up at me. His face...I'd seen it before.

Cleaver. He seemed to share the recognition. It took me a few seconds for my mind to readjust after years without contact, but after that some form of brotherhood returned. He looked equally surprised.

"Surveys, Surveys-from-above. What are you doing here?" He inquired, his face showing stunned curiousity. Though I'd remembered his voice a bit differently, it was no doubt he. I didn't answer his question.

"Cleaver? Why are...are you alright?"

"The entire sanctuary..." He said, looking around as he talked, "The entire sanctuary is dead. I was the only one who lived." The sanctuary? I knew the Dark Brotherhood had a sanctuary in Cheydinhal. Had the abandoned house been that sanctuary? It certainly seemed distinguishable enough.

I knew I'd never look at that house the same way again.

Tienaava continued, as I was entranced by his story. "It was an inside job." he sniffled, then continued "It was Fights-up-close."

At once I felt like I never knew her. I just couldn't imagine it.

I truly had a difference to make here, somewhere to progress. But why? Why her? Why me? Why had she been granted such power against the more experienced agents? It all seemed achingly unreasonable.

"She did? Why?"

"Something about...a purification." He said. Tienaava looked down again, seemingly to wipe his eyes.

"Where's Lachance? Did you tell him?" Immediatly going into action mode, seeing a real threat in my midst and a serious reason to employ our skills

"He...he gave the order." At once it all unraveled itself. I'd naively assumed spying on Mr. Lachance was a test. A game. Now, if what Cleaver said was true...they'd turned against us. Everything I'd thought before this seemed like a sick joke. The world seemed like a whole new battlefield now. "I think they went to Fort Farragut, but only for a short while. He mentioned something about...Hero Hill, to the South-East. A moss covered rock."

A new feeling of unity came over me. The Shadowscales were being killed off by their most trusted members, but Cleaver had managed to escape with some crucial intelligence. Even so, we were no doubt still in danger. It breathed a rare, new kind of life into the night. I had every intention to advance the next step towards the first idea that came to me to remedy the situation. "Cleaver, Learns-fast is here with me back at one of the Inns here. We need to tell him. Follow me."

I knew both our lives had changed forever.