Lydia was asleep when I got home, but I saw the note I sent her in the living room. Mentally, I'm already preparing for an earful. I tried to be as sneaky as I could not to wake her, left all my gear in my room and washed up a tad. I'm hoping that breakfast will curb some of her rage, though the thing I wanted to cook includes cabbage, and we don't really keep any around. Veggies do have a tendency to spoil. Well, here's to hoping there's some on the market.

"Thanks for the business!"

"My pleasure." Saya smiled politely at the saleswoman. She was an Imperial, slightly taller than the Dragonborn and with a notably paler skin. One could think she was sick if they'd never been to Whiterun before, but one look around quickly proved that this is just how people in the north look. Her shoulder-length hair was brushed back, allowing for a good look at her brown eyes and overall beautiful features which were just on the cusp of being soured by a mix of age and stress.

Carlotta nodded, donning her usual customer service smile and letting her eyes wander around the bustling marketplace, searching for another buyer. Her lips had just parted to begin her usual spiel when she spotted a familiar figure off in the distance - much to her annoyance. The saleswoman turned quickly to Saya, who was already on her way out.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like anything else?" Carlotta's voice noticeably cracked, but she did her best to keep a straight face. The Dunmer turned back to look at her, one of her ears twitching slightly. "This is a fresh harvest, you should take your pick now while there are options!"

"Actually, I think I-" Saya paused, hesitant in her refusal as soon as she saw Carlotta's suspicious desperation. She glanced to the side, noticing a blonde man eyeing her from the other side of the market. "-forgot that I wanted to get some tomatoes too, could you pick out a few good ones?"

An involuntary sigh of relief left the saleswoman's mouth before she spoke again, returning to her cheerful tone. "Of course."

"So… someone causing you trouble?" The Dunmer said as she was putting away the last of her unplanned purchases. Carlotta averted her gaze, almost shamefully.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't planning for that to happen, it's just the first thing that came to mind." The woman sighed. "You look young. Pretty, too. Do you get a lot of attention from men?"

An involuntary chuckle escaped Saya at the mention of age. She shook her head. "Not here, no. I've spent most of my time in Skyrim on the road, so I haven't had many chances to meet other people. Besides, the folks here seem to have…" She looked off in the general direction of Heimskr, wincing. "...reservations about any kind of relationships with elves. Sure, my skin color can throw people off sometimes, but once they see the eyes it all goes downhill." The Dragonborn laughed wryly, scratching the back of her head. The days of mockery back at home made themselves known at the back of her mind every so often, but she tried not to think about it too much.

Carlotta let out a long, wistful sigh. "I don't know if I should feel pity or jealousy. Half the men in Whiterun have approached me at some point or another. Some of them were even single." She gave a dry chuckle. "They're persistent, I'll give them that, but they just don't understand. Nothing matters more to me right now than my little girl, and I'm not letting any man get between us."

Saya gave a long, scornful look towards the Bannered Mare's doors. Her expression soured slightly. "Then what about that one guy?"

At that point, Carlotta's face contorted into a hateful grimace. "Ugh. Mikael. That bard is all but begging for a dagger between the ribs, the way he goes on and on how he'll 'conquer me like a true Nord conquers any harsh beast'." Saya had to resist the urge to gag and the Imperial nodded sympathetically. "My thoughts exactly. It wouldn't even be as infuriating if he didn't run his mouth about it at the Mare every damned evening. I'm… I'm honestly getting hesitant to bring Mila to the inn for food, if only to keep her from having to hear his… ugh. The mammoth shit he keeps spouting."

Saya put her free hand on her chin, thinking. "Do you want me to take care of him?" Her eyes gleamed as she turned towards Carlotta. When she saw the saleswoman's terrified expression, she quickly clarified: "Ah- I don't mean like that. Just a little chat, that's all. He'll be fine, I give you my word."

Carlotta visibly relaxed upon the clarification, though now the fear in her eyes was replaced with doubt. "Well… I've been trying to get him to leave me alone for the better part of a year now. If you think you can do something, go ahead. But good luck getting anything through that thick skull of his."

The Dragonborn smirked. "Oh don't you worry. I have my methods." She purred, and briskly walked home with a small bounce in her step.

Made a quick stop back at Breezehome to drop off the groceries. A girl with bags full of vegetables doesn't look all too intimidating. Lydia seems to still be asleep, so I have time.

Now, let's see what this Mikael is all about.

The Mare was relatively empty - one of the virtues of it still being the first half of the day. There were still a few people on the premises, half of them starting the day off with a meal and the other half - with mead. Hulda had been lazily wiping the counter, lifting one hand to cover up a yawn, when she spotted Saya walk in. "Ah, good morning. Can I offer you anything?"

Mikael, who had been strumming a leisurely melody by the firepit, immediately noticed the petite-looking redhead come in. Without interrupting the song, he spared some attention to look at the Dragonborn, recognizing her from the marketplace.

"Some honeyberry tea would be nice. Would you happen to have any?" Saya inquired, taking a seat in front of the counter. "I don't mind waiting if you need to make some."

"Very well." The innkeeper nodded, setting aside the rag with which she'd been cleaning her workplace and walking off into the back. The Dunmer sighed as the music stopped, mentally preparing for the conversation that was going to follow.

"Why hello there." Saya rolled her eyes at the sleazy greeting. Evidently, the amount of mental preparation she had done wouldn't be enough. "May I ask what a beautiful lady like yourself is doing alone at a tavern this early? Looking for a drink to start off your day? Or, perhaps…" Mikael's fingers traced his lute's strings demonstratively. "...A song?"

Saya did not so much as look at him, closing her eyes. "Do you approach every woman like that? Or just the ones you want to 'conquer'?"

Mikael gave a self-assured smirk. "Every woman is a woman worth fighting for, I say. And every beauty is worth pursuing, especially by one such as myself."

Inwardly, Saya wanted to puke. Outwardly, she laughed. "So you're telling me your ventures have so far been successful?"

"More than successful, m'lady." Oh gods, someone, just kill him. "I personally know every woman that lives in Whiterun, and even a few outside of it." The blond Nord leaned onto the counter, winking.

"Do you now?" Saya smiled, her eyes still closed. "Then, by chance, would you happen to know something about me as well?" She propped up her elbow, supporting her chin with her fist.

There was a brief moment of silence from Mikael, the query catching him off guard. He quickly composed himself, though. "Ah, but of course! Though your name remains a mystery to me yet, I wouldn't be Mikael the Bard, the gentleman of Whiterun, if I didn't recognize the beautiful visage of a lithe Wood Elf adventurer in her youthful prime."

"Well, I suppose it's time to strip you of those titles, then." Saya finally graced Mikael with a contemptuous look, her red eyes gleaming with the flames licking at the wood in the inn's firepit. Her lips stretched into an almost wicked grin when she saw Mikael's eyes widen as he couldn't help but move back in surprise. "I'm a Dunmer, 'gentleman', though I suppose there's little difference so long as you can see the ears, hmm?"

The bard bit his lip, squinting. For better or worse he didn't seem to be dissuaded. If anything, Saya pushing back only served to make him more interested. "Ah drat, it seems you got me. May I at least know the name of the cunning enchantress who outsmarted me?" He offered her a hand.

The Dunmer turned to look at him, leaning on her arm. His gesture was ignored. "Saya Indoril. And there was no outsmarting, dear Mikael." She said, staring him in the eye. "It simply appears as though you don't know as much about women as you think you do. If you'd like another example: your surprising ignorance at Carlotta's lack of interest, despite her rejecting your advances multiple times." Her tone and expression grew colder with every word she uttered, the end of the phrase coming more as a hateful hiss while her amused look had turned into an icy glare.

Mikael's grin vanished, his face dropping into a disgruntled grimace. "So this is what this is about, huh? Well, I'm sorry to disappoint and throw your valiant effort to the wind, but that fiery widow is mine. She just doesn't know it yet."

"Is that so? Then I'll be more direct." Saya grabbed the bard's lute, yanking it out of his hand and throwing it to the ground. The flimsy instrument released a pathetic noise as it shattered against the floorboards, leaving behind only splinters and curled up metallic strings. Silence fell upon the entire inn as the noise drew attention from every patron who hadn't turned earlier to watch Mikael's fruitless endeavor. One particularly impressionable patron even stepped out of the establishment. "You will leave Carlotta alone. Am I clear?"

Anger and shock mixed behind Mikael's eyes, his hands contorting into white-knuckled fists. The Dragonborn maintained eye contact, staring at him unblinkingly, as if daring him to try something. The silent exchange continued for another few seconds before the bard finally sighed, scowling as he grumbled. "...Fine. On my honor, I won't bother Carlotta ever again."

"That's a good lad." The Dunmer smiled, turning away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm waiting for my order." She heard the shuffling of fabric as Mikael stood up, stepping behind her to pick up the remnants of his lute. She smiled somewhat smugly to herself, satisfied with the result of the conversation.

But then, a low voice behind her spoke: "But if you are ever interested…"

Immediately after, she felt a hand suddenly grab one of her buttocks. The Dunmer whipped around, swinging her elbow right into the bard's delicate jaw, sending him to the floor right beside his ruined instrument. The blonde cursed, rubbing his jaw in pain.

"Oh you fu-" He did not get to finish the sentence, cut off by the Dunmer getting up from her stool and kicking the Nord straight in the teeth. The blow landed with a nice, resounding crack, accented by a couple of the patrons wincing audibly.

"Gentleman, huh? A man-whore is what you are, I could chop your worthless hands off and do the world a favor!" She kicked the Nord one more time in the side, Mikael curling up on the floor and coughing in response. Saya glared at the pathetic sight in front of her, considering whether or not to have another go at him. Her musings, however, were interrupted by the door to the inn slamming open.

"What's going on here?" A male voice boomed across the establishment. Saya's head whipped around to see an armored guard, a helmet covering his face, bar the eyes and the mouth. "I've been told of misconduct stirring up. You have the option of coming quietly or being dragged off."

She stepped away from Mikael, who quickly got up from the floor, pointing at her and screaming: "This… This elf just interrupted my performance and smashed my lute into pieces! S-She assaulted me! Take her away at once!"

The cracking voice of the bard was met with a pregnant pause from the guard as recognition flashed in his gaze. The air of authority around him was pushed aside by a certain awkwardness as he gave Saya a small bow in greeting. "...Thane Indoril."

Mikael's eyes opened wide with fear, the word 'Thane' ringing in his ears. Saya turned around, an uncaring expression on her face. "This… bard was harassing an acquaintance of mine for an extended period of time. Unpunished." She gave the word extra emphasis, giving the guard a sharp look. "I came here to take care of some private business and had to endure his unwanted advances as well. So, I confronted him about my acquaintance and told him to back down. And yes, I did break his lute in the process, I admit to that much. However," she hissed, turning to Mikael who almost recoiled from her glare, "this sniveling wretch decided that promising not to harass one woman gave him permission to harass another, and groped me in plain view of everyone in the inn. Naturally, I retaliated." She turned back to the guard. "Is there a problem?"

"I…" The guard cleared his throat, unsure of what to say after such a stream of information. On one hand, he felt like the lad definitely looked worse for wear, but at the same time, she was a Thane… He turned to the rest of the inn's patrons, ignoring Mikael's own trembling figure. "Can anyone here confirm Thane Indoril's version?" A few hesitant arms were raised, the patrons unsure if they wanted to get themselves tangled into the messy situation. "Now, can anyone confirm Mikael's-"

"There will be no need for that, it was as she said," Hulda leaned against the doorway leading into the back of the Mare. "I'm the innkeeper and can confirm her version. Escort this man off my premises."

"I- Hulda, what are you doing?" The panicked Mikael turned towards her, shocked. "Y-You can't do this, I didn't-!"

"Yes I can, Mikael." The innkeeper cut him off. "I let you perform here out of goodwill because your music attracted customers, but I'm not so blind that I wouldn't notice half the women in Whiterun avoiding my inn ever since you came here. It's none of my business what you do outside of your work hours, but if you have stooped low enough to harass customers inside the inn, then you're more trouble than you're worth."

The guard approached Mikael, grabbing him under the arm. Mikael began to struggle, pulling his hand away and shouting. "NO, YOU CAN'T DO THIS! YOU CAN'T-!"

The armored man rolled his eyes and pulled out a thick piece of rope off his belt, pulling Mikael's other arm behind his back and tying them together. "Shut up and walk. I've got patrol duty to deal with after you," the guard grumbled, practically dragging the bard off the premises.

It was a long few minutes before the establishment returned to its previous atmosphere, though still noticeably more tense compared to how it previously was. Saya had returned to sitting behind the counter, tapping impatiently. Soon enough, Hulda returned to bring Saya the tea she requested earlier, with the Dunmer sliding over the money she owed in return.

"Sorry for the mess." She sighed.

Hulda shook her head. "I've been waiting for him to slip up. Honestly, with how business has been, I'm considering just selling the Mare to Ysolda and retiring. Thanks for at least saving me the trouble of getting him out of my hair."

Saya snorted. "You're welcome, I guess. And thanks for the tea." The innkeeper nodded in return and Saya left with her purchase, closing the doors behind her. The marketplace was already beginning to pick up in business, more people approaching the stalls to jump at the fresh morning stock. The Dunmer made a beeline for Carlotta's stand, giving the saleswoman a small wave.

The Imperial woman swallowed nervously. "I, um… I saw Mikael get taken off earlier, all banged up and everything. Was that…?"

Saya waved it off. "He earned it. Plus, it wasn't me who called the guard." The Dunmer's expression grew a bit softer. "I don't think he'll be bothering you anymore. Or anyone in Whiterun, for that matter. Gave him quite the scare." She chuckled.

Carlotta still looked a bit shaken, but her sigh was one of relief. "I cannot tell you what a weight that is off my shoulders. I'd thank the gods, but for now, I think I'll just thank you." The woman reached for her purse, looking through it. "Here, let me just-"

"Oh no, please. That's unnecessary!" Saya put her arms out in protest, visibly flustered. "It's okay, you need it more than I do."

"Are you sure?" There was a part of Carlotta that was glad her reward was refused, but she felt the need to ask. Saya nodded.

"After what happened? Decking Mikael in that dung bas-relief he calls his face is more than enough of a reward on its own." The Dragonborn giggled, with the Imperial also unwittingly producing a chuckle. "If you do want to thank me, though, just stay in business. Everyone needs something to eat, and honestly? I'd much rather buy something fresh from you than deal with that Redguard guy. His personality could make honey taste sour."

"Ha! You got that right. But really, thanks again."

Saya smiled, saluting the woman as she headed off in the direction of Breezehome. "Don't mention it."

Third time's the charm, Lydia was awake when I came back. I managed to avoid the scolding by distracting her with the promise of food and proceeded to make some glazed salmon with a side of caramelized cabbage wedges. Oh, and some honeyberry tea.

She was still grumpy, mind you. But my ears evade any loud scoldings, this time.

The rest of the day was free for us to do anything with. I encouraged Lydia to go spend some time with Hrongar. She was constantly trying to steal glances at him while I was talking to Farengar. I was just poking my head in to thank him for the spell and notify him that I'd be using the library again, which was actually a surprisingly fruitful endeavor:

I found more information on "Alduin". Most records of him were destroyed during King Harald's crusade against the remnants of something called the Dragon Cult, an ancient faith led by an "Alduin" sometime in the late Merethic Era. Alduin was said to be worshipped even before that - "Varieties of Faith" speaks about Alduin as the Nordic equivalent of the Imperial Akatosh, Aldmeri Auri-El, and Khajiiti Alkosh. Alduin was described as the World-Eater (which is quite a hope-inducing moniker, not going to lie), a god of time that devoured the universe when the flow of time reached its inevitable end.

So… I'm trying to kill a god, here. I need a moment.

Okay, better.

I can't say I'm too happy with my findings. There's a part of me that skeptically thinks it's just an impostor, but Gjukar did say that the black bastard was spotted in Sovngarde of all places, which is the afterlife of Nords, so I'm not really holding out hope.

On a more happy note, I found a song dedicated to myself. Well, okay, not really myself, but it sings of the Dragonborn who would come and slay Alduin the World-Eater, thus saving all of Skyrim. I'll transcribe it here:

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn, To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout, Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!

Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago, and the tale, boldly told, of the one!

Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man, with a power to rival the sun!

And the Voice, he did wield, on that glorious field, when great Tamriel shuddered with war!

Mighty Thu'um, like a blade, cut through enemies all, as the Dragonborn issued his roar!

And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled!

Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world!

But a day shall arise when the dark dragon's lies will be silenced forever and then!

Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw, Dragonborn be the savior of men!

I don't know what made me grin more - the fact that the Dragonborn is male here or that they're referred to as "the savior of men". I can only guess that the ancient Nords really didn't expect the Dragonborn to be a female elf.

There's also a version in the dragon language that I've scribbled over into my note-taking journal. I recognize some of the words, so I'll try and mull over it for a little while to see if I can learn any of them. Annoyingly, "Yol" did not appear in the text. Not knowing what it means is bugging me to no end. It's like knowing a word in Dunmeris but not how to say it in Cyrodilic, or vice versa. Ugh.

I'll probably ask the Greybeards whenever I get around to visiting them. Hopefully tomorrow will bring some good weather.

I am almost tempted to try Storm Call again if it does.

Loredas, the 13th of Hearthfire, 4E201

I may or may not have used Storm Call. I also may or may not have gotten smacked by Lydia on our way to High Hrothgar. At the very least I used it far enough away from both Whiterun and Ivarstead that I think nobody will be able to tell it was me.

Then again, I guess there aren't that many people who could do it in the first place. Oh whatever. Not like anyone will come up to me and tell me to stop.

I heard a loud rumble coming from High Hrothgar and it stopped. I'm not in trouble, am I?

"Dragonborn. You've returned."

"Yep, it's me." Arngeir's greeting was answered with Saya's own, half-hearted as it was. "Why, did you expect someone else? I thought nobody but us could enter High Hrothgar."

The monk smiled beneath his beard. "No, I didn't expect anyone. Neither did I expect the… thunderous announcement of your return." The old man stood up, dusting off his robe and facing the flustered Dragonborn. "Practice of the Thu'um is a worthy task, but do not get overzealous. Irresponsible usage of your power could have tremendous consequences for the surroundings and its inhabitants. Exercise some restraint next time, would you?"

Saya averted her eyes, trying to avoid Lydia's 'I told you so' look. "N-noted. Um, anyway- I talked to Gjukar!" She probed, awkwardly attempting to switch the subject.

"I presume it was him who taught you this word of power, then."

"Yes, it was." The Dunmer's awkwardness somewhat dissipated. The memory of absorbing his soul was still fresh in her mind, filling her with a certain discomfort. "And I learned another word on the way back, though I don't know the translation. I was hoping you could teach it to me."

Arngeir squinted, looking at the redheaded Dragonborn with a curiosity in his eye. He gestured over to the center of the room. "Come, then. Show me this word."

Saya scratched the back of her head as she followed. "Show? How?"

The Greybeard chuckled quietly. "The same way we have taught you the words you know now, of course. Allow me to demonstrate: Strun." The Nord whispered the word, and the breath left his lips as a weak gust of air that crackled when it impacted the floor. The Dunmer looked down, seeing the symbols etched into the stone, spelling out the word - Strun, Storm.

"Don't I need to know the Shout to be able to do that?" The Dunmer tilted her head quizzically.

"Do you think every man that carved these words into ancient monuments knew how to Shout as well, then?" The question was accented with a raised eyebrow, giving her pause.

"...that's a fair point." Saya conceded. She took a deep breath, allowing the memory of the word to enter her mind before leaving her lips with a tamed whisper. Saya looked down at the hieroglyph, watching it. She could've sworn that the edges of every symbol seemed… darker, somehow. Almost singed.

"Ah, 'Yol'. I think I understand your interest in this word." Arngeir allowed himself a soft laugh. "Yol means 'fire' in the dragon tongue. It is the basis of a Shout that almost all dragons use - you may know it as 'Fire Breath'."

"Oh," she mouthed, somewhat dumbfounded "So the essence of the word is… fire?" Now, the comment he made before about her interest made sense. On one hand, Dunmer are indeed associated with fire and volcanism because of their homeland - or the Red Year, if nothing else. On the other hand, her personality was…

Well, no reason to dwell on that.

"Will you teach it to me, then?" Saya looked at Arngeir expectantly. The Greybeard looked at her from head to toe, as though evaluating her. There was a moment of silence before he replied.

"No. No, I don't think I will," the master said, turning around and walking off.

It took Saya a moment to register the words before she scrambled to respond. "W-wait, what do you mean 'no'? How else am I supposed to learn, then?" She protested, reddening in the face, ignoring Lydia's hand grabbing her Thane's shoulder to try and calm her down. "Do you want me to casually go kill a dragon or something?"

The ice-eyed monk looked at the Dragonborn sharply and whatever other words she had prepared got stuck in her throat. The next time he spoke, Arngeir's tone was commanding. "Drem, Dovahkiin." A dull rumble rolled across the walls of the monastery, invoked by the dragon speech. Saya could feel herself sink inside her own body, intimidation washing over her like freezing water. Seeing her reaction, the Greybeard's expression softened. "Be patient, I am not yet done talking."

Arngeir turned away, raising his arms as he pulled in a gasp of air, and then moved his hands downward in a slow, relaxed motion as he exhaled. "Yol." He said, and the breath leaving his mouth turned into tongues of brilliant orange flame that found shelter inside the brazier in front of the monk. Arngeir stepped aside, gesturing for Saya to step closer. "So far you have learned Thu'um by directly absorbing the knowledge of others. Dragons, Dragonborn, or the Greybeards - none of the knowledge you possess right now is your own. That is a weakness, Dovahkiin."

The Dunmer stepped closer, looking at the fire that danced in her red iris. She nodded quietly. "What do you want me to do?"

Arngeir motioned to the light. "This is 'Yol', Dragonborn. 'Fire', as we call it. The way all mortals learn Thu'um is through long and careful meditation. As we ponder, our minds peer into the essence of the words we try to comprehend. When the truth is revealed to us, our Voices can begin to convey those truths unto our surroundings through the ancient magic we call Shouting. Do you understand?"

Saya looked at Arngeir, then back at the flame. The wild light continued to dance around the black charcoal, singing it even darker before it turned into ashen white embers. The Dunmer lifted her left hand, looking at it. With minimal exertion, tongues of magical fire sprawled from her skin, clotting into a small orb full of small flames growing and circling around one another, almost like some kind of esoteric dance. Saya's hand curled into a fist, extinguishing the spell before she turned to the Greybeard again, nodding.

"I will ponder on the meaning of 'Yol', then."

The old Nord nodded. "I shall return to you at sunset. When you tell me what meaning you found within 'Yol', I will grant you my own understanding." Then, rather unexpectedly, he turned towards Lydia, who was beginning to look uncomfortable with the situation's atmosphere. "As for you, friend of the Dragonborn. The Greybeards are not only monks, but scholars as well. Come, perhaps we might find a text that would entertain you while you wait."

Hesitantly, the housecarl followed Arngeir out of the main hall. Saya watched her leave, letting her gaze linger a bit on the empty archway when the two Nords left her sight. She shook her head, discarding any distractions that may linger in her mind. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze was focused on nothing but the fire before her.

The sunset was beautiful. Blazing orange morphed into soft pink, giving way to dark blue which stretched across the sky, until even that pseudo-darkness was engulfed by the sourceless shadow of the void above, below, and all around, consumed by the hunger and calm of night. Saya sat in the snow, her back against one of the stone pillars in the High Hrothgar courtyard. If one were to find her like this, they'd be forgiven for thinking she was dead or, at the very least, asleep. However, upon looking closely, it could be seen that she was still breathing slowly, the vapor from her breath drawing a white line from her lips that followed the wind's dance, snaking around the pillar and fading soon after, its lingering warmth swiftly devoured by the mountain air. Her scarlet eyes were distant, unfocused, as though she was looking at something and yet her mind was somewhere entirely different. The red sun continued to shine upon her, and the snow around the courtyard had begun to turn a light pink.

The Dunmer had moved out here about an hour ago. Maybe even two. As she meditated indoors, she had eventually noticed that the flame before her was beginning to wane. Cautiously, she continued to study it - careful not to let her breath accidentally extinguish the already dimming brazier. She watched the flaming embers go out, one by one, slowly disappearing into specks of light grey dust, until no more fuel remained for the light and it turned into nothing but a thin column of smoke rising towards the ceiling. For a few brief moments, she considered lighting it again with magic. The idea was soon abandoned, though. Instead, she sought a better flame. Not an artificial one, but one that could exist forever without anything being able to touch it. And so, she stumbled out to the training area, and sat down to watch the very first fire, one so pure that ancient thinkers of the Ayleids considered it blasphemy to compare it to the flame created with mortal hands, instead simply calling it "latta" - "light".

A shiver ran through the Dragonborn's body and she looked at her hands, struggling to unclench her fists as she could see the skin on her fingertips begin to turn pale - a premonition of the coming blue and purple, which, themselves, were but a harbinger of the black rot that followed. She exhaled slowly, magicka coursing through her body and out of it to create a small, flickering flame that floated just in front of her. Almost hesitantly, Saya clasped her fingers around it, letting the warmth soak into her palms while she sighed with relief.

"You came out." A voice came from behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know that it was Arngeir. His tone wasn't accusatory, more just an observation than anything else. "Have you given up?"

Saya did not even look his way. His words didn't go unheard, but no reply came to them. Instead, she crossed her legs and leaned forward, the magical flame dissipating when she unclasped her hands. She dragged one of her fingers across the peach-pink snow, drawing as she spoke.

"Fire. Yol." She began, her voice quiet from the long hours of silence. "It is a warm word. Though two-sided, I think."

Arngeir watched her without interruption. The lines in the snow were glyphs, forming the word in dovahzul. He couldn't help but think back to the words of his own masters, how dragons would scratch the words of their language into cliffsides with their claws.

"It reminds me of a person," she said. "Or maybe, multiple people. A group or a community." The Dragonborn tilted her head, looking up from the ground to look at the sun setting again. The sky was beginning to grow darker again. "It starts off small and insignificant. It's weak and unstable, threatening to disappear at the slightest push. But it clings to the things around it, and from there it begins to grow."

She turned towards the Greybeard, looking at him, but also not quite. It was as though she was simply searching for something to occupy her eyes with, rather than actually trying to observe anything.

"But a single tongue of flame won't survive anywhere. The core of it will remain, of course, but as it overcomes the hardships that failed to extinguish it, others will appear." She leaned back against the stone column, closing her eyes. "Smaller and bigger, older and newer… Little tongues of fire that will wrap around each other, making themselves stronger. And none of them are identical - not even alike in anything but general features. All of them seeking to grow in their own ways, but clinging to one another because they cannot exist otherwise."

She smiled a bit. It was beautiful, in a way. She couldn't help but think it was almost a little selfish.

"That's what I think 'fire' is. Growth. Dependency. A destruction of one so that the others may survive, and then them and everything thereafter. That selfishness that consumes everything and everything, just to keep existing..." She opened her eyes, looking back to the red sun, ready to disappear behind the horizon. For a moment, she felt a tinge of sadness swell up inside her chest. She didn't know why. "...no matter what it takes."

Absent-mindedly, the Dunmer drew her hand across her cheek. Her red eyes widened slightly when she looked down, surprised, seeing that on her hand was a wetness that was not there before, a tear she didn't even realize she wiped away. She mumbled an apology, laughing in confusion. She couldn't understand where the emotions she was feeling came from. They felt unprovoked, like they simply appeared out of nowhere. If anything, the only feeling she could understand right now was the embarrassment at her sudden collapse in front of Arngeir.

The shame was unfounded, however, as the Greybeard paid no mind to the confused tears. Instead, he pondered his words silently before finally speaking. "That is a very… passionate way of looking at it." He smiled slightly. "Even if a bit cynical. But it is also very human."

Saya tried to suppress the sniffle that snuck its way into her voice. "How so…?"

The monk took a step forward, linking his fingers under the long monochrome sleeves of his robe as he gazed forward, looking down from the mountain upon the landscape. Far off in the distance, he could see rivers flowing across the province, cities and villages dwarfed by mountainsides and hills. Down there, so many people lived, and yet right now they all appeared as ants. Invisible. Scrambling forever, chasing after something for as long as they exist.

"It is a very… mortal way to ponder things. Seeing ourselves in everything, and finding both fear and hope in the finity of our existence. But dragons are beyond it. To them, there is no such thing as 'temporary'. All of time is an ever-shifting parchment full of unstable letters, in their eyes. They see not death or destruction, but only mutation and metamorphosis, replacement of the old by the new, the weak by the strong…" Trailing off, he looked at her.

Saya blinked, staring back. "...or coals by ashes." The Dragonborn said, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. She stood up quickly, getting onto her feet and taking a few unwitting, hasty steps forward as she looked at the last rays of the sun that were on the cusp of vanishing behind the skyline. "Day by night, life by death, cold by heat… It's change, isn't it?" She turned to Arngeir, realization glistening in her eyes. "Fire doesn't come from nothing. There's a spark that starts it, the destruction- no, the transformation of something. It's just a byproduct, a symbol. It's change."

The Greybeard smiled, nodding. "All of existence is the result of a thin interplay of twin forces achieving a fickle, mercurial balance. To exist on one side is impossible. It is in our nature to require both, for one was made to satisfy the other. Just as fire destroys, it also creates." He gestured to her hands. "By destroying firewood gathered from a dead tree, the lumberjack creates heat to warm his family. By destroying a town that the people abandoned, nature creates land for the animals to inhabit again. By destroying a living creature, the earth creates a corpse to reclaim so it can give new life to something else. Do you see, Dragonborn?" He looked at her, smiling. "The only constant in this world is change."

Saya nodded. "And the change is fire." She turned around, bowing. "Thank you for this lesson, master Arngeir."

The Greybeard shook his head. "No, Dragonborn. It was you who found the answer. I simply guided you to it, as is my duty."

The Dunmer could feel her cheeks become a little rosy, snickering. With a wry smile, she wondered if she could ask the question nagging her at the back of her mind. Thankfully, Arngeir gave the answer of his own volition.

"Come along now. I will grant you my understanding of 'Yol' once we are inside. It is getting rather cold, wouldn't you agree?" His beard shifted slightly as he chuckled. "I will be waiting within the monastery."

Arngeir's steps produced quiet crunches in the snow, and the iron door released a long, heavy squeak when it was opened and closed again. As Saya was left alone, she couldn't help but smile to herself again, looking off into the distance. The pink had all but vanished from the sky now. The terrifying, yet somehow calming void was taking its rightful place as the night's ruler, with myriads of little stars peering down from the sky, as if succeeding their mighty kin that ruled the day.

One last tear streamed down the Dragonborn's cheek, just as confusing and unexplained as the others. Somehow, this time it was almost soothing. The stars reflected in her red eyes, rooting themselves within her mind as a heartwarming feeling found purchase within her heart and she sighed, not bothering to question what she felt anymore.

Instead, as she left, she only wondered what it was about the sunset that made her feel so lonely.

Sundas, the 14th of Hearthfire, 4E201

We weren't going to take a backwards hike down the mountain in the dark, so Lydia and I spent the night at High Hrothgar. The monastery had some extra beds where we could rest. Supposedly, they were meant for use by apprentice Greybeards, but there hasn't been one for thirty years. I wanted to ask for more information, but Arngeir avoided giving me an answer. Must be a sensitive topic.

I wonder if the apprentice died or something. I wouldn't be surprised, given the conditions up here and how dangerous the Thu'um is in general.

Regardless, our next destination has been pinpointed as Volunruud, a little north of Whiterun. I cross-referenced the place with my map and it was just past Silent Moons camp. Overall shouldn't be too long of a trip, but another stop at Whiterun for supplies might be called for.

Lydia was reading up on Volunruud while she waited for me. There's a Tongue buried there, Kvenel. Supposedly he was a warrior of some renown back in the past, though I don't know how far back we're talking here. Probably somewhere around First Era, though, as there don't seem to be mentions of any dragons in his time. We'll see when we get there, I suppose.

So apparently Mikael was thrown into the dungeons for the foreseeable future because he didn't have money to pay as recompense for the harassment. The story got a bit overblown by the multiple women affected by his unwanted advances, but I dropped in and asked for his sentence to be reduced from a month to three weeks. The guy looked absolutely miserable after just two days, I don't think he'd last a month.

Buying supplies was as uneventful as always. I think we'll be moving out soon after we drop by in the Mare to get some food. Not good to hit the road on an empty stomach.

Well, it's finally sundown, and we're setting up camp at the Silent Moons place. Still pleasantly uninhabited, I don't expect any trouble to brew while we're here.

I lit a campfire using Fire Breath too. Though the flame was a little… bigger than really needed. It's a bit difficult to control, but that's a given. I just need more practice. The recovery period is alright, though longer than I'd like.

Hopefully I'll get to use it in a fight. Wonder just how hot it is.

Morndas, the 15th of Hearthfire, 4E201

We arrived at Volunruud by noon. I'll be honest, it's a bit of a shame to waste the sunlight in a dungeon, but we gotta do what we gotta do. And besides, I'd rather not be half-asleep when fighting for my life.

Then again, when am I not fighting for my life in this line of work?

I'm not sure I like this ruin's structure. It's different. The Nordic ruins I've been to are usually more like one long corridor with side halls that go nowhere. This one is more like… a fork, I guess? There is one entrance, and then at one point it splits off into three separate paths. The one directly forward is blocked off by a big metal door with two crevices - one axe-shaped, the other sword-shaped. My guess is we need to find these weapons and slot them in as keys.

Okay. So the left and right paths have proven one idea I've had swirling in my brain to be correct. The reason for this layout is because this is not a common necropolis, like Bleak Falls Barrow, but a tomb for Kvenel specifically - kind of like Ustengrav. And, for some reason, the big man himself is sealed away…

I don't like where this is going, so I think we'll take a breather and prepare before going in. The next room is giving me chills.

Or maybe it's the cold-enchanted weapons we're holding. Upon further consideration, it's probably that.

Saya and Lydia entered a very spacious room, contrasting the almost claustrophobically small winding tunnel that led them here. Six pillars were aligned in two straight lines along a path of polished stone plates. At the end of it was a short staircase leading to a slightly elevated platform. There stood a large, masterfully crafted throne adorned with carvings of silver accenting the black iron. A fully armored skeleton was resting upon the seat, its head tilted downwards slightly, one hand placed upon its lap, protectively clutching a pair of weapons - a handaxe and a bastard sword.

Saya approached carefully, her steps echoing in the chamber. Stormblade was held at the ready, but lowered as though to appear less threatening. "Kvenel? We come to talk."

A low growl came from the skeleton as it inhaled sharply. Pale blue light filled its empty eyeholes, and the corpse raised its gaze to look at the Dunmer, who pursed her lips at the slightly unsettling sight.

"Wo...?" The ghastly voice said, yet the corpse's jaw remained unmoving. "Kren dii hahnu. Wo hi?"

You… "Who are you?" Alright, good start I guess.

Saya fumbled internally as she tried to recall the words that she knew the meanings of. Shakily, she answered. "Um… Zu'u Dovahkiin." Shit, how did it go again? "Ni pruzah mindok dovahzul… Ugh, this is hard. What I'm saying is-"

Her speech was interrupted by bellowing, guttural laughter coming from the skeleton. The energy in its eyes was beginning to spew forth from its skull, covering its body in the ectoplasm-like substance. Soon, the bones were encased inside the body of a fully-armored ghost, appearing as a Nord man covered in scars.

Once his laughing fit ceased, he looked at her with a scowl. "Dovahkiin? Hi?" He rose from the throne, taking the weapons from his lap and brandishing them. "Mey fahliil. Unt lo zu'u? Pahlokiil nid oblaan."

The Dragonborn raised her hands defensively. "Wait, you misunderstand!" She sputtered, but the undead walking towards her was unflinching.

"Wo hi," the warrior growled. His sword-arm was raised, pointing the blade at her neck. "Tinvaak, uv dir."

The Dragonborn glared at Kvenel, sighing. "The hard way, then." An orange glow sparked at Saya's fingertips, and as her hand curled into a fist, the same light grasped at the Tongue's sword. She pulled back, tugging on the blade to rip it out of the ghost's hand and throwing to the side.

"...hi gahrot dii zahkrii, zu'u gahrot laasiil!" The warrior bellowed, raising his axe to strike but recoiling as an arrow pierced his ghastly shoulder. It was only now that he noticed Lydia standing behind the Dunmer, already nocking a second arrow. Kvenel did not send much more than a glare her way, however, as Saya's blade had already struck him in that moment of weakness.

The Dunmer grasped Kvenel's ghastly visage and pulled him to the side violently, freeing her weapon in the process. The next moment, another arrow pierced the Tongue's back, then - a third one. The enraged warrior wound back his right arm before punching Saya, sending her stumbling back with a visible bruise forming on her cheek.

Kvenel turned around, glowing eyes locking onto the housecarl. He lunged towards her, bringing his axe down in a powerful swing. Lydia tossed her bow aside, quickly raising her shield and holding it up with both hands, wincing as the blow's force met her block and she could feel the frost enchantment searing at her fingers. She pushed back and unsheathed her sword, taking a quick swipe at his legs. Kvenel hastily pulled his axe out, stepping back to avoid Lydia's strike - only to backtrack right into Saya's sweeping slash going across his spine.

The Dragonborn grabbed the back of his neck with her right hand, channeling magicka through it. Her palm emitted a bright flame, burning into the man's ethereal skin and causing him to shriek in pain. Lydia lowered her shield, winding up for a swing that'd finish off the undead Tongue.

But of course, he refused to go down easily. "WULD, NAH KEST!" The words left his lips, and his form dissolved into thin air, a torrent of wind cascading around Lydia before reforming a few dozen meters off to the side. Both women turned to look there, seeing Kvenel hastily pick his sword off the floor before glaring at them, his chest heaving.

Saya took the chance, counting in her head as she sheathed her sword and began firing off flaming projectiles in his direction. The magical spheres ruptured as soon as they came into contact with the ghost, exploding into violent bursts of fire. Kvenel responded by brandishing his weapons, the enchantments therein releasing frosty winds that consumed her flames before they could truly bloom. Lydia didn't watch the altercation for long, instead turning to retrieve her bow, but the Tongue didn't let that go unnoticed.

Much to Saya's shock, just as her countdown for the first word ended, Kvenel's ribcage was already beginning to rapidly fill with air and he shouted: "FUS RO DAH!"

As quickly as she could, the Dragonborn mirrored the Shout, releasing a shockwave of her own that collided with the ghost's. For just a brief second, she could see the invisible forces struggling against one another before hers gave way, overpowered by the experienced Tongue, and a powerful torrent of force impacted both herself and Lydia, sweeping them both off their feet. The black-haired Nord grunted as she fell onto the floor, rolling off the stone path and onto the rough rock. Saya did not have the opportunity to voice her pain as her back slammed into one of the stone pillars, knocking the breath out of her aching lungs.

"Dir, volaan!" The guttural, hate-filled speech cut through the ringing in her ears. Through blurry eyes, she could see the glowing visage of Kvenel closing in when an arrow whistled by. The Tongue released an almost beastly howl, dropping his axe to reach for his face and rip the projectile out of his eye socket before throwing it to the floor and stomping it to splinters. With the remaining glowing eye, he saw Lydia picking up her blade again, and his mouth opened, preparing to release another Shout.

Saya jumped on the momentary distraction, getting up and slamming the pommel of her sword into his temple, a loud metallic clang echoing through the chamber. Stunned and reeling, he did not resist as her fingers grasped his head and slammed him face-first into the stone pillar. Mustering all of her remaining strength, the Dragonborn wrapped both of her hands around Stormblade's grip and finally brought it down upon Kvenel's scorched neck, slicing through the ectoplasm like butter. With a loud crunch, the skeletal vertebrae were chopped in two, and the light in the Tongue's eyes vanished as the ethereal body dissipated, leaving a headless skeleton to collapse on the floor.

The silence in the room hung heavy, only split by the heaving breaths and coughing of the Dragonborn and her housecarl. Exhausted, Saya leaned back on the column, letting herself slide down to the floor and closing her eyes, waiting for her body to calm down. She could faintly hear Lydia's footsteps behind her.

"My Thane, are you alright?" The black-haired girl asked, slight concern showing in her features. The Dunmer waved her off.

"Just… trying to… catch my breath…" She forced out, wincing as she tried to sit down more comfortably. A stabbing pain was shooting through her back and ribs, like a lightning bolt tracing along her every nerve ending. Grunting, the Dragonborn reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pink bottle, downing the contents in one fell swoop. Right after the potion's effect finally started to take hold, she sighed in relief, pocketing the empty vial for later use.

"Do you need help?" She opened her eyes to see Lydia offering her hand, looking at the Thane expectantly. With a slight smile, she grabbed on and pulled herself up, stumbling slightly once she was back on her feet. "Woah there, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, just… A bit dizzy from getting decked earlier. Nevermind that." She mumbled. The housecarl glared at the skeleton by her feet, kicking it out of sheer spite. The gesture produced a quiet laugh from Saya, who was still holding one arm over her chest. Feeling the brunt of an Unrelenting Force from that close didn't seem like a pleasant experience, even if it was only a portion of it. She didn't want to imagine what the full thing would feel like.

Lydia knelt down, picking up Kvenel's weapons off the ground. Now that she looked at them, they were rather good-looking and masterfully crafted - as far as ancient weapons left to rust in a damp old ruin go, anyway. Squinting, she could recognize some runes written on the sides of the weapons, but sadly wasn't able to make the writing out.

"Uhh, Thane? Can you read this, by any chance?" The housecarl turned around, showing them to Saya.

The Dunmer looked over at the weapons, shaking her head. "Old Nordic. Never learned the language. Although…" The red-eyed girl quickly slung her backpack off her shoulder, pulling out a small brown journal and flipping through its pages. "Found it. The dead guy we found by the entrance was looking for Kvenel's favored axe and sword - Okin and Eduj. All things considered, I'd say these are the ones."

Lydia looked at the two items, weighing them in her arms. Sure, they were still technically usable, but their state was far from the best. "Should we keep them, then?"

Saya shrugged, putting away the journal. "Well, it's not like anyone would really want them. I guess we could stash them back at the house and then sell them to some historian. Maybe the College would be interested."

Lydia grimaced. "Winterhold?"

"That's the one." The Dunmer nodded. "Always wanted to visit the place. Heard the town itself is a shit hole, curious what the academy itself would look like."

"I don't think there's much to the place beyond the College anymore. I've been told the Great Collapse took the entire city into the sea, leaving only a few huts behind." The housecarl mused.

"Oh yeah…" Saya murmured, scratching her chin as she paused her investigation of the room. "Right, right. I remember that. Blacklight is pretty close to the sea too, so there was some worrying going around. Was it the same here?"

Lydia paused, her expression deadpan. "I wasn't born yet, Thane."

"...Right."

Not much else to find in a crypt. As usual, there was a chest full of treasure in the back, behind Kvenel's chamber. Gold, gems, some mismatched equipment that I could probably pawn off to a shop. Gotta wonder how modern-day Septims get mixed in with these ancient coins. Maybe the draugr loot the bodies of all the stray adventurers that die around the area? How messed up would that be?

There was also this… I don't really know what to call it. It's a dagger, but it's obviously more than just a dagger. Some kind of sacrificial blade? It has some draconic inscriptions on it, but I can't read them.

Speaking of inscriptions, there was also a word wall. Didn't understand a bloody thing except for one word - "Laas". Pretty sure Kvenel said it, too. I don't know the meaning, but… I might be able to figure it out. The evening is still long, so I think I'll meditate once we set up camp. Best if I make it a habit early on, right?

There is something about this word that gets me, to be honest. It's quiet, but… kind. Comforting. Every time I think about it I can't help but imagine a forest. Like a big, lush one, full of animals and flowers and everything. Maybe it's "Forest"? It doesn't feel like a "Forest"...

No matter. I'll figure it out eventually, I guess. If not, there's always Arngeir and the others.

Checking around my map, there was some kind of altar that I heard a guard talking about. Maybe we'll visit that next. I don't want to go back to Whiterun yet, and we've more than enough supplies for the journey. Besides, why waste the food by dragging it back to Whiterun instead of eating it while adventuring?

Anyway, dinner should be coming up soon so I guess I should stop writing. I didn't say this, but Lydia's not particularly good at making things from scratch. That said, the girl knows her way around rations. Probably a leftover from the guard days? Guards do need to eat something in their outposts, I guess.

Okay, okay. Not writing anymore.

"Laas". Hm.