Fredas, the 3rd of Frostfall, 4E201

Morning of inventory management. Food and water? Check. Healing ointments? Check. Emergency potions? Check. Lockpicks? Check. Unnecessary amounts of gold? Double check.

One of these days I'm gonna get bonked over the head with something heavy and wake up with an empty purse. Assuming I wake up. Oh well.

Road to Ivarstead, as dull as always. Well, barring the fact that someone finally moved into Valtheim again. We discovered them a little too quickly so there wasn't a bounty posted or anything of that sort, but some loot was had.

I'm always impressed when the one in the front tries to shake me down. I mean… Do I look that harmless? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by that, honestly.

The leader was another big burly type. Lopped his head off, some of the others started running. They didn't look too threatening so I let them go. The detour was already making the trip a bit longer than I had hoped and I didn't feel like chasing after some lowlife across the mountains.

Maybe they'll end up in a more reputable occupation down the line, who knows. I know a near-death experience like that would definitely make me consider that.

...actually no, it probably wouldn't.

Well, the Ivarstead visit went well.

I let everyone know that the dragon is taken care of and they threw together a reward for us. I wasn't going to turn that down, considering that it probably took a lot out of what these townsfolk have, but I think that I'll try and keep an eye out for anything they might be producing here that'll interest me. Reinvest in the economy, you know.

Also, I showed them the masks so that they'd know to report people in possession of anything similar. Some folks recognized them and said they saw cultists lurking around the village a month ago or somewhere around that. Following that, a few less known villagers moved out without a word. I want to say that they were recruited, but then why would they keep quiet about it even to their close friends? Wouldn't a group like that want to rope in as many people as possible? Even the talkative ones just kind of shut down, and then up and left.

I hope that this isn't a common occurrence. I have my doubts that people would readily follow dragons as their masters, but if some smaller settlement or another happens to fall under their influence in its entirety…

Let's just say it would be a problem. A big one.

Loredas, the 4th of Frostfall, 4E201

"Master Arngeir." The Dragonborn bowed in greeting. There was a slight huff to her speech, as she had been climbing the mountain not a full minute ago. Her housecarl was noticeably absent - after some hour of convincing, Saya did manage to talk her into remaining in Ivarstead this time.

"Dragonborn, you've returned." The old man closed the book he was reading and placed it upon the table, gesturing towards a seat close by. "Have you uncovered the word of power we told you about?"

"I did, yes." Saya took the offer. It took a moment to settle into the stone chair, it wasn't exactly uncomfortable but not the height of luxury either. She put one leg on the other and propped her head up against one of the arm rests. "The word was Krii. 'Kill'."

Arngeir's eyebrows raised momentarily, but that brief alarm quickly vanished from his features. He cleared his throat. "I see. It is a powerful word you've uncovered."

Saya raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You seem surprised. Did you not know that I was going to learn this word?"

Arngeir shook his head, explaining. "No. When we locate words of power, we hear not the words themselves, but only their errant echoes. We do not know what whisper reaches us, only from where."

Saya crossed her arms, thinking. This definitely complicated things, now that she thought about it. Moreover, if such a whisper could be faked in some way, she could be very well led into a trap. Though that, of course, hinged on the cult finding out how the Greybeards located the words, which not even she knew. "So, the word. I haven't actually used it yet, though I vaguely know what it does. Do you know the Shout it's part of?"

Arngeir nodded solemnly. "Yes, I am familiar with that Shout, though us of the order avoid using it due to its nature. The Way of the Voice is not a philosophy of war, you must understand."

"I figured as much." She nodded, somewhat disappointed. It certainly bottlenecked how much she could find out about it without personal experimenting, and unlike Unrelenting Force or Whirlwind Sprint, this would require subjects. Bother. "What is the Shout called?"

The old man closed his eyes. "Marked for Death. It is a hateful Shout, made with the intent to cause as much harm to someone as possible. Of course, we preserve it, the same way that historians preserve wars and horrible secrets. It is dangerous knowledge to hold, let alone wield."

Saya tilted her head. Now that he put it that way, she couldn't help but wonder whether Arngeir would have actually taught it to her if asked. "Well, I was lucky that a dragon happened to be nearby. I killed it and used its memories to understand the word. But... I guess I'll try to use it sparingly, if it's so dangerous." She sighed, sinking into her seat before a thought sparked in her mind and she sprung back to attention. "Oh, that's right! I think I'm getting the hang of eating dragon souls now, too."

Arngeir's brows furrowed slightly. "How do you mean?"

"That dragon I just mentioned? I learned two words from its soul." She leaned forward, clasping her fingers, almost a little giddy. "Before this, I was only able to learn one word from one dragon. But that time, I managed to tap into a second one - Gaan, 'Stamina'. Do you know that one too?"

"I do, but..." The Greybeard went quiet, thinking. He lowered his head, hiding his face which was filled with uncertainty. A part of him wanted to praise her advancement. A part of him wasn't sure if this was something he should encourage.

"Is something wrong?"

"It is reassuring that your studies are going well, Dragonborn." Arngeir looked up at her, his eyes gleaming from under the hood. "But also alarming. You mustn't overreach." His voice was low and his tone was firm, making Saya sink into her seat a bit. "The power you wield is immense, and you will master it in time - but be careful not to rush the process. Great men and women have fallen victim to their own hunger for power. Yours is even greater, and so you must take even more care to not stray from the right path."

The Dragonborn sighed, a wry smile emerging on her features. "I understand. I'll try to pace myself better." She tried her best to be reassuring, though sadly not to much effect. "To be honest, I feel like I kind of need to keep it up at this same rate. I've made some big discoveries recently and… Well, if I don't have you backing me, I don't know where else to learn without putting myself and others into danger needlessly."

Arngeir looked her up and down and shook his head. "You misunderstand. We will teach you, of course. That is our duty. But we are your guides as much as we're masters, so I must warn you to not let your power overwhelm you." He firmly gripped the armrest of his chair, staring her straight in the eyes from under the shadow of his hood. "Restraint and control are what you should concern yourself with. Not power or mastery. Do you understand?"

Saya gave him a cold, silent stare. Politeness held her back from rolling her eyes, but only just. A few tense moments of silence cooled the chamber before she replied. "Alright, fine. I'll play nice when I find the next dragon," she grumbled and leaned back into her chair. "Have you heard any other whispers while I was away?"

Arngeir side-eyed her briefly, but nodded. He had a feeling that his warnings would have gone unheard, but chose not to comment. "Yes, another word calls to us. It is in the Reach, in an ancient tomb called Valthume. But you must be careful, a-"

"Yeah, restraint and everything. I got it the first time." Saya rose from her seat, not paying any mind to Arngeir's warnings. It was getting a bit hard to veil her irritation, so she turned to him and gave another small bow. "I'm sorry to cut this short but I've business to attend to. Hrothgar was on the way so I decided to stop by." A lie. "Thank you for your help."

Saya's cloak fluttered as she put her hood back on and swiftly headed for the monastery exit, complaining internally. She understood his concern, but she also couldn't help but think back to the scorn in Fotunata's voice every time she spoke of the Greybeards.

She was slowly beginning to understand why.

So, the Reach.

Fuck.

I was hoping I wouldn't have to go there for a while. For a long, long while. But I guess it has been… what, a month and a half now? I can only avoid an eighth of a province for so long. It's still early, I think if we move out right now we could make it pretty soon. And the sooner we start out, the faster we'll get shit done and get out of there. Yeah. I'll just keep thinking about it like that.

I honestly feel a little bad for lying to Arngeir about business but… Ah what the hell, I will have business in a week anyway. Stopping the world from ending is "business" too.

And I mean, what's so bad about me knowing a lot of Shouts? It's not like I'm going to use all of them. There's probably some useless Shout like, I don't know, "Make-Pillow-Warm" or something. And there's the part where my bloody throat dies every fetching time so I couldn't even use all the Shouts all the time even if I wanted to.

Ugh.

"Power-hungry". You gotta get powerful before you get power-hungry. I wonder if people of Skyrim think the Greybeards are power-hungry. Like they're just waiting to turn on everyone or something.

...Hm. That'd be a twist, wouldn't it.

Sundas, the 5th of Frostfall, 4E201

Old Hroldan is quiet. I'm not sure why I expected more people to be here but here we are.

Eydis told me that the ghost hasn't shown up since I've last been here. I had a feeling, but it's reassuring to know anyway. To be honest, I feel like I should've at least asked for his name. Not knowing it bothers me in a weird way, like trying to recall something I completely forgot. Sometimes I still feel a bit guilty for what happened to him. Like I'm responsible for it. Just one more thing to keep a girl up during night watch I guess.

That sounded way worse than it did in my head.

We happened to run into a few Forsworn on the way. Buggers tried to mug us, so we cut them up, though a couple did get away wounded and not dead. I'd say I feel a little bad, the folks are fighting for their freedom and all, but frankly when confronted by a half-naked person armed to the teeth WITH literal teeth and bones and other such things, guilt isn't particularly high on the priority list.

We'll move out to Valthume tomorrow morning. Hopefully clean the entire place out by the time the sun sets.

Morndas, the 6th of Frostfall, 4E201

The space itself seemed to draw breath when Saya and Lydia pushed open the vestibule doors. The bleak stone interior was overgrown with moss and root, cracking the walls and painting them a brilliant green. All and any decor around the room had become victim to time, only a few broken shelves and cabinets surrounding a once-regal throne, now occupied by nothing but dust and a ghastly silhouette of a man that once was.

"Strangers!" He spoke as soon as the two women entered his view, his voice rolling across the walls like a ceaseless echo. "Leave, if you hold no skill to defend your life! An ancient evil lies in wait here, soon to be awoken!"

Saya's ears perked up with alarm. She stopped in her tracks cautiously, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "What evil do you speak of, ghost, and who are you?"

"Valdar was once my name," he said as he rose from the throne. His armor looked impressively lavish - likely ceremonial than otherwise. Ornaments lined its rounded, distinctly Nordic shapes, while two curled horns adorned the helmet. "I am the guardian of this place. Many generations ago, one named Hevnoraak was sealed here. He was a dreaded lord and powerful sorcerer, feared all across the Reach. No man that encountered him had left without perishing or joining his side, and his servants would willingly endure any suffering to please their master. For centuries, I have been stationed here to guard his tomb, ensuring that he could never return."

"Return… from death?" Lydia scratched her head. "Some kind of necromancer could bring him back, but why?"

"I mean, there's the draugr, and what necromancer wouldn't want a sorcerer under their control instead of a random zombie? Though now that I think about it..." Saya rubbed her chin, a thought coming to mind. There was one group she could think of who'd want to bring back such an individual. She shelved it for the time being. "Continue, please."

The ghost nodded patiently. "As I said, Hevnoraak was a powerful sorcerer in life, and so he sought to retain that power even in death. In his closing years, he had planned the darkest of rituals - one to achieve lichdom."

Now, Saya's brows furrowed. She had never personally encountered a lich before, but from the tales of her mother they were definitely not to be trifled with. Undying, maniacal wizards obsessed with power and death - surely, not the best addition to the already restless countryside. "I see. How may we help?"

"To prepare for his return, Hevnoraak drained his body of every last drop of blood within his veins. Three vessels are kept within this tomb, and the blood in them boils to rejoin with its master." Valdar pointed towards a chain on the wall behind him. Saya pulled, and the wall slowly slid down, revealing a hidden passage. The ghost led them ahead, eventually finding a large opening with an enormous gate, covered in draconic imagery. He pushed open the door, beckoning the two behind him. Lydia and Saya exchanged a brief glance before following.

They entered an incredibly spacious chamber, nature's invasion not nearly as evident here. The dome ceiling remained intact, peaking directly above a coffin placed upon an elevated platform. Many braziers lined the area around it, their light dancing upon the metallic decorations and carved pillars holding up the interior space. The cult imagery was easily recognizable even after millennia of attrition - swirling patterns and roaring dragons dancing together in stylized reliefs. Overlooking the terrible beauty was yet another throne - no doubt belonging to Hevnoraak himself, its design almost identical to that which Saya once saw in Labyrinthian barring a single adorned sconce placed right in front of it.

Valdar placed a hand on the coffin lid. "Here, the lich waits for the right time to come so that his heart may beat again." The ghost gazed at the thing with scorn, stepping around before approaching the sconce. The pair followed. "I am bound to this place, so I may not wander deeper in. But here, I can wait for your return. You must go into the catacombs below and retrieve the vessels from their vaults. Then, bring them to me."

The Dragonborn cocked her head, squinting. Bringing them here seemed like a needless and risky complication. "Why? Couldn't we just break the vessels when we find them?"

"No!" Valdar turned, shouting. His voice boomed throughout the chamber, the ghastly howl reverberating off the cold stone walls. "You must not, under no circumstance, damage the vessels!"

Lydia raised her shield-arm, moving in front of Saya protectively while her other hand reached for the hilt of her sword. Saya grabbed her housecarl's wrist, stopping her from drawing. The housecarl looked back at her to see Saya softly shaking her head and pursed her lips, releasing the weapon. With that settled, Saya addressed the ghost: "Why shouldn't we? Would it not be easier to destroy them?"

"Hevnoraak was a cunning devil. Of course, it would be easier to break the vessels and let the blood spill. But he had foreseen it, and devised a terrible spell that holds strong even after he had perished." He said, sighing and straightening his back as he calmed down. "A curse is beset upon every vessel. Each of them contains the blood to feed one of Hevnoraak's most valued organs - the brain, the lungs, and the heart. Should even a single drop of his blood spill from the vessel anywhere that is not his veins - then that same organ will burst within your body and become nothing but pulp."

Lydia took a step back, her eyes widening as she glanced at her Thane. Saya gulped back a lump in her throat and nodded. "That's… intense. What do you propose we do, then?"

Valdar placed a hand on his chest. "I was placed here with purpose, traveler. In life, I was a war-priest, and during the years I had spent here I was thinking how to destroy this foul magic. Bring the blood to me, and I shall perform a rite to consecrate it. The curse will be cleansed - but not only." His hand curled into a fist and he lowered it again. "We shall complete the revival and pour the consecrated blood back into Hevnoraak's body. I have infused all my knowledge and power into this ritual. Once the first drop of sacred energy touches his undead corpse - his own blood will burn him to ash with the strength of Alduin's own fires."

A contemplative silence fell upon the chamber. The Dragonborn turned around, facing Lydia. "What do you think?"

The housecarl shrugged, unsure. "I've not dabbled in magic so I wouldn't know if this would work. But if this is the easiest way, then it might at least be worth a shot."

"I've never heard of curses this powerful, but honestly I wouldn't put it past the old Nords…" Saya murmured, thinking out loud. She didn't entirely trust this ghost, but on the other hand she didn't particularly want to test his words either. "But one way or another I suppose I do need to explore this place, if only for the word. We didn't come here for nothing after all."

"Have you made your decision, then?" Valdar stepped down from the sconce, approaching the two of them. Up close, he really towered over Saya, although Lydia could meet him at eye level if she tip-toed slightly.

"Yes, we have." Saya looked up at him, drawing Stormblade. "We'll help you. Is there anything we should watch out for on the inside, beyond just the draugr?"

Valdar stroked his chin. "A small group of men entered the catacombs before you. They seemed to be looking for something. Ally with them if you can, but keep your blade at the ready."

"Did they wear masks?" Lydia asked, her own weapon leaving the sheath.

He shook his head. "Forgive me, but my vision is hazy for the fog of death lies thick before my eyes. I see only blurred images, even now. However, they didn't speak, and went straight inside, as though they already knew what they were after."

"Shit. We have to hurry then," Saya cursed, hastily walking off into the looming corridors of Valthume's inner halls. Lydia lagged behind a bit, caught off guard, but just before going after her Thane she turned around.

"We will come back soon."

Valdar looked at her with tired, half-closed eyes. "I pray you do."

Of all the dungeons we have been to, this one looks a lot more… Functional. All of the other tombs seemed very barren in comparison, though then again there were a lot more regular draugr in those. I think we've only met one or two after a solid ten minutes of wandering around.

Guess even in death, hierarchy is a bitc

"Saya!"

"Hm?" The Dragonborn turned away from her journal, pausing the writing but continuing to walk. Lydia's warning came just a second too late, though. As Saya took another step, her boot produced a small clink upon touching a metal grate. The next moment, the trapdoor opened wide. The girl's foot slipped in with next to no resistance and she came barreling down the tunnel. As quickly as she could in such a situation, Saya tried to spin around to soften her fall. For better or worse, there was no need for such an effort - as she landed into an enormous spider web, ripping through it with her weight and slamming into the dirt with a resounding thud.

A loud, pained hiss came out of the Dunmer's mouth as she got back onto her feet. Cursing under her breath, she put away her journal and writing appliance before beginning to pat herself off.

"Are you alright?!" Lydia's concerned shout came from above. The Dragonborn looked up, seeing her housecarl with a panicked expression, peering down what looked like a solid 10-15 meter deep hole.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. The two red eyes gave her surroundings a quick scan. It was a small cave, lined with large eggs and webbing. She groaned. "I think this is a frostbite spider den! Look around, maybe there's a way in and out of here somewhere!" She shouted back up.

"Okay! I just… Okay, just hang in there!" The housecarl stammered before running off, the noise from her armor reaching Saya all the way down where she was.

The Dragonborn sighed, shaking her head and drawing her sword. From first hand experience she knew that frostbite spiders rarely, if ever, left their nests, and so she was fully expecting to see a fellow or two to keep her company.

They did not take long to reveal themselves. Eight long spindly legs covered in pale hairs, holding up a dull brown body and a massive abdomen where a few stray strands of web still swayed. Five eyes glimmered from the shadows, right above a pair of thick, spiked mandibles dripping with viscous venom. One of them backed up, lowering its body for a brief moment before lunging forward, spitting a large clot of poisonous liquid that slung right past Saya.

Fire sparked from the Dragonborn's hand and she quickly threw a fireball at the two of them. The sphere ruptured, exploding into tongues of ravenous flames that clung to the beasts' hairs and burned them black. Their bodies contorted as they burned, collapsing to the floor and curling up like dried leaves.

"Ugh…" She winced. The noise they made when shriveling up was not something she ever got used to. Looking around once more, flame after flame appeared within the cave, burning up the spider eggs just as a pre-emptive measure. She squinted, backing away from the foul-smelling smoke and moving deeper in, searching for an exit.

Then, as luck would have it, Lydia came running down a flight of stairs that let back up. "Thane, are you alright?" She stormed in, grabbing Saya by the shoulders and looking pale as death.

The Dragonborn snickered, squirming to get out. "I'm fine, I'm fine. It's alright, there were just a few spiders."

Lydia frowned, brows furrowing. "You need to be more careful. I told you to stop writing when you're walking before," she scolded, crossing her arms. There have indeed been a few times before where Saya may have stumbled or bumped into something because she was too focused on her journal. Those memories were ones that the Dunmer herself paid no mind to, however, if only to forget them quicker.

"It's fine, really. Besides, what if I forget something important before I write it down?" Saya complained, walking past her to head back upstairs. Once more, she pulled out her journal to continue scribbling in it, muttering something under her nose.

"You've already used that excuse before. Maybe write it down so you don't forget." Lydia rolled her eyes, following. At times she couldn't help the temptation to take the damned book away from her Thane for just a day to see what she'd do with all that energy. She never acted upon it, but the thought was entertained regularly.

"Har har," Saya mocked, though a few seconds later couldn't help but laugh quietly. She looked back at her housecarl, once more paying no attention to where she was going. "Alright, fine. Just let me finish this passage real quick and I'll put it awa-"

This time, Lydia was quick enough to grab her Thane's arm tight, catching her. Saya released a slight gasp, almost dropping the book back into the same pit she had just gotten out of. Placing both of her feet back onto solid ground, she slowly looked back up at her housecarl, who gave her the most smug of looks.

"...okay, fine, no writing for now."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "No writing when?"

She rolled her eyes. "No writing when walking." The Dragonborn sighed, looking dramatically sad as she put away the journal. "...at least until we're out of the dungeon."

Lydia chuckled. "Alright. Deal."

Over the next few minutes, the two had crossed a few chambers. Once again, there has been little opposition, if any. Lydia was understandably relieved, as fighting with a pack as heavy as hers would prove to be problematic to say the least.

Saya, in the meantime, was still of two minds. On one hand, less draugr meant less fighting, meaning less risk of injury - which was good, considering that they already had to spend a few of their potions on the way to Valthume. On the other hand, there was just a peculiar sense of unease. Like this was a premonition, and that the small number of defenders was, perhaps, hinting at their strength, should they be encountered.

That prediction was accurate.

The room was a wide oval-shaped hall, an offshoot of a much longer tunnel. The roof was arched, held up by almost rib-like pillars that didn't quite come together at the center. The occasional root poked through the walls, and there were even a few withered bushes scattered here and there. The centerpoint of the room was a small, somewhat decorated pedestal, placed directly in front of a coffin.

The coffin was no longer closed, but the initial opening definitely made the pair jump a bit. Out of it stepped a tall draugr with a braided beard, possessing well-worn armor and a broadsword made of ebony - which it used quite skilfully. There were a few patches of ice around the room, still thawing from when the gusts of cold left the creature's dessicated lips. Now, those lips were forever still in a pained grimace as the body laid on the floor, motionless.

Saya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand once she finished downing another potion of healing. She never liked fighting in tight quarters and this room definitely didn't provide her with the space she was comfortable with. As a result, she ended up with a nasty gash running across her upper arm and has been trying - and failing - to fix it with magic. After the fourth attempt failed, however, she caved in and drank yet another potion.

"How many does this make?" She made a sour expression, sticking out her tongue. Her complaints about potion taste remained in her head this time, as Lydia got tired of them a few hours prior.

"Four, I think." The housecarl said, doing a mental tally. "Aye, four. So we have one more regular potion, and an emergency potion in case of something very serious."

"Keep that one close. I'm getting the feeling that we'll have to use it with how things are going." She sighed. "Shame, too. Was hoping to keep it for something more… epic, like a dragon or something."

Lydia chuckled, shaking her head. "How have you survived this long with your love for drama?"

"What's life worth without drama?" She snickered, shrugging. Now that the potion had more or less run its course, Saya stood up and stretched. "So what's the bet that this pedestal was for something important?"

"Maybe it was for one of the vessels?"

Saya rubbed her chin, stepping closer to it. Now that she had a closer look, there was some sort of indent in it, roughly matching the burial urns one could find all over in a crypt like this. She grumbled. "Fuck, so we're lagging behind."

"Have you tried using that Shout again?" Lydia asked, nodding to the passage they were heading to next. "All the draugr in front of us must be slowing them down, we could be close to catching up."

"That's actually a good idea. One moment." The Dragonborn demonstrably cleared her throat, prompting the housecarl to roll her eyes while her liege wasn't looking. Then, she drew a deep breath and whispered. "Laas." In an instant, her gaze darted off to the side as three red sparks appeared in her vision. They were large, bright, and noticeably close. "I can see them. A few rooms ahead of us."

Lydia stood back up on her feet, getting her sword ready again. "Then we should hurry."

Saya didn't need any more convincing, and so the pair quickly darted off into the hallways. Ignoring the side rooms, ignoring any obstacles or distractions, they simply ran. Their footsteps echoed across the ruin, a sign of their coming that reached the people ahead much earlier than they could hope to. Saya blinked, and the lights in her vision began to move, startled by the noise. She shifted her attention to the environment around her, careful not to bump into anything and picked up the pace even more.

Eventually the hallways opened into a large chamber, much taller than any of the previous ones barring perhaps the coffin room. A stone bridge stood in the middle of it, meant to lead those who entered across to the other side, where a circular staircase awaited to bring them down to the first floor. The Dragonborn, however, ignored the paved path and instead leapt off the bridge, sword in hand, earning herself a loud crunch and a bloody gurgle when the blade plunged deep within the back of the first cultist.

The other two instantly stopped in their tracks, partially taken aback by the death of their comrade and partially because their way was cut off by a very combat-ready stranger. She squinted, leaping towards the one closer to her. A quick slash was just barely avoided and the man's hands lit up with wisps of magical flame. She tried to move in for another jab but had to back off, hissing as the infernal cloak nearly lit her own cape on fire. Her free hand curled into a fist, and an orange glow began to gather.

The cultist turned back to his remaining friend. "Get out of here! The vessel-"

His words were cut off by the edge of Stormblade. The blazing aura around the man quickly dissipated right before his body and head fell to the floor as two separate pieces. The remaining cultist clutched the vessel in his hands, trembling where he stood. Saya looked down at the severed head and her hand lit up with the same telekinetic magic once again, pulling the weapon back into her grasp. Then, she lifted her gaze and looked at the last enemy standing. A pathetic, terrified yelp escaped his mouth and he broke out into a panicked sprint, following his compatriot's final advice. His breath was heaving, his vision blurry under the mask he wore, his heart beating within his ears-

And then a loud metallic clang resounded across the entire chamber as Lydia's shield smashed straight into his forehead, sending him falling flat on his back. He groaned, the back of his head crashing into the hard stone and sending him coughing as his own thoughts jumbled in his head. The Dragonborn approached him, grabbing the vessel in his hands and yanking it away from the sobbing, screaming mess of a person he was reduced to. Then, in a single stab, he was silenced as well.

Lydia sighed deeply, raising an eyebrow at Saya. "Was the entrance necessary?"

"Is that really something you have to ask?" She smirked, shaking her head and looking at the vessel in her hands to inspect it more carefully. It was opaque, made out of a dull, dark-yellow glass, and shaped like something between a vase and a wine bottle. The surface was mostly smooth, with only two handles breaking the shape - one on the side to ease holding the vessel, and a second one on top to open it. Lastly, even through the cloudy material, one could just barely make out a dark, viscous liquid sloshing around on the inside.

"I still want to break it if I'm honest," the housecarl commented, crossing her arms. Nevertheless, she kept a distance from the object, still wary of what it could do.

"Yeah, me too. But I don't think I'm willing to risk it," Saya said, sliding her backpack off her shoulders and taking out a bunch of things onto the floor. "Our only option here is to either trust Valdar or… Well, carry these around for the rest of eternity." She carefully put the vessel inside of the backpack, placing her things around it so that everything is padded, keeping it firmly in position. Then, she stood up and put the pack back on. "And I think I'm willing to try the first one before resorting to the second one."

Lydia looked at her silently. It was obvious that she was unconvinced, but nothing could be really done about that at this point. "I don't know if I trust him."

Now Saya had to chuckle. "You shouldn't! I don't think I trust him either. But in the end, it's not like we have much of an option now that we're already in. And besides, we are still looking for the word wall."

"Yeah… yeah." The housecarl nodded begrudgingly. "I just hope we get this over with soon. I've got a bad feeling about this place."

"Got your stomach doing somersaults?" She smirked.

"No, not exactly." Lydia scratched her cheek. Then, as if on cue, there was a loud, muffled growl that came from her abdomen. Lydia froze in place and exchanged a look with her Thane, who stared back in complete silence before both of them broke out into bellowing laughter.

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck-" The Dragonborn hissed a stream of curses. Her chest was heaving, the girl unsuccessfully doing her best to not hyperventilate. She was sitting on the floor right now, her weapon lying a few feet away. Healing magic was fizzling in and out at her fingertips as she could barely keep focus, all of her willpower spent just pressing her hand onto the profusely bleeding wound in her side. "I don't- I don't think the spell's working…!"

If Lydia wasn't panicking yet, she was somewhere very close to that state. They had just recovered the second vessel, defended by yet another draugr lord. He was no more and no less challenging than the previous. However, in her attempts to protect the vessel they already had, Saya had neglected to protect herself in equal measure - and thus received a large cut right above the hip that stretched upwards towards her ribs. The gambeson she had been wearing was completely busted, the thin shirt under it not even worth speaking of.

"Drink this! Quickly!" Lydia fished out a small red bottle, its contents emanating a slight glow when she popped off the cap. She placed a hand behind Saya's head, helping the girl to hold herself up while carrying the potion to her lips. Saya grimaced at the taste as she drank the liquid to the very last drop and gasped for air, holding back the urge to vomit it all up immediately.

The potion began to work as soon as it touched her tongue and entered the bloodstream. In an instant, the flesh began to reknit itself where it was once torn, blood vessels regrowing and muscle fibers pulling themselves together. Soon, all that remained was a patch of slightly scarred skin where the cut went, barely noticeable through the torn and bloodied undershirt.

"Hah… Well, there goes the emergency potion I guess…" Saya laughed weakly, sitting up with her back against the wall. Her barely-focused eyes drifted over to Stormblade and she reached out for it, trying to pull it close with magic but barely making the damn thing move before the energy disappeared from her hand. She let out an irritated groan, letting her hand drop weakly by her side. "Lydia… Could you be a dear and fetch my butter knife…?"

The housecarl shook her head in disappointment. "Really? That's what your mind goes to first?" She scolded, but nevertheless stepped over to the sword and picked it up off the floor before handing it over to Saya. "And don't try to tell me it wasn't an emergency. This is exactly the type of situation we kept it for."

"I hear you, don't worry," Saya wheezed before covering her mouth, coughing to clear her throat. She took the sheath on her hip and moved it around so she could place her sword back inside. Then, her whole body relaxed and she leaned back against the wall again. "I just… I just need a moment. Just catching my breath, alright?"

Lydia pursed her lips, nodding and standing beside her, keeping watch on both exits so nothing would wander in. Saya released a deep exhale, closing her eyes. She felt exhausted. Couldn't help but wonder if those not-at-all-scammy stamina potions would come in handy right about now.

"I think I might pass out if I stay on the floor…" She mumbled, grunting as she tried to stand up. Lydia quickly offered her a hand, pulling the Dragonborn up onto her feet and then having to catch her immediately after so that she wouldn't collapse. Saya grabbed onto her housecarl tightly, struggling to keep her eyes open as she started at the floor. Back where she was just lying, there was a sizeable puddle of viscous red liquid. She snorted. "Damn, all of that came out of me huh…?"

The housecarl smiled wryly, shifting around to hold her Thane up as the two of them walked. "Come on. We have the two vessels, just one more and we can get you somewhere to rest."

The Dragonborn leaned into her taller companion, sighing. "That sounds great right about now…"

The two of them shuffled together like that, slowly making their way through the rest of the ruin. Lydia handled the confrontations, though thankfully none of them were particularly serious. Eventually, Saya had composed herself enough to walk without support, though she didn't mention that out loud. Lydia noticed it as well, but made no comment. They simply kept walking together.

It was a long few minutes before they finally made their way to the final room. One could tell it was final, as it was a large, opulent hall. There were a few chests scattered around, no doubt filled with various trinkets and valuables - things Saya and Lydia couldn't care less about at the moment. No, they moved straight ahead, towards the only piece of loot they considered of importance - the last vessel, placed upon a golden-lined pedestal.

The moment Lydia removed the bottle from its place, there was a series of clicks. Right in front of them, a spiked fence lowered into the floor, opening passage to the last remaining treasure in the room - knowledge. A massive word wall stood before them, grand and imposing despite, if not because of, its age. Lydia simply stared at it for a while, slightly intimidated by the object, before she glanced back at her Thane.

Saya's gaze was completely fixated on the wall, running across the text etched into it. Words in a language Lydia couldn't understand were muttered under her breath. Then, absent-mindedly, the Dragonborn let go of her friend and walked towards the wall, reaching out towards a single word that, in her eyes, was all but shining with energy.

"Yah," she whispered quietly. It was a gentle word, one that beckoned ever so sweetly. Like a tickle, a lingering warmth, a desire for something that she did not yet know. She sighed. Another time, she'd sit down and figure it out. "Alright, I'm ready."

Saya turned around to find her companion right beside her, offering her an arm. She smiled, wordlessly stepping down to her and leaning onto her shoulder before they shambled off once again.

"Valdar! We're back!"

Upon hearing his name, the ghost turned his head away from the sconce by which he was standing. The two adventurers he had asked for help had just returned, though noticeably worse for wear. Saya let go of her companion's shoulder and stepped forward, taking her pack off her shoulders before presenting its contents to him.

Valdar glanced inside and looked pleased, to say the least. "You've retrieved them! Ah, I knew you would return. I trust you haven't damaged any of the vessels?"

Lydia rolled her eyes while Saya winced, putting a hand on her side. "We did our best to return them in as good a condition as possible." She picked up the first vessel, lifting it up. "Though this one might be a little chipped. Those people you mentioned got to it first and there was… an altercation."

The ghost put his hands up, withdrawing. "Ah, I cannot hold these vessels. If you would, place them on the floor for me."

The Dragonborn raised an eyebrow but complied. Her experience with Become Ethereal demonstrated that indeed, she could phase through objects at will, though never compulsory. On the other hand, it's not as though she was particularly dead when in her ethereal form so maybe it just worked differently.

When all three vessels had been placed upon the floor, Valdar raised his arms. "Now step back, you and your companion both. I shall suffer no harm, for I am a living man no longer, but I do not know what could happen to either of you." He said, and once his instructions were fulfilled he nodded and closed his eyes. A low hum began to fill the room, rumbling within the stone like a brass bell. A chant left the ghost's lips, words that growled and rasped and rolled across the chamber in a tongue that had no writing beyond blood-painted swirling runes. The blood began to grow restless within the bottles, swirling and bubbling, seemingly without reason. Glowing cracks began to line the vessels, a red glow seeping from them and nearly drowning out the flames lighting the chamber. Saya's fingers curled into a fist as anxiety welled up inside her.

Then, the vessels completely shattered, blood spraying from them in all directions before being pulled together into a pulsing, amorphous cloud that swirled above the sconce. Valdar lowered his hands and the liquid slowly coursed straight into it before draining through an unseen duct. "It is done. The ritual is complete," he said, turning back to face the pair. "Thank you, adventurers."

Saya and Lydia exchanged a nervous glance. The engraved pillars surrounding Hevnoraak's coffin began to light up, streaks of lightning shooting off at random and leaving blackened marks on the surrounding surfaces. Both women grasped their weapons, drawing them. "What's happening?"

Valdar smirked. Slowly, he began to float, his apparition slowly starting to fade as it lifted into the air. "It is precisely as I told you. I was bound to this place, so I am grateful that you brought me these vessels. I had spent centuries waiting, wondering how to lift the curse off them - the curse that imprisoned me outside of my own body."

The Dragonborn mustered up the energy within her and hurled a fireball at the ghost, but it passed right through. The silhouette, broken by her attack, had faded into mist that quickly drained into the coffin. A rhythmic beat, thud after thud, began overpowering the crackling of lightning. It grew louder, and louder, and louder still - until suddenly the lid fell off the sarcophagus and it burst open, dust spewing forth. Slowly, a corpse lifted itself out of the coffin, its spine cracking as it stretched itself upright and turned to face the two adventurers. Faded red robes draped across the dessicated body, covered by golden-scaled ceremonial armor with two pauldrons that mimicked the open jaws of dragons roaring at the sky. Finally, its face was covered by a mask of black iron. Saya recognized the shape as identical to the wooden mask from Labyrinthian.

"You have earned my respect, travelers." His voice was low and raspy, as if the vocal cords were just barely fit to make the sounds required. "You have managed to defeat my strongest servants, as well as these pathetic fanatics who dare take the name of our faith. As thanks, I will grant you one kindness: bend your knee to me, and you will be spared."

Saya looked at Hevnoraak, squinting. Internally, she was evaluating her options and schemed, wondering how to come out a winner from such an encounter. "And what if we don't?"

Hevnoraak's shoulders shook, a frantic, huffing growl leaving his lungs - a corrupt shade of a laugh. "Then I suppose it will take a few moments longer before you can serve me. I will strip the flesh from your bones to fashion myself new guards from them, and your souls will become sustenance for me to return to my full power." He moved down from his pedestal, levitating right in front of the two of them as he stared them down from behind his mask. "Now, make your choice. I will not make such an offer twice."

Lydia's grip tightened around her blade. Many words were swarming her mind, and none of them even whiffed of kindness, but she got to voice none of them. Saya placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed down, lowering herself and her housecarl onto one knee. "We understand," she said, glancing at Lydia calmly. "Thank you, your grace."

Hevnoraak lowered himself onto the ground, his feet touching the floor. His shoulders broadened with pride, and if any of them could see his face he would certainly be wearing a crooked, self-satisfied smile. "I pray your contemporaries are as reasonable as you are." He placed a hand on Saya's shoulder and she flinched slightly, the cold of his grasp reaching her even through three layers of clothing. "Tell me, servant, by what name shall I call you?"

Saya lifted her eyes, looking up at him with a blank expression. "My old name is irrelevant, because it is what I was called among mortals. May I take a name for myself in your fashion, in the tongue of dragons?"

Hevnoraak's head tilted curiously. "You are familiar with the ancient tongue? A most welcome surprise." He nodded. "You may. What name do you wish to take for yourself, then, child of mer?"

Saya's lips stretched into a slight smile. She lightly squeezed her hand, which remained still on Lydia's shoulder. A sign to prepare. "Dovahkiin."

The dragon priest froze where he stood at hearing the word, but before he could react Saya had already stood up, breath leaving her body as a torrent of Unrelenting Force, blasting the lich across the chamber. The walls cracked and shattered around the point of impact, his form sinking multiple inches into the stone before he slowly slipped out, crashing to the floor. Focusing the vestigial power still within her, the Dragonborn followed up with a volley of flaming bolts and charged in alongside her housecarl.

Hevnoraak remained deathly silent. With unnatural speed he contorted, lifting his arms to grasp their swords by the blades. Without missing a beat, Lydia pulled back and slammed the rim of her shield into his elbow. The limb twisted, unable to go beyond its own anatomy and releasing her sword before Hevnoraak received yet another blunt strike straight to the masked face, stunning him briefly. Saya yanked her blade out of his grasp at the opportunity, readying a defensive stance.

"Very well. Now it's my turn," The priest grumbled, his neck cracking as the vertebrae slipped back into place. Saya's eyes widened as she spotted the faintest crackle of lightning coursing at his fingertips and quickly backed away, pulling Lydia along with her. The housecarl yelped in surprise but shut up as soon as she turned her eyes back to Hevnoraak and witnessed his body explode with lightning. The streaks of energy surrounded him and he lifted above the floor, air itself rippling around him in a glowing, barely-visible ward.

Saya's grip grew tighter around Stormblade. In an instant, he was right before her, dashing with the speed of the lightning he commanded - and she could see his palm reaching for her collar. Quickly, she dove under his arm and tried to retaliate, yet her sword only bounced off the protective sphere around him. Lydia lunged forward, seeing the priest distracted with her Thane and moving in with an overhead swing. Without so much as turning towards her, he leaned back just enough for the strike to miss him before grabbing her forearm with an ice-cold grip that sent painful shocks into her every fiber.

"Do not underestimate me, child." Came the voice from beneath the mask, and with that single arm he swept the Nord off her feet and threw her straight at her Thane. The two bodies smashed together, both sent tumbling backwards from the force and momentum. Saya grunted, quickly picking herself up to her feet.

Hevnoraak dashed towards them once more, just slow enough for them to see his body warp into a flash of lightning before phasing back into physicality but a step away from them. Instead of defending she pushed forward, ramming into him with her shoulder and driving Stormblade between the scales of his armor while his defenses flashed, as if regenerating.

"Lydia!" She called out, and the housecarl quickly moved within Hevnoraak's ward, mimicking her Thane's motion and stabbing him in the back. Both blades twisted within the wounds of their making, tearing the withered flesh even further, and the lich went still.

That is, before he cocked his head in amusement. "My, my… I've forgotten how it feels to bleed." The smiles were wiped from their faces in an instant and both of them withdrew their weapons, backstepping to put some distance between themselves and their opponent. The dragon priest began to laugh, his armor rattling and his guttural roars becoming a muffled cacophony as hysteria gripped the undead.

Saya stepped closer towards Lydia, keeping her eyes on Hevnoraak. In a hushed voice, she spoke. "Not worth it."

"What?"

"He's not worth it." Saya's grip on her weapon grew tighter. "I'm tired, you're tired. We need to get out of here." She nodded at the exit gate. "On my command. Three. Two. One-"

Hevnoraak's fit of laughter ended abruptly and he raised his hand, firing off a bolt of lightning into the floor. Lydia quickly raised her shield, wincing as the chain lightning bounced in her direction but remaining unharmed. The magical current glanced off the steel, then, seeking the closest next target - Saya, who put up her blade on reflex. The magic became trapped within, lighting up the sword with electricity.

"GO!" Saya screamed before leaping towards Hevnoraak. With all her might, she struck the dragon priest's ward, releasing the energy within her sword in a bright burst. There was a noise akin to shattering glass as Hevnoraak's ward broke into nothing, repelling them both away from one another. The lich recoiled from the impact, stumbling back, and in that moment Saya drew breath as deeply as she could. Yet another Shout left her lips, blasting her enemy into the side wall of the chamber. Both girls broke out into a sprint, beelining straight for the door with the few seconds the two of them had.

But Hevnoraak had other plans.

The pair barely had the time to catch themselves as the large metal gate suddenly lit up. Lightning coursed through it, crackling with the growing rage of its caster like a solid wall of storms. The two turned around to see Hevnoraak's form rush straight towards them, magical sparks seeping from his hands as he reached for their faces.

Quickly, Saya traced Stormblade across the magic wall and slashed at the priest's hands, her blade crackling with lightning. Hevnoraak did not move out of the way.

She closed her eyes as the energy within exploded in a violent flash of light. When she looked again, Hevnoraak was standing before her, her sword embedded into his shoulder. The occasional spark still coursed through his armor, but he still stood, unmoving. With one hand he grabbed her by the collar, his other already preparing a spell.

Lydia put her shield up and rammed into the priest with all of her might. Stunned, he let go of the Dragonborn, and she pushed him all the back to his own coffin, running with blind desperation and a raging warcry. Metallic ringing echoed in the chamber as his armored back slammed into the metal rim of the coffin. The housecarl looked back at her Thane, who was frozen in shock, and screamed. "I'LL BUY YOU TIME! JUST GET THAT WALL DOWN! QUICKLY!"

Saya blinked, as if returning to consciousness, and quickly turned towards the crackling wall. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute, searching for something that could remove such an obstacle. Her first idea was Stormblade, and she stuck the weapon into the streaming lightning, struggling to hold it in place. The metal began to rapidly heat up as it absorbed the energy. Once it reached full capacity the sword released a high-pitched noise, grating Saya's ears before Stormblade was forcefully ejected out of the wall, tearing itself out of her hand and falling onto the floor beside her.

Saya cursed, looking behind her. Lydia and Hevnoraak were locked in a one-on-one, the Nord blocking his every attempt at attacking but having no opportunity to retaliate. The housecarl was beginning to show signs of exhaustion but she pushed through, keeping up the effort as much as she physically could.

Saya turned to the wall once more. What could she do to get rid of such magic? There was no item she could use, no dispel she was aware of, no ward she could place. In fact, there was no spell she could cast right now at all, if the emptiness in her was any indicator of remaining magicka reserves.

Unless… Ah sod it, like there's another option.

Saya clasped her hands together, warming herself up. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves and steadying her heart. Finally, she placed her bare hands into the wall of storms directly, the magical lightning warping around her skin. She could feel magicka welling up inside herself, the light of the current decomposing at her touch like a wave breaking against a cliff, and every single drop of it poured into her body. Every noise around her became drowned out, sweat began to pour from her face and she clenched her teeth, the hairs on her arms were standing up and she could feel her nerves tingling with energy.

Just a little more, she thought. Just a little bit more…!

Her breath heaved from the pain, her lungs burning, and just as it pushed the edge of what she could bear - the light disappeared from her vision. Stumbling back, she looked at the gate before her. "LYDIA, LET'S GO!" She called out, looking behind her.

Her inhale got stuck in her throat when, instead of her housecarl, Hevnoraak met her gaze. He straightened his back, turning his body towards Saya. In his grasp was a handful of black hair, Lydia struggling and clawing at his wrist to let go. He watched the struggle with amusement, lifting her up before grasping her neck with his other hand. The girl began to cough, holding onto the lich's forearm as she struggled to draw breath.

Saya felt her stomach sink. She took a single step forward and Hevnoraak's grip tightened, forcing another gasp from the girl's lungs. He laughed. "I would not do that, if I were you."

Saya froze where she stood, terror seeping into every cell of her body. "W-Wait. Stop!" Her voice was shaking. Her body was shaking. She had no energy left to fight, no plans, no clever quips or distractions. "Let us go. Please."

The only noise in the room were the lingering gasps and wet coughs coming from Lydia's constricted throat. Saya was panicking, her heart thumping in her ears as she stared, doe-eyed and lost. The dragon priest slowly turned his head to look at Lydia, watching her squirm as he silently deliberated. Even on the very precipice of nothingness, her eyes were full of defiance. He exhaled sharply, nodding. Saya's expression lit up as he looked at her once again, anxiety and hope welling up inside her chest. Seeing her in such a state, brought down low and begging, he finally spoke.

"No."

His hand twitched and there came a sharp snap. Lydia ceased her struggle, her arms dropping limply by her sides. There was no noise anymore, no gasps, no breaths. Her eyes went blank and glassy, and red flooded into her sclerae. Like a wrung rag, she dropped to the floor as soon as he let go, her frozen expression pointed at Saya.

As for Saya… she felt as though her heart had stopped.

No?

A single tear streamed down her cheek. She blinked once. Twice. As if she blinked enough, the things she was seeing would disappear.

No. No, no no, no!

Noise filled her mind. Speechless, senseless, thoughtless white noise that pushed out all thought. Her hands lifted to her temples. Her head felt too small for its own skull.

This isn't happening. It's not. I'm seeing things. Wake up, please.

As more tears joined the first, hiccuping sobs involuntarily left her throat. She did not hear Hevnoraak's steps, nor did she feel her nails digging into her scalp. All she could hear was noise. An amorphous noise with no rhyme or reason that did nothing but devour every wisp of rationality inside her head. She felt cold and hot at the same time, sweating and shaking and crying and wanting to scream.

This is a bad dream. It has to be. She can't be gone. She can't be.

She can't be. She can't be. She-

"Your friend is dead, Dragonborn," Hevnoraak spoke, placing a hand on her chin and lifting her face up so he could look her in the eye. Her vision was blurry and twitchy, as if she couldn't focus on what she was looking at. "This was the price she paid for betraying my kindness. Now, you will too."

Dead. Dead. Dead, dead dead dead dead dead-

"You are lucky to have revealed your true nature to me. You're not like her. You are Dragonborn." He let go of her. In his hand, a ball of lightning had formed, crackling in her ears as he calmly walked around her. "I will not take your life. I'll just tear you limb from limb and remove your tongue, taking my precious time and making sure you don't happen to bleed out. Then, when my master returns…" He leaned down, growling into her ear. "I will bestow unto them a most precious offering."

Get away from me. Get away.

Dead

Away get away get AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY FROM ME-

He circled back to standing in front of her. "But do not worry. There is no pressure to remain silent and stoic with me. It will be painful."

Saya barely heard his words. The noise that filled her mind had left her deaf and dumb. Images flashed before her eyes. Death. Black hair stained red, eyelids stuck open. The crunch of broken bones. Bleeding wound. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming. Red. Screaming. Anger. Rage. Whatever little grip she had left on reality was slipping away. She barely even knew who or what she was looking at.

She felt empty.

"Krii."

The word left her mouth barely a whisper. Absent-minded, gentle. It washed over Hevnoraak like a slight breeze, barely moving the cloth of his robes. He was cautious for a brief moment, stepping back and observing himself for any injuries. When he found none, he growled, stomping back towards her.

"Krii," Saya repeated. Her voice wavered ever so briefly, as if she had to clear her throat but forgot to. She rose from her knees, clenching her fist as it lit up with a dull green and a spell wove around Hevnoraak. His body bent under the weight of the magical burden, releasing a grunt as he was forced to the ground.

"Why you-" Saya grabbed him by the hood and lifted him up just enough to punch him in the face. Suddenly, it was as though something inside him broke. He felt one punch. Then three. Then nine, all in a single instance. The force behind it sent him sliding across the floor, his back slamming into the stairs before his coffin and crushing them.

"Krii," she said, and there was a noticeable rasp to her speech. He tried to rise up but the Burden weighed him down again, pressing his body into the rubble as though gravity itself doubled down to hold him.

"Krii," she said, and her voice cracked. She approached Hevnoraak and planted her foot square in the center of his chest, pressing him down to the floor. Dead. Dead. She wanted him dead.

"Krii," she said, and broke out into an ugly cough before she could take another breath. Hevnoraak could see that it was only her foot pressing into his armor, and yet it felt as though his ribs were about to shatter. A wheezing noise left his decrepit lungs.

"Krii," she growled, and then she tasted iron. Another coughing fit rippled through her chest, and blood splattered from her mouth. Hevnoraak laughed. She pressed her foot down more.

"Krii," she hissed, and there was barely a voice to her words anymore. Only deaf emptiness, devoid of melody or tone - of anything, except for seething, bubbling, venomous hate.

"KRII," She whispered, and a burning pain grasped her throat. A tingling sensation that painted her innards red, that made every inhale into a thousand cuts and every exhale a scorching fire that all scratched at the same wound. Unblinkingly, she stared at his black mask. She saw nothing but pain and red rage.

And so, that is what she would give unto him.

"FUS, RO DAH."

The Shout left her lips not as words but as a thunderous roar. Barely speech, it conveyed nothing but an urge. A desire for everything to stop hurting. A desire to hurt. A desire to remove. A desire to erase.

A desire to kill.

Saya's vision went dark and she saw and heard static. A stabbing ache pulled at her nerves as she tried to look, her tired eyes looking for a shape yet finding nothing. She stepped back and found no corpse. No armor. No limbs. Only a lone black mask lying in a small crater, amidst an explosion of fine grey dust and red splatter.

She felt sick. One hand grasped her stomach while the other rushed to her mouth, but it was too late. She bent in half, contorting as she vomited onto the floor, bile and blood mixing into pink sludge that singed her already burning throat. She fell to her knees as a second wave came, and a third, and when she wiped her chin she wanted to curse yet found no voice to curse with. Her lips parted, yet no sound came from them except her own breath, which turned into yet another bloody coughing fit.

Then slowly, clarity began to return. She was in pain. She was alive. She had just killed Hevnoraak.

Lydia.

Quickly, Saya turned, forgetting all about her own miserable state of being. She walked, ran, no - crawled to her, dragged herself to her. Her eyes welled with tears as she looked at her face. Bloodied fingers touched her face, closing her eyes.

She tried to call out her name. She tried to say she's sorry. She tried to tell her many, many things.

But all that left her lips were voiceless sobs.