The Last Years of the Fourth Era: Second Seed

by Kim Chang-Ra

What do a paranoid Altmer, a sadistic Dunmer, and a bloodthirsty Breton have in common? In the year 205 of the Fourth Era, three novices of the College of Winterhold will embark on a quest that not only puts Tamriel in the balance—but sets their own destinies in motion as well.

22. XXI

XXI

Cosette was never really sure how she didn't charge for the thrice-damned elf the moment she saw him. She'd charged down powerful mages in the past—her mind went one more time to Orchendor and Taron Dreth—and had emerged the victor there. Perhaps it was the fact that this time, her opponent was not alone; the ash spawn by his side were never more than ten paces from him, and something in their stance told Cosette she would likely have to get through them first before she could concentrate her full fury on Dagoth Solyn.

The Chimer turned around to regard his new visitors, and immediately Cosette was struck by how different the elf looked. The golden skin and burning golden eyes were still there, just barely visible beneath the hood of Solyn's robes. But the gold was no longer flawless—an uncountable number of wrinkles lined the face of the elf, leaving no one in doubt of just how vastly more ancient and experienced he was than the rest of the mages combined. And something had changed in the eyes—they no longer merely burned, but blazed with a light that the Culler was quick to equate with the most fanatical of the Forsworn.

And yet, three things were clear to Cosette from the moment she'd laid eyes on this Chimer. First, seeing the changes that had come over Solyn told the Breton that five years' worth of solitude had not been kind to him. The elf had shut himself in this space, in the midst of all this fire and brimstone, without any contact from the outside world at all.

Second—and Cosette knew full well this was not her imagination, and anyone who told her such was a liar—Solyn looked bigger under that robe than when they'd last met. Not just wider—but taller and broader as well. He looked as tall as any Orc now, except maybe Ugluk. She wondered if he was wearing something under that robe—if the stared, she thought she could see a flash of color under there, but that could just be a trick of the light. It might even have been a trick of Solyn's, it was no secret he was a master of illusion.

But it didn't matter to Cosette; what had truly drawn her attention was no illusion. As she saw the face of the Chimer for the second time in her life, the rage began to rear in her once more, and once again it took one of her greatest efforts to hold back from striking.

Dagoth Solyn, damn the man, was smiling.

"Ah," breathed the Chimer, as if he was welcoming his guests into his parlor instead of one of the deep places of the world. "Have you come for me, then? I must admit; I didn't expect to be seeing you so soon. I was planning on showing you my newest creations when you arrived, but I'm afraid they'll need a few minutes before they're ready."

If Cosette didn't know any better, it sounded as if he'd been expecting them. And that was only making her angrier.

"You don't have minutes, Solyn," Grimnir answered him back. "It's over. Your dreams of conquest die with you!"

"Conquest?" For the first time, Solyn looked angry as he spat out the word. "After everything I've done—after everything I've sacrificed—you would call this conquest? Is that all I am to you, Dragonborn—another … obstacle in your quest to achieve ultimate power?"

Grimnir shook his head. "Your father brainwashed you well," he murmured. "There's no such thing as ultimate power—and if there is, then no one was meant to possess it. Not the Daedra, not the Divines—and certainly not power-mad mortals."

Solyn growled, an odd sound to hear from someone who'd previously sounded so calm and collected. "You think I'm doing this for my own self? You are the one who's been brainwashed, made to believe all the lies that have been spread about my father—about my clan, my people!"

Solyn began pacing about the platform. "Out there is my home, Dragonborn—shattered and barren, as it has been for two hundred years! The children of Morrowind are no less splintered; they have lost their sense of direction as well as their ancestral home. They have nothing!" he spat, whirling upon Grimnir and hurling the words at him as if they were knives. "But I can give them what they need, Dragonborn—I can become the guiding light that the dark elves have long lacked for centuries on end! I can give them back their home, their future, and more!"

Malys suddenly stepped forward. "As a dark elf myself," she said, with all the calm and poise of a snake rearing to strike, "I think I'm more than qualified enough to tell you this: I would rather die than live a life like that under the likes of a traitor like you."

"Malys, no!" Vinye shouted from behind Cosette.

Solyn stiffened at the insult. "You would dare—?"

Malys waved them both off. "You just don't get it, do you, Solyn?" hissed the vampire. "You don't understand just how long you've been gone from Tamriel. Everything you've lived for and strived for has changed—and there is no way you're going to be able to change it back. Even if you had that kind of power at your grasp, you could never convince me or the rest of my people to follow you."

Solyn smiled again, wider this time; it looked almost terrifying on his golden face. "If I had it at my grasp?" he sneered at them. "I've had that power all this time! Or have you just now realized exactly what this is?"

He swept his gloved hand back at the giant dwarven machine that towered over them all, and it was at that point that Cosette remembered what Solyn had done here.

"The Aetherium Forge," Vinye whispered in awe. Cosette didn't know if she was scared or impressed by the sight—and it didn't sound like the elf knew how to feel, either. "How did you … in so short a time … ?!"

"I'm too modest to boast," Solyn replied with a smirk. "Let's just say I have a very capable memory, even for a Chimer and a Dagoth. One glance at the genuine article in the ruins of Bthalft that you uncovered was enough for me to not only understand it—but replicate it."

So that was how he'd been producing those Aetherium automatons, Cosette realized. Dagoth Solyn hadn't needed to access the Aetherium Forge at all—he'd simply built his own here! It was so simple an idea that she didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before; it all made sense now. After mining the Aetherium in that cavern and beyond, he'd refined the Aetherium here. He'd then purified it, shaped it according to his design, and shipped it throughout the ruins of Rkund wherever it needed to go from there—the animunculory that Cosette and Malys had cleared out must have been only one of many such destinations.

Now it was Grimnir who advanced. "I cannot allow you to continue this, Solyn," the bluish-green mask declared. "From what I have seen of your creations thus far, I don't believe your ends could justify the means you would use to achieve them. History has told us enough on that."

He drew back, and Cosette instinctively covered her ears.

"Ven … Gaar NOS!"

The scalding air around Grimnir swirled and screamed as he Shouted, causing his robes to flutter with the sudden gusts of wind that had blown in from apparently out of nowhere. Then, Grimnir stamped his foot down on the stone, and the cyclone of air rushed towards Solyn and his minions—

—only to be repelled by the Chimer; Solyn's gloved hand flicked once, and a silver flash of light exploded outwards, dispelling the cyclone and knocking all four mages off balance.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to interfere, Dragonborn," countered the golden elf. He had now turned himself fully around to regard Grimnir directly, and Cosette felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise; a surge of magic was building up inside Solyn, lifting him several feet off the ground as if he had wings.

"My creations are harmonically volatile, you see," Solyn went on. Now his own robes and raiment were beginning to swirl as he levitated himself higher still. "If your Voice was to resonate with them, while they were still not yet complete—well, who knows what might happen?" he smirked. "You could end up collapsing this entire ruin, and then where would you be?"

He glanced downward at the ash spawn surrounding him. "Restrain the mages. Silence the Dragonborn. They will all see the culmination of my efforts before they die."

Suddenly, Solyn spread his arms outward, faster than Cosette had been expecting. One hand glowed with the teal-light of a flesh spell—which was presently washing over Solyn's body, its luminous turquoise glow adding further to the brightness of his golden robes. The other hand swirled with dust and wind, and before long, so too did the rest of Solyn. Within seconds, the Chimer's form was almost entirely obscured in clouds of grayish-brown ash, with only the gleam of the flesh spell indicating that he was still there.

At the same time, the ash spawn hefted their weapons and spells, and charged.

"Cozy!"

The Breton needed no further encouragement. Even before Malys had called out to her, both of Cosette's Forsworn blades were in her hands in the time it took to breathe, and the Culler screeched a war cry as she charged forward. The serrated edges of her swords shredded into the chest of the first ash spawn, dispelling it with an explosion of searing dust.

The two sides had been joined. The battle had begun.

Vinye's arms crackled with lightning, and she brandished Kinsbane in a classic fencing position to fend off the ash spawn nearest her. The Altmer's entire body glowed with a pale blue light, and was practically radiating magicka as she sent bolt after bolt at Solyn, while simultaneously fending off his minions with naught but a small elven dagger. Malys, however, wasn't even bothering with magic; like Cosette, she'd charged for a pair of ash spawn, picking up a discarded Dwemer strut as she did so, and swung this at anything within reach like an improvised club.

But Cosette did not care about what was going on around her. The Breton's berserker instincts had taken full hold of her senses; all she cared about now was the golden elf in front of her, and the ash spawn that stood in her way. She lashed out at another of the humanoid monsters with her blades, plunging one into its red-hot … whatever passed for a heart in these abominable things. Then, with a war cry, Cosette pulled her sword back out, leaving a gaping hole in its body. One final swing decapitated the construct, causing it to crumble at her feet.

Grimnir, meanwhile, had been quicker on the uptake than any of them—he'd already brought out his staff before Solyn's spells had taken full effect, and he now blasted a lance of blue-white energy that sliced through half the ash spawn that were preparing to assault him. Another well-timed Shout—"Ven … Grah VEY!"—carved through the remaining three like thousands of hot knives through butter.

"No!" Solyn brought his hands together, spewing whole clouds of ash straight for Grimnir, but the Arch-Mage was ready for him, both hands shining with the silver light of a ward. The miasma was deflected to either side of the Dragonborn—but Cosette barely noticed the clouds circling behind Grimnir, like the deadly pincers of a chaurus—

"Look out!" someone yelled—Cosette wasn't sure who did—but the pincer had already closed. Grimnir had time to dispatch one more of the ash spawn with his staff before he was engulfed in the clouds of ash. They swirled and churned around him, obscuring him completely.

Hovering high aloft, Solyn waved his arm with a grunt, and the clouds were dispelled in an instant—revealing a very dirtied, very roughed-up … and very still Grimnir. The blue on his robes was nowhere to be seen, so much ash had accumulated on his body. The Arch-Mage of Winterhold toppled to the ground, and did not get up.

"NO!"

This time, Cosette knew who had shouted. But Vinye's expression of horrified disbelief was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, and the high elf's teeth grit against one another so fiercely Cosette thought she saw sparks fly from her mouth as well as her fingers. She could not blame her—suddenly, for one brief moment, the Breton's rage had been snuffed out.

The fight hadn't even entered its first minute, and already Grimnir was down—perhaps even dead.

Cosette doubted that was the case—some part of her suspected that the Dragonborn was tougher than that. Still, she knew he'd been done in by the same magic Solyn had used to effortlessly kill Taron Dreth—and presumably that group of bandits above the Forge as well. It was a classic strategy, military as well as psychological: take out the strongest mage first; cut off the head, and the body would die. But Cosette, deep inside some part of her mind, knew enough about nature to know that it wouldn't go without a fight.

Once, as a child, the Culler had seen a Forsworn sentry kill a viper with a single arrow. She had watched in morbid fascination as the serpent spent its final moments in life thrashing about so violently that the arrow was flung right out of its body. The snake had not survived, naturally, but it had not bowed its head and resigned itself to its fate.

Nor, tonight, would Cosette, or anyone else with her. In fact, Cosette was dimly aware that Solyn's decision to attack the Arch-Mage first might well have been the first mistake the Chimer had made.

Unfortunately, the less rational part of her yet remained in control of her body, and the Breton was now currently engaged in wiping out every last ash spawn within reach of her twin blades. She paid only scant attention to Vinye and Malys, who were busy assaulting Solyn with ice and lightning, both to no avail; the Chimer's defenses were simply too strong. But Vinye had been right: Solyn had not counted on one of these mages being proficient at more than just mere magic. The only question left was: could Cosette break through to him?

The Breton continued to hack away at the ash spawn; a lesser man would have certainly passed out from exhaustion by now. But Cosette had three things working in her favor. First was her conditioning; Cullers were expected to be better than the Forsworn in every way—strength, stealth, and stamina, among others. Next was her resolve—her wish to be the strongest and most feared of the Cullers so that the Forsworn would one day be unstoppable.

And finally, there was her fury. Dagoth Solyn had cheated her out of her revenge against Taron Dreth. For the Forsworn, bloodshed was to be paid with bloodshed, no matter how great or small the offense. Cosette was not about to go back on this simple fact just because the murderer of her parents had been killed.

To her, this battle was a simple matter: she would not rest until every inch of her blades was stained with the Chimer's blood.

Solyn, meanwhile, seemed to realize that Cosette was hellbent on getting to him; the ash spawn were ignoring the others completely, and were now focusing Cosette down almost exclusively. The Breton didn't care; she would fight a hundred more like them if it meant killing Solyn once and for all.

There were only three of the monsters left, now—and one of them fell almost immediately to Cosette. The remaining two were unloading spell after fiery spell at the Culler, but she evaded the missiles constantly. The blasts sailed off into the molten lake that surrounded them, causing great explosions of lava in the distance. But the ash spawn were blasting at her on the move, and in a very specific direction as well: away from Solyn. Cosette belatedly realized that they were attempting to draw her as far away from the Chimer as possible, so that he would have more time to react to Cosette's next move.

She grimaced. There was a simple answer to that, she thought.

And as she maneuvered herself between both of the ash spawn, piercing each one with her Forsworn blades before they knew what had happened, Cosette made her next move.

She gave Solyn, still suspended in midair—and more importantly, still focused on Vinye and Malys—a brief look that felt like the longest moment in her life. Then, with a war cry, she hurled one sword, then the other, right at the Chimer. She silently cheered as the projectiles flew straight and true, right for Solyn's neck and chest—

—and bounced off.

What?!

Cosette stood there in undisguised shock as both weapons clattered harmlessly to the stone floor, coming to rest against the stairway leading up to the Reliquary. She could not believe that her blades had been so easily deflected—no, she thought. They hadn't even touched him!

She whirled back at the elf, and cursed. It was that ash of his, Cosette thought—it had to be. The damned stuff was swirling around him so fast that it might as well be a second suit of armor. She cursed again, this time at herself for not bothering to take this into account.

But her anger at herself quickly passed—the way to Solyn now was clear! Now, there was only one place Cosette needed to focus the anger she'd been carrying inside her all this time. She roared out in rage—and that was the only warning she gave before unleashing a roaring wave of mage-fire. She channeled her fury into those flames as they sped for the Chimer, letting them burn as hot and bright as they had in the Forge.

But again, Solyn's ash frustrated her: it behaved almost like a living thing; so fluid were the movements of the shifting clouds. Cosette's flames almost seemed to be devoured by the miasma, choked into thick smoke by the smothering ash. The Breton even saw Vinye and Malys sending their own attacks at Solyn, and to her growing annoyance, even they were unsuccessful; Vinye's lightning was constantly being fragmented by the ash—every single bolt was virtually nullified. Malys' ice magic was melting almost as soon as it made contact with the clouds.

Yet even as she steamed with the failure, Cosette knew instinctively that they could break through this—their only problem was that they were being too precise, putting their magic into single shots instead of a constant, wide barrage of it. Normally, that was very slow work; it was only good for wearing the enemy down over time—time the mages did not have. But if elements of the two strategies were combined …

Cosette grinned, and pulled back one of her hands, stopping it from producing more mage-fire, while at the same time spreading out the fingers of her other hand, widening the spread of the inferno. She felt the sweat begin to run down her brow—she had to be patient now; she had to lure Solyn into that false sense of security. Her output of mage-fire had dropped, now she just had to wait until his cloak of ash sensed the same thing—

There it was—for only a second, the clouds had shifted, and the haze had cleared slightly; her way was clear. As quickly as she could, Cosette charged a fireball as hot and bright as she'd ever made, so much so that it might have given the dragons pause, were any around to see it. She roared out in exertion, and flung the fireball with every last ounce of strength she could muster. The fiery missile—specially adapted for maximum damage over as wide an area as possible—sped for the miasma that covered Solyn with the speed and accuracy of an arrow—

BOOM.

For a moment, Cosette was forced to turn away from the explosion to protect her eyes from the surge of light. There was no sound of screaming, but Cosette was not interested in hear any; she could not let up now.

"Vinye!" she bawled at the elf. "Pour it on!"

The Altmer seemed to understand, and a wide array of lightning danced from her fingertips as she spread them in Solyn's direction. The shield of ash that covered him was faintly smoking; the clouds still encircled him, but they were not nearly as fluid and protecting as before, thanks to Cosette's fireball. Vinye's lightning—she hoped the elf, smart as she was, would take the hint and adapt it to drain Solyn of his magicka—washed over everything in its path, over the replicated Forge, over the swirling remnants of the ash spawn—wait, swirling?!

No, Cosette hadn't been seeing things; the piles of ash that had once been the ash spawn were indeed stirring, reforming into something else completely: spinning piles of glowing rocks that looked not unlike Vinye's storm atronachs. The tornadoes of ash split in twain, and the two halves split further to form crude imitations of hands, and yet more ash swirled around these.

There were four of these, now—one for every three ash spawn they had just felled.

"Suppress them, now!" Solyn was heard to shout. "They cannot be allowed to intervene!"

He sounded less desperate for his life than for whatever was still cooking inside that forge, Cosette thought. There was something off about that—but she would ponder it later; for now, these new ash creatures presented a bigger problem. They were completely decentralized—Cosette wouldn't be able to bring them down with mere swordplay.

The Breton cast a look back at Grimnir, who still had yet to stir. She wondered if he'd faced anything like this before when Solyn had attacked, and wondered what he'd used to repel that invasion.

For now, however, they would have to rely on the next best solution—and Cosette was not sure how long that solution might last in the face of fire.

"Malys?" she called out. "Take over here—Vinye and I can support you from the back!"

The Dunmer appraised the situation with a glance here and there, before her fangs split in a grin and her gray fingers erupted in scarlet-colored magic. "You'd better stay behind me, then," warned the vampire, with no small hint of malice in her voice. "I wouldn't want you to get caught in the crossfire."

Cosette had enough sense of survival to obey her, and the Breton wasted no time in rolling behind Malys and preparing some healing magic in one hand, using her other hand to down a number of potions to recover all the magicka she'd expended in that offensive. She handed a few more to Vinye, who had been listening in, and the Altmer aborted her assault just long enough to follow suit before her hands were pouring forth more lightning again.

Malys, meanwhile, growled a little as she prepared her own offensive—and then the entire Forge was awash with her vampire magic. The ash creatures held up their pockmarked arms to try and deflect the magic, but to no avail. The Dunmer's magic seeped into the crevices of the body and beyond, seeking out the essence of the soul within—then extracting it. Within seconds, all five of the monsters were engulfed—but Malys was not done.

Neither were Solyn's constructs, but Cosette and Vinye were ready for them; as soon as they'd responded with ashy blasts of fire from their rocky hands, they were there to deflect the missiles with wards. As soon as they paused in their volley, Malys went to work. Her gray, spidery fingers clenched, and she drew them back as if wrenching out the monsters' very souls—which on the whole, thought Cosette, might not be so very far from the truth. The vampire took it all into herself, hissing a little as she absorbed the essence of those constructs, and then flung her arms back. There was a burst of dark red light, and the ash that comprised the creatures fell once more to the stone floor.

"This has gone on long enough!" bellowed Solyn over the din. Cosette felt yet another surge of magic erupt from the Chimer, and she failed to stifle an annoyed groan as those piles of ash rose into the air yet again. But they were soaring higher this time, and now they clumped together into something far larger than even those atronach-like creations—which themselves had been half as high again as any of the three mages—but the result of this new arrival absolutely towered over the three mages.

Cosette only caught a glimpse of a low-slung body of glowing boulders, supported by four legs as thick around as tree trunks and twice as tall as any Dwarven centurion, before Vinye yanked her backwards. Then, that body hefted itself upward—before just as suddenly rushing back down with surprising speed, planting itself upon the stone with an earthshaking THUD that unseated the trio and nearly sent Cosette flying into the molten lake.

"What is that?!" screamed Malys; her burning eyes were wide as septims as she stared back at the monster. Cosette, as she clambered to her feet, now had a better look at it from a further distance back, and was surprised to see how uncannily similar to a human fist the main body of the construct appeared as it continued to pound the stone below it, shaking the cavern and causing clouds of ash to fall upon the mages—

And then Cosette got a better look at the monster, and realized what was going on—the clouds weren't coming from the ceiling of the cave, they were coming from the monster itself; it was producing the ash from a chimney-like protrusion on its main body, which could only mean—

"Get away from the clouds!" Cosette screeched. The mages didn't need telling twice; all three knew from experience that Solyn's ash was as good as any paralysis spell. They backed against the staircase, safe from retaliation for the moment—but they all knew that Solyn would hunt them down eventually.

"How are we going to get through that?" Vinye looked lost as she stared back at the massive construct. Malys looked apprehensive—which from her was nothing less than sheer terror—and even Cosette wasn't feeling too confident right now. The Breton felt like a trapped rat, and she wasn't doubting the others felt the same way.

She stared back at Solyn, and cursed him; the golden elf looked more radiant than ever against the roiling sea of molten rock, and glowing clouds of ash that spewed from the monster—

Wait.

She was staring right at Solyn. She could see the glow of his golden eyes perfectly.

The ash surrounding him was gone.

Suddenly, Cosette was grinning—the Chimer had just made his second mistake. "We won't need to," Cosette confided to them both. "Solyn put too much magic into making that thing, he's left himself vulnerable! His shield is down—if we act fast, we can take him out now!"

Vinye peered outward. "We need a diversion," she said quietly after scanning the scene for a moment, and she was now rummaging in her satchel. "Malys—I know you're a vampire, but you're also a dark elf. You can take heat and fire better than any other vampire, and better than any of us can, I'd wager. But just in case," she produced a bottle full of gray liquid, sealed with a bright blue cork, "drink that up. It'll boost your magic resistance even further. You'll draw off that giant … whatever it is away from him and Grimnir." Her jaw was set, and had a grim look to it. "Cosette and I will focus down Solyn."

Malys stared at the bottle, then peered over her shoulder, before she shrugged. "Here goes nothing," she murmured, and then she downed the contents of the bottle in a single gulp.

Vinye didn't want to waste any time. "Go now, go!" she ushered the vampire, "before it wears off!"

Malys took a deep breath, and then sped out from behind the staircase with the speed of a rabbit.

Cosette took the time to watch Malys, and barely noticed Vinye creep alongside her out of the corner of her eye. Malys was clearly getting the monster's attention; every so often, she would lash out with her vampire magic, but just enough to hold the construct back. But the massive mobile collection of rocks was inching closer and closer to her; before long, the clouds had engulfed her completely. Cosette could just barely see her form moving within the miasma that the monster was gnereating—Vinye's potion was doing its work, but for how much longer?

And then she heard a massive CRACK come from Solyn's construct—and even before the ash clouds were dispelled by the force of whatever impact was behind all that, Cosette suspected Malys didn't want to wait around long enough to find out.

Nor did the Breton have long to wait to find out what had caused that; as the ash cleared, Cosette saw Malys with her fist raised high—right against the massive main body of the monster. A large crack had nearly split the construct in two, and it was beginning to wobble and shiver in a way that could only mean it was about to crumble to dust in the face of Malys' inhuman strength.

Vinye, however, was not keen on waiting around. "NOW!" she screamed, so loudly it left Cosette's ear ringing. As the monster disintegrated around Malys, who sprinted quickly to safety and rejoined the two mages, Vinye's hands erupted in lightning. She sent one blindingly white bolt at Solyn, it flew straight and true, and hit the Chimer full in the chest, and he roared in agitation.

But Vinye was not finished. She sent a second bolt, then a third, each time more and more lightning bolts—progressively stronger and increasingly more accurate. Cosette only just realized what Vinye was trying to do; the Altmer wasn't intent on landing the killing blow at all, she knew her lightning was good for merely surgical strikes against powerful opponents. Finishing blows to such opponents, on the other hand …

Cosette grinned as she brought both her hands together. A fireball this size would have no chance of missing Solyn—but she had to act quickly, while Vinye was still wearing him down.

And right before the Altmer's torrent of lightning ceased, and Vinye fell to the stone floor completely spent, Cosette howled out a final war cry—and launched her last fireball at the unprepared Solyn.

"BURN!"

The gigantic missile of flame hit Solyn full in the chest, reducing his robes to cinders—and then there was another massive explosion, and a burst of white light that blew all three mages backward.

But even as she felt her body hit the stone, and felt the pain shoot through her body, Cosette felt oddly lighter now. Solyn was down—her blood oath had been fulfilled.

Or so she hoped.

---

Vinye clambered to her feet almost as soon as her body had skidded to a halt. Quickly she drank a potion—her Altmer regenerative abilities would not be ready for some time; for now, she would have to rely on what little potions she had left—and simply waiting it out, allowing her body to naturally recharge itself.

The Altmer watched the conflagration warily. Dagoth Solyn was no longer levitating; he'd fallen to the ground now, hard, and the flames that engulfed his robes continued to roar. Cosette's mage-fire was nothing to sniff at, but still Vinye was suspicious. There was no way the son of Dagoth Ur himself could be bested this quickly.

The blinding flames that consumed Solyn suddenly roared like dragons, and a hot wind blew through the chamber. For a moment there was nothing, no sound but for the hissing and bubbling of the lake of magma around them.

Then, just above the noise, Vinye heard something: a low, breathy laugh that seemed to chill the blood in her veins.

As if extinguished by the coldness of the laughter, the flames around Solyn were suddenly dispelled, leaving behind a blackened, tattered robe. Its remnants fluttered silently to the floor, disintegrating into naught but charred threads before they hit the stone.

Vinye did not think too much of it at first, but a small part of her brain remembered that Solyn had worn a robe like that a long time ago—when he had first introduced himself as the estranged son of the late Savos Aren. Perhaps, all things considered, this was a symbolic act on Solyn's part—the last remaining vestige of his disguise discarded, destroyed by fire, to make way for the Chimer's true nature.

But the thought did not last; because what lay behind this disguise was more unexpected—and more terrifying—than she had ever imagined.

It might have looked identical to Dwarven armor—or at least, replicas that she had seen in Cyrodiil—but from there, all similarities ended. Pure Aetherium—polished to a mirror finish, hammered into heavy segments of armor, shining with the essence of all the Daedra and the Divines combined—covered every inch of Solyn save for his head, which looked almost tiny now among the thick plates that protected the Chimer's body. A gleaming circlet of Dwemer metal, and crowned with three flawlessly cut Aetherial gems, rested atop his brow—a crown fit for anyone who fancied himself the ruler of all the world; even the purest of gold and most flawless of diamonds could not come close to the power and majesty imbued inside this crown.

To complete it all, a long, thick staff, topped at its crown with an Aetherial gem the size of her fist, had appeared in Solyn's hand, and he wielded the artifact like a scepter—which, again, it might well have been; Dagoth Solyn looked every inch the ruler of Tamriel right now. Even an Emperor of Tamriel, Vinye thought, would be hard-pressed to look more imposing than Solyn was now.

And the Altmer had certainly been left awestruck by the sight. Looking around her, she saw similar, telltale signs of shock from Malys and Cosette.

"No way … " Malys stammered from off to her left.

The Altmer looked back at Solyn, who might as well be a god now with the power of this Aetherial armor at his command. How in Stendarr's name can we get through this?! Vinye thought.

Solyn laughed that cold laugh again as he stared back at his stunned audience. "Oh, if you could see the looks on your faces right now, mages of Winterhold," he smirked. "I had this prepared especially for you—I could not think of a better way to repay you for helping me find this wondrous treasure."

"My blades … " Cosette was in total disbelief. "That's how he repelled them. He was wearing that armor under his robes this whole entire time?!"

"Behold the final genius of Lord Voryn himself!" Solyn proclaimed, his booming voice deafening the mages. "His great god of brass, Akulakhan, was naught but a puppet, a steward for the true heir of Voryn's power! I am the last of the Chimer, and the last son of Dagoth! I AM THE THIRD NUMIDIUM!"

The Third Numidium … Vinye felt her knees quaking, something she hadn't been driven to in a long time. Those three words spoke volumes about the golden, armor-clad elf currently standing across from them—and each scared Vinye more than the last.

Firstly, there was no longer any doubt in her mind that Solyn was delusional. Whether by his self-induced solitude inside this damnable ruin, an exile in the most remote planes in all existence that spanned three thousand years and more—or simply being drunk on the power afforded by this Aetherium armor—Dagoth Solyn had finally crossed the point of no return.

Secondly, Vinye knew the importance of the Heart of Lorkhan to the Second Numidium, and its intent to be used as a limitless source of power for that massive mechanical god. Solyn declaring himself as another Numidium—another god—was as much a boast of confidence as it was a boast of strength. Solyn knew where the Heart of Lorkhan was—or at least he knew enough to find it. How, Vinye could not fathom—she could only hope that part of Solyn's plans had not yet come to fruition.

Finally, in spite of Dagoth Solyn's self-proclaimed apotheosis, his declaration of godhood, Vinye knew this. Divine power or no, Solyn was now an even more dangerous foe than he had been before—if that was even possible. She gazed back at Grimnir, still lying spread-eagled where Solyn had felled him.

It was too great a risk—if the mages were to even survive this, they needed Grimnir alive, and they needed him ready to fight. "Malys," Vinye finally said, "see to the Arch-Mage. If ever we needed his help, we need it now."

Malys was only too happy to scurry towards the Dragonborn, healing magic at the ready.

But Solyn had heard her. "Yes, wake the sleeping dragon," he hissed. "I want him to see this. But before I do … "

The Chimer roared his own war cry—and then slammed an armor-clad foot onto the stone.

There was a clap of thunder, and a blue-white light erupted from the sole of the Aetherium-covered boot. Vinye had no time to throw up a ward before the wall of light hit her with all the force of a rampaging mammoth. She screamed in pain, and forced herself to steel her nerves and muscles to weather the storm. But still she felt herself sliding back from the sheer force of the magic imbued inside Solyn's armor.

Behind and to her right, Cosette—who must have recovered her Forsworn blades some time before Solyn had revealed his armor—was using them as anchors, wedging the sword points deep into cracks in the stone that had been made by the onslaught of Solyn's final, massive construct. She heard nothing from Malys—no cry of pain or anything of the sort—and the Altmer hoped that was enough to persuade her that the vampire, and Grimnir as well, were out of harm's way for the moment.

"You'll need much more than a novice's wards to fend this magic off," boasted Solyn. "Within this armor rests the finest enchantments ever created by the dwarves—magic that Tamriel would go to war for in order to reclaim them, even against each other. But they will not get that chance," he said. "By the time the thought has even crossed their minds, Tamriel will see the Sixth House reborn for all time!"

"Do you think they'll just nod and do your bidding, Solyn?" Vinye shouted back at him. She would freely admit—though not, perhaps, to Solyn—that Tamriel was not in its glory days of old, not even close. Skyrim was still reeling from the Stormcloak rebellion, the Empire was fractured and fading, Morrowind would be rebuilding for centuries no matter what Solyn's actions today … and then there was the Aldmeri Dominion.

The Thalmor were on the back foot as well, Vinye knew—the Stormcloaks' victory had more or less forced their presence out of Skyrim. And Hammerfell had made no mistake about their disdain for the Empire and the Dominion, and they were likely to follow suit as well. Yet the Dominion looked to be the strongest defense against this Chimer that the known world could afford—except for three mages who, for all they'd been through together, were still not much more than novices.

Knowing this made Vinye even more resolute to defeat Solyn today—she knew the Dominion had its own goals in mind for Tamriel. Solyn was at most a threat—and threats meant very little to the Thalmor.

"I believe they will choose to," Solyn responded. "I am not a conqueror, young mage, no matter what the Dragonborn might say in the matter. I have no wish to rule with an iron fist—or perhaps, in this case, an Aetherial fist," he added, holding up one of his armor-clad arms and admiring his reflection in the Aetherium, chuckling a little at his own joke.

But Vinye, in that one moment, had seen something in that armored gauntlet: a flash of Dwemer metal that looked unlike any dwarven gauntlet she'd ever seen in Cyrodiil. Only then did she realize that Solyn was wearing Wraithguard—both the original and the copy! But what was more; he had apparently plated that ancient artifact with Aetherium!

Vinye was beyond confused at this turn of events. Something was very wrong here.

"I only wish to save Tamriel and Nirn from their own selves," Solyn went on, oblivious to what Vinye's eyes had seen. "All too often have its nations and tribes been torn apart by war and bloodshed. All I want is an end to that destruction—an end where the peoples of Nirn can be united at last."

"I doubt you're the only one," Vinye admitted, managing to put aside her consternation for another time. "But those people will never accept House Dagoth. You heard Malys. The world has moved on from those ancient times, Solyn. You had three thousand years to do the same—but instead, you wasted all that time on fulfilling your dead father's wishes."

Solyn gave a guttural roar of rage—not even bothering to make a more coherent reply than that—and stamped down again. This time, however, Vinye and Cosette were ready for him. Each mage raised both their hands, and spread them out to form the strongest ward they could. The ground shook as another wave of energy radiated outwards from Solyn's boot, but this time it passed over the two mages with little ill effect.

Yet the question remained—how to exploit that armor?

Solyn, meanwhile, brandished his staff at the mages, and struck the floor with the Aetherial gem on its crown. There was a burst of blue-white light, a cacophony of metal-on-metal—and an Aetherial centurion emerged from the portal, twelve feet tall, eyes already blazing with lightning.

Cosette was only just able to sprint over and drag Malys and Grimnir to safety before the lightning-gaze of the centurion vaporized the floor where she'd been mere seconds ago. Vinye was close behind her; the Altmer had been slightly less unlucky, and was now patting at the singed hem of her robes.

Suddenly, Vinye forgot that she was now in mortal peril. "Cosette," she suddenly spoke up, as an idea began to take root in her mind, "tell me everything you can about this 'perfect defense' you say your clan could pull off. How it works, how much it takes to do it—and how quickly you can pull it off."

"It's a drain," Cosette replied. "It works like a drain, only on magicka instead of water. But the thing is, it works on all kinds of magicka—even latent magicka from nature all around me that hasn't been used as a medium for a spell—and I can use that collected magic as if it was my own."

"What about enchantments?" Vinye asked her. "Does this defense drain enchantments as well?"

Cosette was silent for a long moment as she mulled Vinye's question over. Then her face split in an evil grin as she finally understood—and as unsettled as she might have been by that smile on any other day, Vinye knew that she had her answer to her question.

"Good. I need you to get as close to Solyn as you can. Shouldn't be a problem for you," Vinye told her, glancing at the Breton's Forsworn blades.

"What about that centurion?" Cosette asked—just as a lightning blast from the animunculus in question exploded just mere feet behind her.

Vinye tipped a wink at her. "Lightning magic, remember?" she smirked. "Leave it to me."

And without wasting any more time, Vinye conjured a storm atronach; it burst from the violet flames of Oblivion like a juggernaut, straight for the centurion. The mechanical monster blasted an entire thunderstorm's worth of lightning at the daedra, but to no avail.

The atronach raised a fist, and connected with the centurion courtesy of a devastating right hook that would have felled the Gildergreen of Whiterun. The automaton staggered back from the force of the impact, but only a little, and Vinye knew she could not waste any more time.

"Go!" she yelled at Cosette. "Before he decides to summon backup!"

The Breton didn't need telling twice. She clenched her jaw, and Vinye saw the air begin to shimmer and distort around her, just as it had in that fight against the wispmother, which seemed so very long ago now in light of all they'd been through since them. Then, she felt an odd pulling sensation against her body—it was as if the magicka inside her was trying to claw its way out of her.

Then Cosette had sprinted off, and the sensation had disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Vinye peered out from behind the staircase again to observe the fight. But before that could commence, there was one last thing she had to do—and her hope was that even if it didn't level the playing field, Cosette would finish the job.

She looked towards her atronach, and sent a single, final command to the daedra. One second later, the storm atronach blew itself up with a BANG that shook the cavern, and Vinye was pleased to see that the force of the impact had destabilized the centurion completely. The hips of the monster were sparking and belching steam, hopelessly beyond repair, and the animunculus crashed to the floor.

All right, Cosette, she thought. Let's see what you can do now.

She watched the distortion around the Breton grow larger and larger as Cosette advanced on Solyn, swords drawn. If Vinye's understanding of the Ionsaithe clan's defense was correct, then the Altmer could not attack Solyn as long as that ward was in effect; otherwise her lightning would just get sucked in with everything else. Cosette would be that much stronger, yes, but Vinye would be that much weaker. Best to sit this one out and observe from a distance, she thought.

She spared a moment to glance back in Malys' direction; the vampire was still doing her best to patch up Grimnir. "How is he?" Vinye asked, desperate for an answer.

"He's alive," answered the vampire, and the Altmer felt herself breathe a sigh of relief. "But it isn't just a question of healing his wounds. He's got more internal injuries than anything—nearly suffocated from all that ash Solyn hit him with, to say nothing of the burns. It's slow work, but he is healing," said Malys. "The next few minutes will tell how healed he is—though I doubt he'll be running from one hold to the next on foot for the foreseeable future."

There was a roar of anger from where Cosette was fighting against Solyn—it sounded as though the Chimer had just found out the abilities of the Ionsaithe.

"Cosette's doing what she can to hold off Solyn," Vinye told her. "Do what you can to get the Arch-Mage back."

Malys nodded, but Vinye had already turned back to observe Cosette's continued onslaught.

Solyn was furious—his armor seemed to have lost a little bit of its luster, and Vinye thought she spotted a few dings in the cuirass from where Cosette had been striking at him. But the Breton was in bad shape herself; she looked as if she had a thousand stitches tearing into her body. That clan ability of hers had to have come with some kind of price, Vinye guessed—it must really tax her body, she thought, to have to maintain this for as long as she could.

Hopefully, however, she had done enough to make a difference in the fight.

Vinye deliberately overcharged a lightning bolt, and aimed it for one of the gaps in Solyn's armor—between the otherwise impregnable plates of Aetherium appeared to be just normal mail.

The Altmer knew she had to be quick—but this was the very reason why she preferred lightning over any other school of destruction: simply because there was nothing quicker than lightning.

Her bolt flew straight as an arrow, and Solyn roared in pain as the lightning struck the mailed crook of his right elbow, the one that had been holding the Aetherial staff. The shocks of the lightning traveled throughout his body—for Vinye had not used an ordinary jolt of electricity; no, this was more akin to the bolt she had used to disrupt that giant's movements. It was slightly less powerful—slightly; Solyn was no giant, but neither was he a pushover. Vinye did not want to take chances with him.

She was glad she hadn't; Solyn was now writhing on the floor, no doubt beside himself with confusion as he realized that his arms had now become his legs, and vice versa—or perhaps something even more complicated. But the effects were only temporary—and a wizard as powerful as Dagoth Solyn would be back on his feet any moment now. They had to act fast.

Cosette, Vinye was thankful to see, needed no further encouragement. She wasted no time in charging for the Chimer, eyes blazing and swords singing in the superheated air—while at the same time, Vinye prepared another salvo of lightning. They would hit Solyn in a two-pronged attack—armor weakened, body out of commission.

Let's see the likes of House Dagoth survive this! Vinye thought recklessly—and fired.

"Not this time!" Solyn boomed. Suddenly, there was a brief burst of blue light, and the Chimer had disappeared into thin air—no, he hadn't Vinye quickly corrected herself; he was still there, but his body had turned translucent and ghostly, not unlike the effects of that Shout Grimnir had used before.

Cosette howled in rage as the Chimer sprang to his feet, and now the mages were back at square one. The Culler hurled a fireball, more out of frustration than strategy, and Solyn did not revert back to his normal solid form until just after the fiery missile passed through where his heart would be—

—and hit his Aetherium Forge.

Something shrieked within the massive construct of metal, and a number of pipes burst, hurling shards of Dwemer metal and clouds of steam every which way. Vinye could tell no one had seen this coming—especially not Cosette, who was looking at the destruction she'd caused with a mixture of triumph, confusion … and a growing sense that she needed to run.

"No!" cried Solyn, forgetting the mages completely, whirling upon his creation as it continued to belch steam. "You've ruined it! Do you have any idea how long it took me to construct this replica?!"

"Longer than you've got left to live, Solyn," Cosette shot back, having regained some of her old defiance and swagger.

Solyn's replica Forge suddenly made a different noise now—one that had a much different and most unexpected effect on the Chimer: satisfaction. "Ahh, it matters not," he said, sighing to himself—completely at odds with the raving lunatic he'd been not minutes ago. For a moment, Vinye thought he'd become Solyn Aren again, the estranged son of a deceased Arch-Mage who'd decided to abandon his research out of reverence.

But the illusion did not last. "It's too late for you now," Solyn told them.

"Too late for what?"

Vinye turned around so quickly she heard a crack in her neck.

Grimnir Torn-Skull was limping towards them, Malys just ahead of him. The Arch-Mage's voice sounded a little scratchy still, Vinye thought, as if Malys hadn't fully been able to heal his internal wounds. But none of that mattered now.

He was here.

He was alive.

"Too late for what, Solyn?" Grimnir repeated, bringing the staff of Magnus to bear on the Chimer.

"For my installation as the Third Numidium," Solyn declared, "and the undisputed ruler of this world. Behold!"

The Forge belched a final cloud of steam, and there was a whirring noise from somewhere inside the massive contraption. Solyn was obscured completely—but he could be seen bending down to pick up a series of objects from the Forge.

Now the steam was beginning to clear, and Vinye felt a sudden sense of foreboding.

"Behold," Solyn said once more, "the culmination of my history. The Chimer and the Dwemer stand united today—and under their united power, Nirn will be at peace at last."

The steam was dispelled at that moment … and Vinye felt a sense of terror like none she had ever felt before when she saw just what the Chimer was holding in his hands.

---

At this point, Mistress Malys was used to seeing the strange and the unbelievable. She was used to believing it, too—especially since her eyes were far superior to the eyes of a living man. They could see what others could not, and sometimes even at greater distances than normal eyes could make out.

But this time, Mistress Malys simply could not believe what she was seeing.

She stared, amazed beyond belief. The tower shield, Spellbreaker, looked more or less identical to what Malys remembered in Her memories, composed of elegant, flowing lines and geometric curves that were so like the Dwemer—and yet so unlike them as well. But there was one glaring difference: the crystal blade of Keening had been fused into the center of the outward-curving shield.

Malys was also quick to recognize the spiky edges of Volendrung in Solyn's other hand, but from there, any similarities ended. What Solyn held now was more akin to a double-ended flail: a pair of hammers—one whose maul was covered all over with spikes that burned with otherworldly green fire, while the other was as smooth, deceptively sturdy and precisely designed as only Sunder could be. Linking them together was a thick length of greenish-brown chain, which was itself covered with so many sharp points and ridges that Malys instinctively knew it had come from Volendrung as well—possibly the handle of the ebony hammer.

He altered the Tools and the Daedric artifacts? She thought in shock. And he combined them? Is he insane?!

She wasn't the only one terrified by this most unexpected of sights. Cosette and Vinye were staring wild-eyed at the unbelievable—unthinkable—sight. The high elf's mouth was moving, but no words were coming out, and blood was flowing from Cosette's lip because she was biting into it so deeply. Even Grimnir, who up to this point had been ever the unshakable rock on the edge of the raging ocean, looked—and sounded—scared out of his wits.

"Solyn," the mask breathed, "what have you done?!"

"I have created," answered the Chimer. "To find the Heart of Lorkhan and bring it back to Mundus takes an extraordinary amount of power, Dragonborn—more than even that of the tools of both Kagrenac and the Daedra can muster … at least, on their own. But by combining them, they share their power now, and their potential has been compounded beyond all measure! With these Tools—I will remake the world!

"Do you understand, now, Dragonborn, why I look down upon you for what you are?" Solyn shouted. "You don't have what it takes to create a new world! You can only conquer, and what you cannot conquer, you would instead destroy! You can strike me down now—you can destroy me as you would any other enemy. You slay all the dragons in the world if you wish, and steal all their power. You can become the first in a new line of Emperors over all Tamriel that will never be broken! But what do you know of creation, Dragonborn?"

Grimnir said nothing.

"I thought not," spat Solyn. "That is why you will never become a god—why you will never become like me. That is why—no matter what you do here today—I have already won."

"I would rather be dead than a heretic!" interrupted Grimnir. Malys heard the roughness in his voice; Grimnir's throat had not been fully healed, and She did not suspect it ever would be, but the Dragonborn had proved to be full of surprises before. "That is all you have accomplished here, Solyn. It was enough that you would believe yourself equal to the gods themselves, simply because of what you have created with the hands they gave you. But now you would use your powers of creation to defile the artifacts of the Daedra?!"

"Defiling?" Solyn scoffed. "I have done no such thing! The tools of the Daedra are merely that—bestowed upon the world to be used as their wielders would see fit. Whatever form their vessels may take—Spellbreaker, Volendrung, or the Oghma Infinium of legend—is insignificant compared to the power imbued inside them. All I have done is give them a new form with which to exercise their power. And with this power, the Heart of Lorkhan will finally be wrenched back into Mundus, and my father's plans will finally succeed."

If it had not been evident to Her before, Mistress Malys now knew that Dagoth Solyn was indeed completely insane. One did not simply treat a Daedric artifact as a simple means to an end. And this was coming from the last Chimer, of all people—the last of a race who were the very antithesis of the secular Dwemer, who shunned the Aedra and the Daedra in favor of logic and reason!

"Damn it, Solyn, think about what you are doing!" Grimnir called out.

"I already have," Solyn replied dismissively. "And do you know what else I believe, Dragonborn? I think you are simply too ignorant of the world around you that you can never see the infinite realms of possibility that lie before you. You fear creation and innovation, because you see it as a threat to your continued existence … and because it is a threat, you attempt to destroy it at all costs. You sicken me."

He paused, and then slowly drew back. "Perhaps … yes," he said. "I think a few thousand years in the Outer Realms ought to help change your misguided views for the better!"

Malys almost didn't see him move, even with Her vampiric eyesight. One moment Solyn was standing there, the next he was a blur, blasting a huge column of blue-white fire at Grimnir. But Grimnir, incredibly, was even quicker; he swung his staff with a mighty blow, deflecting the flames harmlessly off into the molten lake around them. The flames consumed everything in their path: rock, Dwarven machinery—even the magma they had been rebounded into—and left behind nothing, not even dust or ash. They left a gaping hole in the boiling, flaming ooze that took several long moments to close up, but Malys had seen how perfectly smooth the semi-solid walls of that tunnel had been for that one period of time, and shuddered at the potency of such a spell.

"Why do you not want to kill me, Solyn?" Grimnir goaded him, brandishing his staff in one hand and a silver ward in the other. "Do you really think yourself a god—do you really lord yourself over such wanton brutality?"

"I will not be lowered to the likes of you!" Solyn screamed back at him, firing another blast of sapphire fire that Grimnir again redirected into the lava. "I am not some mere destroyer!"

"There is more than one way to destroy, Solyn," said Grimnir. He fired a beam of magic from his staff, but Solyn had readied his own ward, nullifying the attack with little trouble at all. "I can freely admit that merely destroying you would give me no more pleasure than destroying my own home."

Solyn laughed derisively at this. "Of course it would!" he crowed, winding up to conjure yet more azure-colored fire. "That's what you were meant to do, isn't it? You were prophesied to destroy everything that stood in your way, were you not?"

"No, Solyn," Grimnir said evenly. "That destroyer was Alduin—the World-Eater, forever fated to destroy and reshape the world in an endless cycle. I was the one fated to stop him, and stop him I did, four years ago. He will not return in this life."

The Chimer laughed again as he launched more mage-fire at Grimnir. "Hah! Then you're a much bigger fool than I could have imagined," he sneered. "I know that prophecy, and know it well. There are others, too, who know more of this prophecy than you do, Dragonborn!"

Grimnir grunted as he deflected Solyn's attacks, one after another, but with much less care about his surroundings; Malys had to duck to avoid one missile, only just feeling the blast of surprisingly cold air rush across Her cheek.

"What are you trying to tell me, Solyn?!" bellowed the Arch-Mage.

"Did it ever occur to you," said the Chimer, "that the Dragonborn was part of that endless cycle as well—that he and Alduin were merely two sides of the same septim?"

He lowered his armored hands, and drew himself up to his full height, a thin smile stretching across his golden face. "Did it ever cross your mind that Alduin would not only return, but be reborn—through no less a being than the Dragonborn himself?"

It was like all the air in the cave had suddenly disappeared. Time seemed to stop as Vinye and Cosette traded looks of astonishment and horror.

Malys was no less stunned. What did he just say?!

But even as all three mages looked to Grimnir, desperate for an explanation, She felt a growing sense of alarm. The Arch-Mage was standing stock-still now, the Staff of Magnus threatening to fall from his fingertips. Solyn's words had upset the Arch-Mage immensely, She could tell—She imagined that under that black mask, Grimnir's face must be white as a sheet right now, and beginning to run with sweat.

"Nothing to say, Dragonborn?" chided Solyn, as if he was addressing a schoolboy who'd just told him off as nothing but a big bully. "Deep down, you know I'm right, don't you? I can see it in your eyes—it's already begun. You've already taken the first steps towards the inevitable end."

Malys' head was spinning. This was all wrong—it had to be horribly, horribly wrong. Grimnir couldn't possibly be Alduin!

… Could he?

"Don't listen to him, Arch-Mage!" She shouted, more for Her own benefit than his. "He's trying to get inside your head!" Yes, that was it, She was sure—mind games were a classic tactic in combat, whether by the spell or the sword. And Solyn was doing his damnedest to wear Grimnir down psychologically, so he could strike when the time was right!

But even as the words had left Her mouth, Malys felt Her certainty fading. She had not been there to see the return of Alduin, nor had She been awake to bear witness to his destruction; for all that time, She had rested in that remote cave, only just entering the final stages of Her transformation into the vampire She was today.

"I have seen you laid bare before me, Dragonborn," hissed Solyn. "I know what lurks inside your mind—your most private fears ... your most terrifying of dreams ... just admit it, Dragonborn," the golden elf scoffed. "You're going to destroy the world. You don't have a choice in the matter, and you won't have the Elder Scrolls to save you this time.

"So what will you do? Are you going to accept your fate?" Solyn asked, the Chimer's words sharp and hard as nails. "Will you condemn this world to its destruction?"

Grimnir only needed three words to reply.

"Fus … Ro DAH!"

Solyn only barely raised a ward in time to deflect Grimnir's Shout. But the force of the magic behind Grimnir's words was such that Solyn's ward was shattered completely. The Chimer was knocked off balance by the magical blast, and pushed several feet back towards his forge—

Malys paused.

Force. Balance. Push.

She could not explain why those three words had suddenly jumped out to her. Something wasn't right about that.

Solyn, meanwhile, had managed to regain his footing, and was breathing heavily. He looked angry now—but it was a resigned sort of anger … the anger of a man who would fight until the bitter end. "So that's your decision, is it?" he rasped between breaths. "You truly don't care about what you are, do you?"

"Let me just make one thing clear, Solyn," Grimnir said to him, his voice echoing unnaturally around the molten lake. "I like living in this world—and I would do everything in my power to keep it from ending."

"Even if it meant fulfilling that prophecy?" Solyn snarled. "Even if it meant ending your life?!"

Grimnir was silent for a moment. "Yes," he finally said. "I cannot call myself the hero in good faith, Solyn—not now. Not here. If there ever was a hero to be found today, it's these three mages."

Malys felt a sudden rush of affection for Grimnir. Her insides felt uncharacteristically warm inside as she stared at the Arch-Mage with newfound appreciation.

"But neither am I the villain," Grimnir went on. "When the bards of Skyrim sing of this hour in the days and months, and perhaps even the years to come, they will not sing of the misdeeds of the Dragonborn. They will sing of the folly of House Dagoth—of the last member of a House too stubborn to know when to give up and die."

Solyn narrowed his eyes and growled—he looked angrier than Malys had ever seen him. "We will see," he hissed, "about that!"

The Chimer's hands erupted in cold fire with a thunderous roar, and Malys could feel the spell coming, feel it building in Solyn's fingers—more arcane fire than he'd yet conjured, compressed into one devastating missile—

"Fus … Ro DAH!" Grimnir roared, and then quite a few things happened at once.

First, as the blue wave of the Shout hurtled towards Solyn, the wizard's fingers twitched imperceptibly, for only a split second—barely enough time for Malys to see what he'd done. The fire that he'd been concentrating abruptly disappeared, and was replaced with more clouds of ash.

Malys knew what was going to happen an instant before it did—but then, in that one infinitesimal moment, time seemed to falter in its step. Suddenly, something hissed in Her insides, and She felt herself stumble over from the force of the pain—

Force.

There it was again.

A sudden thought sprang into Malys' mind, but She dismissed it almost immediately. That wasn't possible—it couldn't be. Was she truly hearing what Grimnir was …

"FUS!"

The warmth inside Her had suddenly flared, hotter and brighter than any fire She had ever felt before. It felt like She was being roasted from the inside out. She hadn't meant to scream—but the scream had come, and—

What happened immediately after that transfixed everyone.

As the ash clouds that constituted Solyn's paralysis spell reached out to envelop the Arch-Mage, a sapphire blast of magic suddenly expelled itself from Malys' open mouth, still screaming in pain from the intensity of the heat inside Her. It was a brief gust of wind, virtually insignificant in comparison with the miniature gales that Grimnir was capable of.

But it was enough.

An instant before the paralysis spell would have struck, the wave of magic hit a completely unprepared Grimnir, forcing him off his feet and onto the stone floor, and the clouds of ash sailed barely inches over his head, paralyzing nothing but thin air.

Dagoth Solyn whirled around at Malys, the Arch-Mage entirely forgotten. "What is this?!" the Chimer demanded.

Vinye and Cosette were no less confused. None of them seemed to understand what was going on, what had just happened in the span of a paltry few seconds. But no one was more perplexed at what Malys had just done than Malys Herself—because Her mind had finally just now caught up with the rest of Her, and She had suddenly realized that that had been Herself who had cried out, who had spoken that one word.

Force.

Malys did not know how that knowledge had come to her, but that was the last thing on her mind right now.

Because somehow—incredibly, against all logic and reason—She had just Shouted.

---

Even as he stumbled from the force of the unexpected Shout, Grimnir could not believe what he'd just heard.

The Thu'um was not a subject to be learned so easily, he knew. The Greybeards, Paarthurnax most of all, were not straightforward teachers, instead allowing the prospective students of the Way of the Voice to draw their own conclusions on each Word, meditating on them for long periods of time—sometimes even years—to discern their multiple meanings.

Yes—the dragons were no more straightforward in their speech and their manners than the Greybeards were in their methods; one word of their language could have a dozen different meanings. For Grimnir, it was far easier to learn these Words and what they could mean, and far easier to meditate on them as well, owing to the dragon's soul he possessed. Yet even he had had to work to where he had made it today—the knowledge of the dragons was not so easily assimilated, and even devouring their souls was oftentimes not enough.

Which only made the Arch-Mage of Winterhold all the more confused as to what had just happened.

How in Akatosh' name did she do that?!

He had heard the Word of Power—Fus, the first such Word of the dragon language he had ever learned in his life—and he had seen the telltale explosion of blue energy that it heralded. But he still could not believe that he had not been responsible for of those things.

How did she do that?

His conversation with Solyn had been forgotten—though not completely; there would be time to dwell on his words later. For now, every last ounce of Grimnir's attention was focused on the Dunmer with the split face in front of him. Both halves of Malys' face radiated utter confusion—genuine, too, Grimnir knew. There was no deception in that face; Malys knew little more than he did in this particular matter.

Then how did she do it?

A thought suddenly occurred to Grimnir—something as extraordinary as it was unbelievable. Had Malys been keeping this from him the whole time she'd been a student at Winterhold? The odds on that must have been very long indeed, he mused—even J'zargo wouldn't have dared to make a bet on odds like this.

And it almost certainly wasn't true, either. Those mages, Vinye and Cosette, had been with her the whole time as well. If she had demonstrated this power before, they would have told him long before now—voluntarily or otherwise; Grimnir was experienced enough to know when people were withholding secrets from him.

If Malys truly did not know that she had this power—and that neither of her companions did, either—then that left only one logical solution. And Grimnir was not happy about it.

But no other answer made more sense.

"Well, now," purred a voice, and Grimnir tensed—he'd almost forgotten Dagoth Solyn was right there, and he cursed himself for letting him be so distracted. Luckily for them all, the Chimer had been just as diverted as the rest of them—rightly so, in his defense—and so no one had cause to fear any reprisal. Yet.

"You are just full of surprises at Winterhold, aren't you?" Solyn chuckled coldly. Grimnir noticed he'd wrapped Sunder-and-Volendrung around his right arm, holding the larger end of the flail in that hand, while Spellbreaker-and-Keening was grasped tightly in his left hand.

Then Solyn moved quicker than he ever had before, and lashed out with the flail.

The spiked edges of Volendrung struck the stone floor with a sound like a massive drum, and a blast of air burst forth from the point of impact. The molten lake around them receded into a massive wave, which vexed Grimnir; he knew the cavern was not infinite. Sooner or later, that lava would be coming back to whence it came, and at a greater speed as well, he thought.

Which meant that this entire place was about to be covered in molten rock.

"Tiid … Klo UL!" Grimnir barked, and the world around him slowed almost to a crawl. It would not be for long—but it would be for long enough. Therefore, he didn't waste any time in creating a barrier that soon encircled the length, width and breadth of the entire platform. He hoped it would be enough to hold it until the surge of lava had subsided.

At that moment, the effects of his Shout wore off, and time resumed its normal pace—and Solyn was already winding up for another strike.

"FUS!" Grimnir bellowed—but Solyn was already ready for him. He'd brought his shield—Spellbreaker-and-Keening—to bear at the exact moment Grimnir had drawn back to Shout. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have meant much, but the Spellbreaker—as Grimnir could already see—was generating a ward from the orb in the center, where rested Keening. And there was more …

What's this? Grimnir thought—suddenly a strange feeling had taken over his body. It was almost as if he was being drained of all the energy inside him!

Then he realized—Keening! Keening had the power to take away its wielder's life force without proper protection, he understood. Solyn must have reactivated its enchantments somehow, he surmised. But he was wearing Wraithguard, which rendered him immune to that life-threatening effect—and Spellbreaker must somehow be redirecting that effect on him!

Grimnir couldn't move—he couldn't even Shout. And he could only barely hear Solyn gloating to him, as he felt himself becoming gradually weaker and weaker.

"You will be my first victory, Dragonborn," Solyn whispered malevolently. "The world will learn of your defeat at my hands—but I will not kill you. I will use these Tools of mine on you, and add your essence to that of the Heart of Lorkhan, where it will remain for all eternity … "

Grimnir could not hear anything more now. Solyn was nothing more than a dark shape now, and his vision was beginning to go gray.

So this is how it all ends, he thought, apropos of nothing. Not as bad as I thought it would be, all things considered.

There wasn't any pain … he'd be with old Tolfdir soon enough …

But was he really dying? Instead of becoming weaker, Grimnir felt like he was becoming stronger. He shook his head, trying to get Solyn back into focus, beginning to feel a little confused about what was going on, and then he realized that the dark shape in front of him wasn't Solyn at all—

He blinked.

Malys Aryon was standing there, directly between him and Solyn—and Spellbreaker-and-Keening. Her right hand was thrust directly back at him, shining with restoration magic, healing him. But that wasn't what surprised Grimnir; it was that Solyn was training his shield on Malys this time—and Malys was fighting back with magic that Grimnir had never seen before.

Well, that was to say, he had—just not in such a manner. It was a red wave of magic, almost identical in function, if not in form, to the enchantment built into Solyn's left-hand artifact. And right now, Malys was using that magic to lock Solyn in a metaphysical tug-of-war. Each was counteracting the other's draining spell, while Malys was using the magic she gained as a result to heal Grimnir, and bring him back to full strength.

Master Anglinius was right after all about this mage, it would seem, thought the Arch-Mage. I owe him an apology.

Malys, meanwhile, was looking at him over her shoulder. "I can't hold on much longer!" she hollered. "Take him out! Now!"

This time, Grimnir did not hesitate. "Get down!" he yelled at Malys—he had a special Shout in store for Solyn, and he did not want Malys to take any more punishment than she already had.

He inhaled air, exhaled Thu'um, and Shouted.

"Kren … Qah GOL!"

There was a noise like a thousand horsewhips, all cracking at the same time, and Solyn roared in sudden pain as he toppled to the ground. The Aetherium armor, still gleaming flawlessly despite all the fire and soot in the air, was shattered into a thousand pieces under the strength of Grimnir's Shout and the force with which Solyn hit the floor, hurtling into the lava, never to be seen again.

Grimnir had not meant to do that. The Shout he had just used—which the Greybeards had named Stuhn's Might—was not unlike his Unrelenting Force. But where that Shout pushed away his foes as if by the hand of a god,Stuhn's Might used that hand to twist, to tear asunder everything in its path that didn't have sufficient protection. He'd only been aiming to rough Solyn up, to unseat him for the final coup de grace.

But as he looked at Solyn, Grimnir realized he'd done more than just that.

The Chimer, incredibly, was still alive—but Grimnir almost pitied him; he'd never seen someone who'd looked so powerful mere moments ago look so … well, pitiful. Every single bone in Solyn's body looked as though it had been ripped to shreds: his arms and legs, even his fingers, were spread out at odd angles, and Grimnir imagined that Solyn's back looked like a twisted piece of dough. There was no sign of blood loss.

But Solyn, armor and all, had been destroyed.

It almost reminded Grimnir of the start to an ancient proverb old Tolfdir had told him, when he'd first arrived at Winterhold all those years ago. For want of a flesh spell, the mage was lost. Solyn had put too much faith into his Aetherium armor when he'd faced the mages down—but Grimnir could not take credit for this. Neither one could have possibly imagined that one simple Shout could have done that to some of the most dangerous artifacts the Arch-Mage had ever seen.

But Grimnir paused. This wasn't the first time he'd seen his Shouts have an unexpected effect on Aetherium—he remembered the cavern before the Reliquary, when that ballista had fired a bolt made from it right at him. He had deflected the bolt, but then the bolt had exploded. At first, Grimnir had thought that bolt might have had an explosive payload, or had been enchanted; he'd had enough experience in Dwarven ruins to not put either of those options past the Dwemer. But now, as the Chimer's words from before drifted into his mind, he could see that the reason for what had happened on both occasions was something completely different.

So that was what he'd meant by "harmonically volatile," Grimnir thought, as he turned away from the horrible sight.

A crunching sound suddenly snapped Grimnir back to reality, and he whirled around to face Solyn once more.

Impossible …

Dagoth Solyn's malformed hand was glowing with restoration magic, and the constant crunching and grinding was coming from the Chimer's bones mending back together. Then there was a gurgling noise, and Grimnir realized Solyn was speaking to him.

"Heh … eh," whispered the elf. The glow in his golden eyes had faded—but they were getting brighter. "If I hadn't … had that … shield, I might … well be dead. You … truly are … destroyer, Dragonborn."

The Chimer was beginning to stir.

Grimnir shook his head. "It's over, Solyn," he said simply. "We have nothing left to say to each other now. We have won; you have lost.

"I won't kill you," Grimnir went on, as he felt the mages beginning to stare at him. "I have no desire to kill you. But I have no desire to help you, either. My mages and I will leave this place, and seal it forevermore. You will remain here, for as long as your natural life allows you. The horrors you have sought to resurrect will not be repeated. Skyrim—and Tamriel—does not wish to see them again."

And with that, Grimnir turned on his heel. "Let's go," he told the other three mages. "We must return to Winterhold and—"

Grimnir barely blocked the blast of blue fire at the last possible second before it would have incinerated him.

He whirled around to face Dagoth Solyn—who was still very much in a bad way, but he was standing up, clad in nothing but tattered mail and shredded robes, and he was angrier than Grimnir had ever seen him.

"You would leave me buried here?" rumbled the Chimer. "You would shut me away from the world?! Very well!"

Solyn was lifted off the ground by his magic, soaring higher than ever, looking down upon them with his golden eyes. "Then I will grant your wish, Dragonborn!"

He roared in exertion, and Grimnir heard the ceiling of the cavern begin to crack—Solyn was being deadly serious about following through on his threat.

Dagoth Solyn was frothing at the mouth. "DIE, DRAGONBORN, DIE!" screeched the last of the Chimer.

Grimnir closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable—

And nothing happened.

The cracks in the ceiling were still there, Grimnir saw, but there did not appear to be any danger of a cave-in. He exhaled—they had been spared, for now.

But more to the point, what had made Solyn decide to spare them?

"A man does not choose his weapon," rumbled a deafening voice all of a sudden, seemingly from out of thin air, and without any sort of preamble. Grimnir did not know whom it belonged to—and neither, apparently, did Solyn.

"Who's there?" cried the Chimer. It was hard to tell from this distance—but Grimnir could have sworn that the pupils of the elf's eyes had contracted with sudden fear.

The steam and haze around the mages shifted suddenly, and Solyn was forced down without warning, hitting the stone platform with a sickening crunch that sounded like all of his recently healed bone once again breaking from the force of the impact. The Chimer screamed in pain.

And now, something was striding out of the haze—a vague something, twice as tall as any giant, and at least five times as broad. The claymore it wielded in one hand would have ripped Dragonsreach in half with a single blow.

He was not alone—to Grimnir's other side, something else could be seen in the mist, a sinuous, inhuman beast, slender and venomous like a snake, but with four legs and a head like a dragon.

"What's going on here?" Vinye cried out.

"It is the weapon, in the end, who chooses the man," hissed the serpentine vision.

"It can't be … " Cosette was trembling at the sight.

Both the forms were encircling Solyn, now. The broken elf stared up at the apparitions with something that resembled acidic fury, confusion, desperation … and a cold terror.

"You!" bellowed the apparitions. "You have shown more folly in your ways than the Chimer and the Dwemer! You would dare unite the tools of our champions with the godless dwarves?"

Solyn leapt to his feet, momentarily surprising everyone. "Enough of these mind games, Dragonborn!" he shouted. "I will show you the power of a god, made manifest in my flesh!"

Mind games? Grimnir wondered. Those two specters were as new to him as everyone else.

The Chimer hefted his two artifacts aloft with a wordless bellow of rage, and the two artifacts began to glow.

But the enormous specters alongside him were beginning to glow as well, and Grimnir was suddenly aware that something was about to happen—and that if he didn't act in time …

"WARDS!" he bellowed at the mages. "Wards, all of you—now!"

They obeyed without a moment's hesitation. But suddenly, the surge of light came to a head, and suddenly Solyn's mighty roar turned into a shriek of pain. The light flared, and Grimnir was forced to shield his eyes from the sheer brightness of it all.

But Solyn's next scream brought Grimnir's hand down—and he stared, appalled beyond belief, at what was happening to the Chimer.

The golden elf was being methodically disintegrated: first his arms, then his legs, slowly, he was being turned into ash from the inside out. But it was more than that, Grimnir realized; something was building up inside him—a surge of energy that was not the Chimer's doing—and certainly not under his control.

But before Grimnir could prepare accordingly, that energy suddenly exploded outwards, in a burst of bluish-white fire. Solyn had time for just one final scream of agony before the inferno consumed him, leaving nothing behind but an endless black abyss.

And that abyss was quickly spreading.

Grimnir knew he had no time to do anything else; he poured every last ounce of his magicka into his ward, and hoped to all the Divines that the other mages had the foresight to do the same thing. He felt a rush of freezing air and shrieking wind, the void beyond was threatening to swallow him whole—

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it had vanished, and Grimnir slowly became aware of his surroundings once more. The molten rock around him bubbed and hissed, just as it always had since time began. He was still in front of the replicated Aetherium Forge—but its controller and creator was nowhere to be seen.

Dagoth Solyn—the last Chimer, and the last of the cursed Sixth House of Morrowind—was gone.

Only then did Grimnir realize that Vinye, Cosette, and Malys had vanished.

He was alone.

They were all gone.

---

A/N: No spoilers for the next chapter this time—but nobody's out of the woods just yet, I will say that much. Also, before anyone breaks out the torches and pitchforks, I will be going into more detail about what happened with Malys and Solyn next chapter.

And speaking of, school will be starting for me in a few days. It's my final semester, and I've got a lot of work ahead of me in that regard, so updates might be few and far between for the next few months.

KREN QAH GOL (Break, Armor, Earth) – Subjects anything in its path to incredible forces that can splinter bones, rocks, and armor plating with equal effort.

Time to rest my hands now—this was a long one. Thanks for reading! - K