Sorry this one is a little shorter! I hope you guys like it!

The fire storm clears and I push myself up, reaching out to a pillar as my body begins to teeter. My head is spinning and I blink back the black dots that swim in my vision. I over did it. My body wasn't used to releasing so much magicka. I hadn't done that much damage since…

My thoughts are interrupted by a pained moan. The Dremora.

I slide to the ground, the pillar supporting me in a sitting position and scan the blown out cavern. Scorch marks line the black walks and crackle as their flames die, and what wood was there now burn ferociously, though isolated, casting dancing shadows everywhere. I can't see it, but I can hear it cough for air. Or is that me? Or Vorstag?

Suddenly I see it crawling from the dark, its armor sparking with flames and skin stinking of burnt flesh. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat and begin to push away from it. But it isn't crawling towards me. It's crawling to Vorstag.

"No." I say weakly, pulling myself upright again, staggering forward. I have to protect him, to finish off the daemon. Somehow.

"It cannot end like this…" it hisses, voice ragged with pain. "I must serve my lord, I must destroy…" It coughs again and wails clutching itself. I can only imagine the damage I had done to its body. Oh gosh…to Vorstag? That was not a controlled blast, I know because I had no control over it. It roared out of me, years of subdued power itching to be released. All gone in one swell of desperation.

"If I am to die like this," it spits, crawling forward again, "I will not go alone. I will take your sacrifice with me. Then all your trouble here will be for naught." He laughs at this idea, savoring this small victory. It is almost upon Vorstag, reaching its clawed hand back to his bruised throat.

I see a sword in front of me. Who it belongs to I don't know, but I reach for it, forcing my lead legs forward. The metal is hot in my hand and I wince, biting back a wail. But I can't give up now. I won't let Vorstag die. Never.

"Oblivion take us both…" it murmurs hungrily as its claws enclose, beginning to squeeze, crushing his already weak air flow.

"NO!" I am there. I bring down the blade in a stabbing motion with unknown force and a grunt of victory. The hot metal breaks through its brittle amour and the daemon gasps, releasing it death grasp. I twist the blade, and black bile oozes from its agape, toothy mouth. It chokes, turning its wide, fearful eyes towards me as it meets Arkay. It's body sags, crumpling into a bluish powered beneath my feet.

Dead.

I hear the trapped breath leave Vorstag as the demonic hand disintegrates. I drop the blade and I bend down to brush off the Dremora's dust. He is badly bruised and a few flecks of red dots his lips. His throat has the worst of it. I can see the imprint of the claw clearly, bruised and scratched, but still intact. But then I notice that something's wrong. He's not breathing.

I heard him exhale, but his body is refusing to inhale. "No, Vorstag," I say, getting nervous, my voice rising, and I gently shake his shoulders. He doesn't stir. "Vorstag, hey, wake up, no you can't be dead." I cry, my shaking getting a little rougher.

Then I breathe. Two breaths into his mouth. Then I pump. Thirty compressions.

I repeat this procedure, and suddenly he coughs, a bloody cough, then raggedly inhales, wheezing in pain. But it's a breath. His eyes roll open and he tries to breathe again, but his windpipe is crushed.

"Vorstag," I say, joy and fear in my heart, "It's the only way." Summoning what's left of my energy, I gently place my fingers on his neck and cast healing hands. The orange-white light swirls in and out, restoring his throat to its proper position. He gasps suddenly as his lungs find air, breathing violently, greedy for his second chance at life. He coughs some more but he's okay now. All better…

I slump on top of him, my head swimming and vision going in and out. I feel him move underneath me, pulling himself up, checking his re-healed parts. Then his hands find me. They twist around me, hesitantly but gentle, and he holds me to his chest. He brushes the messy, singed hair out of my face and stares down at me, his hazel eyes searching for mine.

"You saved me."

I give him a weak smile, the darkness of sleep gripping my mind.

"Thank you."

Blackness.

xxx

I wake up, finding myself hanging downwards and staring at Vorstag's butt. My head bobs uncomfortably against his back and my arms are numb. I've been in this position for a while. As my body regains its feeling, I feel his armor pinching into my leather-bound chest uncomfortably, and I squirm, trying to reposition myself.

"You awake?" He asks, shifting his hold on me. He stops walking and begins to set me down. He tries to place me on my feet, but I let myself flop to the floor. I rub my eyes and roll my joints. They pop and groan, but leave me feeling alert and loose.

"How long?" I ask, trying to stand. My body is sluggish, but I'll be able to move.

"We were in that forsaken death-trap for probably an hour, and then we traveled for about another." He looked down into the descending darkness, an eerie gleam in his eye. "It just keeps going…" He turned to me and offers a hand, which I graciously take, and hauls me up. He's about to sling an arm under mine to help me move, but I push it away.

"Thanks, but I got it." I say with a weak smile. "It's just fatigue. I'm not hurt."

"From using magicka?" He asks, face bright and interested.

"Yeah," I say, glancing away. "It drains me. I can only use it so much and for so long. As I regain strength I can use more. Just like if you were to sprint and wear yourself out. You'd be able to sprint again after you got your energy back." He nods in understanding, then motions for us to continue forward.

We move quietly and at a slower pace. It's incredibly dark besides the red torches, the new theme since we've awaken the Daedra. "If you're feeling up to it," he begins timidly, "feel free to make it brighter."

I stop, cocking my brow. He stops as well, looking to me eagerly. "You mean you want me to use magicka?" I ask, amused and a little off-guard.

He bites his bottom lip, refusing to make eye contact and mumbles, "Look, I don't like it but look at this place. It's a darkness I've never faced before. That beast killed me. I stood no chance. Your power is the only way I can see us making out alive."

"But I'm an untrustworthy Forsworn." I reply, quoting his previous hatred.

He pauses, and glances up, eyes locking on mine. And I know whatever he will say next is something that is true. "I trust you."

I feel something catch in my throat. I'm at a loss for words. He accepted me for who I am and what I was. Who cares if it took me saving his life? Twice. He trusted me.

I cast Candlelight.

xxx

The path ended. Neither of said anything at first, simply pressed against the wall, searching for another route. There was an embossed circle on its surface, but nothing else. After a few minutes I knew this was useless.

"Are you sure you didn't head down another path?" I ask, crossing my arms. "No forks in the road during my blackout session?"

"Yes," he said, feeling and tracing his fingers on the stone wall. "I can feel a groove hear," He said, letting his finger bite into the rock. "And it traces upward and around, seeming to form some sort of door." He demonstrated this as well, then turned to me. "You think you could blast it open?"

I almost laugh, but catch myself. He's still learning. "Probably not, and any destruction magicka I could use would cause more harm to us than the door." I turn to it, staring hard, arms crossed. "We're thinking about this the wrong way." I pause to see if he's listening. "This isn't a Nordic crypt—no booby traps and secret levers—this is a Daedric shrine. A sacrificial ground."

"So do they want a sacrifice?" He asks, edging away from the now demonic door.

"Not exactly," I say slowly biting my lip in thought. I turn to him. "I think they want a payment."

"A payment?"

"Not gold our anything material—something more precious."

"Like blood?" We both grimace.

"It's worth a try," I say pulling out my dagger. Vorstag tries to stop me, but I slide it across my palm. It rips my calloused flesh painfully and I bite my cheek. I then press the bloodied hand onto the circle.

But nothing happens.

I let my hand fall away, quickly healing it and wiping away the blood. "I don't understand," I say turning away. "It should of worked."

"Saber!" Vorstag says in alarm, "Look!"

I turn quickly to see the blood print soak into the stone, out of existence.

"What the—," Then the ground begins to rumble.

A low, pleased sigh rings as the doorsslides down, revealing the way forward. Vorstag grows tense, and I bristle as a cold, sickly air rushes past us. It smells like death.

The sacrificial chamber. My father says. It is time.