Chapter 29: Sweet Darkness

Darkness, sweet darkness. She was swimming in it, her mind clear and free and not thinking about anything in particular. There were no memories, no pain, no pleasure, just the feeling of pure freedom.

And then she felt herself walking, walking on nothing, and memories of who she was came back to her. Her name was Nightshade, and she had been beaten to death by a ruthless dremora; for some reason that hardly surprised her.

As she walked the darkness began to give way to a red mist, and as soon as she gained vision like a dream she realized she was walking down a hallway. Fear set in her stomach as she recognized where she was, but she didn't stop walking. Whatever weakness she had had back in the Great gate wasn't with her anymore.

The hallway was black and cold and lined with doors on both sides. I must be in some sort of hell, because this is too real to be a dream, she thought. Carefully she opened a door only to see pitch darkness. I have all of eternity to get through all these doors; might as well start with this one.

As the door closed behind her she began to make out light. She stood outside the Bloodworks of the Arena on a beautiful and busy day with a small knife in her pocket she had stolen from Ysabel Andronicus earlier. She was almost six years old and had very basic rules to life: don't be noticed by the adults to avoid a whipping, always save a bit of food for later, prove to the other kids that she wasn't just a little girl, and never show anyone the amulet she wore.

The choice of memory surprised Nightshade because she had forgotten most of it. In fact what could be called her childhood years were a blur of pain to her. There was no clear, concise memory before hitting puberty, and all she remembered of this one was that later that night she was suspected and found out for stealing the knife. But the clarity now, the breeze in the air, the ramblings of the Arena district, the sun hitting her body swaddled in poor ill-fitting clothes, were all too real as she headed suspiciously to the Talos Plaza district.

As she walked Nightshade was dimly aware of another presence next to her. A little girl's voice asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want revenge on that bastard." She had overheard the word so many times it came naturally.

"I told you I don't like it when you talk like that. Nightshade, he didn't know what he was talking about."

"Yeah right."

"He's a rich snotty kid who wouldn't know what hard work is if it hit him in the face with a shovel."

"Don't care. I'm going to punish him."

Something hand-like touched her shoulder. "Please Nightshade, don't be cruel." She turned to face the entity expecting to see a little girl but instead only saw a white blur of a person. There was no face, no features, no clothes. It was her imagination talking to her, and the six-year-old Nightshade knew it too but she played along anyway because she had no friends. Her name for it came to her: Yuri. Yuri the Pure.

Young Nightshade thought about this and then made up her mind. "I'm going whether you like it or not." She turned back onto her course and quickened her pace towards the Talos Plaza. She knew exactly where her victim lived, had studied some of his habits and knew he would be returning home by himself at that time.

It wasn't hard to get the boy to notice her. He was about two years older than her, dressed in rich attire, and strangely looked like a younger, blonde version of Martin. However, the pouty sneer that he adorned on his face at the sight of her dispelled the resemblance.

"It's you."

"I heard what you said about me."

He put on airs. "Like I care. I wanted you to hear it, just so you knew it was true."

Her blood began to boil. "You'll pay."

Nightshade didn't know it then but the boy had never been in a fist fight ever in his life because he had never needed to do it. The other children respected him out of fear and awe for his social status and knew to steer clear of him. So when little Nightshade charged at him with her knife he didn't even think to use the books he was carrying as a shield and she managed to slice open his upper left arm and ruin the sleeve of his elegant shirt.

This was the only decent shot Nightshade got in. The boy was inexperienced, but so was she, and she was a lot weaker than him. He knocked the knife out of her hand and a great scramble ensued to simply get some sort of hurt in from pulling hair to biting to punching. People who were walking by were horrified, but only one distinguished lady interfered and pulled them apart. Nightshade's nose was bleeding and her eye was swelling, but she twisted herself out of the lady's grasp and ran as if demons were chasing her. All she had given to the boy were red scratch marks on his neck and a slight bruise on his cheek.

Nightshade ran straight for the Green Emperor's Way, the physical pain less than the mental hurt still throbbing in her head the boy had inflicted a few days before. He and his mother went to visit the Arena to collect some winnings from a previous match, and he had the audacity to point at Nightshade and exclaim, "By the gods, mother, that is the ugliest Dark Elf I have ever seen." Tears of anger welled into her eyes, and she didn't see while she ran away to hide his mother smack him behind his head and say, "Have some manners."

In Green Emperor's Way she slid behind a grave close to the city wall and into a sort of burrow made by grave robbers who had been caught long ago digging up a body no one cared about. She had modified their hole using a cooking pan as a shovel and had made a snug home fit for her and Yuri to hide in when the world was tough thanks to the large bush growing directly above it.

Nightshade curled up with her elbows and knees hiding her face. Yuri had her arm around her in a maternal way. "It's alright, Nightshade, it's going to be ok."

After sniveling for a while she replied. "It's not ok. It'll never be ok."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because the world hates me."

"It doesn't hate you. I don't hate you."

Nightshade looked up where Yuri's face should've been as she continued. Her voice seemed to mature suddenly. "You are a special, powerful girl. You have both the power to be kind and the power to be a demon."

"What do you mean?"

"You're scared, Nightshade, to show people your good side because all you see in them is their bad side, thanks to living in the arena. You need to face your fears and be kind, so you don't end up like them, living all alone and miserable."

"So what? Who cares how I feel?"

"I care."

She was silent for a while, thinking, and then said, "Why do I get so angry?"

"Because of your inner demon."

"Does everyone have one?"

"Yes, but yours manifests without control. And I fear one day it will control you." Warmth radiated from her. "Nightshade, I won't be around like this forever, and although I will always be a part of you, one day you'll forget..."

Yuri's voice had trailed off and she seemed to be looking into the distance. Finally, she quietly spoke. "I fear that the poison of human cruelty will weaken the kind part of your soul. These people here, though legally your guardians, should not be taking care of you. Oh Nightshade! If you only knew what greatness you are capable of, what blood flows in your veins, what demons lie in your soul. You have your whole life ahead of you, and no awareness of it. You sleep and dream of a better life rather than actually live it."

And then Yuri seemed to mentally reach out to Nightshade as if she could stare into the little girl and see the teenager through time. "They'll get you, Nightshade, and release your terrible power. They'll make you rip apart your friends and foes alike, all because of your blood, in the name of Destruction. You must learn to control it without me using the kindness and love in your heart."

Nightshade was aware that her younger self had fallen to sleep behind her, but her present self was still awake. Yuri reached out and touched her hair and caressed her head in a motherly way. "I wish I could be there, my dear. I wish I could've always been there."

And then sweet darkness.

Nightshade opened her eyes, at first numb and almost happy but then incredibly sore all over. The dream, if that was what it was, had left a pleasant and relieving impression on her, as if an old secret that had haunted her forever was revealed. She then noticed that, once again, she was lying flat on her back in a cathedral.

As she sat up she realized that she was not the only person lying in there. The Bruma cathedral had turned into a crude hospital housing the wounded soldiers. Many were groaning in agony and agitation while healers scuttled about them. She looked around for Elyon's Orcish armor, but instead noticed a rather excited woman skipping over the wounded on the ground and bounding towards her. It took a moment to recognize the transformed, and much happier, Countess Carvain.

"Nightshade, my hero, you're awake!" she grinned as she crouched to her side. Nightshade could smell a faint odor of alcohol in her breath. "Our Hero of Kvatch returns to the land of the living, or should we call you Hero of Bruma? By the Nine, might as well start calling you Hero of Cyrodiil!" She laughed heartily. "I wanted to be the first to see you because I, personally, want to thank you, from the bottom of Bruma's hearts, for everything you've done, and invite you to our great celebration! Everyone's invited! It'll be like a great festival! No one can resist free drinks!" There were murmurs of agreement from the soldiers who were still conscious.

She looked up at the Countess, who looked very pleased, with confusion. "Shouldn't you be focusing on rebuilding and gathering strength?"

"What? Oh, all that can wait leave it to me. But no, tonight we celebrate until dawn! Gods, isn't it good to be alive?" Carvain seemed to practically dance out over the patients like a fairy, and for a split moment Nightshade agreed with her.