Chapter 7:

Beras turned over slowly, and hugged his pillow. He was so warm. His bed was so comfy… where was he? He opened his eyes, remembering his trip to the Imperial City. Leaping out of bed, he looked around. Behrta and Gylas were still sleeping, the latter snoring softly. He hadn't woken up too late to explore the city. He just had to be sure not to wake the two others.

Very quietly he made his way to the door and grabbed the knob. He pulled it open slowly, sure not to make a sound, then stepped out. His foot landed on an unfortunately placed creaky floorboard. Eyes wide open in horror, Beras turned around to see Gylas shifting around in his bed, clearly having heard the sound.

Waiting not a moment, he bolted out of the inn and breathed in the fresh air of the market district. He gazed in wonder at the beautiful and massive white walls of the city for a moment, then frowned. They were filthy. The lower sections of them were completely covered in mud.

"Not quite what they used to be, are they?" Beras jumped and wheeled around to see a guard dressed in full steel armor standing behind him. She too was looking at the walls. "With the war going on, we've had to devote all our funding to repelling attacks. That includes the gold that should have been going to keeping the city clean." She shook her head in shame, and continued on her way.

Looking between the guard and the walls, Beras felt the weight of fear fall upon him. Were things really this bad? Were the Thalmor really that powerful? He smacked his forehead, reminding himself that now wasn't the time to think about that. He had only a few hours to look around the city, and he wasn't going to let them go to waste.

He quickly found a map and spotted the temple district on it. Without another thought, he ran off in the direction. Around him were signs of neglect: Broken windows, mucky ponds, tattered shop signs, and many others. Nevertheless, it was still beautiful, upholding a dignity and demanding respect.

Beras stopped dead. He had just entered the temple district, and before him was a massive stone dragon, reared up on its hind legs: All that remained of the Avatar of Akatosh. Looking around, he saw no one. It was early enough that few people were awake. He made his way over to the Temple of the One, and swung open the door.

It was a circular building, its roof opened to the sky. The statue stood in the center, head up above the highest point of the building. Around it were small red diamond shaped tiles, representing the fabled Amulet of Kings. It was all true. Of course, he had known as much, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else. He gingerly reached out his hand, and touched the stone dragon.

Immediately, his hand felt warm and a soft light enveloped him. Alarmed, Beras pulled his arm away and took a few steps back. Then he heard a soft chuckling. Slowly poking his head around the statue, he saw an old woman. A wood elf with white hair pulled up in a bun, and wrinkled skin, she smiled as soon as she saw him. She wore deep lavender robes, and was holding a walking stick.

"It would seem you have Akatosh's favor, child," she said, her voice sweet and crisp. "I see great things in your future."

Beras stood still, oddly calm. For some reason, the woman didn't make him nervous at all. On the contrary, she felt welcoming, as if she were his own grandmother. Stepping forwards slightly, he cocked his head to one side slightly and asked quietly, "Wh-who are you?"

She smiled and laughed again, pleased that he was spending the time to speak with her. "I am Dagail."

Beras furrowed his eyebrows. The name sounded familiar. "Do I know you?" he inquired.

"You do now," she responded. "And I know you too. Or at least, I know who you are to become."

"You aren't making sense," Beras said in confusion. Who was this woman? She didn't seem mad, though the things she was saying were.

"You see," she said, pulling out a beautiful amulet from beneath her robes. "I have visions, child. I've been having them for a very, very long time. I can see glimpses of what was, what is, and what may be, should events unfold as are meant to." Turning the amulet around in her palm, she continued. "I have seen your face before, long, long ago. Far before you were born. Before even your grandfather was born, I'm sure. And it is no coincidence that we have met here today."

"What do you mean?" This was getting creepy. But he couldn't back away now. He needed to know what she was talking about.

"Don't you see?" Dagail said, pointing her cane up to the statue. "We are here, in the presence of Akatosh, dragon god of time. It was his pulling on our strings of fate that brought us here."

Beras turned and looked back at the statue. Was Akatosh really watching him? It must be true, for he had clearly received some form of blessing from the dragon. But why? Why him? "I don't understand," he mumbled in despair.

"I have seen you. It is your hand that will shape the lives of so many." She looked up at the sky, the sun now risin. "I have seen them. The Blades, the dead, the Thalmor. All shall be changed and more, by your actions."

"The Thalmor?" Beras inquired, now alarmed. "Are you with them?"

Dagail laughed. "No, child, no. They are but a poor misguided few, blinded by pride and arrogance, tearing things apart like infants while claiming they are the eldest of all." She breathed in heavily, and let out a long, echoing sigh. "Such sadness and anguish, splattering the pages of history with the blood of the fallen."

"I'm sorry," Beras said. "I shouldn't have assumed, just because of your race. I suppose my thinking all high elves are associated with those people is just as bad as the Thalmor thinking we're lesser beings."

Dagail gave him comforting look. "No, child. You have wisdom beyond your years, beyond all the years you will ever live. You have a deep fear rooted in your heart, one that screams out in your subconscious like a wounded dog." She looked back up at the sky before saying, "In time, you will conquer that fear. Then the fog enveloping your life will fade, and you will shine brighter than the sun."

Beras looked down. "You know so much about me, yet I know nothing. I can't use a sword, I can't use magic, and I'll never be able to fight back against the Thalmor."

Beras felt a withered and on his shoulder, and looked up. Dagail had stood, and was looking at him fondly. "Perhaps, child, those are paths that are not meant for you. I think you will come to find that you will walk a journey no other can follow."

They stood there for a few minutes, just the two of them, in total silence. Then Dagail cleared her throat. "Your time in this city grows short. You must go, child, regroup with your fellow Blades."

Still bewildered by how much the woman knew, Beras nodded and turned to leave the temple. Stopping just before he reached the door, he quietly asked, "Can you see my death?"

Dagail sighed. "Alas, no. That is a power only seen in the gods themselves."

Beras nodded gravely, and opened the door. As he stepped out into the early morning sun, he heard the old lady call to him,

"Take care, child. The world is at a turning point, and many lives will fall when the scales are tipped."