So this is the air. Real, pure, true air. What I am named after.

It's wonderful. I take a long, full breath, pulling in as much as I can, standing beneath the shadow of the sewer drain. I haven't had the courage to step out yet. The light is so bright it hurts my eyes, and I have to blink rapidly for several seconds before my sight adjust enough to make out the world now spread before me.

There's water. Vast, deep, and brilliant blue, reflecting the sky dotted with white drifts of cloud above. It laps at the banks, the sound crisp, and a dock stretches out into it, inviting.

White ruins stand tall on an island in the center, ivy growing up the broken structures. Mountains covered in a blanket of green trees stretch out behind it, going on as far as I can see.

So this is the world. This is a real, set place. And somewhere out there is the last Septim, Uriel's blood.

I slip forward, down the embankment, and walk along the dock out into the water. It's a gorgeous sight. Taking a moment, I soak it in. It's so . . . open. Bright. And light.

I feel . . . exposed. I rub my wrist and flex my shoulders, uncomfortable. The manacle chafes, but it feels good. Solid.

Turning around, I can just make out the jutting towers of a city at the top of the hill. The Imperial City, Baurus had said. And, as a stranger to this land, a good a place as any to start. I need supplies, and I need to get directions to the city of Chorrol.

Settling onto the end of the dock, I pull up the bottom of my robe and dip my feet into the water. Swishing them back and forth, I watch the clear liquid around them start to dim. I reach down and rub, scrubbing away the sewer grime and ruin dust. Once I'm satisfied, I stand, give them each a shake in turn to dry a bit, then turn around and step off the bridge back onto the shore. They are immediately coated with dirt again on the bottom, but dirt is far better than sewage, so I don't mind.

I make my way up the hill. It takes some climbing; it's steep. Then I have to circle around the tall stone building I arrive at, searching for a door. When I find it, I also find a bridge, and what looks like the larger city proper. I check the sign by the door closest first—and I find that I'm standing in front of the Imperial City Prison.

As I've just escaped from this place, it's best not to be spotted here. I don't see any guard, but I duck back down under the bridge anyway, slide down the hillside there and make my way up the other side, avoiding any visible line of site entirely before I slip through the door into the city.

There are two guards straight ahead once I'm in. There is no sneaking around them, ducking past, or pretending I didn't just come through the door outside the prison after never having entered it (as far as I know). My hood is still pulled low over my eyes, though. I'm conspicious in a red robe, certainly, but not recognizable as anyone in particular. Banking on that, I simply walk past casually, looking ahead as though in my own thoughts, and don't glance at either of them.

They let me pass without barely a curious look.

No wonder the Emperor and all his sons were assissinated in this city; security is atrocious. Every assassin that came after us was dressed in this robe before they summoned their black armor—someone should have sent a bulletin out by now not to let anyone go wearing one. That would be a problem for me that I hadn't thought about, but I was too aggrevated to care. I wasn't planning to be here long, anyway.

There are two shops straight ahead, and two side roads lined with even more. I continue to the one in front of me, with the sign picturing a book and reading "First Edition" dangling above it.

There is a draw there I don't bother questioning.

The man behind the counter greets me as I come in, and I nod politely before browsing. Nothing of interest pops out at first—at least, not of interest to my purposes. I have to resist paging through random volumes just for fun. When I find a Manual of Spellcraft, I pluck a copy free and flip it open.

"The most powerful mages in Tamriel were once beginners. They all had similar early experiences: exposure to magic kindled an interest and/or unlocked some latent ability, followed by years of hard work—"

Huh. I wonder if I—never mind, it doesn't matter.

"These intrepid souls honed their skills, learned new spells, and vigorously trained their minds and bodies to become the formidable figures they were known as during their later lives. The Mages Guild of Tamriel has long been the first stop on a long road to knowledge and power for many individuals."

This sounds promising.

"Providing magical services to the general public, the Guild offers a wide variety of spells for purchase, and is recommended as a first stop for any aspiring spellcaster. . . . Citizens interested in the further use of magic should consult their local Mages Guild Arch Magister."

I reshelve the book and ask over my shoulder, "Might I trouble you as to where to find the local Mages Guild?"

"Hm?" The storeowner doesn't sound all too enthused about my lack of actual purchases so far. "You mean the Arcane University? Just go through the doors to the left when you leave here, then go two doors left again and straight through the Arboretum."

University? Even more promising. My lack of funds, however, might be a problem. "Thank you."

A Guide to the Imperial City has a short section dedicated to the University, I find. I smirk as it read it; the author obviously heald no love for Mages or this part of the city.

"This place is unspeakably dirty and unkempt, no better than a slum. You will never find the students or wizards outside in the air, for they are squatting in their dark dungeons poring over profane texts and making crabbed scribbles on scrolls."

The Guide to Chorrol, while initially exciting, provides me with nothing. I recall, too late, that Baurus specified that Weynon Priory was outside the city, and the book is next to useless.

I almost drop the book entitled Amulet of Kings in my haste to open it.

". . . Akatosh gave to Alessia and her descendants the Amulet of Kings and the Eternal Dragonfires of the Imperial City. . . . So long as the Empire shall maintain its worship of Akatosh and his kin, and so long as Alessia's heirs shall bear the Amulet of Kings, Akatosh and his divine kin maintain a strong barrier between Tamriel and Oblivion, so that mortal man need never again fear the devastating summoned hosts of the Daedra Lords."

Contemplative, I finish the tome and replace it on the shelf.

I browse The Ten Commands of the Nine Divines because it sounded familiar, and find the names of gods I know. It brings me yet another good feeling to read about them. My faith is important to me, then. This book I wish to buy.

Money have I not, however, and I am painfully aware of it. I feel bad for the shopkeeper, who has watched me with the hope of making some coin.

I turn to him again. "Do you know where I can sell armor?"

He frowns. "Plenty of places around here. Slash 'N Smash, The Best Defense, A Fighting Chance, and probably a few others. Just walk up and down the street and pick a store."

"I'll be back then, I hope. Thank you for your patience."

He seems appeased at that. "You're welcome anytime."

I take his advice, and make my way to one of the squares of commerce in the district. I find a shop called Jensine's "Good as New" Merchandise, and figure that sounds like the right place for me. I step in and up to a woman I assume is Jensine behind a table serving as a counter.

"How can I help you?" She's friendly enough.

I don't like to do this, but I unstrap the leather armor I'd been carrying and pass it over to her. May you go on to defend someone else in battle.

I also hand over every healing potion I'd pilfered while in the dungeons and sewers, saving the magicka potions for myself. If I have magic, I can heal—magicka potions are far more important than healing potions. The lockpicks go, too, since I can spell a lock open apparently; not to mention I don't really plan on breaking in to too many places.

Leaving the store, I've made over three-hundred and fifty gold. I don't know what that will get me at the college, but I hope for some good spells.

I'm not entirely sure of my own skills, now that I think on it. Fire seems to come easy, and healing. What else is up my sleeve? I'm obviously not a novice. Will someone at the University know me?

Deciding I'll deny it if they do, I take off. It doesn't matter what I told the shopkeeper at the bookstore; spells first. I might need them on my mission. Food, as well. Then, if I have anything left, I'll pick up some books.

Following the directions I was given, I back track and then head through an area that is basically a pretty cemetary. I walk through the headstones, admiring the craftmenship here and there, mood sobering. I'm wasting too much time. I have to find the Emperor's son, before he ends up in a grave like his father.

The Arboretum is more statues and trees. I'm through it and crossing another bridge quickly enough. The new area is open, with stairs flanked by violet flames and tall trees leading up to a central tower, the other half of the circular section blocked off by locked iron gates. The tower, however, is open, and I enter.

The circular area houses two benches, several more doors, a counter with various items, and a glowing sigil on the floor, like a dias. It draws my eye immediately, but whatever it is, it's unimportant.

There are two mages doning blue robes chatting together; an elegant Altmer woman with dark hair up in a high bun, and an Imperial man with lose, greying hair and a gentle smile. As I approach, the woman steps away and the man greets me warmly.

"Welcome to the Arcane University. Can I help you with something?"

How to approach this? I will not be telling anyone I have no memories, not even for help figuring out what spells I might know. I mull my options over silently for a moment. The man appears curious, but waits patiently.

"I'm looking into joining the guild," I finally say. "Wondering if it would be worth my time."

"Oh?" His brow cocks, like he's amused at my feigned arrogance.

"Maybe you could . . . evaluate me. See if the guild has anything to offer me."

"I suppose I could. Maybe we should step outside."

I take a heaving breath in, trying to now show how winded I am. The hood helps, but I doubt I'm fooling my evaluator. He's still smiling, as he has been throughout the exercizes, confident and calm, enjoying the sport in it.

He's been brilliant, deciding a school of magic, then naming spells on the fly for me to use against him, blocking, avoiding, and dispeling the ones I manage, moving on quickly when he calls one I don't know. He grades them as they come, most falling under either Novice or Apprentice levels. He seems impressed by my range of abilities, noticing that Destruction and Alteration seem to be my strong suites. All the information he provides, as well as the proctice is exetremely helpful to me. Spells came easily as he suggested them, the associated casting being wonderfully natural once the thought is planted in my mind. I perform several spells I hadn't known I'd known, or had even occur to me.

I end up going through my own restore magicka potions, but it seems worth it considering the knowledge I've aquired. I feel much more comfortable with myself and my magic once he claps his hands together, slipping out of his defensive stance smoothly.

"I think we're all done here."

I nod, rolling my shoulders as I come out of my solid attack pose to stand more at ease.

He approaches casually. "You certainly have a solid foundation to build on. Attacking is definately your strong suite. Most of your other spells are assistive in comparison. All that's left is—do you have skill in Alchemy?"

"Not especially." I'm getting used to my brain supplying answers that I didn't know. "Basic plant identification and uses, healing potions mostly."

He nods. "That fits with your skill sets so far. You're a fighter, that's for certain. Now the only real question is: are you also a scholar? If so, the Mages Guild would love to have you."

"And I'd love to be a part of it."

He looks pleased. I think he genuinely likes me. It's an odd feeling, after the Emperor. "Then you'll need to get recommendations from all the local guild halls in Cyrodiil. Just go to each of the cities and talk to the head mage in charge, they'll tell you what to do. Once you've gained all their favors, come back here for full initiation."

"Do you have any spells you'd recommend I aquire before getting on the road? Or venturing into a den of vampires?"

Raising his eyebrows, he peers at me for a moment before laughing. "Planning on putting those warrior skills of yours to use?"

"Yes, sir."

"All I sell are above your skill level at the moment, but I might recommend checking the Mystic Emporium and Edgar's Discount Spells here in town, as well as The Gilded Carafe for potions. Besides restore magicka potions, you seem like you can handle yourself; you have a good head for spellwork, though I admit I haven't seen you in a true fight."

"Thank you for all your help."

"It's been my pleasure." He holds out his hand and, after a moment, I take it and shake solidly. "I'm Raminus Polus, by the way. Master-Wizard."

"Erin."

"I look forward to seeing you here again, Erin."

"Likewise."

I take Raminus' advice and hit the Mystic Emporium and Edgar's Discount Spells. I'm surprised and pleased at the prices I find in both places, and I purchase quite a few in the Apprentice range to suppliment my spellset. Then I head to The Gilded Carafe and ended up arguing with the shopkeeper for longer than I would have liked over the prices. I walked away with far fewer—and weaker—potions of sorcery than I would have liked, and a light coinpurse indeed.

Not so light that I didn't stop in at the First Edition and spend the last of it on books, however. A quick stop off at one of the weapons shops to pawn my dagger gives me even more spending money (not enough for a good quality potion, though, curse that vendor), which I use on food at the nearest inn, then I pick up copies of most everything I had looked at or found helpful before, plus a few others just for my personal reading, since they were so cheap. All four volumes of A Brief History of the Empire, a thick tome of adventure and archealogy entitled The Ruins of Kemel-Ze, and a few shorter works on the gods.

Broke but pleased, I finally set out for the city gates. I have to pass through two more sections of the city—a garden area and a more residential section with a statue of a dragon in it—before I get there. I have to cross yet another bridge, this one far larger than the other two I previous encountered, before I pass a small inn and actually seem to find myself on the road. A sign points the way to several cities in several directions, and I follow the one pointing to Chorrol to my right.

I admire the Imperial City as I skirt around it in my walk. It's settled in the center of an island, apparently, explaining the largest of the bridges that stretches out of the water (but not the other two, which only went over more land; maybe they have a flood season?). I have a very barebones map, curtesy of the bookstore shopkeep, showing how the main road wraps all the way around the island in a big cirle, the roads to all the other cities branching off from it in all directions.

The city makes a beautiful centerpiece, I must admit. Tall and proud, the spire stands in the middle, stretching high up into the blue sky and towering above the rest of the city, even with it's high walls that dwarf the landscape around it. It is a fortress, intimidating and yet elegant, solid and glowing almost white in the sunlight.

The road to Chorrol breaks off fairly quickly, and I leave the great, towering city behind me as I turn to the west and start trecking uphill. I pass a soldier on patrol rather quickly. I move aside to avoid him, but he turns his horse to intercept me, looking worried.

"Ma'am, I would recommend turning back if I were you. Seek shelter in the Imperial City."

"I just came from there. I'm traveling to Chorrol."

He fidgets in his saddle, then sighs. "Then stick to the roads and go quickly. It's not safe in the wilderness."

I turn more towards him. "How so?"

He looks far from eager to tell me. "There have been reports . . . sightings . . . of daedra."

My eyes narrow. "I see. Thank you for the warning, sir. I will be swift."

Nodding, he looks a least a bit relieved by my assurance. "Be safe then."

"You as well."

His brow furrows, a bit startled at being told to stay safe, apparently. I suppose most don't worry about armed guards. But he nods.

"Thank you."

I continue up the hill. He steers his horse away and I listen to the clop of hooves as he and I grow farther apart. Soon enough, I'm alone again with the sounds of the wind in the trees and the occasional nearby animal. It's calm, soothing, and I find I enjoy my steady pace and lack of event in my life. I suppose this is probably my first real moment of 'down time,' as my life has begun with quite the adventure, if you could call it that. Everything I have done until now has been for the mission. There is nothing to do now except walk, and my thoughts are my own.

I don't really like that part. Where will my thoughts, with so little to preoccupy them, go at a time like this? I have resolved not to think on the past of the me that no longer exists, but its hard not to drift in that direction. I have nothing else except that mystery and the death of my first friend.

I wonder if he and Baurus are still in the underground. I would hope Baurus would have been able to get his body out of there, that the Emperor might recieve a proper buriel and be mourned by his people. The captain and Glenroy deserve heroes' funerals, as well.

"Turn over your gold, or forfit your life!"

". . . what?" Shaking out of my revelry, I stop and look up. In front of me is a khajit man clad it fur armor, trying to stare me down menacingly.

After several attacks on my life by trained assassins, this bandit hardly seems a threat. His appearance is almost comical.

"Hand over your gold, elf," he repeats with a growl.

"I have no gold." It's true enough.

"Oh, anything of value will do." He replies amiably, as though this were a simple discussion of trade.

"Define 'of value.'"

His patience wears thin quickly. "Hand over your belongings before I gut you, mage."

"If you can tell I'm a mage just by looking, why would you challenge me?"

"What, you think you are better than Khajit just because you have fancy spells?" He pulls a large warhammer. "I will crush you!"

I clench my fists, apprehension growing. "Walk away, friend."

"That is what you should have done while you had the chance!" He heaves the hammer in my direction.

I dodge to the left, but he's faster than he looks, swinging that warhammer as he moves after me. He keeps me on my toes, moving this way and that, and I am concerned over my lack of ability to respond. I can feel the heat in my shoulders, fire building beneath my skin, ready to defend me—

And I see Uriel before me, falling, dark metal masks on anonymous faces, the stink of burning flesh, the fire is so hot, burning, screaming, red robes, black weapons, death and bowels and sick and pain and failure—

"NO!"

Heart racing, chest heaving, I call a blade to my aid, iron from another plane of existance being pulled into this world, into my hand, and I let the hammer hit me, whirl me around and down, and I dip under the next swing and come up—

I jam the blade into his neck. He chokes on the blood that gurgles forth, spits as he tries to breathe, coughs, hammer dropping, claws scratching at me, and then his hands fall, and he goes limp and heavy and just falls away, sliding right off my dagger and to the ground. He even rolls a bit, before his body settles, limp, in the dirt.

I'm gasping. My back and shoulder aches where the hammer hit me. I'm staring at him. I can't look away.

My whole body convulses. I heave. Heave again. I stumble back, brace myself against a rock, and wait. I continue to tremble, my stomach churns, my throat constricts, and I almost wish the sick would come; but it doesn't. After a few minutes, things settle down, and all I'm aware of his my wet face and the waning cool of the day.

Calling fire had been easy enough when Raminus had asked. But he had wanted little more than a demonstration, and I had felt no danger, no unease or urgency. This . . . this had been different. This I don't like.

Fire was pain and death and had failed to protect the Emperor. What good would it serve his son? I can't trust it. I can't trust myself with it.

Still practically doubled over, I turn slightly to glance back at the body in the road.

A bandit. Just a simple bandit. He would have killed me. I had to fight back.

But he was no assassin. It just doesn't feel the same. I wish he had walked away. I wish I hadn't had to do that. I wish I wasn't so quick to kill him.

I don't like killing people, I realize. Something new to know about myself.

Further up the road, I pass another patrolman. I give him a rather wide berth, and don't acknowledge him when he hails me.

Daedra, the other had warned me. Inhuman beings, viscious creatures that would kill you in a heartbeat that it most likely won't twinge your conscience one bit to kill. Those, they warned me about.

Not people. Not people just like me, who grew up and had parents and might have siblings or families, who are living, no matter how you might disagree with those choices. A hold up for money on the side of a road. People.

Did he deserve to die? He would have killed me. He's probably killed others. Did I have the right to pass that judgement? It's too late now, and there's no room for regret. I am alive; I must stay alive. Uriel's son is out there, and I must find him. I have a purpose.

The round curves around the side of a steep hill, a wooden fence rimming the edge to keep travelors safe. I run my fingers along it, looking out the way I've come. The view is, in a word, spectacular. It's an almost clear, treeless picture of the Imperial City below, bathed in the purples, pinks, and blues of a pastel sunset, all reflected in the surrounding water. A constellation is beginning to show through the lights and clouds. I sigh, watching the sight do nothing but be breathtaking, and then when a breeze reminds me that night is coming and with it, the cold, I turn back around to trudge on up the hill. Movement below catches my eye.

The patrolman has hopped off his horse, and is checking the body in the road.

I leave.

The path eventaully runs straight through an old ruin, and two wolves rush out of the woodwork to ravage me. This, somehow, isn't frightening at all. In fact, I reach my arm out and, when one of the wolves chomps down on it, I use my other hand to touch it. With the contact of skin and fur comes the most natural feeling of communication, comradourie, family; stunningly, the wolf seems to agree. It releases me and turns on its skin.

I watch the fight with a morbid fascination. My new friend takes down his former companion, as the other wolf hadn't expected the attack, and then pats back over to me for another petting. He continues to follow me as I walk beneath the ruins and out the other side—only to be ambushed again.

"Your money—"

He's barely started his spiel when the wolf comes charging past me and sinks its teeth into him.

"Arg! Get off, you mutt—"

After a few seconds of struggling, he flings the wolf off. The beast lands rather easily and returns for round two, nipping at his heels while he tries to keep his eyes on both of us. I've taken to circling him, and I assume he finds it menacing, because he refuses to let me out of his sight, even to fend off the wolf attack.

Slinging a mace around, he lands a hit on the wild dog. It shrieks in pain, whimpering, and limps out of range of the weapon. Feeling rather protective of my new pet, summon my dagger and step forward.

I try not to think. It's difficult. I try to suppress it, to beat down on the heat I feel trying to escape. I still see flashes, as I dodge and slash and the bandit sneers and growls and taunts, flashes of other faces, other places, smell the stink of burning corpes . . .

The knife slips in easily, between where the front and back padding of the cuirass meet above his hip. A little twist, a sharp jerk, dragging it up, cuts up his insides, has blood gushing out over my hands. I sidestep it, not wishing to mix it with the blood of the Emperor on my robes.

He falls to his knees, clutching at the wound.

"Please—"

I won't hear him beg; he made his choice.

I slice his throat, let him fall face first onto the rocky stone path, and then go to the whining wolf a few feet away, determined not to think about it, don't think about it—

The wolf snarls and snaps at me as I approach. Ah. The spell's worn off.

Don't think.

I let it bite me again, and while it gnaws on me, trying to do damage, I thrust the knife into it's neck. Just like the assassin. Just like the first bandit.

There's another wolf at the bottom of the hill. I feel tired. So tired.

I cast a few healing spells as I walk away, leaving it bleeding in the road like the other, lifeless eyes staring back at any new travelors that might come this way.

So tired. I pull out an apple and bite into it, feeding myself while I walk. It's probably the best thing I've ever tasted, almost fresh, crisp and juicy. I toss the core to the roadside when I'm done, and, still hungry, start peeling a potato absentmindely.

Don't think.

Eventually, a small farm comes up on my right. I debate on knocking. The last light of day has vanished, the sky now growing dark with punctures of stars. There seems to be another building at the top of the hill, though, so I continue on.

Come to find, it's a chapel. There's also another small farm building and a larger stone structure with a nameplate that, thankfully, designates it my destination: Weynon Priory.

Three hours on the road, two dead bandits, three dead wolves, and I'm finally here.

Seeing no lights in the chapel and, figuring it's late, I knock on the middle building's door. A monk answers. He's balding, with long brown robes, and a simple look about him.

"Good evening, sir. Can I help you with something?"

"I need to speak with brother Jauffre."

His brow furrows. "He's probably sleeping . . . but to come so late, it must be important. Please, come in. You may head upstairs and wake him."

I bow in thanks as he ushers me inside. There's a small sitting area by a fireplace to the side, but directly in front in a staircase that branches left and right.

"The sleeping area is to the left." The monk informs me. "Though, brother Jauffre does keep late nights. You might try his study, on the right."

So search the whole second floor on both sides, because you obviously aren't very helpful? I nod and try to right first, as he said.

It's in use; a man I assume is Jauffre is seated behind a desk near the window at the front of the building, pouring over a book. He's dressed much the same as the other monk, grey hair on each side of his head but none on top, aged but not decrepid.

"Brother Jauffre?"

He looks up, then sets his book aside slowly, eyeing me with a careful gaze that doesn't match his smile.

"I am Jauffre. What can I help you with?"

I don't know what to say. Where to begin, how to explain. So I don't.

Pulling the Amulet of Kings from my bag, I drop it onto the desk in front of Jauffre.

He jumps out of his seat. "By the Nine! This is the Amulet of Kings! No one but the Emperor is permitted to handle it—who are you? How did you get this?"

"'The Prince of Destruction is born anew in blood and fire. Find my son, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion.'" I can still see him, standing in the flickering light of my flames, all in a haze, eyes serious and set. "Those were the last words of Emperor Uriel Septim. He gave me this Amulet and tasked me to take it to you, and protect his son."

Jauffre continues to peer at me over the table, one hand on the Amulet as though to protect it from me. "And who are you that you would have been with the Emperor at his death? That he would trust you with such a task?"

Who, indeed? "I am no one. The Emperor said he saw me in a dream, and he trusted me, so I followed at his side till the end."

"In a dream?" Jauffre lets his hand slip away from the Amulet at this, standing straighter. "Emperor Uriel had many dreams in his life, many of them prophetic. So he knew ahead of time that he could depend on you, at least with this."

But, apparently, not with saving his life.

"What did he mean, then? About the 'Prince of Destruction' and 'close shut the jaws of Oblivion'? Do you know?"

"The Prince of Destruction is most certainly Mehrunes Dagon, the Deadric Prince of the same. Uriel seemed to perceive some threat from Oblivion, Mehrunes' Plane of existance. But what threat, I do not know."

"I was warned of rising daedra sightings in the wilderness on my journey here."

"This does not bode well at all. There is a magical barrier between our world and the other planes. Oblivion should not be able to threaten us as long as those barriers are in place. But we do not know how they work, or how they could be torn down. This threat is not one we have the first clue how to face." Jauffre takes his seat again, picking up the Amulet slowly; he eyes it, turning it in his hand, and begins speaking again. "The Amulet of Kings is ancient, a gift to Saint Alessia herself from the gods. When an Emperor is crowned, he uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City, though the particulars of the ritual are known only to the Emperors, or what purpose the Dragonfires serve. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark for the first time in centuries . . . It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of."

Sighing, he sets the Amulet back down.

"I know nothing of such things," I say simply. "I only wish to find the Emperor's son, as he bade me with his dying words."

"That shouldn't be hard. Uriel had me keep an eye on the boy growing up, after I was tasked with taking him away and delivering him somewhere safe. Uriel never actually told me he was his son, but I knew. He asked about him from time to time. His name is Martin. Last I heard, he served as a priest of Akatosh in the temple at Kvatch."

"Then I go to Kvatch."

Jauffre nods. "That seems wise. If the enemy finds out of his existance, he'll be in great danger, so go quickly. Bring him back here. It appears he is heir to the throne, and he doesn't even know he is Uriel's son. There will be much to explain. Go, and take whatever you need. We don't have much here, but you're welcome to my things."

Getting up, Jauffre heads over to a chest by the wall and unlocks it, popping it open. "If you need anything else, you can ask Brother Piner or Prior Maborel."

The chest has a few weapons, two sets of armor, and an assortment of potions. I nab the healing and sorcery bottles, but that's about all I want out of it.

Jauffre seems put off by what little I've claimed. "Are you certain you don't wish to take some armor?"

I wave his concerns away.

Frowning, he nods none-the-less. "Do you need any rest before you go? It is late."

"Do I have time to waste on sleep? I wasted enough gathering supplies in the Imperial City."

"You will be useless as a bodyguard if you are not properly rested. Please, use one of the beds here. We'll have food prepared for you in the morning for when you go."

Part of me doesn't want to stay. Uriel's son—this Martin—is so close, it feels like. My mission, my purpose, is right in front of me.

"How far is Kvatch?"

"Eight and a half, maybe nine hours travel by the road."

I press my eyes shut, cringing. "Alright then, I must accept your hospitality."

"A wise choice. We will have things ready on the morrow. Please, right this way."

"Are the walls closing in, Bosmer? Can you even breathe?"

I can't. I can't breathe. Walls, walls on all sides. No trees. No trees. Fire. Flickering. Flames, flames.

"You are the one from my dreams."

Where am I? So hot. Pain. Pain.

"If you are here, then . . . this is the day. Gods give me strength."

Harbinger of death. Omen. Sign. My fault. My fault.

"It is the gods who have put them on this path with us, and they must follow it to the end."

The end. To what end? Who's end? All ends?

"What is your name?"

My name . . . my name . . . Gods, what is my name?

I feel a pulsing blaze bubble beneath my skin, coursing through the veins in my arm, riding up my flesh until it bursts, burning, from my palm.

I can hear screaming.

A few steps has me standing at the top of those few steps, the prostrate, hooded form laying sprawled at the bottom. The face stairs straight up in silent agony, skin almost gone, burst bubbles of blood and puss marring what was once a woman's face.

Death. I have dealt death.

The stink of seared flesh, released bowels, and blood polutes the air.

Air. I need air.

I'm being eaten. Eaten alive. I should be eaten alive. I should feel pain.

My fault. Mine.

"In your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness."

Harbinger. Not hope. I bring the end. The end. All ends.

"They could be a murderer for all we know."

I could be. I am.

"I shall call you Erin, for it sounds like the air you so desire."

Air. Can't breathe.

"The Prince of Destruction is born anew in blood and fire."

Blood. Fire. So much fire. Heat, burning, screaming. They're screaming. I'm screaming. It burns.

"Find my last son. Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion."

"Go, Erin."

Erin.

Erin.

Air.

Behind him, a hand is raised.

He stands there, staring, as the blade bursts forth from his neck, wet with his blood, flames flickering on the steel. Blood and fire.

Gasping, I press my face into the pillow. It's stiffling, even harder to breathe, but I don't want to make any sound. When my breathing evens out, I stay there, listening to the nothing.

It's almost just as suffocating.

There's no more sleep tonight.

Brother Piner, Prior Maborel, and Jauffre are all up the next morning, before the sun even rises. They pack me a bag of food, have a horse saddled and waiting, and say a prayer in the chapel before I go. I sit with them, silent, soaking up the words as they ring out, rise up to the gods.

They don't see me off, but go back to their daily duties as I climb up onto the horse and start a slow trot off into the morning fog.

Despite what the watchman said, I veer off the road as soon as I'm out of sight of the Priory; I'd rather face daedra than more bandits.

The wilderness doesn't offer much in way of a path. I steer around rocks and trees, up and down hills, past ruins and fallen trunks all as they come, keeping the rising sun to my left and to the rear as I go. According to the map, Kvatch is south-west, with a bit more west along the way. If I undershoot it, I'll hit the road, which is fine. Overshooting it will land me on the coast and I'll have to take the road anything, so I aim to undershoot.

The plan goes rather smoothly. The ride is uneventful. Besides having to outrun a few wolves and adjust my course around ruins and too-steep hills, I rarely even have to steer. Riding feels good. I honestly hadn't even thought about if I could ride before I'd hopped on the horse. It's natural, leaning against the movements, keeping my seat, bobbing with the rythm of the gallop in those stretches of openness. The only unenjoyable part is my once again unoccupied thoughts.

I need to be doing something. I hate thinking. I have nothing to think about except . . .

Things I don't want to think about.

I won't.

Three hours if far better than ten, and three hours is about how long it takes before I find myself back on the road, headed for the base of the rocky hill that Kvatch is built on. The city looks like a castle high above, and the winding road up to the entrance snakes through rough terrain at what I expect will be an agonizingly slow pace.

That expectation is interrupting as an Altmer comes running towards me down the road with a look of abject terror on his face. He's tripping over himself, he's in such a panic.

When he sees me, he cries out, "What are you doing!? You're going the wrong way! Run, run while you can! The daedra—they're coming!"

He makes as if to continue running past me—I reach out and snag him by the shirt collar, tugging him back.

"What daedra? Explain."

"Kvatch is overrun! A glowing portal opened outside the walls last night—gates to Oblivion itself! Daedra swarmed us, blasting fire, killing everyone! The guards are holding the road, but it's only a matter of time before they are overwhelmed!"

He struggles against my hold, trying to move away, sweat running down his face and neck. I grip him tighter.

"What of the priest, Martin? Did anyone else get out alive?"

"The priest? I don't know. The survivors have gathered in a camp on the road, hoping the guards will retake the city, but there is no hope! Run while you can! Release me, I must get out of here before they get me!"

Disgusted, I fling him away. He doesn't waste a second, regaining his feet and taking off.

"Heya!" I spurr my horse forward, the camp he mentioned just in sight. A group is gathered, and I can overhear there words of woe and hopelessness as I ride up. I pull next to them, not slowing quick enough and having to yank the reigns.

"Is Martin here? Have any of you seen the priest?"

They glance at each other, and a woman shakes her head. "I don't think he made it out of the city, but Savlian Matius might know more. He leads the guard that is holding the road up ahead."

I give the horse a kick, whip the reigns, and lean forward as we pick up spead, rounding corner after corner as we climb the hill.

No no no this can't be happening, I can't be too late—

The sky is growing abnormally dark as we press on. Thunder shakes the air, and a red tint paints the world around me. The atmosphere is heavy, hot.

Fire.

Unfamiliar stars light the way through crimson clouds and a black sky as I ride my way into a group of soldiers settled behind a wooden barricade, gazing up in anger and fear at the towering terror before them—the Oblivion gate.

It looks like two giant horns have pierced through the earth and up, up! Flames dancing between them, an even brighter burning center suspended like a giant eye. The landscape surrounding it is dead, grey and black, charred to nothing, the trees barren and burned like kindling, pieces of the great wall around the city crumbled and scattered. And scamps are pouring from the gate, shooting balls of fire from their claws, shrieking as they charge us.

The guards rush to meet them, swords drawn and battle cries ringing in the air.

Jumping off the Prior's horse, I join them.

Dagger summoned, the whole battle is basically a hack-and-slash. There's an archer behind us, picking them off, as the rest of us cut our way through the creatures. They're tougher than they look, with thick hides, sharp teech and claws, and a lot of fire power. The heat builds as we fight closer to the gate. I can feel it inside me as well, can see the flashes again.

Masks.

Maces.

Knives.

Fire.

Swords.

Uriel.

The last scamp falls, and one of the soldiers—the leader, it would seem—trudges over to me.

"What do you think you're doing? Get back down the hill with the other villagers, civillian—this is too dangerous!"

I twirl my knife, and it bursts into puffs of sparkling yellow smoke. "I am not one of your villagers, and I am not your responsibility. I can handle myself. Now tell me, what of the priest, Martin? Does he live? Do you know?"

His brow furrows as he glowers at me. "The priest? Last I saw, he was leading a group of survivors to the chapel of Akatosh. If he's lucky, they're all trapped inside—and safe. But with this gate here, we have no way back inside to help get them out. And we're barely holding our own out here as it is, trying to keep them from ovverruning the encampment, let alone mounting a rescue."

"Then tell me what to do."

"What?" His eyes shoot open. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." I snap. "Whatever it takes."

He seems to see my resolve, and becomes serious. "Alright then. We know the gates can be closed—there were more here, originally, during the initial attack. I sent men into the gate to find out if they could close this one, but . . . none have come back."

We both turn to the gate. It stands, foreboding, forbidding, in our path.

"Go after them." Savlian commands. "See if they're alive, and assist them if you can. If not . . . well, if we can't close the gate, we're doomed. So this could mean your death, but . . . just, find a way. Close the gate."

I swallow, fear growing in my chest, biting at me, gnawing. I don't want to go in there; no one would. I can hear the screams of my nightmares in my ears.

"Consider it done."

I march toward the gate, up to the fire, and straight through the pillers and the flames. They whip around me, hot but harmless, and a ringing sound envelops me, the ground falls out from beneath my feet, and I'm being stretched, squished, pulled, torn, and falling, falling—

I stumble out the other side. Into Oblivion.