DRAGON CRISIS

Destiny Unraveled

II

23rd of Evening Star, 4E 202

Winter's breath had picked up that morning when they reached the uphill route to the village of Ivarstead. Ziiah was half-bent on leaving the carriage and finding a bear to kill and skin but was persuaded otherwise when she saw an angry and hungry-looking troll patrolling the shores of the nearby Treva river. Silent as the grave, Ziiah snuggled closer to Kaani who didn't mind the closeness. She even threw her cloak around the girl, embracing her while smiling. Such a kid, the Khajiit thought as they sat in silence while she rubbed Ziiah's arms to get the blood running through her veins.

"Better?" Kaani asked.

Ziiah scoffed.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Kaani said with a chuckle.

A couple of hours later, the carriage finally reached the premises of the village. Several houses dotted the main road, along with a smaller farm and a mill. Ziiah could see a dreadful-looking barrow as they entered the village. It was resting atop a hill, overlooking the barrow from plain view. Ziiah squinted her eyes as the sun shone in the distance, casting a halo around the ruin, making it look more holy than hallow. The carriage rolled for a while longer until it stopped. Kaani stood up first to go down from the carriage and Ziiah followed shortly after.

"Now what?" Ziiah asked as she looked around, seeing no one around them.

Kaani looked around as well and noticed a hanging sign; it spelled Vilemyr Inn. She nodded her head toward the inn and beckoned Ziiah to follow her. Upon entering, they were once again met with a rather small company but a company nonetheless. An innkeeper, a couple of guardsmen, and a few civilians all sat around a large firepit. Kaani told Ziiah to sit down as well while she made her way toward the innkeeper. Nodding, Ziiah watched the Khajiit leave her be, making a beeline toward the bar. Crouching down, Ziiah took off her leather gloves and placed them on her lap before stretching out her arms toward the fire. Opening and closing her palms, Ziiah patiently held her hands near the fire. A hair-width more and the fiery tongues could have burned her fingertips. She didn't mind it. As the flames danced in front of her, she felt a very strange sensation course through her gut and back. It was akin to a first kiss but less invigorating. It was a calm before the storm, a certain promise, confidence at its finest. The fire didn't scare her, not like it used to. She recalled the flames of the Thalmor that were cast at her mother the day she died. The once painful memory was no more, merely a recollection of past events. Have I gotten over it? she wondered, pondering on the conversation she had with Brynjolf earlier that year. Have I healed?

No, she heard in the back of her mind, albeit subtly. You just forgot.


Dawn had settled on Winterhold. The northern shores were frozen solid. The hills were covered in thick layers of ice and snow, the color of brilliant white. When the sun kissed the ground, it shimmered and glistened like thousands of perfectly cut diamonds. The luminescence reached even the highest of peaks and towers. As she stood atop the main tower, Sybil observed the scenery of Winterhold. So many responsibilities weighed on her shoulders. So many people depended on her, relied on her, and looked up to her. They called her their leader and master - the Arch-Mage. Sybil began to wonder what the title even meant to her. Once, it was all she wanted. She desired admiration, respect, reverence, and worship to some extent.

However, as she came to personify those very aspirations, she found herself still wanting.

She closed off and buried herself in the work. Her objective was simple - find another aspiration, and the Synod - whom everyone at the College despised - always had an obsession or two which they pursued relentlessly. Sybil adopted their philosophy and devoted herself to an utter and singular search for the mysteries of the universe. Meanwhile, as was to be expected, she neglected the mundane aspects of her life such as her health, friendships, and fiance. Distraught and genuinely worried for her sanity, Enthir worked tirelessly day and night, supporting his beloved in her quest. Love had long abandoned their relationship, having been replaced with respect and disrespect; loyalty and disloyalty; patience and irritation. The extremes varied based on their respective moods, the day of the month, the lunar cycle, the news, and letters that reached them at the moment.

The last year had taken a massive toll on Enthir and he was more than ready to give up.

"I have my businesses to run, woman," was what he'd shout at ignorant Sybil whenever he was fed up with her antics. "How long until you notice me missing?"

He never got his answer and after a while, he stopped hoping for one. Their situation was beginning to remind him of the infamous tale of Shalidor and how his manic episodes severed him from reality while those who cared for him were driven away. Geniality has its price, Enthir would often think as he watched Sybil pace around her tower. More and more, he saw her diminish a tinge further and he didn't wish to see the final outcome. One night, when his resolve was still strong, he took a piece of parchment and ink and wrote down a letter.

Dear Karliah,

Help me.


"Seven thousand steps?"

"That's what he said," Kaani confirmed with a nod. "Seven thousand steps to the monastery - they have counted."

Ziiah scoffed. "I'm not going up there. I will die of exhaustion by the first three hundred."

"Are you that much out of shape?" Kaani asked, twitching her whiskers. "So much for a master thief."

"This master thief has sustained terrible injuries and is not capable of walking seven thousand steps," Ziiah said, emphasizing the last three words.

Kaani rolled her eyes. "Do it just this once."

"Just this once and die, is that it?" Ziiah jabbed. "Besides, why can't you teleport us there?"

Kaani looked down. "I can't."

"Why?" Ziiah asked. "It wasn't an issue before."

"It is now," Kaani said. "That entire mountain, it's protected. Powerful magic seeped into the ground, making it unstable and impossible to maneuver. I can't get us to the top of the mountain safely."

Ziiah frowned. "It's just a mountain. Why is there so much magic?"

Kaani hummed. "Nordic legends speak of great battles waged here. Unspeakable disasters occurred that rendered the Throat of the World a magical marvel."

"Speak plain words, please," Ziiah dead-panned. "Spare me the theatricality."

"That's just it," Kaani said. "This place is one of the towers."

Ziiah cocked her head to the side. "The what?"

"Towers," Kaani repeated. "It's complicated and it involves a lot of metaphysics and big words - all of which you obviously don't like."

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't curious, Kaani," Ziiah said plainly.

Kaani frowned but didn't comment, instead deciding to explain the matter, "The towers are constructs that keep Nirn stable. Each tower has a stone that acts as a 'heart'."

"And Throat of the World is one of those towers," Ziiah said matter-of-factly. "How many are there? The towers, I mean."

Kaani sighed. "There's no clear consensus, of course, but the general belief is eight."

Ziiah hummed. "That's not much."

Kaani chuckled. "Indeed."

They fell into silence afterward, no longer speaking of towers. Instead, Ziiah focused on the fact she would have to climb seven thousand steps uphill. The very thought of the climb terrified her. How the fuck am I supposed to reach the monestery? she wondered with an internal whine. She remembered that she should've seen the healer before leaving Whiterun. Maybe Kaani can heal me, she thought, she better. Sighing, Ziiah buried her face in her hands, letting out a frustrated breath.

"When do we head out?" Ziiah murmured.

Kaani pouted. "With first light. You should get some sleep."

Ziiah scoffed. "It's past midnight, there's no point."

"I can brew you a sleeping draught," Kaani teased.

"Then you can be sure that I won't wake up before the first light," Ziiah said sarcastically, smiling as she rose to her feet. "You're right, though. Might as well try to sleep."

Kaani nodded and watched as her friend walked to their room. Ziiah glanced over her shoulder once, offering a knowing smile which Kaani returned along with a nod. Ziiah then entered the room and closed the door as Kaani's smile fell off her lips. A disgusting taste erupted in her mouth, bitter and sour at the same time. It felt like she threw up acid and swallowed it. Part of her wondered if she was thrusting her friend onto a path with no return. The other part contemplated if Kaani herself was thrust onto a path with no return. She recalled the pleading face of her friend Farengar and the strain in Hrongar's voice when they nearly begged them to see the Greybeards. For the people, Kaani thought bitterly. What have they ever done for us? And yet, while she believed the people were beyond redemption, she also knew that her personal experiences shouldn't impact her judgment. This is more than just us, she reminded herself but it hardly helped.

Kaani resisted the urge to groan, deciding to not bully herself and to just let things develop at their own pace. No point divining the future, Kaani, she thought cynically as she took a swig from her tankard.


Ziiah groaned as she felt someone rocking her.

"Go away," she mumbled before turning onto her side.

There was an exasperated sigh, followed by a more forceful tug. Ziiah felt her fur covering disappear, leaving her in thin leggings and an undershirt. The chill awoke her momentarily and she felt goosebumps appear on her extremities. Yelping, she sat up and stared at Kaani who merely stared at the Redguard woman with her arms crossed.

"I'm awake," Ziiah said sarcastically. "Happy?"

Kaani threw the covering back to Ziiah. "I'll be happy when we leave. I took the liberty of packing your stuff. I left your armor on the table."

Ziiah glanced at the table in question; true enough, her Guild armor was neatly folded and placed on the surface. On her feet, Ziiah walked over to the table and grabbed her armor. She didn't bother with appearance and quickly put on the cuirass and pants before fastening her boots and gauntlets. Good enough, she thought as she inspected the tightness of her buckles. Looking to her right, she saw Kaani waiting for her by the door. Her arms were folded and she tapped her left foot against the stone floor. Doesn't she get cold? Ziiah thought as she noticed that the Khajiit never wore boots but rather straps around her feet. Shaking away the intrusive thoughts, Ziiah grabbed her bag before leaving the room to rejoin Kaani. The two exchanged nods before heading out of the inn.


Even in winter, Falkreath Hold was an enchanting sight to behold. The layer of snow was modest and it rarely stuck for longer than a month. That was one of the reasons why Tarhrin decided to settle down in Lakeview Manor - it was the only place in Skyrim that remotely reminded him of the lush forests of Valenwood. Granted, he remembered little of his birthplace but even that little - the certain color of emerald green - was imprinted into his mind like a branding scar. He could never forget it, no matter how many years had passed.

And a lot of years had passed.

Tarhrin sighed, swirling the wine in his goblet. The sight atop his balcony was breathtaking, even though it overlooked the dreadful Bleak Falls Barrow. Nevertheless, he made sure to not look at that part of the landscape, focusing instead on Lake Ilinalta and the skyline above it. Shades of blue, purple, and orange mixed on the horizon, forming a beautiful dance of color. Tarhrin took in a deep breath, savoring the moment of rare bliss while completely ignoring the letter of summons by Jarl Balgruuf that was resting on the table next to him.

"My Thane."

Tarhrin didn't look at the intruder as he said, "You sound serious today, Rayya."

A short silence followed.

"Well," Tarhrin said, putting down his goblet, "I'm sure there's a reason for that."

Standing next to him was a relatively tall Redguard woman with short dark hair and golden brown eyes. Tarhrin's first thought of her when she became his bodyguard - or Housecarl, as they're called in Skyrim - was that she was really pretty. Too pretty to be a warrior, he thought. She hid her beauty under layers of purple fabrics and drew war paint over her face to hide her features. The heavy steel armor hid all of her natural curves. Tarhrin never asked why she hid so much of herself and figured it wouldn't be a good idea to pry - she was a formidable combatant and a single swing of her sword could have his head rolling down the hill.

He noticed that Rayya remained quiet, not answering his sort-of question. Odd.

"Rayya," Tarhrin said slowly, "I'm not accustomed to repeating myself, as you well know."

"Yes, my Thane," came a slow reply from the Redguard warrior. "It is just that I don't know how to relay the message I have for you."

Tarhrin frowned before he looked at her, "Message?"

Rayya bowed her head slightly. "Yes, my Thane. From one of your informants."

Ah, now I get it, Tarhrin mused, smiling. "Come now, it can't be that bad."

"It is," Rayya countered quickly.

Tarhrin closed his eyes. "He is dead."

Rayya was silent again.

Tarhrin sighed. "Who was it?"

"From what we've gathered, it was her," Rayya said.

"Her?" Tarhrin asked incredulously. "She survived?"

"Along with a couple of others, yes," Rayya answered.

"Imagine that," Tarhrin chuckled but the humorous tone in his voice quickly shifted to a serious one.

"What now, my Thane?" Rayya asked hesitantly. "If your hand is discovered in all of this - "

"If you watch your tongue, it won't," Tarhrin said coldly. "Send word to the informants to keep watch over the situation."

"What about you, my Thane?" Rayya asked. "The Manor could be compromised. They might come here next."

"Should they come, the Manor will be empty anyway," Tarhrin said, getting up from the bench. "Tell the Steward to pack a bag for me, only the essentials."

Rayya had no chance to respond as Tarhrin got inside the manor quickly. She sighed in frustration, debating whether to quit her job or not. In the end, she figured that it was either him or the pompous brat that sits on the throne of Falkreath - and she was not going back to that idiot.

She groaned before muttering under her breath, "You don't have a Steward, Tarhrin."


Elsewhere, a lonesome Dunmer was sitting on a large boulder near the shore. Her tattered leather armor provided little protection against the heavy rain that poured, not that it mattered to her in any way. Sighing, the Elf found herself wondering if her troubles had finally come to an end. After all, she had fulfilled her purpose. She asked no questions, she didn't fight with it. She accepted her fate and acted accordingly. However, sitting on the shores of Karth River, looking over the Katariah that was docked just beneath the great bridge of Solitude, she found herself wondering if it was all worth it; leaving her ancestral home, abandoning her principles, joining the enemy, bonding with the said enemy, going through utter betrayal, and robbing the Empire itself of its most important pillar. I'd rather hang myself than pursue personal, selfish desires, she remembered saying those exact words once to a relative of hers. Chuckling, she felt like a hypocrite - she was a hypocrite. At the end of the day, it didn't matter. What's done is done, she thought. Sighing again, she rose to her feet, and with a hesitant step she left southward, away from the mess she had made.


"Let's…make…camp…please."

"If we make camp here, we'll freeze to death."

"I'd rather die asleep than awake."

"Well, no one cares."

"Obviously."

Kaani rolled her eyes. "The monastery is just around this next hill."

ZIiah gave her a blank look. "You said the same thing three hills earlier!"

"I was wrong and I'm sorry," Kaani said honestly though Ziiah doubted her honesty at that point.

"Can't you conjure up a fire or something?" Ziiah asked, trotting after the Khajiit. "I don't feel my toes."

"I can't," Kaani groaned. "You're not the only one who's uncomfortable, by the way."

"I know," Ziiah pouted when the Khajiit pointed out the fact.

Dropping the topic, Ziiah grabbed the ends of her coat and wrapped them tighter around her person, desperately trying to warm up. The scenery around them also made it difficult. Wherever she looked, Ziiah saw snow. Piles of white snow covered the mountain and the trees that grew that far up the mountain. There was some wildlife, to make matters worse. Wolves, sabercats, and bears slept in the alcoves near the trail, occasionally pouncing on the pilgrims. Ziiah and Kaani had to fight off several of them along the way, along with some wraiths. Ziiah had never seen a wraith before and the encounter was terrifying. Luckily, Kaani used one of the scrolls to set the wraith ablaze and destroy it. Ziiah didn't miss out on the chance to berate the mage for not using one of the scrolls to warm them up.

"I'm not wasting ink and paper to make you comfortable," was Kaani's swift response.

Surprisingly, it wasn't only animals and chilled ghosts that they encountered on their journey. Several pilgrims had trotted the path that day as well and Ziiah was shocked to learn that none of them entered the monastery. One hunter going by the name Barknar said that he never even ventured high up the trail. The women soon learned that wolves were the least dangerous beasts they came across and that a troll had taken up residence on the mountain. Fortunately, Ziiah had invisibility potions in her bag and they sneaked past the beast successfully. Another intricate bit that kept them entertained was the standing stones. They were as tall as a grown man and nailed to the surface of the stones were plaquettes with various short texts. Ziiah read all of them while Kaani didn't bother, wanting to get to the monastery as soon as possible. She was bewildered by the fact that Ziiah had completely forgotten that she whined about being frozen.

"Are you kidding me?!" Kaani groaned. "This is what? Sixth, seventh?"

"Eighth. It's an interesting story," Ziiah said while looking at the plaquette. "Few sentences won't hurt us."

"You're unbelievable," Kaani muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, look," Ziiah said, pointing to the stone. "So the story is about ancient times and how dragons ruled over everything. Then, Kyne had a dragon teach the Man the Voice which lead to war."

Kaani nodded. "Dragon War."

Ziiah raised a brow. "You know this story?"

"Dragon War is Farengar's expertise so I know a lot about it," Kaani said while scratching her chin. "The Men won the war and drove the dragons out of the world. Afterward came Talos and the Third Empire."

Ziiah hummed. "Who's this Alduin, though?"

"Primordial god, worshiped by ancient Nords," Kaani said. "Why do you ask?"

Ziiah pointed to the stone. "The story says that the Man banished Alduin."

"Quite a statement," Kaani commented. "What else does the story mention?"

Ziiah gave her a sly look. "I thought we were in a hurry?"

"Shut up," Kaani said sharply.

Ziiah chuckled. "Okay, alright. The story moves on to the Red Mountain and how these Tongues were humbled there. A guy named Jurgen meditated on that defeat and became strong."

Kaani was silent for a moment. "Jurgen? I've never heard of him but the Tongues…I think the story is referring to the Battle of Red Mountain. I didn't know the Nord Tongues were present in that battle."

Ziiah frowned. "Could it be false?"

Kaani hummed. "Not necessarily. It is believed that the Battle caused a Dragon Break so perhaps, this story could be just another facet."

"Dragon Break?" Ziiah asked. "What's that?"

Kaani opened her mouth but suddenly stopped. Words seemed to be lost on her as she tried to think of an explanation.

"Dragon Break is," she began, "a tear in time. It's a temporal phenomenon. Dragon Break creates a state in which time splits into several parallel realities, all of which are essentially true."

Ziiah pouted. "I think I understand but wouldn't that cause some consequences in the future?"

Kaani bit her lower lip. "In a sense, yes. However, the outcome is always the same as the Dragon Break doesn't last forever and the realities merge into the singular timeline."

"So, the time is no longer split?" Ziiah asked. "What happens with the events that occurred in those other times?"

Kaani chuckled. "They remain true. That's what I meant by this story being just another facet. It's not a fabrication but rather, it's not part of everyone's history."

"Oh," Ziiah mused. "Still doesn't make sense to me, though."

"I'd be genuinely surprised if it did," Kaani scoffed as she linked their arms. "Let's go, I think we're close."

True enough, at the next corner they saw a massive tower ahead. Even in the blizzard, the tower dominated the landscape. That's High Hrothgar, Ziiah mused. Impressive. The tower was just a part of the large castle-like structure, built from stone. As they came closer, they noticed a large staircase leading up to the monastery which then bifurcated into separate stairs that connected to the front doors. Ziiah and Kaani exchanged nods before making their way up the stairs. Once at the door, they were surprised to see that there were door knobs or knockers. Kaani let Ziiah take the lead, placing her palm against the metal door before pushing them open. The cold entered the monastery along with them. Kaani quickly pushed the door close, shutting them tightly for good measure.

"Damned Skyrim weather," Kaani muttered. "My ears will fall off."

"At least we're inside," Ziiah said.

Ziiah remained silent as she took tentative steps forward. Kaani followed close by, somewhat unnerved by the quiet. This is a monastery, Kaani, she chastised herself, it's supposed to be quiet. The short corridor opened up into a vast chamber that was lit up by several sconces and braziers. There wasn't a lot of decoration: some tapestries, engravings, and dragon sculptures. The overwhelming amount of stone gave the place an eerie and cold feeling. Suddenly, they heard a shuffle of footsteps, followed by a clank of metal. Looking around, they saw four men emerging from various directions, walking as if drifting in the air. Their long rich grey robes trailed after them while their hoods covered almost half of their faces. They were adorned in various silver jewelry that was crude and yet pleasing to the eye. Ziiah and Kaani stuck together, nevertheless, wary of the lot. The men halted several paces from them except for one who approached them further. Before he even spoke, the old man bowed curtly, his knotted beard hanging loosely off his chin.

"It has been a great many years since an outsider entered these halls," he said, his voice smooth and soothing.

So much for them being always silent, Ziiah thought as Kaani nudged her from behind. Go on, she mouthed to her friend. Ziiah gulped as she turned back to the older man, her hands sweating profusely.

"Um, hi," she said to which Kaani almost smacked her forehead. "I'm Ziiah and this is my friend, Kaani. I've been told that Greybeards are an authority on the whole Dragonborn business. I'm the Dragonborn, by the way."

This is embarrassing, Kaani thought as she watched the old men grin and chuckle. The one with the knotted beard even laughed briefly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Before we get to that," he said simply, "we must ask you to Shout first."

"I beg your pardon?" Kaani asked from behind Ziiah.

"Demonstrate your Voice," he said. "Let us have a taste of it."

Ziiah was dumbfounded as she repeated his words in her head. He wants me to Shout at them? she thought incredulously.

"I don't think I can," Ziiah said. "It's quite forceful."

"Don't worry," the man said, a hint of humor in his tone. "We can take it."

Ziiah stared at him, wondering if the man had perhaps succumbed to the inevitable fate of the foolish elderly boldness. However, there was something in those steel blue eyes that told Ziiah that she wasn't looking at foolish men; not entirely foolish, at least. The grace, the even pacing of their steps, and the overall comfort within these walls spoke volumes about their confidence and assurance. Concentrating, Ziiah tried to invoke the same feeling that she experienced at the Watchtower. However, the more she thought, the harder it came to her. Come on, she whined internally. Suddenly, she felt a slight touch on her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw her, as vividly as if she was there physically. Ziiah could see the rich detail of her blueish-purple robes, and the silver and gold ornaments on her shoulders and hips that were heavily inspired by dragons. Her long white hair was partially braided while the rest of her locks cascaded down to her knees. It was only when Ziiah stared into the woman's eyes that dread set in. They were golden, almost yellow.

Just like Ziiah's.

Before she could even react, a current emerged from deep within Ziiah's being, boiling up to an overwhelming sensation. The feeling culminated until she finally felt it climb up to her throat and erupt from her mouth.

"Fus!"

The men shielded themselves under the pressure while Kaani covered her ears. The Shout echoed loudly within the monastery, bouncing off the stone walls and metal sconces. The ringing continued for several moments until it died down. Ziiah breathed heavily as she focused on her heartbeat. It was threatening to burst out of her chest, drumming vehemently within her. Part of her worried she might collapse but at the same time, she felt exhilarated. The power she felt when she released that pressure was beyond anything she had ever felt. Not even Nocturnal's Ebonmere or Skeleton Key felt as powerful as the Voice. Once she felt more in control, Ziiah lifted her gaze and realized that the ghost was gone. Instead, she stared at the face of the elder Greybeard who seemed almost proud.

"Dragonborn," he said. "The Greybeards recognize you."

Ziiah chuckled. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

The man then offered her a hand which she took without a thought. He helped her stand up before letting her go.

"I am master Arngeir," Arngeir said. "Welcome to High Hrothgar."