The Vigilants numbering fourteen rushed into the Town of Dawnstar, which was illuminated orange by the glow of Twilight, but there was something else on the horizon, they could feel. Something thickened the air with dread; or rather, some things had. It was not only the Keeper's abduction that weighed heavily on the Town.

Cura was the first to set foot in the town, when a torrent of fire rained down from the skies above.

City Guards quickly began to aim their bows to the sky.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" A red-hued Dragon shouted, blasting fire along the path as it swooped down from the skies above, striking terror into the people who were outdoors and elected now to hurry into their houses for shelter.

The Guards quickly dodged the onslaught and fired arrows at the beast, each arrow chipping off scales from its hide.

Could it have picked a worse time to do this?

A part of Cura wanted to slay it, but another side to her reminded her of the peril the Keeper was facing, and it seemed the situation was in capable hands. She swallowed her draconic pride and thirst for Dragon blood. Keeper Carcette needed her, as it had always seemed so.

Cura grit her teeth angrily and rushed ahead, through the simmering flames that burdened the road while the other Vigilants bought her entry into the Mines.

Cura rationalized her action; after all, she had no doubt the town could bring the beast down themselves; she would just return to absorb its soul.

Again she found herself hurrying down the Quicksilver mine shaft, where there were men in armour coming to attack her. Their eyes were vacant, like Harald's when she saw him earlier in the day.

Quickly, she dodged an axe swing and spun to the side with a well-timed pivot, and clubbed him in the head with her mace, knocking him to the ground.

The next one, an Orc, slashed towards her with his black Greatsword; Ancient Nordic in its make. Cura quickly pulled up her shield and took the hit, staggering backwards.

A female Imperial dug into her left shoulder with a well-positioned Elven Dagger, causing Cura to cry out in surprise as the blade touched her collarbone.

Immediately, Lydia hurried in and impaled the Orc through the forehead with her Skyforge Steel sword, and then yanked it back out to turn against the Imperial, slashing her chest.

Cura took the opportunity to smash her in the face with her shield, knocking her to the floor, despondent.

More foes entered the fray, and Cura decided that she could waste no time. "Lydia, have fun." She said as her Housecarl gave out an eager grin.

"Don't worry, my Thane.'' Lydia stated conceitedly. "I can keep them here for as long as it takes. Just go and save that Snob."

The meager Vigilants entered the mine as well, led by Tolan.

"We're going to keep them at bay, Cura!" Tolan shouted. "Get to the Keeper! Let nothing stop you!"

Cura nodded and hurried as Tolan rushed to Lydia's side. The five Vigilants who followed him took up their arms, as well, ready to clash with the Thralls.

"You've come to help me? Can't say I would have expected it." Lydia snarled as she crossed blades with one of the Thralls.

"Don't expect it; I'm here because the Keeper needs my help." Tolan said as he drove his Warhammer into the side of a Thrall.

Lydia dodged an attack and blocked a second one with her shield. She brushed off Vigilant Tolan's snubbery.

At least he was on her side in this fight. She'd hate to be on the receiving end of that hammer.

Cura continued to head further into the dark tunnels when she saw part of a wall move at the bottom of a nook between a crate with two rugs lain on it, as though it closed in place. Quickly, she ran up to it and began to search for the switch.

Then she checked to her right, and noticed a pullable switch jutting out of the wall. Without hesitation, she yanked it, and the shutters began to activate, causing the door to slowly slide over to the side, allowing entry.

The darkness from beyond was almost palpable; existing as an entity all by itself.

Cura looked behind her, and she heard faint clanking and shouting sounds off in the distance.

She stepped into the darkness, and the door closed behind her back, locking firmly in place.

Immediately, an assailant lunged at her with an Elven Dagger. It was Harald, the Miner. "HRRRRRAAGH!"

Cura pivoted out of the way and caused the Thrall to hit the stone door. Quickly, she clubbed him in the back of the head, the force of her mace causing his forehead to collide with the stone, and Harald quickly and quietly slipped into unconsciousness.

Cura touched her wounded shoulder and healed it, at last. She had no intention of adding more puncture wounds to her body tonight.

Though, between the Dragon and the Thralls, her allies were separated from her now. Cura was completely alone. The only puncture wounds she had to concern herself with were the fangs of that Vampire.

Cura continued to walk through the cold, damp stone hallway, where she finally saw it; a Shrine to Molag Bal, filled with blood, just as she had seen illustrated in the Book of Daedra when Brother Adalvald had shown it to her years ago. What a wonderful book to read before falling asleep. She had nightmares for weeks, but they swore it was not the actions of Vaermina. After all, Stendarr was protecting her.

It seemed a pretty little lie these days, though Cura could not dismiss it entirely, as something clearly aided her during her Lycanthropic episode. She hoped it was Stendarr watching over her, just as she hoped he was right now.

Stendarr, please, if you hear me; I need your help. Cura silently prayed.

On the altar before the dark god's shrine; Keeper Carcette was still tied down, nearly unconscious, exhausted and bloodied. Around her, in sarcophagi, the missing Vigilants.

At Cura's feet; a Journal.

Her blood went cold. Was she too late? No. Carcette was still breathing.

"Read it." A voice emerged from the shadows, urging Cura to do as she was bid.

The young Breton carefully opened the book and slowly turned the cover. "Vigilant... Fenrik." She read the name inscribed on the back of the hard cover. The handwriting was very similar to the mysterious letter at the Inn and the letter the Vigilants had found concerning the hidden shrine in the mines. A deep fear rooted itself at the bottom of her heart. Her suspicions had been confirmed.

Cura looked up from the book and her eyes began to dart around the room, searching for the mysterious voice. This only prompted him to speak again. "Read. It."

Cura was defiant. She closed the cover.

"Read it aloud, or she dies right here, right now!" A shadowy figure held a strange, ornate dagger to the Keeper's throat, which caused her to gasp and open her eyes widely.

Cura quivered for a second. "Okay... okay, just put the blade down." The young Breton raised a hand in alarm before returning to the book in her hand.

"Perhaps the words will sink in if they are read from your Pet's voice." the dark figure taunted the captive Keeper, who was paralyzed with fear at the sacrificial blade pressed against her diaphragm.

Cura cleared her throat as the figure slowly moved the blade from Carcette's neck, revealing that he had pressed the blunt end of the blade to her flesh. With an exhalation, Cura began to read.

"Azarain once told me I was the strongest warrior in all of Tamriel. But that is a lie.

A strong man would have ended his life long ago. He would have delivered Stendarr's justice upon his soul. I am weak man, and so, I live.

The Vigil teaches us that vampires are an abomination, to be destroyed without mercy. But in my cowardice I began to entertain the blasphemous, that vampirism had a cure.

Never has the subject been broached by the Keepers. After all, the very idea that these creatures were capable of salvation would threaten the principles of the order. So to learn more, I sought the aid of the very monster I have sworn to oppose.

Molag Bal's price was steep. I was to gather thralls and build an altar deep in the mines of Dawnstar, for purposes that would only become clearer as the nights went on. To that shrine I was to sacrifice the lives of nine of my brothers and sisters, one for each divine.

At times my resolve has wavered, but the Prince has offered proof in the form of Galur Rithari. His excerpts prove that a cure exists, through a dream of being "sliced by thousands of tiny knives from my bowels inside out." As the town speaks of nightmares and the presence of Vaermina, I now see why Dawnstar was chosen for this Unholy Vigil.

With only three sacrifices left, the ritual is almost complete. No doubt Azarain will see this as treachery, which is why I cannot bring myself to sacrifice him. But with every Vigil that dies at our hand, it only calcifies my resolve. The weakness of my mind does not betray the strength of my will.

For all my cowardice, I am worth the souls of a dozen men. If I rejoin the Vigil, more lives will be saved in the end.

Perhaps when the accounting is done, Stendarr will show me mercy."

Cura's voice broke at the end. Some of his musings sounded familiar. Cura understood his state of mind: she was there not too long ago, herself.

"Very good." the voice lauded with some mild clapping. "The Keeper would care not should I die and fall into Coldharbour. That is the fate of all Vampires. Though, being that you've slain Minorne, surely you've gotten an idea of that."

Cura wouldn't deny the grisly sight. "I have."

Keeper Carcette kept her eyes on the shaded figure as he walked into Cura's view. "You stay away from her!" The Keeper commanded, fearing for the younger Breton's safety.

"I'm not going to turn her, Keeper." Fenrik, as he was revealed, stated. "I simply wish to speak with her before we carry on."

Cura conjured the image of the savage beast in Ruunvald that pinned her to the ground. A Shout was what kept her alive, and Human.

"Why would you turn to Molag Bal for help?" Cura demanded. "Why not the College of Winterhold? Why not anywhere else?" She pressed the point. He denied their principles and sided with the enemy. How could he expect Stendarr to forgive him for this?

"I did, in fact, go to the College of Winterhold." Fenrik explained. "The Archmage, Savos Aren, told me about Galur Rithari. Do you know who that was?" He slowly walked over to the altar and sat down at Carcette's feet. She only regretted that her legs, too, were bound.

"I... don't." Cura admitted awkwardly. "Who was he?" She figured that perhaps she could try and persuade him away from continuing in his endeavours; but first, she would have to gain clearer understanding into them. Killing him would send him to Coldharbour, and as angry as she was, Cura would not wish it upon anyone.

"Galur Rithari was an Armiger in Morrowind, in the Second Era." Fenrik began. "He expected to live out his days in faithful servitude to his Lord Vivec and the other members of the Tribunal, but his encounter with the Aundae Clan of Vampires in the Daedric Ruins of Bal-Ur, would destroy his life, his hopes, and his dreams."

Cura was alien to most of these concepts, but she understood the tyranny of Molag Bal. All who lived understood it. "Poor man. That sounds awful." She empathized.

"Absolutely." Fenrik conceded, and continued. " Galur abandoned all hope and gradually integrated into the affairs of Clan Aundae. He would make no Human his prey, only beasts, and kept himself apart from the other Vampires in that clan. Though, unfortunately, as it happens, his will would eventually break, and he would seek the blood of mortals to sate his gnawing agony. Conflicted on the thoughts of condemning an innocent to death, he sought to feed on the wicked."

"Is that what you've done?" Cura demanded to know. "Feed on the 'wicked'?"

"No. Far, far worse. I have fed on the innocent." Fenrik confessed as he pointed towards the sarcophagi. Then he resumed the story. "After some decades of preying on the Worm Clan and the other bands of living flesh, Galur returned to Bal-Ur. There, he made a petition to Molag Bal, who responded to his call. The prince demanded a filled Black Soul Gem from a cavern on the northern slopes of Dagoth Ur. When he retrieved it, he placed the gem within the basin before Molag Bal's altar, and instantly experienced blinding of such pain and terror that it cannot be expressed in word. It was seemingly a dream, where he was being sliced by thousands of tiny knives from his bowels inside out. Galur awoke before the altar, and looked upon his face as reflected in his sword, and to his great joy, he was again among the living, as the price of death was paid."

"It's just... so wrong." Cura looked to the floor with disgust.

"The Keeper left me with no alternatives. She insisted that I knew what I had to do. She ignored my pleas and went on with her day after a small fight." Fenrik explained. "Though, I am sure you understand that, as well."

Cura looked at Carcette, who was bound and helpless at the time. She agreed with his statement, though not entirely. "She can be harsh, overbearing, headstrong, and hard to persuade, but I'm sure there was another reason. She came to my aid when I was cursed with Lycanthropy..."

"Only because you mean something to her. Were you a stranger, like I, would she have shown you that mercy? No. Of course she wouldn't. She would have sent you to Coldharbour without a care. A single, well-struck blow to your skull." Fenrik spoke frankly to the young Breton. "She claims to stand as a beacon of light and justice. Would you consider her actions just?"

Keeper Carcette looked over to her side, away from Cura and Fenrik in shame. A sight Cura never witnessed from their proud Leader. Fenrik was right on all accounts. There certainly was a personal bias in her decision to help Cura.

Cura was silent for a moment before turning back to Fenrik. She tried to see the scenario objectively. "No. It isn't just."

A chill went down Keeper Carcette's spine as Fenrik smirked and nodded confidently. "Consider how many Vampires and Werewolves could have been helped. But let's set that aside for now." he began. "How exactly has she treated you in your life?"

"I treated her better than anybody else! How dare-" Carcette interjected.

"I asked her the question." Fenrik made his point through the Keeper's own mouth, and he gestured towards Cura. "Cura is capable of speaking for herself, is she not?"

Cura nodded, and turned back to Fenrik, a little emboldened. "In truth, she was very overbearing." Cura's words cut the Keeper, but this was only just the beginning of her outpour. "She's spent most of my life keeping me confined in Dawnstar, and the Hall. The Hall, mostly, in fact. Once, she allowed me to go to Winterhold for a delivery." Cura was beginning to feel the sting of bitterness and resentment. "Only in the recent months has she allowed me to explore, because our Vigil was suffering and she was desperate for aid... and I wanted to help, and insisted."

Fenrik was listening intently. "And you found out you were the Dovahkiin."

Cura nodded. "You know that?"

"Yes, because of your ability to Shout. Apart from a small few people, nobody can use the Thu'um. Certainly not someone from the Vigil of Stendarr." Fenrik pointed out. "It is not our Order's specialization."

Cura nodded. "That's fair."

"And how has Keeper Carcette treated you since you've known you were Dovahkiin?" Fenrik began to push the conversation further. "Has she been supportive of you, or has she hindered your progress?"

"I... feel as though nothing I do is good enough." Cura confessed. "I've been trying my entire life to please the Keeper, but... she never sees me. She sees me, the Vigilant, but not me, Cura." The younger Breton looked at the Keeper disheartenedly.

"Even as the Dragonborn." Fenrik clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "She should bow before you. All of the previous Emperors have been Dragonborn. The greatest Heroes in History have been Dragonborn. Tiber Septim- god or not-was Dragonborn. Saint Alessia was Dragonborn, as well; and she defended Humanity from the Ayleids."

Cura wondered why he saw fit to bring this up. "Yes, I know."

"You deserve great reverence!" Fenrik exclaimed, lifting Cura up emotionally. "You are a demigod! A great and mighty force among men!"

It felt great to finally be recognized; however foreign it was.

"How has the Keeper exalted you, Cura the Dragonborn?" Fenrik asked her, as he began to pace the room. "Some new clothes? A Sweetroll? Any trivial thing to keep you below her?"

Cura was surprised by the near-accuracy of his assumption. She had expanded her room for her, sure, but not much else. She also banished her Housecarl while Cura was recovering. In truth, the more Cura considered it, she was being treated with disrespect. The Keeper held little regard for her own perspective.

"You've provided everything the Vigil has now. That armour she gave you is a result of your own efforts." Fenrik cut her off before Cura could mention it beneath her robes. "You were used! The audacity!" He spoke into her left ear as he walked around her.

Cura realized that there was veracity to his assertion, and she looked to the Keeper. "It's true, isn't it, Keeper?" She knew it was, of course, but now the injustice was creeping up on Cura. "I became the Thane of Whiterun-and you only accepted it because it proved to be advantageous!" She raised her voice in rage. "You have always kept me in a box-just there to withdraw from when the situation demanded it! I've never asked for much in return... but truly I wonder if anything I've done for you even mattered."

"Cura... it's not like that." The Keeper fearfully tried to explain herself. "I want what's best for Skyrim! What's best for us all! I need a healthy Vigil for that! Is it so unjust to use the cards I'm dealt to achieve that?"

Cura's vision was lightly blurred from her all-encompassing emotion. She was a sponge and she knew it. It was her fatal flaw; her great and obvious weakness. Though she was seething, she could still see the bigger picture lain out before her eyes.

This was a trial.

A trial for the soul of the woman who raised her. The woman who protected her for the majority of her life, and provided shelter and warmth to her. Though, the very same, she was the woman who held her will hostage. The woman who tried to keep her destiny from her. The woman whose soul and fate was now in the palm of her hand, short distance away from Molag Bal's.

There before them stood the accuser; Fenrik, who championed the Daedric Prince of domination, slavery, rape, and violence. The Prince who only inflicted sadistic harm unto the living for his own amusement and surely despised their Order and its Keepers, especially.

Cura stood there, Carcette's lawyer-her protector. Champion of Stendarr, the god of mercy, ransom, order, justice, true good fortune, and merciful forbearance. The Dragonborn, as well, championing the world by her honour against one crisis to the next.

Stendarr and Molag Bal-the two polar opposites- stood in wait; a soul would be preserved, or the Daedra would claim her. No doubt Molag Bal would greatly enjoy the soul of his number one hate-fan. Untold horrors surely awaited those who stood in defiance to the Lord of Domination. The thought of Carcette being tormented in his court horrified Cura. What sort of evil would he inflict upon her?

What of the other Vigilants that Fenrik sacrificed to Molag Bal? Are they being gored and tormented right now, or did Stendarr shield them?

"It's because she fears you." Fenrik proposed. "She fears your power, and does not want to be beneath you."

Cura was taken aback by this. "Is that true, Keeper?"

"No, Cura... I don't fear you. He's lying!" The Keeper denied it fervently. How pathetic would it sound, the Keeper being fearful of a subordinate?

"So she believes you a weakling, instead." Fenrik concluded. "Perhaps that would explain why she treats you like a nobody. Because to her, you are."

Cura turned to Carcette angrily, and the older Breton immediately flinched, and raised a hand, as best as she could with them bound to the table. "N-no! That isn't what I meant! I...I do fear your power... but you as the Cura I've always known-" She was near to pleading for reason, only short a few words. "You have to believe that!"

"I believe you should be silent, Carcette." Cura sneered, addressing the Keeper without proper respect.

The Keeper took the hint and firmly shut her mouth.

"Why are you telling me these things?" Cura spun around and asked Fenrik directly. "Are you trying to persuade me into allowing this sacrifice?" She tilted her head tauntingly. "What's stopping me from Shouting you through the wall?"

"You acknowledge the truth." Fenrik stated simply. "You are young, and have much to learn, but you do have wisdom. That is why I have a proposition for you."

Cura scanned him, waiting to see what he would come up with. Since when was he in any position to negotiate peacefully, anyway? Cura could Shout him to the ground right now if she wanted to. And she would have good enough reason to, to boot.

But she didn't. Not at this time. She was intrigued by his boldness and audacity.

She gave him a slight nod. "What do you propose?"

Keeper Carcette's jaw hung open in shock. How could Cura even ask of this?

"When I become Keeper, I will make a reform here, in Skyrim. I will offer a cure to the ill and cursed." Fenrik stated, placing a hand on his chest. "We will slay Vampires and Werewolves no longer, provided they wish to be cured. If they wish to continue in their evil, then we shall put them down, as Stendarr's mercy dictates."

"But..." Cura began. "...to cure the Vampires, we will have to murder and Soul Trap people! That defies everything we believe in!"

"Well, Stendarr offers no aid." Fenrik sneered. "We must aid ourselves in the best ways we see fit. You, yourself had to slaughter a Coven of Hagravens for your cure, did you not?"

"Hagravens are witches." Cura immediately interjected. "They are anything but innocent!"

Keeper Carcette nodded. "And their turning is entirely consensual. I would know."

Cura looked to the Keeper, eyebrow raised. "You would know?"

The Keeper sighed. She supposed she may as well explain herself. "I had an Aunt, in Bhoriane, named Roselle. One month she and my Uncle, Charlebert, visited the Reach, over the Druadach Mountains. Neither returned, so naturally, my Father went to search for them."

Fenrik was scratching under his fingernails impatiently, but Cura was listening as she always had.

"He was used in a sacrifice, much like this one, though for Hircine." Keeper Carcette sneered. "My Aunt became a Hagraven in the ceremony, after she and her husband offered him up. And then the Witch Coven took her Husband's life, as well, for they saw no use for him."

Cura cringed. She could see that the Keeper still hadn't quite moved on from that time of anguish.

"That was why I joined the Order." Carcette stated. "I went to the Sacred Light of Stendarr and begged the God of Mercy for justice against that treacherous Aunt of mine, and I felt something speak to me there, in that Chapel." The Keeper's voice shook lightly with emotion stirring beneath her cold surface. "'Join my Militant,' the voice told me. 'be ever Vigilant against the powers of the Daedra, for there are many, and all practice to harm and to deceive.'"

"Is there a point to this story?" Fenrik asked.

Cura was listening intently, as she always had when someone told her a story. She always sought to learn of the world, in any ways she could.

"I have slain my Aunt." Keeper Carcette stated. "I joined the Vigil of Stendarr, and intentionally joined the platoon destined for Skyrim. We tore through an entire camp of Reachmen-Forsworn-to do it, and I buried my warhammer in her forehead." A couple of stray tears streaked down her cheeks when she recounted the grisly story. "Her hideous, deformed face haunts me to this day. The last face my father saw before they..." She stopped herself there, in that moment, leaving the compassionate Cura near mortified. "...they ripped his heart from his chest, then cleaved off his head and sent that home to High Rock. A sacrilege against our bloodline, as we descended from the Crusaders of Stendarr."

"Keeper..." Cura's tone was sympathetic. "I...I had no idea..." It explained her near-obsessive hatred and closed mind towards all things Daedra.

"She's trying to win your sympathies, Cura." Fenrik scoffed. "And a laughable attempt, at that."

"Everything I have said is true!" Keeper Carcette snapped at him. "The way Daedra play with our lives as they see fit-can't you see that this is what Molag Bal is doing to you? To us? We're naught but playthings to that horrendous fiend! As Cura was a plaything to Hircine, and my Aunt as well. The Daedra care nothing for our lives, and Molag Bal the most malicious among them!"

"Precisely why I do not wish to be bound to his realm for all eternity." Fenrik sneered. "He requested nine deaths, and I would have my freedom at last. With my freedom, I will spend the rest of my mortal life making amends for this." He turned to Cura. "I am not like her Aunt. I am not motivated by selfish gain, but instead am burdened with regret and anguish."

"I'm sure there has to be another way!" Cura exclaimed. "There must be!"

"This is the only way known to us." Keeper Carcette confessed. "It is precisely why the Keepers never entertain the notion. To perform Necromancy and to murder innocents is to defy our god."

"When I become Keeper, I will do as I bid." Fenrik expressed. "I will make it legal, if it means the salvation of the disheartened." He turned to Cura. "As well, I will promote you, Dragonborn. I will make you my personal Enforcer, and I will make you the owner of Heljarchen Hall. You will have your own property where you can live in peace, close to Whiterun where you have Thaneship. I will exalt you above the rest, and place groups under your command in the Vigil."

He knew Cura could destroy him, so he attempted to be persuasive instead of combative.

Cura was pleased with the idea of having bigger, better things in her life. Having her own entourage would make her duties as Dragonborn far easier, certainly. Owning her own home would give her much needed space, as well.

But her heart was not in it. How could she enjoy such luxuries knowing she'd condemned her favourite person to Oblivion?

"He's lying, Cura!" Keeper Carcette exclaimed. "Don't believe him! He can't give you Heljarchen Hall! He does not own it!"

"Keeper, please be silent!" Cura shouted at her, which caused Carcette to stifle herself. She had to tread lightly, and distractions were much unwelcome.

"I won't treat your Housecarl unjustly, banishing your symbol of authority from the Hall." Fenrik stated. "I will even let you keep Stendarr's Hammer for your own personal use, as you have more than earned it. I will turn a blind eye to Dawnbreaker, even." He gestured to the sword visible on Cura's hip. Its light mildly plagued him with deep-seeded fear.

Sounds of clashing steel could be heard in the outer halls. The battle continued to rage onwards.

"Confound it!" Fenrik grit his teeth. Time was running short. "Now, make your choice, Dragonborn!"

This was a difficult position to be in. Cura bit her lower lip and turned to look at the wall nearby. She was angry with Carcette, but the woman still raised her and provided her with safety in her most vulnerable stage of life. True, she hadn't given her the due respect; her callousness even allowing Cura to forget she was Dragonborn for a time, as she was condescended upon in spite of her grueling work. She felt sympathy towards Fenrik, however, understanding his position at this time. Being a Vampire, like being a Werewolf must have been a living nightmare. The prospect of Coldharbour even more so. Though, the deceased Vigilants did not deserve it, either.

Cura looked at the pitiable Keeper Carcette, who was near to hyperventilation, and then to Fenrik, who angrily awaited her response as he kept looking to the door. A feeling of guilt pressed on Cura as she looked at the Keeper, but a sadness swept her when she saw the desperate Fenrik. A great anger consumed her when she looked upon the Statue head of Molag Bal on the altar. A hope comforted her as she held the Amulet of Stendarr around her neck in her hand.

"Okay, I'm ready to make my decision." Cura sighed.

The Keeper was consumed with horror. This had to be a nightmare, brought on by Vaermina. There were no other explanations. Please, great Stendarr, hear my prayer... Keeper Carcette spoke within her mind. If I live, I promise that I will treat her more fairly, with the deference she is due... I will give Cura freedom... I will not lead with such a tight fist against the others... I will never hail unjust judgment upon another again... Her fingers trembled violently as her hands were bound in place to the sacrificial altar.

Fenrik looked on with anticipation. The air was tense and suffocating, grasping all in its frozen grip.

"The Keeper will live." Cura stated, which caused Carcette to exhale loudly, tears rushing from the corners of her eyes.

Fenrik clicked his tongue and crossed his arms in disappointment. "That's a shame. Though, I had a feeling that you would not be able to carry out true justice. After all, she was the one who raised you. Surely you would have picked up her nepotism."

"Nepotism has nothing to do with it!" Cura exclaimed. "You tried to bribe me into allowing her violent demise and eternity in Coldharbour! You tried to bribe me to turning a blind eye to this... massacre!" She gestured towards the room, filled with the musk of rotting flesh and blood. "You fear Coldharbour yourself, but in filling the altar with blood, it's clear you've sent the other Vigilants there, yourself. How is that just, if you want to speak of true justice?"

She couldn't quite internalize it immediately, but Keeper Carcette felt something of pride towards Cura at this moment. Able to keep her eyes on the bigger picture in the face of glorious temptation.

"You fool. I've explained my piece, and still you don't understand. You don't deserve to be the Dragonborn." Fenrik spat. "You hardly deserve to call yourself a Vigilant of Stendarr, wielding a Daedric sword such as that."

"Meridia, enemy of Molag Bal and the Undead." Cura stated as she unsheathed Dawnbreaker then and there, and pointed it at him. "You want true justice? Then submit yourself to the sword at last."

"You were Lycan filth." Fenrik insulted her. "You should be slain, first, then."

"No, because I did everything in my power to avoid harming the innocent!" Cura exclaimed. "I stayed away from the cities to avoid such. You have profaned the name of Stendarr with your actions, and you have killed 8 of his followers! In doing this, your intent was to commit blasphemy against the Nine. You cavorted with Molag Bal and enthralled innocent townsfolk-causing many of them to lose their lives for your sake, all because of your--inane belief that you're worth more than any of them!"

"It is a fact. If Azarain were alive, he would speak of my prowess." Fenrik boasted.

"Oh, yes. If he were alive." Cura nodded angrily. "He would be, had you not killed him. Your own best friend."

"Cura... Vampirism not only warps one's body-it warps their mind, as well." Keeper Carcette chimed in, still shaking. "This...this isn't the Fenrik the Vigil once knew. He died in Ruunvald. All that remains is a shadow of his former self."

Cura quickly headed to Carcette and began to examine the leather bonds. "There has to be another way to cure vampirism. This isn't it."

Fenrik grit his teeth angrily. "You idiot." He withdrew his Daedric Mace, which was strapped to the back of his belt, hidden in the shadow. He lunged at Cura when her back was turned.

"Cura! Behind you!" Carcette alerted her.

Cura whirled around. "FUS!"

Her voice roared through the air, blowing the vampire backwards into the stone wall.

Cura quickly began to loosen the leather strap around Carcette's chest. "Fenrik..." she spoke tiredly. "even after all you've done, I'm willing to offer you an alternative. Get cured another way, and then turn yourself in for your crimes. You may die in prison, but repent and perhaps you may reach Aetherius in death."

"You self-righteous hypocrite!" Fenrik spat. "How dare you talk down to me like so? I am no criminal!" He slowly crept back up, and revealed his fangs with a loud hiss. Like a serpent, he lashed forward and knocked Cura into the wall. He attempted to impale her in the stomach with his claws, but Cura pushed him back with her shield, causing his claws to instead tear some of the flesh off her arm through her robe's sleeve above the steel gauntlets.

"Agh!" Cura grunted in response to the sharp pain. She swiped at him with Dawnbreaker, but he swiftly and nimbly dodged the strike.

Blood ran down Cura's arm and dripped onto the floor, enticing the Vampire.

"I wonder what Breton blood tastes like..." Fenrik audibly mused to himself, slowly slipping into his dark instincts. "Perhaps a mix of man and mer. Sweet... but rich in iron. Though, being a first generation mongrel that you are, probably not the ideal sample."

Mongrel.

Cura hated that word. Like she were some kind of mixed animal. Even if the original Ehlnofey word for the Breton people was "Beratu"; meaning "half".

"The only mongrel I see here is you." Cura retorted. "YOL TOOR!"

A torrent of fire blasted from her throat, and engulfed Fenrik, causing him to cry out in agony as the embers danced upon his searing flesh.

"If you wish to abandon Stendarr, then you could deal with Merida, instead!"

Cura leaped forward and plunged Dawnbreaker into his chest, through the fire and flames.

His blood ignited like oil, and a powerful force of blue fire blasted the perimeter of the room from the sword.

"Guhhh... Cur...a... why..." Fenrik grabbed hold of her brown surcape in attempt to touch the Amulet of Stendarr around her neck. "M-my god...I'm... sorry... for...give me..." He slowly slipped to the ground, releasing her.

Fenrik was gone, his body dissolving before her very eyes in blue flames.

Cura's eyes brimmed with tears. Nine were sacrificed to Molag Bal in the end regardless.

Was it always so? We're the Daedra always set to win?

A weakness began to set in. Cura lumbered over to Keeper Carcette and gently began to undo the bonds.

"Cura..." The Keeper was lost for words. She slowly sat up on the altar. "You... you saved my life... you saved my very soul." She placed her hands on her protege's shoulders.

Cura nodded slowly. "Are... you okay?" She asked with concern.

"I hope so." Carcette stated with reticence. She then noticed Cura's arm, leaking blood, and quickly cast a healing spell on her.

Cura was despondent. She only continued to stare at the pile of ash on the floor before her.

"Cura... I know I haven't treated you with the proper due respect." Keeper Carcette addressed. "But I promise you that will change. I'm so sorry. I hadn't realized that I had worn you out so."

"And I don't like how cruel you've been to Lydia." Cura added. "Let her back into the Hall, and make up with her. If it wasn't for her, I never would have known you were missing. Let there be peace in the Vigil."

The Keeper closed her eyes and gave a hesitant nod. "I will." She assured her. "I will apologize to her for how uncivil I've behaved towards her. We Bretons are supposed to be better than that."

Cura was silent, but the look on her face spoke volumes. She was still quite stern. The young Breton still harboured rage from earlier when she relived years of being pushed to the side.

"Do you resent me, Cura?" Keeper Carcette was worried that this would be the case; though how earned her scorn would be.

"No... I just wish you'd acknowledge what I've had to go through." Cura confessed. "You have been trying to hold me back, to keep me caged for years. To condescend every endeavour. It's not something I can just push away and be happy about. I want to have my individual autonomy within the Vigil; not be forever chained to the Hall. I want to experience life beyond the confines of this wooden house-especially after having been to Whiterun. When I was part of the Companions... before the incident with the Lycanthropy... I had felt freer than I ever had in my life."

Keeper Carcette walked towards her Warhammer and lifted it off the wall and docked it on her back. "I promise you; I will try to be more... flexible in my dealings." the Keeper was uncertain of how to word it, but she understood that she was holding Cura on a leash for the last few months, especially.

"Then grant me that flexibility in my dealings, as well." Cura finally came out and said it. "I will always be a Vigilant of Stendarr, but I want to also be the Dragonborn. Surely you don't need me for every single task out there."

In that moment, they heard a voice from the other side of the stone door. "I think this is it." It sounded like Vigilant Tolan. "Cura, are you in there?" He called out loudly.

"Yes!" Cura answered to reassure him that she was there, and not a trap lying in wait. "I have the Keeper! She's alive!"

"Yes, I'm here, as well!" Carcette shouted to confirm.

Vigilant Tolan breathed out a sigh of relief. "All right, just stay as far from the door as you can!" He stated as he pulled back and readied his Warhammer.

"Wait-!" Carcette grew concerned. "You aren't going to break the door down, are you?"

She was too late, as a mighty couple of swings crashed the stone door to the ground some feet away. Cura quickly pulled the Keeper away by the back of her surcape.
Tolan stood at the doorframe, breathing heavily amidst the clearing cavern dust.

"You fool!" Keeper Carcette exclaimed. "Why would you break the-" She remembered the promise she had just made to Stendarr some minutes ago, and stifled herself. "Er... I suppose that the switch handle could have been jammed..."

Vigilant Tolan was surprised by her change of tune, and stepped into the macabre room. He then noticed the Shrine of Molag Bal and the eight sarcophagi in the room. "Stendarr's Beard!" he exclaimed. "This is worse than I'd imagined..."

Lydia entered behind him, as well as a couple of the surviving Vigilants. When Lydia entered the room she rushed straight to Cura. "My Thane, are you all right?"

"I suppose." Cura really was unsure. "I saved Keeper Carcette, so I'm relieved on that front..."

"And what of Fenrik?" Vigilant Tolan asked.

"Dead." Keeper Carcette stated. "And... I suppose we could have a Vigil for him as well as the rest who've lost their lives in this debacle."

"It's so wrong... it's all so wrong..." Cura bemoaned. "How could Stendarr allow this? Those poor Vigilants... they've been sent to Coldharbour, to suffer for all time. Why?"

"Because, unfortunately, the Daedra have a more tangible presence in the world." Tolan explained. "It makes it far easier for people to be seduced by their offerings of power and fortune."

"...Or hope." Cura looked towards the ritual sacrifices. "All he wanted was a cure... and I gave him death."

"You saved my life, and avenged your brother's and sisters." Keeper Carcette corrected her. "Fenrik was too far gone to be reasoned with; I could see that much when he first approached us in the Hall."

"I will stay here and sanctify this space." Tolan proposed. "We will gather the bodies and ashes for a proper burial, and then we can return to normal."

Keeper Carcette nodded, seconding the notion.

"You'd best deal with that Dragon." Tolan gestured to Cura as he began to spread purified salts along the borders of the room.
The Dragon!

Cura had entirely forgotten.

She hurried ahead of Keeper Carcette and Lydia, and headed through the spiraling cliffs of the mine until she reached the surface.

The Dragon was bound to the ground as its wings were broken and the webbing was torn. It's face was drenched with blood and it's left eye was taken out.

The Dragon still did not hesitate to blast fire towards the Guards and Vigilants, who were scattered about, surrounding the wyrm.

It's fire went in all directions like a disorderly hose, and fire caught on some buildings.

Cura was quick to bury her mace in the Dragon's snout, breaking through the roof of its immolated mouth from above, which caused the Dragon to flail about violrntly for a moment more before collapsing onto the ground, and bleeding onto the snow, staining it a deep crimson.

Cura caught her breath; she was already anticipating what was to happen next. The Dragon's flesh began to burn and slowly flake off as its soul departed its body and was pulled straight into Cura. A triumphant, and very aggressive feeling overtook her momentarily as the enraged Dragon thrust itself about inside of her being, wrestling to avoid becoming amalgamated with her.

The people surrounding applauded the beast's defeat, and a few sailors were filling buckets of water and racing towards the burning buildings, attempting to douse the rushing flames.

As Cura calmed her state, she heard the townsfolk murmuring amongst themselves as they stared at her and the Dragon Skeleton now obstructing the main road.

"It's really dead, then?"

"I never would have believed it, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes..."

"It may be dead now, but... where did it come from?"

"In all my years, I've never seen such a thing..."

"It's like the ancient legends. Dragonborn..."

"It can't be... You... You took its very soul..."

"By the gods... I don't even know what to say..."

Vigilant Moric's jaw dropped. "Wow... that... was incredible. I can't say I've ever seen such a thing before... even in my long travels."

Lydia and Keeper Carcette finally caught up and reached Cura.

"Keeper, did you see what she did?" Moric asked her. "She tore its very soul from its corpse! Madness! Utter madness!"

Lydia laughed. "It'll get old after a while, I'm sure."

The Keeper examined the bones of the Dragon. It reminded her of some time ago, when a Dragon last attacked the Pale. Cura's bravery in the face of it was admirable. The fire that she called forth from her throat burnt the fiend in ways natural magic could not fathom. The Thu'um was truly a whole other beast entirely. Could a Breton's Dragonskin withstand as such? Even her own could barely handle the Dragon's fire in that time.

Those beasts once controlled the world, before Dragonborns came into existence.

What if Cura would have gone her entire life without knowing she was a Dragonborn? If the Keeper would have sheltered her for her lifetime, the Dragons would have nobody to fight them. But for it to be Cura, of all people.

The Keeper had to ask why. Why was Cura selected, out of countless people in Skyrim, nay, Tamriel itself? She was just a child. Almost an adult by Nord standards, yes, but to a half-Elf, age was relative. One could live for a very long time, indeed. Why did Cura's life have to be filled with such responsibility and burden? What if she were to make a mistake? What if a Dragon were to tear her to pieces?

"Keeper?" Moric tried to gain the silent Breton's attention as she was zoned out. He leaned forward and waved a hand in front of her face. "Nirn to Keeper Carcette. Hello?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and almost snarled at him. "What?"

"Cura! She drained the soul out of the Dragon." Moric stated again. "It's incredible!"

"Yes... incredible..." The Keeper was unpleased by it all, and Cura could see her face fall.

"The Dragons are a threat." Cura stated with frustration. "They want nothing more than to destroy and subjugate. If I can't learn how to control my powers, they're only going to become stronger and stronger, and Skyrim will be destroyed." She grabbed a piece of the Dragon's bones and snapped it off of the Skeleton. "I'm going to High Hrothgar, and I'm going to see the Greybeards. They will help me learn to control the Power of the Voice."

Keeper Carcette was about to speak, when Cura cut her off immediately and began to leave the vicinity. "If you object, I'm just going-"

"I was about to give you my blessing." Keeper Carcette swallowed her pride and ran around Cura, blocking her path. She took Cura's hands into her own. "My Cura... go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. Just promise that you'll never forsake Stendarr. No matter what happens."

Cura felt a tad sorrowful. She had finally heard the words she'd desired for a very long time, and she herself had reservations against it. On the one hand, it felt almost as if the Keeper was bidding her farewell, but on the other hand, she was the first to push.

"I... won't go right this minute," Cura stated. "I'll need some rest and some time to make travel preparations. It's quite a journey to that Mountain..."

"Of course." Keeper Carcette condoned. "Take all the time you need. The Hall will always be open to you. We are your Family; never forget that."

Cura nodded. "Of course!"

Lydia turned around and was about to head to the Inn, when Cura jumped forward and grabbed her by the shoulder. "Lydia, it's all right! You can come to the Hall! You're allowed now."

Lydia looked at Keeper Carcette, who gave her an exasperated nod, and then began to walk ahead of the group.

Moric scoffed and a small troupe followed him along the white path.

That night, when Cura went to bed, she had one of her usual dreams. A nightmare, through and through,


Cura ran through a cold, damp swamp, where the skies above were a pale white greyscale, looming and stretching over the horizon,

A Dark Elf in violet robes was running for his life, when a giant black, smoky hand reached out of the sky and enveloped him. Cura gasped in shock.

"Let him go!" She exclaimed. She tried to Shout 'FUS!' at the hand, but no sound came from her mouth; save for a wheeze.

The Dark Elf began to shout for help as the hand began to tighten its grip around him, causing him to gasp for air as his lungs were being crushed.

Cura ran ahead and cast a wave of flame at the hand, but the fire merely turned to ash in the air. The ash itself began to blow in the wind towards Cura, and covered her. The ash created a sort of shell around her, and it hardened, binding her in place and ignoring her struggles of protest. Cura attempted to throw herself to the ground in the hopes of shattering the hardened shell, but it only caused her to sully herself in the swamp water, which was slowly turning into blood.

From the blood, a Dragon emerged, leaping out of it as a fish jumps from water.

The Dragon was made of bones and muscles, with no skin accompanying it. The fiend also had empty sockets with a light blue glow where its eyes should have been; similar in nature to a Draugr.

The black arm finished its work with the Dark Elf, and began to absorb him into itself. Cura could see his corpse dissolve in the fiend's grasp, each layer of his flesh being stripped down to dissolved bones.

The wyrm blasted Cura with a torrent of burning blood, causing her to cry out in pain while she was being seared to the bone.


"GAH!" Cura flew forward in her bed.

Lydia, who was awake upstairs, hurried down upon hearing Cura cry out. "My Thane! Are you well?"

"Lydia.." Cura realized she was awake, and more importantly, alive. "I just had one of my horrible dreams, is all..."

"Well, you're not the only one, Ma'am." Lydia expressed. "I had the worst dream in my life-the same one I've been experiencing for the last six days, or so. But I'm not the only one. It seems to be a trend, these days. While I was at the Windpeak Inn, lots of people were complaining about nightmares."

"The Journal mentioned something about bad dreams, as well." Cura slowly recalled "' As the town speaks of nightmares and the presence of Vaermina, I now see why Dawnstar was chosen for this Unholy Vigil."'

"You said you were going to High Hrothgar, my Thane." Lydia reminded her. "Best you should stick to your itinerary."

"...I could investigate this." Cura volunteered. "Just this. And then I'll leave for High Hrothgar." She threw her bed covers to the side and jumped out of her bed, and began to fit her armour on.

"You're impossible." Lydia rolled her eyes as Cura fastened her belt around her robe. "The witch literally gave you freedom, and you're just going to volunteer to do this?"

"Yes." Cura stated. "I know. I'm my own worst enemy sometimes... but I want to leave Dawnstar knowing everyone I left behind is going to be all right. If there's anything involving Vaermina, like Fenrik stated in his Journal, I want it gone."

She hurried out of her room like a bat out of hell..