The bathhouse of the sanctuary was a serene room, its centerpiece a carved pool filled with hot water from the healing spring beneath. The warmth eased every ache and tension, though it could do nothing for the turmoil in my mind.
I sat in the pool, letting the water soothe my strained muscles and wash away the day, but Nazir's words and the tremor in his voice still echoed in my head.
"Ah, Niolenyl, I'm sorry—" Astrid's hesitant voice jolted me from my thoughts. I looked up to see her standing at the entrance, her back turned. "Sorry."
"It's fine," I sighed, trying to shake off my unease. "You can come in."
She hesitated, then slowly turned and made her way towards the pool.
"Sometimes, even I forget the rules I set." she chuckled softly, shedding her towel before stepping into the water. I averted my gaze, focusing on the ripples around me, my reflection distorted by the steam.
"Are you leaving tomorrow?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
"Yes," I replied, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. "To The Pale, for the dragon investigation you forced me into."
"Well, let's hope you find out that the dragons are still very much dead."
"They are not." My voice was cold, and it cast a heavy silence between us.
"Before you go, Niolenyl," she said, her voice drawing closer. When I opened my eyes, she was standing directly in front of me. "I want to talk to you about the foundation of our family. The Black Hand, as you know it."
"In the bath?" I tilted my head to the side.
Her eyes gleamed with intensity as she continued, "Speakers like me are the four fingers, and Nazir, the Listener, is the thumb."
I nodded, though I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than a simple lesson in tradition.
"And fingers have nails, don't they?" She smiled, a smile that felt unexpectedly genuine. "The Silencers."
I arched an eyebrow, the term unfamiliar and unsettling.
"The rank itself is kept hidden from the rest of the brothers and sisters," she said with a casual shrug. "No one really knows who the Silencers are."
There was something in her tone—anticipation, maybe—that made Nazir's warning resurface in my mind.
"But I've known mine for some time now." Her smile deepened as she stepped closer, the space between us shrinking.
"You've given me a thousand souls." She whispered, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. "You've proven yourself."
My cause.
Don't accept it.
Despite the recognition, my brows furrowed. "What do you get in return?"
"You." She said it with a cheerfulness that made it sound as if she were asking for something simple.
You will always be hers.
"Do I even get to say no?"
She faked a pout. "Why would you?"
"Am I not already your errand girl?" I asked plainly, watching as her expression hardened.
Her playful facade slipped away as she pulled back, her tone deepening, "Skyrim is on the brink of civil war, as you well know. And you were right—we can only keep our hands clean for so long."
She sighed, the water tracing silent paths down her collarbones as she chose her words carefully, "The thought of dragons has everyone here on edge…"
After exhaling a long, measured breath, she continued, "I need a sister I can trust, Niolenyl. The others... they-"
Sensing the weight of what she was asking, I interrupted, "You don't trust the rest of your brothers and sisters? Arnbjorn?"
"Do you?" She countered, a slight smirk playing on her lips as she made her way across the pool.
I kept my silence, contemplating the implications of her offer.
If I accepted, would it bind us together, forever?
"You don't have to give me an answer now," she said, her voice softening with a hint of sympathy as she leaned her head back, "I don't want you to rush it."
In the quiet solitude of my room, I was wrestling with my thoughts as I meticulously packed my bag. Potions and poisons clinked as I arranged them alongside worn maps.
I slipped into my deep red leather armor, the supple material embracing my form like a second skin. The armor's long skirt, with a daring slit running along the leg, allowed for swift, unhindered movement. I tugged on my high knee boots before securing my dagger snugly against my thigh with a leather strap. I fastened my black fur mantle around my neck as I opened the door to leave.
The sanctuary was eerily still as I made my way through the hall. The first light of morning filtered in, casting long shadows that seemed to cling to the walls. The silence was thick, almost oppressive, but it felt fitting for the tension that coiled within me. As I approached the black door, I saw Astrid leaning against the rough stone wall, spinning the Blade of Woe in her hand. Beside her stood Grodyl, his expression unreadable. When they noticed me, both sets of eyes locked onto mine.
"Well, let's get it over with, shall we?" Grodyl muttered, his voice breaking the silence. He moved quickly to open the black door, stepping out into the cold morning air. I followed, with Astrid close behind, though the unspoken tension between us felt like a physical presence.
Throughout the night, my thoughts had been consumed by Astrid's offer, and by the memory of Nazir's desperate plea for me to refuse it.
His voice had been full of fear. Making me wonder, how far did he think Astrid would go?
The questions had mounted, pressing down on me until I felt suffocated. Yet, despite all the hours I spent contemplating, I still had no answer.
"Take Shadowmere," Astrid said, her voice unexpectedly gentle. She offered a soft smile, "I know she likes you more than she likes me anyway."
Her simple gesture managed to bring a fleeting smile to my own lips, though it did little to ease the turmoil inside.
"Take care out there," she added, her voice quieter now, almost tender. "And write to me."
"I will." I replied, the words escaping as little more than a whisper.
My attention turned to the portal that shimmered with an ethereal glow of blue and green. With a sharp whistle, I called for Shadowmere. The air seemed to ripple as she emerged from the shadows, her coat dark as the void, her eyes glowed with a deep crimson. I secured my bag to her saddle, the leather creaking softly under my touch. I mounted her with practiced ease, the familiarity of the action a small comfort amidst the uncertainty.
Before leaving, I turned back to Astrid, my gaze lingering as I searched for another figure. But Nazir was nowhere to be found. I didn't know if he had left after our last conversation or if he was avoiding this moment, but his absence stung more than I expected.
With a resigned sigh, I turned Shadowmere toward the portal, its shimmering light promising both a new path and new dangers.
Pulling my hood over my carefully braided hair, I reached down to stroke Shadowmere's head, feeling the warmth beneath her inky black fur. "Come on, girl," I whispered as I urged her forward.
With that, she stepped through the portal, and the landscape beneath her feet transformed into a thick, powdery blanket of snow. The biting wind hurled snowflakes against my skin, stinging and relentless.
Winter in the south had been manageable, a chill that was cold but gentle. Here, in the far reaches of Skyrim's north, the air was merciless, cutting through me with its icy sharpness.
Ahead, the imposing silhouette of the College loomed against the horizon. It stood as a testament to its grandeur, the first light of dawn casting a halo around its towering spires. Even with the signs of collapse and decay evident in its structure, it remained majestic.
As Shadowmere trembled beneath me, my senses sharpened and with a reassuring hand, I patted her neck.
Cloaked in darkness, a stranger loomed like a specter against the first lights of the dawn.
Drawing nearer, I could make out the stranger's attire—a high-collared leather armor, adorned with intricate patterns. Yet, it was the aura of mystery enveloping him, like a shroud of shadows, that captivated my attention.
I brought Shadowmere to a halt, her breath forming frosty clouds in the cold air. My eyes locked onto the figure before me— a man who stood resolute at the crossroads of fate.
His silver blonde hair fell in wild, untamed strands, framing his face with pale, almost glass-like skin and a sharply defined jaw.
"Who are you?"
My question hung in the cold air, but the stranger's only response was a smirk—a smirk that danced on his lips like a flickering flame in the darkness.
"Answer me!" I demanded, my voice trembling with both fury and determination.
The stranger's response was a slow, deliberate motion as he folded his arms, his gaze lifting to meet mine. His eyes were a study in contrast—one a calm, icy blue, the other a burning crimson.
"Is this how you greet all your brothers?" he asked, his voice a melodic blend of mockery and amusement.
I arched an eyebrow and dismounted Shadowmere, my gaze again sweeping over the stranger's attire. There was no mark, no sign that would tie him to the Brotherhood—no indication of who or what he was. And yet, something about him felt inescapably familiar, as if he belonged to a world I had only glimpsed in shadowed dreams.
"I don't wear cheap leather," he quipped, his voice a smooth blend of arrogance and dark humor. His smirk grew beneath the veil of tousled platinum locks, a glint of mischief dancing in his mismatched eyes. "I'm allergic, you see…"
But I wasn't here for games.
His words washed over me like the chill wind, unheeded. With a swift, almost feline grace, I closed the distance between us, my eyes locking onto him as if I could see straight through to the core of his being.
He didn't flinch when I pressed my dagger against the side of his torso, the blade biting just enough to remind him of its presence.
"What is life's greatest illusion?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, yet each word was laced with a desperate intensity.
Somehow, I wanted to believe him to be one of us—an assassin from Dawnstar Sanctuary. A part of me clung to that hope, yearning to spare him the edge of my blade.
Cold.
The touch of his blade sent a shiver down my spine, the icy steel pressing gently beneath my chin, lifting my face to meet his mismatched gaze. There was a spark, a flicker of something in those eyes that made my pulse quicken.
His voice was a soft murmur, barely more than a breath against my skin.
"Innocence, my sister."
To be continued…