"Hey, Inigo! Inigo, get up, buddy!" Lucien shook his friend awake. Inigo had fallen into a deep sleep, concealed beneath the covers. He moaned lightly as he shifted over to his left side.

'Hnn... I didn't steal your Sweetroll... go bother somebody else..." Inigo muttered groggily as his brain slowly began to process his surroundings.

Saerlund leaned against the doorway nearby, crossing his arms, and Harald stood beside him, shaking his head disapprovingly. "I don't like the idea of putting our future in his hands. He can't even get up on time."

Illia sat upright in her bed on the other side of the room. "He's dependable. Just give him a minute, will you?" Her rush to defend Inigo took them by surprise. Yet, regardless of their awareness, she was certain that Inigo was the type to always keep a promise once made. Looking back, she realized that without his help, she might not have been here today.

Serana, who was lurking in the dark corner of the room, cleared her throat. "So, you're all going to take the road to Whiterun through the Pale? But it's a gaping pit. I know; I saw it for myself!"

"You said it was the mountain near where the Hall of the Vigilant was, right?" Lucien asked.

"Well, sure, but rubble is sprayed all throughout the fields. Roads might be blocked - it will be very dangerous." Serana sounded concerned as she recounted the mass of destruction she'd seen when she went there. "And there's still no sign of the Winterhold Mages... Gods. I fear the worst."

"For a vampire, you sure do worry a lot about others." Harald remarked with a great deal of surprise in his tone. "And here I thought you were all soulless monsters."

"How very observant of you," Serana replied with sarcasm. "And to think, I assumed all you Stormcloaks were narrow-minded."

Her remark did not suit Harald well, and he sneered at her. "You're lucky I'm a benevolent noble, otherwise I'd have you staked through the heart for saying that."

Lucien interjected. "Er, I hate to break it to you, but you do realize that Serana is also technically a noble, right? I mean, her father was a Lord."

Illia was taken aback, yet she swiftly shared the tales she had gathered from the streets. "And she rebelled against his court to protect us all from his evil plot to blot out the Sun." She nodded with composure, finding a connection to Serana's dilemma, especially after her own recent journey. "I admire that. It must have been very difficult for you." Indeed, her own heart felt like an immense void after her actions; she could understand the vampiress's situation profoundly.

Serana was both surprised and gratified to be acknowledged for her sacrifice by someone beyond her circle of friends. However, the tone of the mage's voice and her choice of words led Serana to deduce that Illia might be more familiar with this brand of justice than she appeared. This revelation piqued her curiosity about the true events that transpired between Illia, Inigo, and the 'necromancers' at Darklight Tower. Nevertheless, Serana responded with a polite nod. "Thank you. It really was. The worst part about it was the necessity of it. There was no turning my father back - he was resolute in that stupid Prophecy about the Tyranny of the Sun. I just wish things had been different."

As Illia spoke, her calm demeanor faltered, and she appeared on the verge of tears once more. "Ex-excuse me," she stammered, abruptly rising from her bed and hurrying past them, exiting the Guest Room. Serana's words had evidently struck a deep chord within her, and Inigo alone seemed to grasp the significance. His expression conveyed an understanding of the distressing issues that prompted her reaction.

Serana turned around to look at Inigo. She placed her hands on her hips, demanding a truthful response. "She was one of those Necromancers, wasn't she?"

"I..." Inigo was about to concoct a lie on Illia's behalf, but he decided instead to be forthcoming, as she'd given her blessing to inform the others yesterday. "Yes. Yes, she was."

"Necromancy is illegal." Harald spat plainly. "If I tell mother about this-"

"Oh, stuff it!" Lucien snapped at him. "Obviously there's more to the story!"

Harald uncrossed his arms, surprised at Lucien's immediate admonition of him. A look of offense plastered his face and he walked out of the room. Saerlund watched as his brother walked down the wood-and-stone hallway and descended the stairs to the floor below.

"Oh... I hope I'm not going to get in trouble for that." Lucien pursed his lips nervously.

Saerlund shook his head. "No you won't; I'll make sure of it." He walked downstairs, as well.

"So, you were saying?" Serana goaded Inigo to continue as he was fitting his armour on. "What really happened yesterday? I know it wasn't as simple as going for a walk and fighting necromancers. I could feel the dark magic surrounding her the moment she walked into the Keep. Which Daedric Prince did she serve? Boethiah? Mephala? Namira?"

Inigo shook his head while securing the ties of his plated armor. "No, absolutely not. Her mother intended to sacrifice an innocent to Hircine in exchange for becoming a Hagraven. Illia was against it, and together, we put an end to her," he explained. Glancing at his sword, he continued, "I was the one who plunged the sword into the witch's chest. I couldn't bear the thought of Illia bearing the guilt of killing her own mother."

"I knew it." Serana snapped her fingers. It was an easy deduction, but she needed to be certain.

"Kill an innocent person to become a Hagraven. Life goals, I suppose." Lucien responded bitterly with distaste in his mouth.

"What does she intend to do now?" Serana inquired. "When things calm down, I could always put in a good word for her in Winterhold, if she wants."

"'When' things calm down." Inigo parroted back the words almost laughably. "You mean more, 'if we survive this ordeal.'"

"He wasn't a Daedric Prince, but we survived my Father and his court." Serana kept in the spirit of things. "I'd say we're damn well good at living through the unlivable."

Inigo conceded. "Yes, you are right. I never once thought that being in a castle with so many vampires, and I would be walking away." He finished adjusting his armour at last and hung his bow on his back and his sword at his side. "Okay - I am ready to congregate with the leviathans in court. Do you have any advice for me? Be less of myself, or more of myself?"

"More. More is good." Lucien advised. "Your sense of humour could cleave even the frozen air in two. Could be good in case things get too serious in there."

Serana agreed. "I'm with Lucien on this one. Just be yourself, and keep both sides' eyes on what matters."

Inigo descended the stairs. He would have to go it alone. It wasn't going to be easy. He turned back to Serana and Lucien. "Stay with Illia, okay? I know the headspace that she is in right now, and it leads nowhere good. Make sure she is not alone."

"Aw, what a sweet kitty cat." Serana teased playfully, prompting a stern look from Inigo, to which she confirmed with him. "Don't worry; we will. Just keep your eyes on the road ahead."

Inigo met Wylandriah in the main hall, as she and Anuriel were the only two remaining there. "I suppose they are already outside?"

Anuriel nodded. "Yes; Jarl Laila, Jarl Ulfric, Jarl Skald, Jarl Korir, and their Housecarls are waiting for you at the Stables. You shouldn't keep them waiting any longer. It's very uncouth."

Inigo pursed his lips. "Well, thank you for the tip, I guess." He waved to Wylandriah and passed the double doors. If only he were strong enough to Fast Travel the entire group to Whiterun - but then they would be hours early.

Whiterun. A beautiful city, and one that Cura adored. He recalled fondly the times they spent there together during their downtime - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Good being when they revitalized the square with a new Gildergreen, the bad - when they sent Lydia off with the Companions' funeral behind Jorrvaskr, and the ugly - when they first encountered Nazeem - or, rather, when they fought Odahviing, truthfully.

Inigo chuckled with himself after that recount.

He remembered how worried he felt when Cura rode on the back of that red wyrm. When she went alone to face Alduin. And that was supposed to be the end of all their troubles. That was the final battle. The land was supposed to be saved!

As Inigo walked around the marketplace and passed the Temple of Mara, he looked up at the establishment. "Gods, grant me the strength to see this through to its end."

He was determined to do what was right, but there was a thin line between the collapse of the negotiations. The Stormcloaks have opposed the Empire for so long, now - how could he possibly build a bridge between them? No amount of talking could heal the wounds inflicted on either side, nor stay the tide of disdain caused by the deaths of family, friends, and neighbours in the name of politics.

Stendarr the merciful, where is your mercy? Inigo had to ask as he walked underneath the wooden balconies of the houses lining the boarded street. You failed my friend when she needed you the most. You... you watch this land tear itself apart in turmoil. If you truly are the god of mercy and justice like they say, help me! How can I, a mere mortal, bridge this chasm of hatred? He cried out from within his heart.

A gentle breeze stirred the air around Inigo, and he detected the faint odour of blooming flowers which superceded the dankness of Riften. A deep, masculine voice whispered to him. "Inigo, brave soul, you are not mere. You are an instrument of fate, chosen by the Aedra themselves. Your path is clear: you shall forge a bridge of understanding between those who clash. The Legion and the Stormcloaks are but pawns in a cosmic game, and you and Cura hold the key to peace in these dark times."

Inigo stopped where he stood, his eyes wide with wonder. He spoke aloud. "But how, Stendarr? How can I sway hardened hearts, staunch warriors who see only enemies across the divide?"

Stendarr's voice was like a distant thunder. "Listen well, Inigo. We Aedra watch over Nirn, our divine gaze unwavering. Compassion is your weapon, and wisdom your shield. Speak to the wounded, heal their wounds, and remind them that they are all children of Tamriel. The Legion seeks order, the Stormcloaks freedom, but both yearn for justice. Show them that these paths need not be mutually exclusive."

Inigo contemplated this. "Speak to the wounded and heal their wounds..." The denial of Talos, the stubbornness to allow Skyrim to separate, the mutual enemy in the Thalmor - the greater threat of the Daedra. Yes. "I understand. And what of the Aedra? Will you help us in this crisis too?"

A gentle light enveloped Inigo, bathing him in warmth. "The Aedra are with you, mortal. Akatosh has aided you throughout your life and unto meeting my Vigilant, Kynareth whispers in the wind, guiding your steps. Arkay blesses your resolve, for life and death are intertwined, Dibella reveals beauty in even the harshest of places. Julianos bestows knowledge upon you, Mara holds your life in her hands, and Zenithar ensures prosperity. Talos desires unity, and pushes towards keeping your land together in these horrible days. And I, Stendarr, pledge my unwavering support. When you falter, look to the stars - they burn with our collective purpose."

Inigo felt a fire burn in his heart, burning away his doubts and fears. "I shall be the bridge, Stendarr. I shall mend what is broken, unite what is torn. For the people of Skyrim, for the legacy of the Aedra, I shall strive. In the name of the Dragonborn - of our Cura - I promise you this."

"This is pleasing to me." Stendarr's voice spoke softly. "That you remember my Saint - and Akatosh's messenger on Nirn. The one who returns confidence to the broken Auri-El."

Inigo furrowed his brow. "Returns confidence to the broken Auri-El?"

"Shezarr was correct in his theory." Stendarr's voice began to fade, growing lower and lower. "Remember, Inigo, that even gods can learn from mortals. Go forth, and may your deeds echo through the ages. The bridge you build shall withstand storms and time itself."

Inigo was left standing there, and he held a hand over his chest. He was awestruck. He just spoke with Stendarr - though that should not really be a surprise, truthfully. Perhaps Langley was wrong about the Divines not being able to aid them against the Doom Strider.

That was another beast entirely. But all Inigo knew was that when the Doom Strider comes, he is going to strike it down - and Cura will be there, as well; unless Langley was wrong.

That was something for another time - he already had enough troubles to consider. At least he could look forward to seeing Whiterun again.

Fralia and Eorlund.

He just remembered. At the battle of Windhelm, their two sons Avulstein and Thorald lost their lives against Dagon's forces. He cringed with the thought of telling them the bad news. Though, with how quickly Couriers spread news in Skyrim, they were probably already in mourning. At least they had solace in the knowledge that they were in Sovngarde now.

And, on top of it all, they had the absolute confirmation that Sovngarde existed, since Cura herself went there and returned. Lucien was quite annoyed by the fact that the Nords had confirmation of an afterlife but nobody else has yet, beyond specters.

But hey, he could boast having spoken to Stuhn.

The Jarls were already in their carriages outside of the Riften Stables, and the Stableboy Shadr, a young Redguard, was tying the reins around the Horses' snouts for them.

Jarl Ulfric spoke frankly to the lad. "A storm is coming, boy. At some point you're gonna have to hide inside the city walls."

Shadr nodded anxiously. "Yes, sir. I've heard the whispers of large numbers of Daedra in the Northern fields."

"I can tell you're not a fighter, but we might have a use for you." Ulfric insisted. "If we can get that oaf Tullius to agree to help us, you'll be coordinating the war horses."

"Yes, sir."

Jarl Skald scoffed as he and his Housecarl took their seat on the carriage. "Hmph. What's taking that damned cat so long? I feel my beard growing back! I'll die of old age before we even reach Whiterun."

Jarl Korir took his seat beside the miserable curmudgeon. "Please, for the love of Talos, don't whine the whole trip long again."

Jarl Laila looked to Unmid. "The mountains won't be easy to cross if what Serana said was true. What do you suggest we do, Unmid?"

The Nord looked to the mountains and tried to recall the pathways. "We could attempt to pass through Falkreath, now that it's in Stormcloak hands. Go 'round the path near Haemar's Shame instead of taking the North through Eastmarch."

"Do you mean the open field past Treva's Watch, Southeast of Ivarstead? But that would mean cutting through the tail of the Jerall Mountain range." Jarl Laila realized. "Wouldn't that be dangerous? Shor knows that a Dragon or two could be lurking in those mountains - or something worse for all we know."

"Unless you want to go through a large, gaping pit." Unmind reminded her of the alternative.

"Where is a map?" Jarl Laila demanded, which Unmid pulled out and stretched over the footstool of the carriage. "Yeah; see? The road from Faldar's Tooth ends at this Dwemer Ruin, there." she pointed a sharp finger to the mountains which rode from the border towards the Throat of the World. She located a cave. "That's Haemar's Shame, right there. Southeast of the Falkreath Stormcloak Camp, Southwest of in the middle of rough terrain. It's a terrible idea. I know that our horses are sturdy enough to scale the mountains, but still."

Unmid traced a line. "If we can scale the mountain we can take the path west, and pass Helgen. And then we'll take the road northeast to Riverood and then Northwest to Whiterun, around the Mountain where Bleak Falls Barrow is located."

"I just don't fathom how we're ever going to scale those mountains." Jarl Laila held a finger to her mouth as she pondered the matter.

Unmid chuckled, and Laila looked at him with a mix of bewilderment and anger. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"With all due respect, my Jarl; I think you need some glasses." Unmid slowly raised the map closer for her to see, and he guided her eyes along the map with his finger, tracing from the Dwarven Ruin of Avanchunzel northwestward, past a long trail of mountains and winding pathways near Honeystrand Cave, until he settled on one small road, which seemed to ride upwards in a parabola around Haemar's Shame. "There is a rough, but small road right there."

"Ah! Indeed, there it is," Laila exclaimed, feeling a tad foolish as she surveyed the labyrinthine trails. "I beg your pardon, Unmid. Seems I had a brief tangle in my brain. Your mastery of the terrain is, as always, unquestionable."

"It is easy to overlook, my Jarl," Unmid said, attempting to cheer her up. "It is a path seldom taken until recent times."

"I was always so worried about the Jeralls, and the border into Morrowind." Jarl Laila sighed. "The Imperials could have invaded us through that little mountain pass this entire time, and I would not have known."

Inigo exited the City Gate at that moment, and Jarl Ulfric approached him directly. "Well, you slept well, I should think. Are you ready?"

"Yes - I am greased and oiled, and ready to move out!" Inigo proclaimed as he began to follow Ulfric onto the carriage. Jarl Laila and Unmid followed behind them and they all took their seats.

"It's about damn time! Let's get moving already!" Jarl Skald squeezed out through his dry throat as he waved his hands in a shoo'ing motion towards the driver. He was always known for his impatience and short temper. With a flick of the reins, the carriage embarked on the road.

Jarl Korir rubbed his forehead with a sigh. It seemed Skald was allergic to the concept of peace and quiet.

"How do you feel, Inigo? Refreshed? Ready to take on the day?" Jarl Laila asked kindly as they passed underneath a pair of beautiful orange deciduous trees and curved around a pair of large rocks, taking the unorthodox path around the Merryfair Farmstead onto the grassy cliffs.

"I am." Inigo smiled and nodded.

"Well - enjoy the nice, scenic route." Jarl Laila stated as she readjusted her furs around her neck. "And be thankful to the gods that you have fur. We'll be passing Haemar's Shame, in the frozen Jeralls."

"Haemar's Shame?" Ulfric asked, bewildered. "Why in Oblivion-"

Jarl Laila explained the working plan to Ulfric, showing him the map and tracing the path before him.

"Hmpf. The last time I rode a carriage in that direction, I was going to be executed." Ulfric scoffed. "And at the hand of the same man I am going to negotiate with now. Fate truly is a bitch, isn't she?"

He looked down at Inigo who sat next to him. "My daughter sat beside me, exactly the way you are. Her best friend. It is a sort of poetry, isn't it?"

"She always said that Helgen was where it all began." Inigo parroted Cura's words to her father. "I did not imagine it was so literal until now."

The carriage navigated a treacherous path, winding around sizable boulders and across the uneven terrain. It was ill-suited for such a rugged expanse, its ultimate goal being the dirt track that lay beside Lake Honrich to their left. As they made their way, Faldar's Tooth loomed on their right, its bandit inhabitants choosing not to engage, deterred by the formidable presence of the Stormcloak cavalry that followed in the carriage's wake.

Jarl Laila leaned forward, tapped Inigo, and gestured towards the lake behind him, where a small island connected by a stone bridge lay. "Over there is Goldenglow Estate. That's where Maven cultivates her bees for her exquisite Mead. Can you smell the nectar?" she asked with enthusiasm, as though she were recounting the exploits of a close friend.

Little did she know that Maven was never her friend.

"Yeah, yeah. All I smell is the filth coming up out of that water. All that algae will rot your brains. I wonder how many bodies were dumped in there. This lake is disgusting! The grass too - I hate it!" Jarl Skald whined.

"Is there anything you don't hate?" Jarl Korir scoffed at him before turning to the others. "This was what I had to deal with from Winterhold to Riften. Have fun!"

Inigo and Ulfric both looked at each other. Inigo spoke up. "If he keeps complaining, can you Fus Ro his Dah?"

Ulfric scoffed. "Don't tempt me."

Jarl Skald looked at the two of them and was immediately taken aback by it. "You wouldn't dare! You need me."

Jarl Ulfric kept his composure. "Just enjoy the ride, Skald."

His response was immediate. "How can I enjoy the ride with this damned wind blowing in my eyes?"

It was going to be a long ride.

Cura sat on a bench in the streets of the dust-covered city beside Carcette. The group decided to take a moment of respite after the big battles they'd partaken in recently. The void hung in the skies above, and Cura was mesmerized by the dark colours swirling around the black hole in the sky. Some distance from it, the black eclipse with red energy swirling within it hung, and the silver sphere of light conjured by Jyggalag also hung in the west, casting a bright light over the city itself.

Carcette pondered Jyggalag's prophecy concerning the two pathways Cura could take: swallowing the Stone - whatever that meant exactly - or going on to become the Empress. He had predicted that they would meet in the western battlefront, and yet they merely met within the city itself. Perhaps even the precisive Daedric Prince could err from time to time.

Cura rested against the ex-Keeper of the Vigil. "It's been a rough journey, Kee—oh, Carcette," she corrected herself, still struggling with the transition despite its duration. "It might feel strange, but the longer I stay here, the more it starts to feel... almost like home. It's hard to put into words."

Carcette shook her head. She hated the sound of that. "No; this realm will never be like home, Cura - you mustn't allow it to delude you."

"I didn't mean it literally... I meant it more like, oh," Cura fumbled about trying to find the right wording. She looked at the high walls and the skeletal statues leaning against them, as well as flags depicting Molag Bal's face and rotted shrubs lining the roads. "I don't feel the despair anymore. When I first got here, and over the last few - I suppose days - I was alone, and I felt as if I were going mad. And now I feel tranquil. Travelling the desert with allies, fighting enemies; were the environment a tad more cold and the realm more lively it would almost feel like life in Skyrim."

"When Jyggalag's Graymarch storms through this realm, obliterating its remnants completely, there'll be an absence of any colour. No desert, no darkness, simply nothing," Carcette declared, her tone suggesting anticipation. "nothing but a realm sheathed in gray crystals will emerge, boasting the grandest library ever witnessed, stretching across the landscape. It will indeed be a spectacle to behold."

"You really seem enthused about this." Cura furrowed her brows, showing a hint of sadness and concern. "Does Jyggalag own you now, Carcette? What about Stendarr? Please tell me you didn't cast him away."

Carcette leaned forward in her seat. "About that... I suppose now would be a good time to discuss these matters."

Cura nodded. "Yes; Keeper, your eyes betray you. What troubles your soul? Please tell me." And there she went again, slipping back into old habits at the blink of an eye.

Carcette twiddled her thumbs together on her lap. "It is Stendarr. His mercy, once my guiding light, became like iron chains. When you died, Cura, I was beside myself - my heart was crushed in utter despair. I blamed myself - my haste - the impostor's deception... I was so lost - and then Jyggalag came to me. Or rather, I was pulled towards him. I have glimpsed another path, Cura. A path that leads not to forgiveness, but to order, precision, and unyielding logic." She understood now that even Cura's death had a purpose. It was all part of something bigger.

Cura was surprised. "Keeper, have you lost your senses? Stendarr's compassion is our shield against the darkness."

Carcette's voice was low. She laced her fingers together and sighed. "Compassion, yes. But at what cost? Our order hunts Daedra, vampires, and necromancers. We purge abominations, yet we ignore the chaos that festers in the hearts of mortals. Jyggalag offers clarity, a world without chaos, where every action has purpose."

Cura leaned closer. "Purpose? Jyggalag's madness consumes him. His realm, the Shivering Isles, is a fractured reflection of order. It is sterile, devoid of life."

"Jyggalag and Sheogorath are separate now. In his realm, I have learned more and seen more than anything I could ever have imagined. Jyggalag has done things for me that Stendarr never cared to... or rather, I was undeserving of his favour." Carcette's voice rose as she pointed to Cura. "And you serve Meridia! Who are you to judge me?"

"I never forsook Stendarr. And I'm aiding Meridia because I respect her." Cura looked troubled. "Meridia shares a common goal with us. She holds no ill will against the Vigil. But you would abandon Stendarr for Jyggalag's sterile order?"

"I haven't abandoned Stendarr, Cura. I no longer actively serve him as I used to as Keeper, but he is still with me, and I am doing his will regardless. It's... complicated.' Carcette met Cura's gaze with a stagnant one of her own. "I seek balance, Cura. A tempered blade that cuts through darkness without losing sight of compassion. You feel the same way - I know you do. Perhaps it is time we reevaluate our service. Perhaps it is time to choose our paths."

From the day Cura died, Carcette had begun receiving cryptic messages - whispers in the night. Jyggalag's voice urged her toward a grand design, a cosmic order that transcended mortal concerns. She wondered if she was a pawn in a larger game. Being in his Library answered that question.

"You aren't fully committed." Cura looked into her mentor's eye. "To Jyggalag, indecision is a flaw - a cog slipping out of alignment."

Carcette stared at Cura for a few moments. Perhaps I can test her, now. She thought to herself. She cleared her throat and leaned back. "Cura - define compassion to me. Is it merciful, or is it weak?"

Cura was stunted by the abrupt question, but elected to give her an answer. "Compassion is not weakness, but strength. It is the balm that soothes wounds. It is knowing that you have great power and knowing when it is too much. When you strike with your warhammer, remember that every blow carries the weight of justice; and know when to and when not to deliver it." After all, not everybody needed to be killed for an infraction, depending on the severity of it. This idea; compassion; was what separated them from Molag Bal.

Carcette pondered on her response and nodded. "I see." She stood up from the bench and paced in front of Cura, wondering how much she could say to her to stay within the alignment of Jyggalag's predictions - though he probably would have taken this into account, as well. "What if I told you that your path leads beyond these walls? That your virtues will shape empires?"

"A test, Cura. Just a test." Carcette's gaze bore into hers. "For just a minute, imagine if you ascended to an influential position - the leader of a Hold; or a Queen; or an Empress. With immense power at your fingertips. Would you wield it with compassion or an unyielding fist?"

Cura hesitated. Where did this come from? "I serve Stendarr. My duty-"

"Duty blinds," Carcette interrupted. "Imagine a realm torn by strife. Daedra whisper, and mortals suffer. Would you choose a rule of light or dominion?"

Cura clenched her fists. "Light. Always light. But Keeper, why would you ask me a question like that?"

Carcette reassessed her words and tried to obscure her intentions. "Well, it's no secret that your path intertwines with Tamriel's. But this moment-our choices-shape destiny. Your death, your life - your impact is going to be profound upon our world. Everything you choose to do and choose not to do will be felt for generations to come."

"Keeper, this is madness!" Cura's voice cracked.

"Because," Carcette said softly, "I see your heart. You're more than a blade. You're a soul torn between compassion and duty. You are on a path that you cannot escape from, Cura. I merely want to make sure that you choose the correct path once it splits."

Cura's heart-once a beacon of unwavering light-now flickered. From day one, she had dedicated her life to Stendarr, to the Vigil's code. She was once a bright-eyed, happy-go-lucky child, but then her life turned upside down when the Dragons returned. Since then, her blade had tasted Daedric blood, Dragon flesh, and her nights were haunted by the screams of the undead.

Cura's resolve wavered. "And you, Keeper? What path do you choose?"

Carcette smiled. "Balance, Cura. A tempered blade. Compassion without weakness. Order without cruelty."

Cura was confounded greatly by her words. "I don't understand what you're telling me, Keeper."

"Carcette." her mentor softly corrected her at last. She was intentionally speaking cryptically to Cura because it needed to be this way for now. "Stendarr and Jyggalag have much in common, Cura. They are not necessarily in opposition to one another, and neither are their virtues. Both seek your victory over Molag Bal."

"Just like Meridia." Cura looked down at Dawnbreaker on her hip.

But what was with all the moral questions?"Anyway, our first order of business is for you to regain your Dragon Soul," Carcette informed her. Then, a realization struck her. The more she pondered, the more she thought Jyggalag might have been right about their reunion on the western battlefront: she had encountered Cura in the city, but perhaps the white flaming dragon was also Cura - her separated soul.

Clever Daedra.

"I can promise you that you will need it to defeat Molag Bal, if that's your intention." Carcette said plaintively. "No mere mortal could defeat him."

Cura nodded. "It's my goal to get it back. I think Savos and Mirabelle may have an idea of where to start."

"Then let's get back to them, shall we?" Carcette smiled to Cura and raised her helmet to cover her head once more. As they walked the dusty cobblestones, Cura remarked on it.

"I don't like what that armour is doing to you, Carcette." Cura said sadly as she took her mentor's hand and walked with her. "I hope... that once all this is finished... that you'll get rid of it."

"You and me both. But for now, it's necessary." Carcette responded.

Sabrina and Sir Amiel were waiting for Cura's arrival by the walls near the underpass. "Ah, went for a nice walk in the park, eh? Birds singing? Flowers blooming? Heh. Just hope you never get to see the Gardens." the Pailune Healer laughed lightheartedly.

"What's wrong with the Gardens?" Cura asked.

"Bodies hung on breaking wheels all over the place. Meant to represent trees, you see." Sabrina said with a sarcastic joy. "The Gardener - this madman with two shotels in gold armour with red cloths on it roams the grounds and likes to plant more trees - if you catch my drift."

As the words sunk in, one by one, Cura merely shrugged with a dismissive nod. "Yeah. That sounds quite right for this place."

Her allies gathered around her: Sir Amiel, Varla, Mary, Korn, Gloriel, Sabrina, Sir Ralvas, Mirabelle, and Savos, taking it that their time of rest had come to an end.

"Do any of you know how I could call my Dragon Soul to me? How do I go about reabsorbing it?" Cura asked frankly, only to be met by murmurs of confusion around her. Not even Savos or Mirabelle had an exact lead on that beyond the Amulet of Kings, potentially.

Sir Ralvas, on the other hand, raised his hand. "Jhunal. I think he can help you."

"Jhunal?" Cura furrowed her brows. "The Atmoran Sorcerer?"

"The White Owl himself, yes." Sir Ralvas confirmed. "He dedicated much time to researching Dragons, it is said - and his library here in the Imperial City may have information about disembodied Dragon souls. Apparently he devoted his research towards trapping Dragon Souls into Stones. His ally was the gray wolf of the winds."

"Laza?" Carcette asked, prompting a look from the others.

"Who?" Cura asked, turning an expectant glare to her mentor.

"Laza was a knight in the service of Jyggalag, having once served Kynareth and encountered the White Owl," Carcette recounted from her readings about the betrayer. "He turned against Jyggalag, and during my pursuit, he became encased in crystal at the gate. Should the White Owl represent Jhunal, then it was him Laza served," she said, turning to Cura. "Given his might to slay dragons for Jhunal... gods, tread cautiously, Cura."

Gloriel grew worried. "Then he was a member of the Graymarch? Does he intend to slay us all?"

"He intends to slay Molag Bal, because of what happened to his sister Lamae Beolfag. Yes - that Lamae." Carcette explained. "The same Lamae that Inigo, the others, and I laid to rest underneath Windhelm. The Blood Matron."

Cura could barely process all of the information being volleyed at her this day. She turned to Sir Ralvas. "You're quite knwledgeable, Sir Ralvas- "

"Thank you." the headless knight exclaimed happily, cutting her off for a second.

Cura continued, "-do you know where Jhunal's Library is? The sooner I get my soul back, the better."

"I sure do. I could lead you right to it..." Sir Ralvas proclaimed.

"Good! Then let's-"

"If I had my head, that is." Sir Ralvas reminded her that he could not see.

Varla sneered at him. "We could just wander the city until we find it. It's probably hidden in the shadows somewhere."

Mary spoke up. "Sir Ralvas, pray tell me, who took your head?"

"Some batlike creature." Sir Ralvas stated. "Beyond that, I am uncertain. Why they would want it, who knows."

Carcette crossed her arms and sighed. "The Vampires."

Cura nodded. "The Vampires."

The two of them remembered their previous experience regarding those creatures. "Ironically, had I died a year ago, we would have reunited again, under different pretenses." Carcette mused on a different outcome, had she been more careless in those days around the Volkihar Court.

"And I would free you from here, just like the others." Cura informed her. She shook her shoulder in a friendly manner. "But don't fret - we have You, we have Me, we have Mary, we have Korn, and we have Gloriel. I pity the Vampires."

Gloriel nodded vehemently. "Vampires are a scourge - a vile creation that mocks Lady Meridia in her purest essence. And you, her Champion, wielding Dawnbreaker... well... you are certainly their greatest bane."

"There can be no peace." Mirabelle Ervine stated. "You've defeated them before, yes? You will have to do so once again."

Cura reached behind her back and showed off Auriel's Bow to the group. "This was the bow used to defeat Harkon the first time. I understand now that Molag Bal offered him no protection because he was afraid. Afraid of Auriel. Afraid of Akatosh." She aimed the bow at the black sun which hovered in the sky, and drew her last Sunhallowed elven arrow. "And he was damned well right to be."

She loosed the holy arrow into the skies above, and the light glistened in the air. Once it made contact with the dark sun, a great explosion of light shook the air and rays of light descended upon the landscape.

Molag Bal, who stood in his throne room with the disgraced Volar, and Lord Harkon, witnessed the massive sunburst and bit his lower lip with his gnarled fangs. "So... she declares war with us openly now. Very well. Let the gates of Coldharbour consume her." he growled under his breath.

Lord Harkon sneered, and went down on one knee, lowering his head to the Daedric Prince. "Please, my Lord - my court relishes the chance to destroy her. Grant us strength and we will tear her soul apart."

"Destroy her, with my blessing. Do not fail me as Volar, Vernaccus, Varla and Menta-Na have." Molag Bal commanded. After all, he had even greater threats to worry about now.

Harkon rose gradually, and the Daedric Prince laid a hand upon his brow. "The strength I bestow upon you will shield you from Auriel's Sunlight, and your magic shall grow stronger." Yet, in reality, Molag Bal's might was diminishing, ebbing away with each guardian Cura vanquished. His sway over his realm was lessening; a truth he wished to keep hidden from the Vampires.

As though the insolence of Cura and the shining sun in his realm were not evidence enough of that fact.

A deep crimson flow of energy surrounded Harkon, and his eyes glowed a deeper red. He could feel an incredible surge of power fill his veins. "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha..." he cackled ecstatically as he felt the darkness consume him. With a quick blast of dark energy, he took the form of a swarm of black bats and flooded out of the window of the tower. His swarm was visible even from where Cura was standing in the city, and he flew to the east, to where Castle Volkihar was, on the other side of the lake.

Cura lowered Auriel's Bow and placed it on her back. She admired the skies, which had lost their reddish hues from the formerly black sun - now the white Dragon Soul soared the skies, which had become golden with the light of Akatosh, and with the light of Jyggalag.

She turned to her allies. "We will raid Castle Volkihar, slay them all, and hope to find Sir Ralvas' head. And then I will find a way to regain my Dragon Soul."

"Sounds like a plan, Cura." Sabrina gave her two thumbs up.

"My spear thirsts for the blood of Vampires." Gloriel proclaimed as she twirled her polearm.

Carcette closed her eye and sighed. She was not looking forward to seeing the Volkihar court again, but was grateful for her helmet, which obscured her face. After all, she did not want to lose her other eye.