AURORANS – no, too dark and gloomy.

Banekin – grey skin, but no resemblance at all.

Dremora – grey skin, red tattoo, sharp features, but not quite right. Cross-breed?

Havocrel – giant, but not blind.

Ruinach – lacks two arms and two horns; has too many toes.

Xivilai – once again, not horned enough, though horny; ogles breasts.

Elusive. If a word could summarise at best the last few hours after the radiance, it was elusive – as the facts definitely, absolutely didn't speak for themselves in any way or form. It felt absurd how such a blinding light had engulfed the world into pure, unbridled chaos.

The more Esylt pondered the issue, the more it became a privilege and a burden to have witnessed it, and to have, in all truth, actively participated in the matter. Her nails were all bitten down to the quick – except for the left thumb's, though she was, as she cogitated and fidgeted before the captain's desk, starting to settle it right at the corner of her mouth, and soon enough it would join its bloody-looking friends too. She had no idea what was eating them away. The reason was simply, infuriatingly, desperately elusive.

The anomaly resisted spells – but, unconsciously, regenerated spine and guts all by itself, which meant it was indeed capable of magic, but immune to some external alterations. The necklace had been able to pierce a breach into the disturbance that troubled it. It stopped dreaming upon touch.

Vestigial...

A door slammed in the distance, and voices arose through her thick, introspective silence.

"Fuckin' drunks always pissin' round these days. What the fuck's happenin'?"

Vestigial hybridization...

"If only there were just drunks. Had to put the Mayric girl in jail this morning. Girl was chasing her crawling fiancé with a dagger, claiming he cheated with some whore and all – but the boy never left his bed. He broke his leg last week."

"Lemme guess: he was at two places at the same time?"

Vestigial hybridization...

"Aye. Witnesses said they did see him leaving the inn with a chesty brunette, and he was walking just fine. But the boy's leg is broken."

Vestigial hybridization could be the answer but...

"The whole town's hallucinatin'. That's what's happenin'"

For fuck's sake, can they speak elsewhere? Where was I? Yes. Could it be vestigial hybridization? The voices echoed away behind the door, interlaced with metallic footsteps. Thank you, Lady Nocturnal. But why the Adamantine Tower? Was it corrupted? Aedra are indeed associated with stasis, and Daedra represent chan...

The book flew out of her hands and the captain's face landed right above the pages, a contemptuous scowl wrinkling his fleshy nose. He glanced at the cover and snarled.

"Aedra and Daedra," he read out loud. Then quite brutally threw the book on the desk. "Is that part of an experimentation of some kind?"

Esylt sat back on the very uncomfortable chair and crossed her arms, which, of course, only contributed in making her look guiltier in the captain's eyes, as if she were trying to protect her secrets from his prying stare. She noticed he had wrapped his right hand with a dirty rag on which bloodied petals kept blossoming. Judging by the watery look of the ooze, there was a really bad burn underneath.

"Did you burn yourself?" she asked.

"None of your business. Answer me: is that part of an experimentation your school is conducting?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, very nonchalantly. She wasn't one to involuntarily confess.

"I think you do."

"Nay, I don't. What's that experimentation you speak of?"

"I ask. You answer."

"Well, I don't have an answer for you, but you might be able to enlighten me. I'd like to know why I'm here."

The captain, probably realizing it would take more time than expected, suddenly flopped on the chair opposite to her. Under the bridge of her brows, chin tilted towards her chest, Esylt looked at him skimming over some scrolls.

"State your name and place of birth," he said. There was a slight weariness in his voice.

"I already gave it to your subordinate."

"State your name and place of birth."

Esylt bit her tongue not to comment about his suspected illiteracy, but she couldn't hold back a sigh.

"Esylt Vordanth," she said. "Born in Evermore. No idea when."

"In Evermore, or near Evermore?"

"How is that important?" She grunted. "Places shouldn't matter."

"In Evermore, or near Evermore?"

"Near."

2.

THE dim light of the cells had long faded away behind Kratos. He walked within the shadows of alleyways, glancing over his shoulders as soon as footsteps raised dust on the cobblestones. Upon leaving the jail, he had discarded his ripped red chiton, unmistakeably foreign, for a coarse linen sheet stolen on a cloth line; and though the way he had wrapped himself looked nothing like the apparel the men of this land would wear, he still felt less conspicuous, and that was enough for him.

He walked hastily, almost whisking along the walls to blend in the background, often bent to soothe the twinges that pricked his stomach. A few children, gathered in the solitary haven of their backyards, gasped and ran away in his path, but he did manage to reach the outskirts without mishap. Guards were busy elsewhere – he saw a bunch of them hurtling down the main road toward the docks, and one holding back a petite woman thrashing in his arms, fist clenched on a knife and mouth opened in screams with which he was too familiar.

Though unknown and foreign, the folk of those lands weren't much different to helots. They too walked bent, not by the weight on their shoulders, but by the cruel, hopeless certitude that tomorrow would be worse. Through their unfamiliar clothes, he recognized the shadows of frenzied survival; the way they carelessly, hastily tied their sweat-soaked long tunics around the waist, the way starvation rippled their dirt-covered loose linen pants, the way their laced leather boots no longer cracked but crumbled at the soles – threadbare, holed soles mended with whatever was available. Judging by the toes and heels flashing through as they trudged towards the stake, not much at the moment.

At any rate, he would leave behind those poverty-stricken thatched houses and die out somewhere in the woods, where no one would find him or remember his legend. He would disappear in both flesh and name, and his whole existence would be lost among the trees. To think he once used his beloved Sparta to bask and revel in the decadence of glory. How far away were those days, but how close they felt whenever he saw the scars on his arms...

The forest opened on his way and the busy town blurred in fog and silence below. He never stopped trudging toward annihilation.

And then primal, unrestrained self-survival took over. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a hint of motion through the bushes. An acid green light pierced through the foliage; the leaves trembled and rustled as antlers parted them, and his fists clenched, and his knees bent by sheer instinct. The claws whistled at his ear.

Kratos backed and blocked, his own arm hitting the creature's. A dull knock came out of its wooden, knotted flesh, and when Kratos pounced away from its reach, he, for a split second, took the time to look and study his foe. He was no poet enough to paint a better picture than that of a tree woman. It had the outstanding curves and the big gleaming eyes of superficially hailed feminity, but all sculpted in the hardest rain-bleached wood; the only edges that spiked her silhouette were her antlers and the long, sharp fingers with which she had tried to put his eye out. A swarm of glowing green wasps frenetically buzzed around her; they stung whenever he would approach.

So he waited, pacing back and forth to foresee her moves, and soon enough, the creature shrieked and leapt. Kratos stooped and rolled forward, his hand instinctively gripping the creature's ankle. He felt the energy passing through her leg and took advantage of that momentum. As he spun to accelerate the motion, he suddenly let go of her and, with cracks and snaps, the creature crashed on the nearest tree.

Kratos jumped to his feet before she could. Her glowing green eyes looked up as his sandalled foot cast a shadow on her splinted antlers and, without warning or hesitation, repeatedly crushed her face.

When he turned around, panting, a thousand green eyes pierced the darkness.

3.

STILL staring down at the scroll, the captain extended a hand, froze, then took his quill out of the inkwell and crossed words out. He then, very quickly, wrote something in the corner. Esylt managed to decipher the following sentence: Unknown parentage, unknown birthplace.

"My mother's a Breton, and my father's a Dunmer," she said, quite irritated. "You could've just asked."

He didn't answer. He only added more words to the offence, but this time, hiding his notes with a firm, clenched fist, whose thumb kept rubbing and scratching the index finger.

"So." He was still looking down at the scroll. "You let the Daedra escape?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. She was intensely staring at him. "I have seen no Daedra around."

"Listen, kid." From the corner of her eyes, Esylt noticed his left leg jolting restlessly under the desk. His boot was moving almost imperceptibly, but from time to time, the sole was lifted by half an inch, as if he had miscalculated the power surge in his leg. When she looked up, he was scrutinizing her unclear expression, eyes narrowed and lips pinched. "So, you better talk."

She raised and knitted her eyebrows, looking at him a trifle surprised.

"I'm sorry – I wasn't listening. What did you say before?" He snarled menacingly but kept quiet. "Threats, I presume?"

For what felt like eternity, he fixed his eyes into hers – no murderous glint into them, only a shadow of fatigue – then sighed and sat back in his chair. The quill almost slid out of his hand and a single drop of ink fell onto the rag that wrapped his right hand, adorning the bloodied, watery petals with a single black dot.

"You know what I think?"

"No."

"I think you summoned him."

"Did I? Why?"

"You tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"You know it's only protocol, right?" he suddenly spat. "You know the fact we found you in his cell is enough to lock you up forever? You know that, don't you?"

Esylt shrugged. "Illegal detention," she simply said and, as soon as the captain's mouth opened to ask what she meant by that, she let out – barked, actually – a very irritating guffaw that cut him off. "No, no. I'll tell you what I know, because I pity you. You fucked up hard. You know that, don't you?"

The captain was silent, expressionless. That return to sender had the sharp and unpleasant feeling of getting disarmed and wounded with one's own sword – though years of experience allowed him to maintain a somewhat vaguely interested, not-too-worried composure. Talkative suspects often betrayed themselves. It was now a matter of time before the mongrel slipped and fell with her feet in her mouth.

Meanwhile, as she waited for his answer, Esylt opened her satchel and put an elven ear root stick at the centre of her mouth and started, absently, chewing on it with the tip of her front teeth. Then, when she realized the captain wouldn't give her the pleasure to admit he indeed fucked up, she removed it and kept it firmly pinched between two fingers, face slightly turned towards the door. Her eyes briefly glanced the knob then came back to defy the captain's blank expression.

"Illegal detention," she repeated, and moved her little stick up and down as an emphasis. "Failure to assist a person in danger. A guest under the protection of Arch-Mage Lynecius – do you know who Arch-Mage Lynecius is, captain?"

He tried to maintain his head very straight on his shoulders, but a slight tilt of his chin betrayed his lack of knowledge.

"I bet you can guess," Esylt said.

"Well, a mage that mastered his craft, that's for sure."

Esylt smiled, but only a little. There was more mystery than sympathy in the stretched corner of her mouth.

"Yes. He did master his craft, the old fool. He specializes in the study of Aedric artifacts. A few months ago, he heard of an expedition set to plunder the Adamantine Tower, so he gathered some of his students to prevent that." She suddenly turned and pointed at the lattice window, behind which the sky was so dark and velvety both of their silhouettes were reflected as clearly as inside a mirror, only slightly distorted. "The light. That's why the light happened. They fought to save the divine artifacts, and they triggered a mechanism of some sort – I wasn't there, I only compiled their testimonies. Most died. Those who survived... well, they suffered horrific wounds, but they couldn't die for some reason. One of them thought the gods had blessed him for preventing the rampage, but it sure looks more like a curse. I bet that reminds you of something. Someone, I mean. You know, Arch-Mage Lynecius' protégé?"

The captain was now staring abstractly at her, mouth slightly agape. He no longer blinked. A scorching blast then prickled her skin and goosebumps hurtled down her arms. She felt the presence weighing on her neck and turned around.

"An elaborate, compelling lie."

The High-Elf stood tall, as translucent and blue as a ghost, and under his hood, two vivid eyes that she guessed were – or decided should be – green morosely stared down at her. Swiftly, as if it were the best protection she could get, Esylt put the elven ear root at the corner of her mouth, and fixed him with a suspicious look.

"Huh. What's this about?"

"The light," the High-Elf answered. There was clear hurry in his voice – worry, almost. "He does not know what the light is. He has not witnessed it."

Esylt glanced at the frozen captain, then, nodding thoughtfully, looked back at the High-Elf and frowned.

"Huh-huh," she said, and blinked, and tilted her head. "Are you a member of the Psijic Order?"

While his mouth opened, the astral projection wavered for a split second and his voice grew so thin she couldn't hear the answer – when it came back, it reverberated louder within the little desk.

"I cannot stay long," he said. "How was it?"

"What?"

"The light. How was it? What happened?"

"Uh," Esylt shrugged. "It was blinding. It was a really, really blinding light. Couldn't you see it from Artaeum?"

"We did not see it, but we felt it. We felt the tear in the fabric."

The projection wavered once more as the expression sent shivers down her spine. Esylt froze to take in the echoes of his voice, as if the information had to be repeated to penetrate her thick skull. Then, her lashes swept the shock away, and she darted two fearful, uncomprehending eyes toward his serene, imagined-green gaze.

"You cannot possibly be talking about a Dragon Break."

"You know what that is?" the High-Elf quietly asked.

"Of course. I'm no scholar but I do know a thing or two," Esylt said. She swept away a strand of hair that escaped from her braid and leant forward, toward the projection of the High-Elf. Her mouth quivered a little, as if she had started saying something and abruptly changed her mind.

A Dragon Break, huh. It didn't explain much, as Dragon Breaks were notorious to be incomprehensible for mere mortals, but it still enlightened the situation by its lack of explanation. There was nothing to understand, really, apart from the fact, in lack of better word, considering the circumstances that surrounded it, shit was definitely about to go down. Esylt never believed in optimism.

"My Order does suspect a Dragon Break," the High-Elf said. "An anomaly has lifted the veils that wraps Nirn, and time has been fractured in Koegria. Space has been rearranged. Everything feels different – can you not feel it?"

"I'm not sure..." Esylt frowned. "Why are you here though?"

"I need a description of the light," the High-Elf said. "I can feel that you witnessed it. Magicka moves differently around you – you have not been affected in the same way as the whole town."

"Do you know why?"

The High-Elf shook his head.

"That is why I'm here."

"Yeah, got it." Esylt sighed, then shrugged. "Well, I can't help you. I already told you – the light was blinding. I couldn't see a thing. There was night, and I was sure I was on my way to..." The destination died in her mouth as she could no longer find its name in the meanders of her brain. It got lost there, burnt by the residues of light that stuck to her eyes. But she remembered that morning. "Fuck. I can't remember where I was going."

"It happens," the High-Elf commented softly.

"No, no, I'm sure... I'm sure I told that guard, at the watchtower... And –"

"What happened during the light?"

"I –" Esylt frowned and pressed two trembling fingers right in the middle of her eyes. "There was night. I was walking, and then there was only light, and the whole world around became white and so bright I went blind. It was like –"

"Seeing the expanse of the Grey Maybe."

"Uh, I was going to say Aetherius without the sky to shroud its light, but, yeah, I guess that too."

"Interesting. And then?"

"And then..." Esylt momentarily closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she started tracing onto the furniture of the captain's office the fleeting landscape that she saw that night. "And then there was a wave. A wave of stars, and it looked like the horizon bent and opened on the mountains above, and I kept walking, but everything got blurred and muddled around me, as if I were running very, very fast, or... or flying, maybe, and then, when my feet finally stood still, I was in Koegria. Right in front of the docks."

The High-Elf was silent. He had brought an introspective hand under his chin to support his heaviest thoughts.

"Where were you, on the road?"

"I don't know," Esylt immediately answered, but it upset her for some reason, and she rectified: "I'm not sure."

"Interesting," the High-Elf repeated, and Esylt felt that he would've probably said the same thing if she had tell him her sweet rolls morphed into plain toasts. Everything was interesting. "My Order will look into the matter. As for you –"

"Wait," Esylt said, glancing at the captain. "There's something else."

"Make it quick, I will not be able to hold the spell for long."

"The morning after the Dragon Break, a man washed up near Koegria. His stomach was ripped open, spine severed and all, but he wouldn't die, so they put him in jail. I let him escape today. He healed by himself." She distractedly chewed on her elven ear root. "You see, I couldn't sense any Daedric energy around him, and he did nothing more than being kinda suspicious."

"But you are now wondering if you did the right thing," the High-Elf said really gently. He was about to reassure her.

"Nah, I did the right thing," she said, waving the idea away. "I'm wondering if his presence has anything to do with the Dragon Break, and if so, what does it foreshadow?"

"Time will only tell."

Esylt, looking suddenly depressed, turned back to the captain as the blue, translucent silhouette fluttered and vanished into thin air.

"So," she said, tapping with her nails on his desk. The captain was rubbing his eyes. "I was talking about Arch-Mage Lynecius. That man you threw in jail – he's a member of the, uh, Belfort Consortium."

"The what?"

"Those are classified informations I cannot talk about, but we work directly under the supervision of Alcaire's Mage Council. You noticed the whole town became a little... agitated?"

"Of course I noticed. My two cells are full of loonies."

"Well, an Aedric artifact taken from the Tower caused it – I mean, the dumbasses who rampaged the Tower caused it, really. That man, Ritemaster Hraldi – he tried to stop the charm, but he was also touched by its divine power. I guess the gods rewarded his intent by maintaining him alive – though it failed miserably since the artifact disappeared and his guts spilled everywhere in your jail. That was quite the disaster."

The captain, who had resumed writing on the scroll, suddenly immobilized the quill above the inkwell and leant toward her.

"Do you have a proof of what you're claiming?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Esylt said. With a cocky sneer, she rummaged through her satchel and presented him an old, crazed sigil. The captain circumspectly leant closer and studied it with a frown.

"Is that –"

"It's the Alcaire's Mage Council's sigil, yes." Esylt put it back in her satchel.

"It looks old." Old enough to still be suspicious.

"It's some sort of heirloom," Esylt said really casually. "My family has served the Council for generations."

A shadow passed over the captain's face. He both looked defeated and relieved.

"I see," he simply said. "But why didn't you make a formal request for his release?"

"We're operating undercover. And I had to make sure nothing had corrupted Ritemaster Hraldi's spirit."

"You mages always work on the sly," the captain muttered. He was crumpling the scroll on which he had written earlier.

"Damn right, we do," Esylt said with a chuckle. It sounded sincere. "You have no idea how much trouble we'd get if we didn't."

The captain didn't answer. He held the scroll above the candle on his desk. The flames licked the paper, and engulfed it, and the captain let the fire ball fall on a tin plate, where it consumed itself to a bunch of burnt, crisp paper shavings. Esylt stared at the fire with half a sneer, and then she caught a red glint inside the captain's half-shut sideboard. She bent forward and craned her neck to see what was reflecting the flames. The captain followed her gaze and, to her surprise, slowly opened the door so she could see what was inside.

"Your friend's swords," he said.

Esylt got up and shuffled across the office to the sideboard. She crouched and studied the sharp, broad blades whose serrated edge reminded her of a bat wing. The centre was adorned with flamboyant runes she had never seen before, and chains were carelessly tossed underneath – she immediately recognized the links as the ones that had branded the anomaly's arms. She stood there, staring at them, inexplicably nervous and enraged. She could not define nor interpret the sense of unease those blades evoked her. It dried her throat and froze her guts, and the feeling settled and intensified there as long as she was in their vicinity.

"You can keep them", she said, suddenly backing away.

"Keep them?" the captain repeated, and he raised his right, rag-wrapped oozing hand. "They burnt my hand when I picked them up. I'd have no use for them."

"You could sell them. Those are rare Ashlander swords from, uh, the... Urzabeinab clan. See it as a token of our good faith." Esylt hurried toward the door. "I'm sorry, but I really have to go now." She could no longer ignore the disturbing energy that electrified the air around the blades. "I'm already late to meet an informant. Good luck, captain." Her fingers gripped the cold handle, and she turned one last time toward him, smiling feebly. "With the loonies, I mean."

4.

THERE was no one on the road and no matter how deep he meandered into the forest, cabins, farms or mills always sprouted behind the trees. Life was everywhere – everywhere, except on the road.

Kratos wrapped tighter the sheet around his aching body. The tree women had left some light bruises on his knuckles, but the reddish, brownish spots were fading as the sun rose and set, and rose once more to settle at its zenith. A hot rain fell diagonally and gleamed opposite to the sun, so he had to squint not to let the twinkles dance into his eyes. The drops on the leaves scintillated too, and the cobbles glistened brightly, and below the trail he had followed, behind intertwined trees, the waves and sea foam reverberated all those tiny lights into one blinding vastness he dared not to look at. His eyes were steadily focused on his feet.

He walked until he no longer had to shield his face from the radiance, and there came a point where he could no longer ignore what was ahead – or, for that matter, his destination.

He raised his head, very slowly, carefully, as if he feared the sky was a low-ceiling he could bump into, and adjusted the way the sheet was falling along his muscular body. Then he felt a piercing gaze trying to pry it open, and he swiftly turned toward the highest point of the cliff, where the trees had been cut down and laid in improvised benches.

A hooded silhouette was sitting there. Though her face was shadowed by her gold-embroidered hood, she had put out of the cape her two grey hands to hold a piece of bread. The rain didn't touch her, tapping an inch or two above her head on what seemed to be an invisible dome.

Her right hand ceremoniously let go of the bread and waved, in such a restraint way he almost thought he was mistaken, but then her voice rose clear and cordial:

"Why, I thought you'd be long gone by now!"

For a debilitating minute, Kratos froze and stared at her, as if he didn't know her, and then – as if he had made up his mind, or rather remembered her name and face – abruptly strode toward her. She nodded toward the trunk opposite to hers and he sat down, without even pondering the offer. He had walked for too long.

"Here, have some water," the girl said, and she handed him a goatskin beautifully carved with a flock of birds – crows. "You look like hell, you know," she added, mainly to incite him to drink from it, as he was taking time to admire the carving, but also because it was true. "You look like you didn't sleep at all. Did you end up in another jail, buddy?"

"No."

The nickname got a disdainful snort out of him. It was quite unpleasant to only be referred as buddy, especially when the sentence before held a bigger, more disturbing truth. He hadn't slept since he awoke in the cell. He didn't dare close his eyes in fear of what visions could lie beneath – the hope, or the illusions the nightmares were gone sufficed to keep his legs sturdy.

"Look," the girl said, taking a mouthful. "Not poisoned. And here –"

"What is your name?"

The vibrating bass of his voice startled her; it was almost imperceptible, but he saw her arm flinch and her finger grip the goatskin tighter. He couldn't know, however, if she had already forgotten how deep it rumbled, or if she hadn't expected him to talk at all.

"Uh, Esylt," she said, narrowing her pretty eyes. "You remember we already met, right?"

Kratos nodded slightly as he took the goatskin out of her still-extended hand. While he was busy uncorking it, she got up and leant toward him to put some bread on his lap, then sat back on her own trunk.

The water felt cool and silky running down his throat. Kratos could not remember the last time he had rested his mind and legs, nourished his body and soul amid such peaceful normality. Once vengeance and fury had taken over his fate, basic needs felt useless and trivial, like the haunting remnants of the mortal life he once led. But now... Now his body was aching for those lost times. Briefly, his fingertips brushed the scars on his forearms, and he slammed his eyes shut.

The bread rolled on his lap and the soft crumb touched his skin. He opened his eyes. The girl was silently staring at him, chewing on her own piece. A fleeting, empathetic smile slightly stretched her mouth and she gazed at the horizon to give him some privacy – but Kratos didn't want the past to hound him again.

"What happened after I escaped?"

"Huh." The girl swallowed her piece of bread and slightly tapped around her mouth to get rid of potential crumbs. She was still gazing at the horizon. "Guards came, freaked out and took me to the captain. I left one of my books in his damn office, for that matter."

Elbows securely resting on his thighs, leaning toward her, Kratos waited for the rest but the girl said no more. He bit into the piece of bread and looked at the horizon, but the cliff and raging sea below felt eerily familiar. He immediately turned his head away.

"Fear of heights?" the girl asked.

"No." He swallowed the last crumbs, and the girl got up to give him some more. "What happened with the captain?"

"We talked," the girl said. Her eyes were now fixated on something on the ground. Kratos didn't immediately see what it was, but when she got up and picked it up, he saw it was a beetle trying to cross and sliding off a wet twig. She put it on the other side and sat back. "I lied a lot. You see, I'm an awful liar. And when I say I'm an awful liar, I mean that I'm a terrific liar, but that it's awful. I can't help it. I lie all the time."

Kratos frowned.

"Does this mean I should not trust you?"

"Well, you obviously already don't – rightfully so." This time, the girl gave him a cheeky wink and smirk, then went to help the beetle once again. "What a clueless moron," she said. "You'd wonder how he's still alive."

Kratos looked down. The beetle was still fighting glistening twigs instead of skirting them.

"Why did you help me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" the girl answered, matter-of-factly. She moved the beetle with the tip of her felt shoe, and affectionately watched it plodding through the leaves. "Oh! Looks like it got it."

The beetle gone, Kratos violently wrenched his gaze to her serene face. Though still held within his guts, a familiar anger had tensed his shoulder and clenched his fists, and it glittered murderously toward the girl through the ambler glow of his eyes. He deeply resented anyone that answered with questions. The rules were simple enough not to circumvent them: one asked, the other answered.

When she finally looked up and noticed that sudden animosity, she raised her eyes heavenward and stuck one of her strange sticks at the corner of her mouth.

"Come on, buddy. Not another questioning, please." But her plea fell on deaf ears. She frowned as a subtle snarl wrinkled his nose. "So now you need reasons to be nice. That's sad," she commented, and went on chewing her stick. "That's really sad, buddy."

"Kratos," he grunted.

The girl glanced at him as if he were a child, or a very rude spectator interrupting her soliloquy, then sighed and leant forward, narrowing her eyes.

"You really want to know?"

As an answer, Kratos huffed the pent-up tension. He did not like where this was going.

"You see, Kratos-buddy," she said. "My best quality is also my worst flaw. Curiosity." She nodded at her own revelation. "I like to think it's kindness, but really, it's curiosity. Or performative kindness, perhaps. Anyway, uncivilized people would say I'm a nosy parker or an awful, awful shit-stirrer, and I guess they wouldn't be too far off."

Kratos was silent. He was thoughtfully kneading between the thumb and the index the last piece of bread she had given him.

"Why?" the girl picked up. "Does that bother you to owe me something?"

Kratos looked at her. He hadn't thought about that, but the dazzling and disturbing nature of that prospect made his head spin. He was through being a puppet.

"I owe you nothing."

"Of course you don't, silly," the girl said. She arched her back a little to crack her spine and, as her shoulders slouched back into their initial position, an eerie mask of seriousness froze her face. "Of course you don't. I'm really glad I got you out of that jail – though I have no doubt you could've freed yourself." She swept some imaginary crumbs away from of her lap. "I heard they had found a Daedra on the shore and – I told you, I'm too curious – so I had to see what kind of Daedra beaches like a whale. Turned out you weren't one, and I couldn't possibly let you there. That's the I'm-way-too-kind part of the story." She bobbed her head in a very ironic way, though her voice was, beyond any doubt, as sincere as one could be.

But Kratos stared at her, still perplexed. Those selfless acts of kindness had always made him uncomfortable – especially coming from strangers. He did not know how to react. An acknowledgement almost escaped his mouth, but a thought abruptly crossed his mind.

"Was the cell truly open?"

The unexpectedness of that question made the girl freeze, then erupt in laughter. The stick on which she was chewing fell among the twigs.

"No!" She inhaled sharply to smother another laugh. "I was messing with you. I unlocked it."

Kratos looked away, less to shield himself from her taunting than to protect her from his anger.

"You believed that?" She shook her head, let out another chuckle, then knitted her brows in sheer disbelief. "Did you see how you shook that door? Had it been open, it would've immediately jump out of its hinges."

He grunted to shut her down.

"All right." She sighed. There was a silence they both shared with quiet contentment, just the two of them and the rustling of the leaves, and the soft chant of the tide below. Then the girl broke that hard-obtained harmony. She got up, the hems of her skirt brushing off the ground, and hauled the strap of her satchel on her shoulder.

"Gotta go," she said, and she scurried down the hill. Yet, as soon as she got back on the trail, she turned toward him and shouted against the wind: "Hey! Are you going anywhere?"

Kratos shook his head. Despite the few yards that now separated them, she felt oddly distant, and he felt remarkably lonely.

"Want to come with me?"

Instinct started to shake his head, but reason kept it very still, so much that he only tilted his chin as if weighing the pros and cons. The wind was flapping her cape against her legs and shaking her hood and dishevelling her hair all around her face; he could see from afar she was squinting right into the sun and right against the gusts to stare at him. An indescribable feeling untangled his guts – surely the bread that satiated his hunger, or simply the lack of wine to go with it. He glanced at the scars branded deep into his forearms, and observed the very hands at the end, already tainted with so much blood and beloved ashes. Then, as he looked at the back, he noticed the faint bruises on his knuckles.

The tree women. There were so many in the woods. His eyes slowly reached the girl's, as she was still squinting below – and now frowning in wait for an answer that, apparently, would never came. But a disarmingly honest smile split her face, and though she quickly regained her composure, she appeared very pleased as he met her down the hill.

"Are you familiar with High Rock?"

"No," Kratos said. He realized he didn't even know the name of this land.

"All right, then I'll show a thing or two."

And she gave his arm a little pressure of exalted affection. He hadn't expected it and instinctively, but rather gently, pulled himself out. She winced such an apologetic smile that he felt – oddly – absolutely terrible.

"I think I should go back to Evermore," she said. "Do you mind?"

"No." He still didn't want to admit he had no idea where he was – and he was pretty sure it would not matter in any way or form. She led the way.