The snow-dusted docks of Windhelm groaned under the weight of an unrelenting blizzard. The muffled crash of ice against the pier was the only sound that dared pierce the veil of midday fog. A bitter wind howled through the wooden beams, but it carried no warning of the dark tide about to rise.

From the shadows of the gray stones, crimson-cloaked figures began to materialize. Their movements were silent, ethereal. Snow swirled around them, but even the icy flurries seemed reluctant to settle upon their thick, tattered hoods. Their faces were veiled in darkness, and the only gleam came from the cold steel clutched in gloved hands- blades that caught the faintest hint of torchlight from the towering city gates.

The precious few Stormcloak guards, standing vigil just outside Windhelm's entryway, shivered - though whether it was the bite of the frost or some unspoken dread, they could not say. One guard leaned against his battleaxe's handle, his breath forming clouds in the frothing air. His companion muttered under his breath, cursing the night's cold and the tediousness of their post.

That was when it happened.

A sharp whistle, barely audible over the storm, sliced through the air. The guards straightened, peering into the blizzard, their eyes scanning the docks. But the snow played tricks on their vision, warping the shapes of the plains into monstrous forms. Then, with the precision of shadows given form, the figures struck.

Knives flashed like silver phantoms. The first guard fell, his throat a crimson stain against the white snow. His comrade barely had time to shout before a blade found his heart, the cry dying with him as his body crumpled. The snow drank deeply of their warmth, muffling the horror in a deceptive veil of peace.

The hooded figures moved quickly, dragging the bodies to the edge of the pier and casting them into the icy waters. No splash followed—just the eerie silence of the storm and the faint ripples that carried away the evidence of the deed.

As the last figure turned back toward the towering gates of Windhelm, the storm intensified, howling like a banshee. The city beyond slumbered in ignorant silence, unaware that death had slipped past its threshold and was now creeping toward its heart.

"We know nothing but what he's shown us. An open portal rests in the Southeast, and yet nobody has even made an attempt to scout it?" Ulfric Stormcloak leaned over the tactician's map in the war room of the Palace of the Kings. "I don't know what in Oblivion Dagon is planning, but we just barely staved him off the first time around."

Delphine and Esbern, as well as Galmar, flanked him on all sides, as well as his Stormcloak General, a Thalmor Agent, and an Imperial Captain.

"The Imperial Troops will cover the mountain range below the portal's coordinates, approximately here." the Imperial Captain pointed to the foot of the mountain, and Esbern pinned the Red Flag in the spot where his finger had landed. "We have also received backing from the Rift, in the form of... Dwarven Troops."

"Dwarven Troops?" Ulfric parroted back, "That is a fascinating development. I'd station them ahead. We can't afford to waste our men if something should go awry."

"How did the Rift come upon the means to build Dwarven Constructs?" the Thalmor Agent inquired, his eyes narrowing in thought. He took a small black flag, and placed it down on the dotted landscape east of Winhelm. "At any rate, the working plan is for the Thalmor to expand our presence in the white wastes. Mehrunes Dagon flattened the hills on his rampage. We will survey the destruction and see if there could be a tactical advantage to be hand in the reshaped land."

"For yourselves, or for against the Daedra?" Delphine remarked sarcastically.

"Against, of course," the Thalmor Agent responded with a slight, almost imperceptible smirk. "We merely seek to secure our collective interests in the region, as is our right and duty to the Alliance."

"At least we agree on that point," Ulfric interjected, his eyes scanning the map once more. "The question is, what do we do about this portal? It's been months, and still no word from the Dragonborn."

"She's dead, Ulfric." Delphine groaned, "I know people have been whispering stories of her returning, but I don't see how that's possible."

As she spoke, behind her back, from the small doorway leading from the Throne Room to the War Room, Cura could be seen discretely walking towards them with her small motley crew.

"Turn around." Cura responded with a humorous smirk.

Delphine looked shocked and disbelieving. The voice was unmistakably Cura's; a voice that had often grated on the older Breton's nerves, but one she had begun to miss just the same. She froze in place and slowly turned around to confront the source, recognizing it to be her: to be Cura, herself, in the flesh. "You're alive!" Delphine exclaimed, her voice filled with a mixture of shock and disbelief. She took a step closer to Cura, her eyes narrowing as she studied the Dragonborn's face. "I don't understand. How? I thought for sure you were dead. The last I heard, you were killed by the Mythic Dawn. How..."

Cura met Delphine's gaze, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

"Lorkhan's eyes, this is greater news than we could ever have hoped for!" Delphine approached Cura and embraced her, much to Cura's surprise. Delphine's embrace was tight and genuine, a stark contrast to her usual stern demeanor. She pulled back slightly, her hands still gripping Cura's shoulders as she looked her up and down, as if to assure herself that Cura was truly there. "By the Eight, you look... different," she said, her voice softening. "But alive. That's what matters."

Cura chuckled, "A lot has changed, Delphine."

Ulfric's breath hitched in his throat as he beheld his daughter, and he walked around the table to her. "Cura, welcome back." He wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her firmly. A rare show of vulnerability for the Bear of Markarth, especially in the sight of his General and Housecarl.

Cura, still reeling from her reunion with Delphine, found herself in the midst of another emotional encounter. Ulfric's unexpected embrace caught her off guard, and she returned it hesitantly at first, before fully accepting the comfort it offered. As they parted, she noticed the subtle shift in Ulfric's demeanor - a softening around his eyes that wasn't there before. "Father." she said, her words thick with emotion. "It's good to be back."

Ulfric stepped back, his hands still resting on her shoulders as he looked her over. "You've changed, Cura. Not just in appearance, but something deeper. You carry yourself differently now. Tell me, what happened to you?"

"That armour looks... Mystic in some regard." Galmar looked at her outfit up and down. "Never seen anythin' like it."

"It reminds me a tad of the armour donned by Aurorans in popular diagrams." Esbern assessed, his scholar's mind turning its gears as he took in the sight of the armour.

"It was a gift from Meridia." Cura confirmed. "It helped me get through Coldharbour."

The room fell silent, the atmosphere thick with unspoken questions and shared history. Delphine's hand unconsciously moved to rest on her sword hilt, while Ulfric's jaw clenched, his face darkening with concern. "Meridia?" he growled. "That Daedric Prince? You... you went to her realm? For how long, exactly?"

Cura's gaze flickered to the floor, her fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns on her new armor. "I did not go to her Realm. I received aid from her in a time that I needed it most."

"You're one of the Vigilants, aren't you?" Galmar inquired, crossing his arms and arcing an eyebrow. "You would accept help from a Daedric Prince?"

"Meridia is not like the traditional Daedric Princes," Cura explained, her voice resonating with admiration and gratitude as she spoke. "She is the radiant force that burns away corruption, the unyielding light that pierces through the deepest darkness. She is neither merciful nor cruel, neither protector nor destroyer. She simply is. The eternal beacon, the relentless purifier, the sovereign of all that shuns the decay of the undead and the stagnation of the void." Cura began to pace the floor as she resumed her explanation. "Meridia does not promise power to those who kneel, nor does she seek worship from those who falter. She demands conviction: to stand against the tide of corruption, to shatter the chains of stagnation and undeath. Her followers, from the noble crusaders to the vengeful purifiers, do not serve her out of fear but out of purpose. They do not seek conquest, nor do they crave dominance. They seek only to burn away the rot and ensure that the world remains ever-moving, ever-thriving, ever-bright."

"Well... I suppose we do owe her at least the fact that you've returned." Ulfric sighed, ready to let the matter aside for the meantime.

Delphine, however, stared Cura up and down. "Okay, so you've returned now. Now what?"

"Now, fill me in on the details." Cura placed her hands on the map. "I'm aware of the Alliance between the Stormcloaks, the Legion, and the Thalmor to combat the threat. Mehrunes Dagon retreated back to the Deadlands for a time, did he not?"

"Oh, yes, my friend!" Inigo proclaimed humoroously from the doorway behind her. "He ran away with his tail between his legs, like an injured puppy."

"Heh, that's one way of putting it, Inigo." Cura chuckled. "But the real question is, what is the current state of the portal?"

"Ah, yes, that portal." Ulfric stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Our scouts have reported strange energy signatures and unusual heat patterns in the Velothi Mountains. We believe Dagon may be attempting something big."

"The Doom Strider, of course. Didn't I warn you all?" came the snobbish voice of Langley, from the doorway on the East of the room. He was speaking to Ulfric, having overheard his words, but then his gaze slowly shifted to Inigo, and then to Cura. "No..." his jaw nearly unhinged. "No! How?! What? How are you alive?! What?!" Langley's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Cura, his voice trailing off into a stuttering mess. The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his shock hanging heavy in the air. Ulfric and Delphine exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and concern.

"Langley, meet our dear friend Cura," Inigo said, his tone light and playful. "She's got more lives than a cat, it seems."

"Indeed! By Jone, that goes without saying." Langley caroused the war table and approached Cura directly, looking down at the Half-Elf. "You were dead... but now, you're here? Let me see your eyes!" He quickly shot his face forward to examine her closely. "Skin is a natural flush of pink... eyes are not like furnaces... no shriveling of the lips or chin... okay, you're not a Vampire..." He reached a hand out to touch her face, but Cura slapped his hand away. "Hello, Langley." she said dryly. "It's along story, but yes, it is me, in the flesh, alive. And I am fully possessed of myself. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Don't make a big deal out of it?!" Langley bawked her words back at the Dragonborn. "Right, because being dead for many weeks and then standing upright and walking around as though death were an inconvenience is definitely normal!"

"Easy, Langley." Inigo placed a hand on the wizard's shoulder. "Cura is back, that's the important part. I have a thousand-thousand times more confidence with this knowledge."

"Well, it goes without saying that having her back is a relief, even if it frustrates me, frankly." Langley responded with his usual dismissive tone directed Cura's way. "But can she do anything against the Doom Strider? That is another question entirely.

"Well," Inigo spoke divertively. "rather than tightening your garters, why don't you fill our friend here in on that Prophecy you had while you were drunk?"

"What, about the Dragon that shall blind the eyes of the Destroyer?" Delphine interjected abruptly. Between the last time that Inigo and Langley had spoken, it was clear that the Mystic had filled in the Allied Forces concerning the matter.

"Yes, that is the one." Inigo confirmed. "The Dragon, the Diamond, the Fiends, the Holy Beings, the Gray Skies, the Red Skies, the Doom Strider, the Light." Inigo recounted the words Langley proclaimed in his madness on the floor of the Bee & Barb. "TAMRIEEEEL!"

Langley narrowed his eyes at Inigo's mimicry of his desperation. "Really?"

"Well, it was kind of funny." Inigo responded with a mischievous chuckle. "But you said you saw Aetherius and Akatosh, a figure in white and gold, holding the Diamond."

As Cura heard the recollection of Langley's vision, some things began to fall into place; the Thalmor had likely heard of it when Langley reported in at some point, and that was why they began to find her suspicious. Especially given her connection to Akatosh, and her white and gold armour. Perhaps they assumed that it meant exactly what she knew it meant.

Gingerly, Cura held a hand to her collarbone, where underneath the folds of her robed armour, the Amulet of Kings was hidden from the world.

"The Dragon shall blind the eyes of the destroyer." Delphine repeated, "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean that it could have anything to do with Cura. I mean... well, I suppose it's fair to say that she beat Alduin, but a Daedric Prince is a whole different story."

Cura turned to her slowly. "Wouldn't you want to know how I escaped Coldharbour?"

"Ah, yes," Delphine admitted. "We all would like to know about that. That's... something we've never heard of, I must confess."

"Indeed," Esbern agreed with a stern nod. "I doubt Molag Bal relinquished you willingly. You're a prize, Dragonborn; one that any Daedric Prince would love to have."

Ulfric stood beside his daughter, and looked down towards her, and then shifted his gaze to Langley, the Thalmor envoy, the Imperial Captain, and his right hand, Galmar. "By the grace of Talos, of course. That's the only possible way that she could have escaped." he proclaimed.

Cura looked at the group surrounding her, including her Skyguard and her immediate allies, who stood patiently by, watching the exchange. She leaned forward. "Molag Bal is no more." Cura's words hung in the air, a stark declaration that sent a ripple of shock through the room. Delphine's eyes widened slightly, and Esbern's stern expression flickered with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. Ulfric's gaze sharpens, his fingers running through his beard.

"What do you mean?" Delphine asked for clarification. "What does that mean?"

"Molag Bal is no more," Cura repeated, her voice steady and calm. "I destroyed him within the confines of his very soul. I cut his tether to the Red Stone, and freed the mortal essence trapped within the Prince. Even if Molag Bal's consciousness remains in the Void, he no longer has a means to regain his power. I cut him off at the roots."

The news was met with stunned silence. Even the normally composed Delphine was at a loss for words. Esbern, however, looked at Cura with newfound respect and concern.

"By the Nine," he murmured. "That's... that's impossible. Molag Bal was one of the strongest Daedric Princes. How could you possibly..."

"I had help," Cura said, glancing down at the Amulet of Kings still hidden in her robes, underneath her palm. "And I had purpose." Her eyes glanced at the room of people. "You all were my purpose. My people, my Skyrim. My Tamriel." Her eyes hardened as she thought of the millions of souls Molag Bal had claimed. "I couldn't let him win. I had to end him. And now..." She paused, looking at Delphine. "We need to discuss what's coming next."

Gabrielle, who had been silent until that point, spoke directly to Cura from the corner of the room. "If thou surely hast beaten Molag Bal, I hath no doubt in my mind that Dagon will likely be frightened of thee, now."

"If he wasn't already, he's a fool." Varla said plainly. "A Dragonborn is no mere opponent." Varla's gruff voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his words echoing in the quiet room. He leaned against the wall next to the Knight of the Void, arms crossed over his broad, armoured chest, his eyes never leaving Cura. "But that's not the point, is it? We've got bigger problems than some Daedric Prince's ego."

Delphine, her eyes sharp and calculating, nodded in agreement. "Varla's right. We need to focus on what's coming." She invited Inigo and Cura's party, in addition to Langley over to the Tactician's Map.

Cura stood between Ulfric and Galmar, the latter placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "You've got character, lass, I'm impressed. You're definitely your Father's daughter." he said with a gruff chuckle.

"So, the Dwemer Army from the Rift will flank the southern rim," Ulfric began, running a finger at the mountainface beneath the portal on the map.

Inigo elbowed Esbern, "The Southern rim? Not the Sky rim?"

Esbern shot Inigo a withering look, but Ulfric continued as if nothing had happened. "The Mages with create a barrier in the north, stretching down to the south, essentially creating a giant blockade stretched between them, spread throughout the fields in a strategic bulwark formation. And the Imperial forces will advance from the central west line, passing the barrier and cutting like an arrowhead into the portal. We'll need to coordinate our movements precisely. The portal must be destroyed from within, if the Oblivion Crisis Centuries ago taught us anything."

Cura stepped closer to the map, her fingers tracing the mountain contours. "And what of the Thalmor?"

"We are stationed in a chain, individuals spread through the land," the Thalmor elective explained. "we will be working in tandem with the Winterhold Mages and the Legion Battlemages to form the miles-long barrier."

Langley scratched his beard, "When the Doom Strider comes into play, I don't see what you little mages can do against it."

Gabrielle nodded in agreement, "Indeed. The Doom Strider 'tis nothing to scoff at. T'was designed with complete, utter siege in mind. A mechanism with no rival, unlike anything within mortal ken, capable of levelling the mountains themselves."

Sir Amiel, who stood beside the Knight of the Void, furrowed his brows in concern as he registered the magnitude of a threat with which the Doom Strider posed. Grant, of course, that it could merely be cast aside as an exaggeration.

Cura nodded firmly, "We have weapons of our own, too. Perhaps nothing of that magnitude, nor would we have time to create anything of that magnitude... but we have the Dragons, and the Gods on our side. I am not afraid."

"We shouldn't be so cocky," Sabrina said from the opposite side of the room, worry etched on her face. "Last time the Daedric forces brought weapons that nearly flattened Cyrodiil. What makes us think this will be different?"

Ulfric turned to meet her gaze. "We'll be prepared. Every soldier knows their role. And we have something they don't - we know what to expect." he wrapped his arm around Cura's back, resting his hand on her right shoulder. "And we have the Dragonborn."

Cura looked instead to Inigo, who stood directly across from her, flanked by Langley. "And we have Inigo the Champion." she winked, recalling the prophecy that foretold, by Langley, that Inigo would be the one to defeat the Doom Strider.

Inigo grinned, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and pride. "Ah, the Champion, huh? I must admit, I do have a certain je ne sais quoi about me." He struck a dramatic pose, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "But seriously, if the Doom Strider is as bad as they say, we'll need more than just my charm and good looks to take it down."

Cura laughed, her emerald eyes twinkling with mirth. "Don't sell yourself short, Inigo. Your quick wit and expert marksmanship have saved us more times than I can count. Besides, I'm pretty sure the prophecy said 'Inigo the Champion' not 'Inigo the Charming.'"

Ulfric's face hardened, his features darkening. "Speaking of which, we need to prepare for every possibility." He turned to Cura. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to discuss something with you privately." He gestured toward his quarters, and she followed him, leaving the others to their own devices.

In the privacy of his chambers, Ulfric closed the heavy wooden door behind them. "Cura... that... prophecy that Langley had regarding you, it was not mere flowery poetic prose, was it?"

"What do you mean?" Cura asked, as she took her seat on the adjacent chair.

"That prophecy about the Dragon blinding the Destroyer, the figure with the Diamond." Ulfric lowered his voice. "Word gets around fast here in Skyrim. When Langley brought his visions to Esbern a few days ago, word didn't take long to spread through the Factions. Some dismissed it as the nonsensical ramblings of a drunken seer, but the few of us that believed were validated by your return to life. So, tell me, daughter; what does it mean?"

The words hung heavy in the air, and Cura hesitated before responding. "I... experienced much in Coldharbour. I freed the souls trapped therein, and defeated Bal, as I've said. But along the way, I..." she was uncertain of how much she should reveal. However, if people are going to take Langley's words seriously, then perhaps it will come to the surface regardless. "I learned something new about myself. Something that changes everything."

Ulfric's eyes narrowed with understanding. "You're not just a Dragonborn anymore, are you?"

She nodded solemnly. "No."

Ulfric's gaze intensified, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Then what are you, Cura? What did you become in that place of darkness and despair?"

Cura took a deep breath, her eyes reflecting the weight of her revelation. "If I show you, Father, promise me; no, swear it on Talos; that you will keep this between the two of us until I'm ready to reveal it to Tamriel. Swear it!"

Ulfric's eyes widened at Cura's fervent insistence, his brows furrowing in surprise. He hesitated for a moment, considering the gravity of her request. Then, with a solemn nod, he spoke, his voice low and resolute. "I swear it on the name of Talos, daughter. Whatever you reveal to me here, it shall remain between us until you deem it fit to share with the world. I swear it not just upon Mighty Talos, but upon my Honour as the Jarl of Windhelm. I swear it upon the honour of all my brothers and sisters who bled and died for this land."

Cura held his gaze, searching for any hint of deception, but finding his sincerity. Content with his oath, she nodded silently. She reached a hand into her robes and drew out the Amulet of Kings.

No sooner did the Amulet leave her robes than Ulfric's face dawned with awe and realization. The Diamond, which was spoken of by Langley was, as the immediate members of the Alliance had discreetly speculated, the Red Diamond. The Amulet of Kings of Power. The Sign of Akatosh, the Blood of Lorkhan, the Sigil of the Empire, the Birthright of Emperors. The very same which Talos himself sported as Tiber Septim while he walked Nirn and passed unto his descendants until Martin.

Cura held the amulet aloft, allowing the golden light to illuminate her face. The intricate design seemed to shimmer and dance in the dim light of the room. "This, Father, is the Amulet of Kings. It was given to me by Saint Alessia herself, in Coldharbour. It is said to grant the wearer the power to rule all of Tamriel, to unite the provinces under a single banner." She paused, studying Ulfric's reaction carefully. "I'm not ready to claim it yet. Not until I've learned more about its powers, until I understand its responsibilities."

Ulfric's face shifted from awe to concern. "Daughter, if this is true... if this is truly Alessia's gift..." He paused, his words measured and careful. "Then you walk the footsteps of the Emperors who came before. You walk the steps of Talos himself!"

Cura scoffed and waved a hand, "I wouldn't compare myself to Talos..."

"But it's true!" Ulfric reminded her of the tale of Talos of Atmora, as the Nords recounted, "He made the pilgrimage up the 7000 steps to High Hrothgar and was named Dragonborn by the Greybeards; Ysmir, Dragon of the North. You ventured up the 7000 steps yourself, and were named Ysmir, as well."

Cura remembered her initiation rite at the central chamber of the Sanctuary many moons ago. The words of the Greybeards themselves echoed in her mind, even now: 'Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok.'

Translated, "Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it." Cura nodded solemnly, acknowledging the weight of the Greybeards' words and the significance of her own journey. She turned her gaze back to Ulfric, her expression softening. "I know, Father. I know the history, the legend. But I am not like Talos. I am Cura Stormcloak, the Dragonborn, and I will forge my own path."

Ulfric smiled, pride shining in his eyes. "And what path is that, Daughter?"

"I intend to mend the wounds of the Empire." Cura proclaimed. "I wish to bring peace to this land, to bring honour to Skyrim, and to protect it with my life." She sighed, "At first, I had my doubts; I was uncertain if it were even possible, but now I realize that I must do it."

Jarl Ulfric was silent, listening to his daughter's speech with pride. He nodded silently for a time before responding, "And what of Talos? What of the White-Gold Concordat, and the Elves?"

Cura held her arms behind her back and she walked over to the window overlooking the city of Windhelm below. "I will restore Talos to the Pantheon." Cura turned to face Ulfric, her eyes blazing with determination. "The Elves will have to accept that the Empire is not theirs to control. I will negotiate with the Thalmor, but I will not be bullied or blackmailed. The Empire will be free to worship Talos once more."

Ulfric raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his daughter's bold declaration. "And how do you intend to accomplish this, Daughter?"

"I suppose... we'll see after Mehrunes Dagon and his nonsense is dealt with." the Dragonborn responded brusquely. "Perhaps we will make an example out of the Daedric Prince."

Ulfric was caught off-guard by Cura's steely determination, but it was not unwelcome. He chuckled and slowly stood up from his seat. "In any other situation I would have thought you were mad, Cura. But... given all that's happened and that you shrugged off death, presented the Amulet of Kings to my face, and escaped Coldharbour after slaying Molag Bal, and of course, having defeated Alduin... I believe you." He walked up to her and embraced her tightly. "It's good to have you back, Cura."

"Father, you're crushing my armor." The Dragonborn jokingly pushed against Ulfric's chest with a soft chuckle as he released the embrace.

"I'm... I'm glad you're alright, my dear." Ulfric's rough exterior cracked slightly, revealing fatherly concern. He turned to look out the window, his hands resting on the stone sill. "I... I was worried. That you wouldn't come back." Ulfric sighed heavily, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm sorry, Cura. I know I haven't been the most... understanding father. But I want you to know that I'm proud of you. Proud of what you've accomplished."

He turned back to face her, his piercing blue eyes boring into hers. "I know you've had to shoulder a heavy burden. Being the Dragonborn, fighting against Alduin, now this..." he gestured towards the world outside the Palace walls. "If only Elenwen had told me about you all those years ago. You would have grown up in this Palace. I would have named you my Heiress sooner."

"Sooner?" Cura inquired.

Ulfric nodded, "Yes. Windhelm will be yours, Cura. And all of Eastmarch, when I die eventually. I legitimized you as my Daughter." He retrieved a document from his desk, unfurling it with a flourish. "I had this drawn up a while back, after you'd returned from Skuldafn. It's a legal document, signed and sealed by myself, the Jarl of Windhelm. You are now recognized as my legitimate daughter, the Heiress of Eastmarch."

Cura's breath caught in her throat as she read the document, her heart pounding. This was more than she ever dared to hope for. The idea of her being a potential Jarl, let alone the Empress of Tamriel, was shocking. "Father, I..."

Ulfric looked at Cura intently, his blue eyes searching her face. "I know it's a lot to take in, my dear. But I want you to be prepared. When I die, this will all be yours. The Palace, the city, the land." He gestured expansively to the room and beyond. "You'll need to be ready to take on the mantle of leadership."

Cura frowned slightly, considering the weight of the words. "But I will be Empress of Tamriel, in the Imperial City." she informed him. "I will not be able to sit upon Ysgramor's Throne."

Ulfric waved a hand off, "Balderdash. You needn't sit on the throne to issue orders to the land. If - no - when you take the Ruby Throne in Cyrodiil, you will have the hand of every Jarl, every King, every Governor across the Empire. You could appoint a Placement Jarl to rule Windhelm in your stead, but the land itself will be yours by birthright. No matter what." Ulfric's words hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of the moment.

"You're right, of course. The Ruby Throne awaits me in Cyrodiil, and I must be prepared to take it. But Windhelm, my birthright, my home... it's not something I can simply abandon." Cura looked at the document in her hands, the parchment crackling softly as she clutched it tighter. "I will figure it out in time. Thank you, father."

Ulfric nodded solemnly, a hint of pride glinting in his eyes. "I have no doubt that you will, my dear. You have the strength and wisdom of Ysgramor in you. But remember, the path to the Ruby Throne will not be easy. There will be challenges, obstacles, and those who seek to undermine you. You must be ready to face them all."

"And that is precisely why I need this to remain between us for the time being." Cura cache'd the Amulet of Kings under her robes again. Cura gazed out of the Palace Window at the vast landscape of the North, Windhelm stretching out in front of them, the river winding through it's heart and the mountains surrounding the city in an eternal slumber. Her gaze was thoughtful and pensive. "It is a weight I do not wish to burden the common people with... or my allies yet." she confessed. "Only my most trusted will know."

"Does Inigo know?" Ulfric inquired.

"Of course!" Cura responded with a chuckle. "My immediate allies know, and so do the higher ups in the Vigil, like Carcette."

Ulfric nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Good. The fewer who know, the better. And as for trusting your secret with Inigo..."

Cura listened silently as Ulfric's tone dropped. But the Jarl grew a tad lighter as he continued, "You couldn't have picked a better friend, Cura. Inigo spoke very highly of you when you were gone. He was distraught by your death. We all were, of course, but he took it very hard. Way I see it, he's like a Brother to you." He twiddled his thumbs, "I'll admit, in the past I never thought much of the Khajiit, beyond them being thieves and drug dealers... but your friend, Inigo... he changed my mind. And mine isn't a mind easily changed."

"Inigo is like a brother to me." Cura said with a serene smile. "I love him; I'd trust him with my life."

As Ulfric and Cura conversed about Cura's next steps and her plan to keep her Imperial identity secret for the time being, there was a sudden commotion downstairs. Raised voices and hurried footsteps echoed from below, causing Ulfric's brow to furrow with concern.

"Seems we've got company, and they sound impatient." He stated bluntly, drawing his ornate war axe. Cura nodded in agreement and drew her Elven Mace and Spellbreaker. The two hurried downstairs, where they witnessed a terrifying scene: Mythic Dawn agents had made it into the city by the docks, and, donning their armour of old, laid an assault on the city.

"KILL HER!" One of them shouted before being dispatched by the Knight of the Void.

Cura and Ulfric hurried down to see the combatanta engaged with the party in the main hall. The security in Windhelm had been, in part, compromised due to the Soldiers being stationed out in the fields rather than in the city proper.

Delphine and Esbern, as well as Inigo, Sabrina, Sir Amiel, Varla, Gabrielle, and Vilja, and Galmar, the Thalmor Envoy, and Imperial Captain fought off the attackers.

Langley hid under the longtable at the center of the room, covering his head.

The Mythic Dawn agents, still in their classic red and black armour, advanced with murderous intent. Several of them rushed towards Cura while others engaged the other defenders.

Inigo, drawing his bow, shouted out "Cura! Behind you!" as Bound Arrows whistled past, one grazing her left shoulder. Blood welled up beneath the wound as she spun around to face this new threat, her Spellbreaker already drawn.

A Mythic Dawn agent who had cast Invisibility on himself revealed his motives as he lunged towards her to plunge an Ebony Dagger in her back. Cura reacted swiftly, bashing him with her shield and returning the favour with a swift pummeling of her Elven Mace. The agent crumpled, but two more took his place, their blades flashing in the torchlight. Behind them, Sabrina and Sir Amiel engaged another group, while Varla and Vilja provided covering fire with their bows. The main hall erupted into chaos as steel clashed against steel and spells flew through the air.

Ulfric's axe found its mark, cleaving through one attacker's neck in a spray of arterial blood. Delphine kicked an agent in the back of the knee, causing him to buckle, and she swiftly locked his neck between the edges of her two blades, and slid them in opposing directions, decapitating him. She turned to Esbern, who hacked and slashed through several of them with grace and diligence.

Cura stood tall amidst the chaos, her Spellbreaker and mace held at the ready. The Mythic Dawn agents pressed their assault, their numbers seemingly endless.

A barrage of arrows and bolts whizzed by, clattering off her enchanted shield. She retaliated with a mighty bash of her shield, sending an attacker sprawling. Gabrielle caught the attacker on the edge of her sword and cast a Flame Spell to burn him as he was hung on the blade.

"Thou'rt fools to serve Dagon willingly!" she condemned them all. "That thou wouldst turn against thy fellow man so blindly, 'tis an insult to our lands."

One of the other Mythic Dawn agents hurled a fireball at Gabrielle, "Feah'al sends his regards!"

The Fireball struck true, causing the Knight to stagger, and the agent followed-up with a quick slash across her chest. Before he could strike again, however, he was impaled through the back by Varla, who was quick to pivot around a summoned Dremora. As the Mythic Dawn agent collapsed to the ground, Varla grunted, pulling his sword free with a wet, sucking sound. He glanced at Gabrielle, his expression grim. "Next time, try not to get hit, yeah?" he said, his voice a low growl. He turned to see the remaining assailants dispatched by the others.

Gabrielle gasped lightly and cast a healing spell upon herself. "Thou... thou saved me, Varla..."

A moment of silence passed between the two of them before Varla sheathed his sword. "Yes, I did." He shrugged it off. It was an unfamiliar feeling to him; after all, he was more used to slaying than saving. Perhaps it was a sign of positive change to come.

"Ysmir's beard!" Galmar grunted with frustration as he mounted his battleaxe on his back once again. "I thought we were through with these Mythic Dawn bastards!"

Ulfric shook his head solemnly as he surveyed the damage. "There were missing Factions, Elenwen said. When they interrogated the ones in their possession. It's likely that some could have escaped into the Deadlands when we were preoccupied, and are resurfacing slowly."

"Like bloody cockroaches." Galmar spat.

Cura turned to face the group, her armor reflecting the dim light of the chamber. "We need to be more vigilant. If they're resurfacing, it means they're not just scattered remnants - they have a plan. A goal." She paused, her hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of her Spellbreaker. "We can't afford to let our guard down, not even for a moment."

"Agreed." Delphine said with a curt nod.

Gabrielle looked down at the sprawling bodies. "They were sent to capture me; to bring me back to my Cell in the Deadlands. Dremora are certainly persistent, as thou knowest."

Vilja dusted off her shoulder. "I'll say. They ruined my outfit! Look at this!" She gestured to the cuts and grooves in her leather cuirass. "Those donkeys think it's okay to just barge in here and attack us! Don't they have any consideration?"

"Nay," Gabrielle shook her head. "'tis a foreign concept to Dagon and all who follow him. Gods... it never ends."

Varla turned to the Knight of the Void, "I saved your life, so you owe an explanation, I'd think. Who is Faeh'al?"

Inigo stood beside Cura and the pair approached the dark Knightess to hear the answer.

"'Tis unrelated to the Mythic Dawn's schemes in the broader sense, but t'would not surprise me if he sent a small group of brigands to assail me." the Knight of the Void contemplated.

"You'd better start talkin', before we start suspecting you of involvement in their schemes." Delphine asserted angrily. Gabrielle's eyes narrowed as she turned to Delphine. "Thou accusest me of consorting with the Mythic Dawn? After I hath come forth to aid thee and thy companions in the fight against Dagon and his forces?" Her tone wavered slightly with a mixture of hurt and indignation, as though she were used to being judged already/

"Careful, Delphine." Ulfric warned, his hand moving to his sword hilt. "That's a dangerous accusation to make."

"It's not out of the realm of possibility, Jarl Ulfric." Delphine suggested, "I mean, look at her Daedric armour. Come on." She gestured towards the Knight of the Void's tarnished silver bucket helm, emblazoned with Daedric sigils.

Inigo stepped forward, getting between Delphine and Gabrielle. "Then I will vouch for her. She came to help us fight Dagon and his forces because they've done horrible things to her for centuries and she does not want Skyrim to end up like Caecily Island."

"Caecily Island?" Esbern repeated the name, recognizing it. "Hmm... I see. Yes, that explains much."

Delphine's face showed skepticism, but she didn't press the issue further. "Very well. I'll trust your judgment, Inigo. But we need to be careful. The Mythic Dawn is still out there, and they're not to be trusted. As we've just seen, there are more among them, hiding, lurking in the shadows. They could be anyone, anywhere."

Cura stepped forward, her armor clinking softly as she moved. "I understand your caution, Delphine. But..."

A loud explosion shook the ground beneath all of their feet, throttling the very earth itself. Proceeding from it was a loud rumble and a crack of thunder. The cacophonous boom shook the walls of the Palace of Kings, and the sound of shattering stone echoed through the halls. A cloud of dust billowed out from the ceiling, obscuring the vision of the gathered allies. Alarmed shouts erupted from the courtyard as guardsmen cried out in surprise and fear.

"Incoming!" Inigo yelled, ducking and covering his head as chunks of masonry rained down from the ceiling.

Langley, who was ducking under the long table, covered his mouth as ceiling dust cascaded down from above, coating the table. He quickly scurried out from under the makeshift hideaway and hurried to Inigo and Cura. "What in all the Hells was that?" the seer exclaimed, perplexed and horrified.

Cura made a beeline for the entry doors of the palace, her feet clicking on the stone floors as she navigated cautiously around the fallen Mythic Dawn cultists' prone forms.

"Cura!" Sabrina called after her friend as she donned her Plague Doctor's mask again to avoid breathing in the dust. "Cura, what are you doing? We don't know what happened out there!"

Sir Amiel took up his claymore and hurried after Cura, and Inigo and Vilja, Varla, and the others followed suit.

Cura pulled the large, ebony metal door on the right open, and was greeted with a shocking sight; the palisade walls of the courtyard were blown apart, and the Temple of Talos was destroyed. Bodies of Mythic Dawn and Thalmor Agents were strewn about the floor, and a pillar of red, corrupted light stabbed into the skies above.

"Lorkhan's eyes!" Delphine exclaimed in horror, covering her mouth with her hands as her gaze traced the evil vortex skyward. The vortex pulled in everything nearby - loose papers, collapsed stones, weapons, and even several of the wounded cultists - into its maw. Their screams echoed through the air as they were pulled upward into the crimson swirl.

Vilja's breath trailed upwards in a plume as she looked up at the sky, which was beginning to turn an aggressive crimson, casting Windhelm in an eerie red glow.

Inigo swallowed hard, and exchanged a furtive glance with Langley. Then Vilja spoke eerily in front of the pair, her back turned to them. "Langley, it's like you said... "The Dragon, the Diamond, the Fiends, the Holy Beings, the Gray Skies, the Red Skies."" Vilja's voice trailed off as she gazed at the swirling vortex above. The crimson sky pulsed with an otherworldly energy, casting long, dancing shadows across the stones of the aged city.

Inigo shifted uncomfortably, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. "Well, this isn't exactly the kind of weather report I was hoping for," he quipped, trying to lighten the mood. "Cloudy, with a chance of Hellstorms."

"The... the Shrine of Talos..." Galmar's heart sunk to his feet as the horrific sight of the beloved sanctuary lying in ruins filled his sight. The only thing that remained standing before the destroyed Shrine was the Statue of Talos, which seemed to stand strong despite the blast, his sword still poised at the throat of the serpent beneath his foot.

The city's inhabitants scrambled for shelter, their faces etched with fear as the very air thickened with otherworldly tension. The ancient stones of the city seemed to groan under the strain, and the wind howled with an unnatural intensity, carrying whispers of doom on its howling breath.

"Rotten bastards!" Galmar roared with fury as he looked down at the numerous corpses of Mythic Dawn Cultists and Thalmor agents. "I'll bet those rotten Elves did this! We never should've agreed to this!"

"We did not!" the Thalmor Envoy protested. "The First Emissary ordered us to keep watch, as I've told you! The Mythic Dawn agents likely killed them to reach it!"

"Don't piss on my leg and then tell me it's raining!" Galmar growled as he drew his battleaxe. "I know your games! I know what you bastards do! You wrecked the Shrine of Talos and doomed us all!"

The Imperial Captain turned his attention back to the Thalmor Envoy, who looked absolutely terrified as Galmar drew his axe.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Envoy," the Legionnaire said sternly. "This was your watch. Your men were supposed to be keeping an eye on this place. And you let this happen. That's not just incompetence, that's betrayal."

The Envoy shakes his head vehemently. "No, I swear!"

"FUS!" Cura's Shout blew all three of them; the Imperial Captain, the Thalmor Envoy, and Galmar backwards. Her face was stern, brooking none of this nonsense. "It doesn't matter who could or couldn't stop it! Quit pointing fingers and get a hold of yourselves!" her tone was sharp and laced with urgency. "The Shrine has been defiled! This only serves to aid our Common Enemy. What we need to focus on now is - what comes from this?"

Inigo took Cura's side, standing at her right hand. "Yes, my friend here is right. This is a bad sign - last thing we need is to start quarreling like angry old ladies at a sewing circle!"

A dark silhouette began to slowly emerge from the sinister pillar of crimson energy; he appeared to be a Dremora of kinds, wearing a deep black armour which seemed to drink in the light around it, and ran with red veins which pulsed with the same putrid energy as the pillar behind him. Slowly but surely, two familiar fiends joined him; Valkyns Methats and Gatanas.

"We've got company!" Ulfric drew his waraxe. "We will make these bastards pay for what they've done!"

Gabrielle hurried forward to join Cura and Inigo on their left flank, joined by Varla, and Sir Amiel and Vilja on the opposite side. The Knight of the Void's eyes widened beneath her helm. "I knew it. I knew thou would come for me..." she exhaled as she took in the sight of the Dremora Kynmarcher. "Feah'al."

Inigo looked at the Knight of the Void, and then back at the Dremora flanked by two allies. "Ah, this is your Dremora friend? I admit, you could have done better." he snarked.

The Dremora removed the black, barbed helm he wore over his face, revealing a wicked, toothy grin. "So, the traitor has decided to finally show her face. Gabrielle the Gutter. It's so good to see you again." his voice dripped with venom.

Delphine and Esbern joined the left flank and the old Blades Agents regarded the Knightess with suspicion. Delphine clutched the handles of her two swords, and would not hesitate to strike the Knight of the Void down, should she prove to be treacherous.

Gabrielle took a step back, her breath catching in her throat. The Dremora's presence cast an ominous shadow over her. "II'm simply 'Gabrielle,' now..." she declared firmly. "What are you doing here? Why have you come? To destroy Skyrim, I presume?" Her hand trembled slightly as it unconsciously gripped her sword hilt.

"So you've decided to return to the side of your weak and disgusting mortals." the Dremora Kynmarcher spat. "You showed yourself to be better, and now you wish to squander about with them?"

Gabrielle stood forward, her sword gripped firmly in hand. "Are there even words to exchange? Feah'al, thou hast come for me, but I will not return to Oblivion."

"You speak as if you have a choice. Heh, you always were a funny girl. I'm taking you back, and for a bit more fun, should I take the heads of your little worms there as well?" Feah'al pointed his battleaxe at the entire assemblage with a sweeping motion.

Varla growled lowly, "I'd like to see you try. I've fought bandits more frightening than you."

Gabrielle stepped forward, and squared off with the Daedra. "Thou won't be doing anything. Not to me, nor my friends."

Feah'al cackled darkly, "Whatever you say." He turned to Valkyn Methats and Valkyn Gatanas. "You two can have the others. This one is mine." Feah'al, the Dremora Kynmarcher, stepped forward and kicked a collapsed piece of wood out of his way and he, along with his allies, summoned a few more Dremoras to aid them against the group. His Daedric Battleaxe rested on one shoulder, flames licking along its edges as if hungry for blood. His infernal eyes locked on Gabrielle, a mixture of scorn and regret in his voice. "You should have stayed in the Deadlands, Gabrielle. You cannot outrun destiny."

"My destiny is mine to shape," Gabrielle retorted, summoning a crackling orb of lightning in her free hand.

Author's Note: for this battle, listen to "Demon's Souls Remake OST - Maiden Astraea"

Feah'al made the first move, his battleaxe swinging in an arc that could cleave a tree in two. Gabrielle sidestepped, the blade narrowly missing her as sparks flew from the stone floor. She retaliated, her sword meeting the axe in a shower of sparks. The clash of steel echoed through the ruins.

Cura and Ulfric, side by side, wielded their mastery of the Thu'um like a thunderous symphony, using a joint Thu'um to blow away the straggle of Dremora Churls that rushed towards them.

"FUS RO DAH!"

Cura's Dawnbreaker blazed with divine light, its very presence repelling the more nimble and evasive Daedric forces which weaved out of the way of their thunderous Shouts, while her shield, Spellbreaker, absorbed the Valkyns' fiery spells with defiant brilliance. Ulfric's battle cries echoed across the ruins, his Thu'um shattering stone as he cleaved through the lesser Dremoras with his war axe. Together, father and daughter formed an unstoppable force, pressing against Valkyn Gatanas, who wielded a Daedric glaive and unleashed devastating shockwaves with each swing.

"You will pay for humiliating us, mortals." Valkyn Gatanas growled as he stood firm against the onslaught.

Inigo found his place in the shadows. As Gatanas advanced on Cura, Inigo's arrows found their mark in the gaps of the Dremora's infernal armor, buying moments for the Dragonborn to counterattack. When his quiver ran dry, Inigo leaped into the fray with his ebony sword, moving with feline agility to outmaneuver the Dremora warriors. He weaved between Valkyn Methats and Valkyn Gatanas, creating a distraction, which Ulfric seized. He brought his war axe in a sidelong arch, burying it in the enemy's side.

Valkyn Methats swung his fearsome blade, sending shockwaves that cracked the stone beneath their feet. Sabrina, the rogue Plague Doctor, danced through the chaos, her venomous daggers glinting in the dim light. She darted in and out of Methats' reach, her concoctions sizzling as they met his Daedric flesh.

"Hold him off!" Sir Amiel shouted, brandishing his Greatsword of Anui-El. The magical claymore radiated a brilliant light, its enchantment amplifying his strength. He met Valkyn Methats in a series of powerful strikes, each blow resonating with divine force.

Vilja, the bard, wielded her steel sword with practiced grace, using her magics to support her comrades. She cast healing spells when needed to help Sir Amiel and Sabrina stay the small horde of Dremoras that were breaking in and out of the defensive line. "Stay strong, my friends! ou've dealt with worse than these stinkers!" she called out, her voice a beacon of hope amidst the chaos.

Delphine and Esbern, the seasoned Blades agents, moved in perfect harmony, their swords flashing with lethal precision. They flanked Valkyn Methats, their coordinated attacks forcing the Dremora to split his attention. He swung his blade in both directions like one paranoid as the two flanked him on either side.

Galmar Stone-Fist, his battleaxe gripped tightly in his hands, let out a war cry that echoed through the ruins. His raw strength and battlefield experience made him a formidable opponent. "For Skyrim!" he bellowed, swinging his weapon with unyielding ferocity.

Valkyn Methats roared in defiance, his dark magic surging as he repelled the onslaught. But their combined might began to wear him down, each ally playing a crucial role in the fight. Sabrina's venom sapped his strength, Sir Amiel's greatsword struck with righteous fury, Vilja's spells bolstered their resolve, Delphine and Esbern's precision strikes weakened his defenses, and Galmar's brute force kept him on the defensive.

As the battle reached its climax, Valkyn Methats unleashed a devastating wave of fire, forcing the allies to scatter. "You cannot defeat me, mortals!" he bellowed. But Sabrina, seizing the opportunity, hurled a vial of her most potent venom at the Dremora. The concoction shattered against his armor, the corrosive liquid seeping into the seams.

Sir Amiel charged forward, his Greatsword of Anui-El glowing with divine energy. With a mighty swing, he cleaved through Valkyn Methats' defenses, the blade sinking deep into Daedric flesh. The Dremora let out a guttural roar, his form collapsing under the combined assault.

"METHATS!" Valkyn Gatanas called out to his ally before being stuck through the back wit Cura's Dawnbreaker, which set his nerves ablaze from its sheer heat, causing him to fall to his knees and crumble to ash.

The battle was a symphony of power and precision. Gabrielle unleashed a flurry of frost spikes, encasing Feah'al's boots in ice. He roared, shattering the frost with a fiery blast and retaliating with a sweeping strike that forced Gabrielle to roll aside. A fireball from his palm followed her movement, but she countered with a shimmering ward spell, dissipating the flames.

Calling on her connection to Oblivion, Gabrielle summoned a Storm Atronach. The elemental surged forward, its electric fists crashing down toward Feah'al. But the Dremora was a seasoned warrior; his axe crackled with Daedric fire as he struck the Atronach, dispersing it into fragments of lightning that illuminated the ruins. He lunged forward and jabbed her with the spiked tip of the battleaxe's blade in a thrust which caused it to slide into the fold of her cuirass.

Their battle drove them through the shrine, desecrating what remained of its sanctity as Gabrielle's blood was ripped from her side and splashed against the sundered altar. Feah'al's blows grew heavier, his fire magic relentless. Gabrielle, though quick on her feet, began to tire. She spun to parry another bone-jarring strike, the force pushing her back against a broken column.

"You cannot win." Feah'al growled, raising his axe high for a killing blow. But Gabrielle thrust her sword into the ground, channeling all her strength into a pulse of frost and lightning that threw him backwards.

Feah'al roared and conjured an arc of fire from his battleaxe, and with a violent swing, sent the arc of fire crashing through the plasmic and frozen onslaught and into Gabrielle, causing her to recoil. He lurched forward and slammed her head into the remnants of the stone wall until her consciousness began to shake. When he released her, her battered helmet dislodged and fell to the floor.

She collapsed to the ground and struggled to breathe as her consciousness began to falter. Her white hair was tinged red with blood, and her heterochromatic eyes wavered with the strain of the trauma she'd been shaken with. Gabrielle, battered and bleeding, struggled to rise as Feah'al's imposing form loomed over her. His infernal gaze burned with triumph as he raised his Daedric Battleaxe, the fiery edge crackling with malevolent energy.

"This is the end, Knight of the Void," he growled, bringing the weapon down with a savage roar.

Gabrielle braced herself for the blow, unable to summon the strength to evade or counter. The world seemed to slow, the portal's crimson light casting jagged shadows across the ruined shrine.

But before the axe could strike, a blinding silver glow erupted between them. The clash of steel rang out, followed by a snarl of defiance. Varla, the White Hound, stood tall, his twin swords crossed to catch Feah'al's deadly strike. Sparks flew as divine and Daedric power collided.

"You will not harm her," Varla snarled, his voice laced with both fury and righteous resolve. His presence was luminous, a stark contrast to the infernal darkness of the Dremora. With a swift motion, he pushed Feah'al back, forcing the Kynmarcher to stagger.

Gabrielle's vision blurred, but she watched as Varla pressed his advantage, his swords dancing in an intricate display of deadly precision. "Leave now, Feah'al, or face the wrath of Mara's son."

Feah'al snarled, his infernal eyes narrowing. "You are nothing but a mongrel playing at divinity. Stand aside, or I'll send you back to your so-called gods in pieces!"

Varla's lips curled into a knowing smile. "You speak of power you cannot comprehend, Kynmarcher. But come, let us test your strength."

The two clashed with an earth-shaking ferocity. Feah'al's strikes were relentless, each swing of his battleaxe leaving trails of molten flame in its wake. Varla moved with precision, his swords weaving an intricate dance of Aedric power that deflected and countered Feah'al's assault.

Gabrielle watched from the ground, unable to rise but unwilling to look away. The ruined shrine became their battlefield, every swing and parry shattering stone and scattering embers. Feah'al unleashed a torrent of fire, his rage manifesting in an inferno that roared toward Varla.

But Varla did not falter. He raised his hand, and the flames dissipated against an invisible barrier of divine energy. "Your fury is nothing compared to the light of the Aedra," Varla said, his voice calm and unwavering.

"I... I feel her. I feel her presence..." Gabrielle whispered with awe, uncertain at once if whether it was due to Varla's presence, or the head trauma she'd experienced, but she felt a familiar warmth that had eluded her for millennia.

Then, with a howl that resonated like a storm, Varla summoned the Aspect of the Wolf. A spectral form of a massive, wolflike guardian enveloped him, its glowing eyes fixed on Feah'al. The ground trembled as the Aspect charged, spectral claws rending through Feah'al's defenses and forcing the Dremora to his knees.

Even then, Feah'al refused to yield. He roared in defiance, striking at the Aspect with his flaming axe. But the Aedric power overwhelmed him, sending him sprawling across the broken altar. Varla, standing over his fallen foe, pointed a glowing sword at the Dremora's throat.

He thrust forward to deal a killing blow, but the Dreamora summersaulted backwards, leaping out of the range of the strike.

Feah'al's grin was bloodied but defiant. "This is not over. Mehrunes Dagon's wrath will scorch this world, and your efforts will crumble like ash." With a surge of dark magic, he retreated into the portal, his malignant laughter echoing as he vanished into the unholy crimson light.

Gabrielle grunted and tried to pull herself up, but her bloodloss was intense.

"Hey, hey. Stay with me." Varla helped to prop her up, and Cura hurried to her side with a healing spell prepared.

Cura crouched beside Gabrielle and began to cast a Healing spell, which made quick work in knitting her wounds together.

Gabrielle breathed a sigh of relief, "Draongborn... I thank thee for thy assistance." she slowly turned to look at Varla, but as soon as they made eye contact she hid her face from him. "And thou, as well, son of Mara... I thank thee for thy assistance." She searched for her helmet amidst the destruction, ashamed that any should look upon her scarred face.

Varla spotted her broken helm on the floor and picked it up. The metal was dented from the repeated blows and the visor hung on a hinge. "This won't do you any good." he warned the Knight as he presented her the ruined helm.

Gabrielle felt a cold pit in her stomach as she looked at the damages struck against her helm - she'd survived that. Somehow. Though now, her face was plain to be seen by everybody; her one Human blue eye and her Daedric-looking yellow left eye, as well as the markings under it and the deep scars across her face were unsightly to regard for the squeamish, but Varla simply looked at her with a neutral expression on his face.

"Please, look not upon my face." the Knight of the Void requested.

Varla shrugged, "I've seen worse, if you could believe that. You're not so bad." His words, though plain, were tinged with an honesty that warmed the Knight's heart somewhat.

Delphine stepped forward, "Okay, so you're not with them." it seemed all but confirmed at this point. "But now they can just warp here, without the Shrine to deter them."

Cura's brow furrowed as she absorbed Delphine's words, her face turning grave. "I fear you're right, Delphine. With the Temple of Talos destroyed and the Shrine gone, the barrier to the Deadlands has weakened further." She turned to look at the swirling red light above, a storm of corrupted magic threatening to engulf everything in its path.

"This is troubling news, indeed." Esbern shivered lightly as he looked upon the damages.

"Good fight, everybody!" Inigo encouraged his allies, as Langley emerged from behind the Candlehearth Hall.

"Good fight? Do you not see it? This was a warning; a sadistic pleasure test from Dagon." Langley announced. "It's going to be much, much, much worse. I hope your troops are as prepared as you think they are." he turned to Jarl Ulfric, to the Imperial Captain, and to the Thalmor Envoy, who had finished wiping the Daedric blood off their sword and dagger, respectively.

Langley's words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the impending doom that loomed over them. The group stood in the courtyard, the once-pristine grounds now marred by the destruction wrought by the explosion. The red, corrupted light pulsed ominously above, casting eerie shadows that danced macabrely across the faces of the assembled allies.

Ulfric's grip tightened on his axe, his voice a low growl. "Langley, you paint a grim picture. But tell me, how do you propose we prepare for an assault that you claim will be 'much, much, much worse'?" He stepped forward, his imposing figure casting an even longer shadow in the ominous light.

The troubled seer clasped his hands behind his back. "I do not know. All I do know is that our fate rests upon their hands." he gestured towards Cura and Inigo as he said it.

Inigo sighed, "Welp. Whether we are prepared or not, it is going to come to bite us. We'd best wear good padding."

The group stood in silence as they collected their bearings. The ominous skies above foretold of greater dangers still. Inigo tapped Cura on the arm, "Welp. Look at it this way, Cura; you did not get the week of rest you deserve, but at least you got to enjoy some Mead and Sweetrolls for a time."

Cura shook her head, the joke rolling off of her like rain through a gargoyle's maw. "We've got to return to the Beacon, to gather the others."

"Lead the way, Captain!" Inigo waved enthusiastically before taking Cura's hand and preparing to Fast Travel.

"Wait!" a familiar voice called out to them over the sounds of the crying winds. Cura turned to see Elenwen, and her Agents rushing towards them.

The Dragonborn stiffened slightly and stood upright to meet them.