Carcette and Keeper Ciirta gazed upon the reddening skies Northward, and turned to look at the newcomers: Vigilant Tolan and Brother Adalvald, who had just arrived from Stuhn's Ravine.
"Carcette, it's good to see you again." Brother Adalvald shook her hand, his eyes foggy with relief. "Keeper Thorondir sent us to help the area, and to confirm the rumours about Cura's return. Is she..."
Carcette nodded, "She's alive again."
Vigilant Tolan felt a warmth in his heart. "I knew she couldn't be kept down forever. That's our girl."
Brother Adalvald gestured towards the crimson horizon, which seemed to be slowly spreading like water on a counter top. He gestured towards it. "I 'd wager that that isn't a good sign."
Keeper Ciirta watched as her mentor, Bazur, the large Orc Vigilant in Priestly Robes returned from the edge of the cliff, where he appeared to be gazing out over the horizon, at the ramparts and training grounds below, as well as the eerie celestial phenomenon ahead of them. "Do you have any idea what that could be, Bazur?" she inquired as she met him halfway.
Bazur shook his head, though his green face was a tad more paler than usual. "I do not know, Ciirta; but I can feel the malignance creeping in like a heavy fog."
The group stood in tense silence as the crimson sky continued its ominous spread. Carcette turned to the newcomers, her face etched with concern. "It's Dagon. I know what's happening. His forces have tainted the Shrine of Talos."
"How would you know that, Carcette?" Brother Adalvald inquired with curiosity.
Carcette admitted calmly, "Jyggalag's Grand Library. I peered into various lifetimes of various people, and in our Era, they all headed towards a common point before diverging."
"A common point?" Vigilant Tolan asked, "This is all Daedric nonsense. Why would you believe Jyggalag's words? Okay, I get that he helped you. Fine. But surely..."
Carcette inhaled and exhaled deeply. "The Doom Strider is on its way." She proclaimed with an air of finality.
The crimson sky cast an eerie glow over the group, and the temperature seemed to drop noticeably. Carcette's words hung in the air, causing a tense silence to fall over the gathered Vigilants. Brother Adalvald's face turned ashen as he absorbed this ominous news. "The Doom Strider? But that's just a legend, isn't it?"
Bazur stepped forward, his green skin now almost gray in the red-tinged light. "What is a 'Doom Strider?'"
Keeper Ciirta turned pale at the mention. "The thing Inigo spoke of to me once... a Monstrosity that was going to tear through Skyrim."
Carcette inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to steady her nerves. She knew this was a critical moment, and she had to remain composed. "It's a creature from the plane of Oblivion, a Daedric entity of immense power and malice. I have seen its future in the lifetimes of others, and I know it's coming here."
Vigilant Tolan scoffed, his brow furrowed in skepticism.
Carcette added, "But one fascinating thing is that when Jyggalag made predictions regarding it, he actually predicted two outcomes, and split the Library shelves in half, with secondary copies of our lives - excluding my own. You, for example, Tolan, have two possible outcomes in this conflict, as do you, Adalvald, Ciirta, Bazur... everybody. You are either going to be annihilated, or you will be spared. I won't divulge your potential futures, however. Jyggalag would not take kindly to that." As Carcette finished speaking, the weight of her words settled over the group like a shroud. The Vigilants exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of their situation sinking in. The crimson sky seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, as if mocking their unease.
Brother Adalvald, his voice barely above a whisper, asked, "What do we do? How do we prepare for something like this?"
"You have done all that you could. The Factions are aligned, the Dwarven Army is falling into place, and the Champion and the Dragonborn are together." Carcette laced her fingers together and stared up in the sky. "The Mages have cast their barrier, the units are in position, and an entire mountain divides the Province. Stendarr be with us."
Cura and Inigo prepared to Fast Travel, when Thalmor Agents, led by Elenwen, Rulindil, Ondolemar, and Zephyrion emerged from around the Candlehearth hall. Their eyes immediately fell upon the smoking remains of Dremora, and the dead Altmer and Nords littering the Temple of Talos's ruins.
They gawked as their eyes fell upon the crimson column that slowly began to dissippate, as the skies turned to blood over their heads.
Cura met them with an expression of solemnity. "The Shrine has been defiled." Not that the Thalmor would care about the Shrine of Talos being defiled; Gods know that they've defiled their share of them, themselves. However, she spoke with conviction as she said it, so that the message would sink in, that Talos is, indeed, a god, and that his Shrine was the last bastion in Skyrim that kept limitations on the Oblivion Portal.
Long had the Dragonfires been extinguished in the Imperial City, and easy had it become to gate Daedra into the world; especially now.
Ulfric turned his gaze to Elenwen, and she could see the somberness written across his usually-confident face. She surveyed the destruction, and the wounded and slain. "The Mythic Dawn... how could it be that they always manage to be one step ahead?" the Stormcloak leader postulated, his voice sore with disgust and hatred for that cult.
Elenwen's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene before her. The destruction of the Shrine of Talos was a stark reminder of the power and cunning of their enemies. She turned to Ulfric, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "The Mythic Dawn has always been a shadowy force, Ulfric. Their methods are as elusive as they are deadly. A faction of them had escaped Skyrim in the wake of Dagon's initial attack. While all of the factions were distracted, planning our countermeasures and alliances, they plotted underhandedly to strike Windhelm. They chose now to do it, as we were distracted by Cura's return."
Cura grunted with frustration. "Well, this time they don't have a dagger specially devoted to slaying me."
Inigo tweaked his right shoulder, loosening a knot in his muscles as he turned to Langley. "We will alert the other factions if they have not caught on yet. We will ensure that our belts are on tightly!'
"Why tightly?" Vilja inquired, tilting her head.
"Because I am sick of getting caught with my pants down!" Inigo's ears curled backwards with frustration and he bore his fangs as he fixed his gaze on the red skies above.
The Mythic Dawn attack had left the streets of Windhelm in chaos. The wounded were being tended to by healers, while Delphine and Esbern rallied the Skyguard to scour the city for any remaining cultists. With the White Phial in their possession, they were able to recover much quicker than they would have otherwise.
The members of the Skyguard: Erik the Slayer, Marcurio, the recovered Annekke Crag-Jumper and Darkeethus, Stenvar, Mjoll the Lioness were shocked when their eyes fell upon Cura.
"She... she really is alive!" Mjoll gasped. "Cura!" she called out to her old friend, the Dragonborn.
Cura smiled and waved to her from a distance, "Hi, Mjoll! It's good to see you again!"
"You took the words right out of my mouth. Maybe when all this is over, we'll talk over a nice bottle of Ale, eh?" Mjoll suggested.
Cura nodded, "Sure thing." She turned to her immediate party of Inigo, Sir Amiel, Vilja, Varla, Sabrina, and Gabrielle. "Let's get to the Beacon. Quickly." She cas tthe Fast Travel spell, and through the Thaumaturgical art, the group was urgently whisked away to the Jeralls, and before the Beacon and the gathered group.
The College of Winterhold to the North caught sight of the changing skies, where some of the refugees from the Wretched Spire recoiled with trepidation at the familiar crimson spreading. Tarvyn, their leader, stepped forward and approached the entryway to the bridge, and glanced out towards the horizon which loomed below; it was unmistakable.
"Dagon's influence is spreading." the Dunmer swallowed hard, and turned his gaze towards Serana, who had noticed the same phenomenon from the window of her Office.
"Gods." the Vampiress shivered lightly. "I hope we're prepared..." she mused.
The Master Wizard turned to the Refugees and the Wizards of the College, "You know the plan. If the Daedra manage to encroach on Winterhold, we bring the citizens in and blow the bridge."
The refugees huddled together, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination. Tarvyn's voice, steady and resolute, cut through the tense atmosphere. "We must be ready to act swiftly. The safety of Winterhold depends on our vigilance and unity." He looked to Serana, who nods solemnly, her vampiric senses heightened, ready to detect any sign of Daedric intrusion.
She wasn't entirely certain as to what she should expect, but she knew that it was no benign omen; the crimson skies were a sign of certain destruction.
J'zargo, Brelyna, and Onmund; Cura's old classmates at the College, were among the Imperial Battlemages, spread along the landscape between Winterhold, Windhelm, and Riften. They knew that the skies heralded a coming onslaught, and the three friends stood resolute in their place within the line formation of the Imperial Unit, geared in Legion Armour fitted for Mages.
Illia, the Mage friend of Inigo and the others, stood upon a cliff in the Rift, overlooking the terrifying pall of bloody splendor which fanned out further and further over the land. She clasped the Staff of Magnus, which Inigo had instructed her to hold onto some time ago, and leaned on it for support as dread filled her heart.
Stendarr's Beacon was shaken by the arrival of Cura and her friends.
As the crimson skies continued to spread, a sense of urgency gripped the hearts of those who stood against the encroaching Daedric forces. Inigo, ever the optimist, tried to lighten the mood with a quip, "Well, at least it's a colorful apocalypse, right?" but his joke fell flat, swallowed by the weight of the impending doom.
Sabrina scoffed in response, "Traded one hellscape for another. I wouldn't have it any other way."
Carcette, Keeper Ciirta, Vigilant Tolan and Brother Adalvald turned to witness the approaching group after hearing Inigo and Sabrina's voices.
Cura stepped forward, between her allies, and Vigilant Tolan and Brother Adalvald's eyes lit up with the sight of their former charge.
Vigilant Tolan, momentarily forgetting about the looming doom, grinned from ear to ear when he saw her, "Heeey!" he chuckled, "Look who it is!" His voice lilted with his exclamation as he moved forward to hug Cura. "I missed you, Kiddo. It's been a rough ride." When Tolan slowly released Cura, he ruffled the top of her head affectionately. Memories flooded the large man of a gentler time, when he'd be training Cura to fight at the back of the Hall.
As she slowly pulled away, Cura's serene smile disarmed the tension in the air. "I've missed you, too, Vigilant Tolan. All of you."
Brother Adalvald looked at Cura, a mixture of emotions playing across his face - joy, relief, and no small amount of astonishment. He stepped forward, his voice tinged with emotion. "Cura... You have returned to us in our hour of need."
The rest of the Vigilants gathered around Cura, embracing her with warm smiles and relieved sighs. It was clear that her presence filled them with renewed hope and determination in the face of the impending Daedric invasion.
Carcette nodded silently, and returned her gaze to the reddening horizon, and she beckoned Inigo to join her. She walked into the Beacon and ascended the spiralling stone staircase that framed half of the inner round chamber until making it onto the stone roof, where the flaming beacon itself rested. From here, they had a better view of the overarching landscape.
"How do you feel, Inigo?" the former Keeper of the Vigil asked the blue Khajiit. He'd dealt with many horrific things before, but the fright of something like this was unteneble.
Inigo, surprised at Carcette's concern, shrugged his shoulders and responded dryly, "Oh, like a cat standing on the roof of a tower overlooking a cliff, I guess."
Carcette let out a small, wry chuckle at Inigo's morbid humor. She stared out at the darkening sky, the red horizon slowly fading into an inky blackness. The wind whipped at their cloaks and hair as they stood silhouetted against the dying light. Her expression returned to a more serious one.
"This is not a laughing matter, Inigo," Carcette said sternly, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.
"I know it is not, but..." Inigo tried to find the words to describe his anxiety, but his tongue failed him. His gaze drifted to the stones beneath his feet as thoughts of the Doom Strider ran wild in his imagination, conjuring up images far too drastic to be quenched with words.
Carcette placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and he slowly looked up from the floor, and into her one-eyed gaze. His attention gathered now, she spoke. "You fought Dagon once, already, and survived. You have saved Cura's life on many occasions, and I cannot express my gratitude enough for that. You won't have to face the Doom Strider alone; she's here. We're all here, Inigo. Never forget that you're among friends." Carcette's grip on Inigo's shoulder tightened slightly, her voice steady and reassuring. "The Doom Strider is a formidable foe, but so are we. We have faced darkness before and emerged victorious. Remember, Inigo, the strength of our bond is our greatest weapon. Together, we can overcome any challenge that lies ahead. Our collective groups are the beating heart and soul of Skyrim. Of Cyrodiil. Of High Rock. Of Hammerfell. Of Elsewyr. Of Summerset. Of Morrowind. Of Valenwood."
Inigo nodded, taking a deep breath as he looked out at the darkening landscape. "You're right, Carcette."
"Inigo, all of the Empire has a stake in this battle." Carcette explained, "If Skyrim falls, everybody else will follow suit." She turned to face him fully, her one eye burning with intensity. "We cannot let that happen. We cannot let the Doom Strider or any other Daedric entity claim this land for its own. We must stand united, all of us, and fight for what is right."
Inigo's lips curved upward slightly, a faint smile breaking through his anxiety. "You're right, Carcette. We'll face this challenge together, no matter what comes our way."
Carcette removed her hand from his shoulder and gave him a firm tap. "If nobody else does, I believe in you, Inigo. And so does Cura." Carcette turned to address the group gathered before them. Her voice carried over the courtyard, strong and clear. "You have all heard the prophecy of the Doom Strider. It is real, and it threatens us all. The Doom Strider seeks to unmake the world as we know it, to plunge Tamriel into endless night. But we will not let that happen."
She gestured to Cura, who stood tall and proud, her eyes blazing with determination. "Remember that we have a Dragonborn in our midst. A Dragonborn who can wield the Thu'um. You remember the Oblivion Crisis 200 years ago? The reason for why the Vigil was founded? The Crisis only occurred because of Emperor Uriel's assassination. Mehrunes Dagon fears Akatosh; he fears the Dragonborn, and with good reason."
Varla crossed his arms and nodded firmly, "And now that she's bested Bal, he has even greater reason to fear."
Inigo exhaled, "And what am I going to do against the Doom Strider, realistically? I am no Dragonborn - nobody of significance."
Cura turned to her friend, "You're more special than you realize, Inigo. The gods placed you in my life for a reason. And that," she gestured towards the Ring of Stendarr's Mercy, the gift given to him by Keeper Ciirta some time ago, now worn on Inigo's finger. "is a sign. Our destinies are linked. I'll do my best; I expect the same from you."
"I live to please, your majesty." Inigo responded semi-sarcastically, throwing a thin veil over her obscured Amulet of Kings.
"Ha-ha." Cura responded with a smirk. Their moment of assurance was cut short by fate's whiplash as the earth below them rumbled and churned. The group, bracing themselves for the worst, and fearing the unthinkable, lost all traces of humour upon feeling the rumble beneath their feet.
The skies over the Velothi Mountains churned with an unnatural ferocity, painted in hues of crimson and black as if the heavens themselves recoiled from the atrocity taking shape below. A thunderous crack tore through the silence, a sound so vast and deep it felt as though Nirn's very heart had splintered. The earth trembled violently, ancient stones groaning under the weight of a terror they had never borne before.
From the jagged maw of the portal to the Deadlands, molten rock cascaded like rivers of blood, bathing the mountains in an unholy glow. The air grew thick with heat and ash, suffocating and oppressive. Then, as if the Daedric Prince himself was breathing life into the nightmare, the Doom Strider began to emerge.
At first, only its immense legs became visible, forged of blackened metal that seemed both impossibly ancient and disturbingly advanced. Each step sent shockwaves rippling through the earth, cracks spidering outward as the land gave way beneath its unfathomable weight. Slowly, its gargantuan form loomed into view—a titan born of chaos and malice. Its segmented body writhed with moving plates, glowing veins of molten energy coursing through its core, pulsating with a sinister rhythm.
When the head emerged, the world seemed to pause in collective horror. It bore the visage of doom itself: a massive, insect-like construct with a gaping maw that dripped molten magma, like a volcano made flesh. Its eyes—burning orbs of fire—surveyed the world it intended to annihilate. Then came the sound, a deafening roar that was neither mechanical nor organic but a fusion of the two, a sound that carried the wrath of Mehrunes Dagon himself.
The Doom Strider stood fully revealed, dwarfing the mountains around it, a harbinger of destruction brought forth to rend the world asunder. From its gaping mouth spewed a stream of molten fire, carving a path of devastation across the landscape. Above, the crimson skies churned faster, as if heralding the arrival of the apocalypse.
In the distance, Cura, Inigo, and their allies watched in stunned silence. Even the dragons, mighty in their own right, seemed mere insects before this monstrosity. But amidst the dread, Cura's hand tightened on her weapon. She was no stranger to impossible odds—and this, too, would fall.
The chill of the Jerall Mountains pressed against their skin, the air sharp and biting.
The Doom Strider loomed far in the distance, yet its enormity rendered space meaningless. It was unmistakable—its jagged frame blackened the skies above the Velothi Mountains, spewing magma and fire that painted the horizon in hues of dread. Even from this distance, the vibrations of its movements sent subtle tremors rippling through the earth. The distant sound of its roar reached the Beacon like a ghostly echo, muted but no less chilling.
Gabrielle sank to her knees, her fear overtaking her in waves as the memories of her time in Dagon's realm collided with the unholy reality before her. Varla knelt beside her, his divine presence offering an anchor as he murmured prayers to Mara.
Carcette, standing closest to the Beacon's edge, gripped her warhammer tightly. She had known this moment would come - Jyggalag's records had forewarned her - but knowledge did little to diminish the horror of the sight before her.
Inigo was motionless, his tail flicking anxiously as he tried to steady his breathing. "It's a nightmare made real," he whispered hoarsely.
He felt Cura's prosthetic left hand resting firmly in his own, her strength grounding him like the Beacon's towering light. "A nightmare we will face together," she said, her voice a quiet declaration.
Behind them, Vilja, Vigilant Tolan, and Brother Adalvald exchanged grave looks. They had fought against the forces of darkness before, but this enemy was something beyond their reckoning. The Knights of the Nine - Sir Amiel, Sir Henrik, and Sir Ralvas, and Sabrina among them - stood ready, their presence a reminder that faith and courage would endure, even in the bleakest times.
Author's Note: apologies for the shorter chapter - I've been going through a Writer's Drought, and overwhelmed with life and needing to restructure things related to the story - so much to consider. x.x