Stendarr's Dragon

by Midnight Coffee 64

I've decided to write a story based on my very first Dovahkiin, the Breton Paladin Cura! Raised in the Vigil of Stendarr, she goes on to save Skyrim in times of crisis in a Season Unending! Humble and meek by nature, Cura finds her values and general disposition challenged by the brutal world around her. *Decided to write this since Skyrim's 10th Anniversary! :)*

193. Dream That No Longer Needs Its Dreamer 3

"The Fall of Dominance and the Rise of Justice

By Lucien Flavius, Leading Technician and Dwemer Scholar of the Arcane University

Year 4E 223

In the annals of Tamrielic history, few events echo as resoundingly as the cataclysmic clash between the righteous Vigilant Cura Stormcloak, known to many as the Dragonborn, and the malevolent Daedric Prince Molag Bal. Herein, I endeavor to recount the epic tale of their confrontation, biased as it may be towards the luminous heroism that brought justice to a forsaken realm.

Molag Bal, the embodiment of domination and enslavement, reigned over the nightmarish realm of Coldharbour. Under his iron grip, tortured souls languished in eternal torment, and his cruel influence seeped into the very fabric of Nirn. However, the tides of fate shifted in the Year of the Fourth Era 204, as the dauntless Dragonborn arose to challenge his reign of terror.

The ascent of Vigilant Cura Stormcloak to prominence was marked by valour and unyielding resolve. Destined for greatness, Cura bore the sacred blood of the Nords and the fierce determination of Ysgramor's kin. Guided by divine providence and a sense of duty, she ventured into the depths of Coldharbour, her heart aflame with the desire to end Molag Bal's tyranny.

The battle between these two titanic forces was as thunderous as it was extraordinary. Molag Bal's fortress, the Darkened Spire, became the stage for a celestial conflict. The Daedric Prince, with his overwhelming power and army of Daedra, sought to crush the will of the Dragonborn. Yet, Cura Stormcloak, wielding the ancient Thu'um and the legendary Dawnbreaker, stood as an unyielding bastion of light against his darkness.

With each clash of sword and spell, the very foundations of Coldharbour trembled. The skies roiled with tempestuous energy, and the land itself seemed to scream in defiance. Cura's mastery of the Voice, augmented by her unshakeable faith and indomitable spirit, allowed her to deliver devastating blows to the Daedric Prince. The culmination of their struggle saw Molag Bal falter, his essence fragmented by the power of justice incarnate.

The realm of Coldharbour, once a desolate wasteland of despair, witnessed an unprecedented transformation. Under the guidance of Vigilant Cura Stormcloak, the oppressed souls found solace and the shackles of domination were shattered under the unrelenting fangs of Stendarr's Dragon. The fall of Molag Bal signaled not just a victory for the Dragonborn, but the dawn of a new era of justice and hope.

Thus, in this account, let it be known that Vigilant Cura Stormcloak, the Dragonborn, stood as the beacon of righteousness in the face of unspeakable evil. Her triumph over Molag Bal was not just a personal victory, but a testament to the enduring power of justice and the indomitable spirit of those who dare to fight for a better future.

And let it be known, above all that this, as well as the fall of Alduin, Harkon, and Dagon, is why the Fourth Era has been renamed The Era of Mercy."

---

Reality shifted and distorted around Cura and her allies and they found themselves whisked away into a place of beauty they never could have dreamed of. The skies above were pure and blue, a sacred wind blowing along its air. The wind itself sung a song of glory and the sounds of running water formed a peaceful backdrop.

The immediate area the host had found themselves in was a beautiful temple with an arched pathway ahead, the architecture hauntingly similar to Auri-El's Chantry in the Forgotten Vale. Statues of what looked like Griffons perched on either side of the arched entryway, leading further and further still. The building itself was marble white, while reflecting the blue colour of the skies.

It was Aetherius.

Author's Note: We made it! We're finally free from that hellhole! Hoorah! For this part, "Vigilant OST- Normal Ending" Thank you so much for reading up to this point! :)

As Cura and her entourage stepped into the exterior of the grand castle in Aetherius, the air was filled with an ethereal light that seemed to pulse in harmony with their very souls. The marble floors gleamed with a radiant sheen, and the statues of Griffons stood guard, their eyes seemingly watching over the sacred place. The wind continued to sing its symphony, creating an almost reverent atmosphere. Cura felt a profound sense of peace and purpose as she stepped forward and gazed upon the sky above, and felt the voice within. White petals flitted through the air, catching the brilliant sunlight above. The ethereal light seemed to resonate with her very being, as if the realm itself was alive and welcoming her and her companions. Her companions, each bearing scars and stories of their own, looked around in awe and reverence.

Carcette, a lifelong follower of the Divines, gazed upon the world with reverence. Her eye widened as she took in the breathtaking sight of Aetherius. The temple's grandeur was a testament to the divine power that had brought them here. She felt a deep connection to the place, as if it were calling to her very soul. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her hammer, a symbol of her lifelong dedication to Stendarr.

Sabrina took off her mask and the look of astonishment on her face spoke greater volumes than any words she could spin ever could. Not that any words came to her at the present time.

Sir Amiel wept into his arm. "Finally... I have finally seen it... beloved, vivid Aetherius..."

The other Knights of the Nine wept for their fallen comrades who did not make it here, while the Vigilants of Stendarr ran to embrace Cura. Collectively, they lifted her up off the ground and tossed her up into the air as a group and they cheered heartily.

"THREE CHEERS FOR THE DRAGONBORN!"

"HIP, HIP!"

"HOORAY!"

Cura soared through the air, her companions' fervent cheers echoing around her. The sky above shimmered with a divine light, and she felt an overwhelming sense of unity and purpose. As she descended gently back into their arms, she was baptized with the waters of pure joy and peace; commodities she hadn't known since she was a young child.

Carcette, her voice tinged with awe, stepped forward and clasped Cura's hands. "By the Light, Cura," Carcette began, her voice trembling with reverence, "this place... it's a sanctuary, a beacon of hope. We have come so far, and now, we stand before the very heart of our faith."

Cura nodded, her eyes reflecting the divine glow that permeated the realm. "It's more beautiful than the stories described... and we haven't even gone into it properly yet."

Varla's eyes were wide with wonder. Never before had he fathomed that such a place could exist. He looked down to Mary. "So this is your home, Mother... it is truly breathtaking."

Mary smiled softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Yes, Dearest Varla. This is where the Aedra dwell. The great Aetherius, in all its splendor."

Korn barked and rubbed against Atima. The little Khajiit giggled with excitement and hugged the white wolf's mane.

Sir Amiel, still wiping away his tears, stepped forward, his voice trembling with emotion. "We have been given a rare gift, my friends. A chance to see the divine in all its glory."

Sabrina took Sir Amiel's arm, finally finding her words. "It just screams; 'Congratulations, you survived Coldharbour, it doesn't really matter how it all went down the most important thing is you survived the ordeal, which means you passed the test.'"

Vingalmo looked down at his hands, which were, to his surprise, even-toned. He touched his teeth, feeling for fangs and finding none.

Cura, her gaze still fixed on the divine realm around them, spoke softly. "I think... we all passed that test. We're here, together, and we made it through. Whatever trials and tribulations lay ahead, we'll face them together." Then she paused and looked down. In a moment of wistful silence, she shook her head. "No. Actually, if any of you wish to stay here in Aetherius, I won't stop you. This is the end goal of all mortals. Asking any of you to return to Nirn with me would be asking for a lot."

Sir Amiel stepped forward, his expression soft and serene. "Saint Alessia granted you the Amulet of Kings because you are the true Dragonborn. I would say that I would follow you to the ends of Oblivion, but we have already done that. Instead, I will serve you for as long as the Divines will it, my Liege." He knelt before Cura and lowered his head before her, as the Knight of Akatosh.

Cura looked at Sir Amiel, her heart filled with gratitude. She placed a hand on his shoulder, "You honour me, Sir Amiel. Your loyalty and devotion are not taken lightly. I will do my best to lead you all to victory and honor."

Gloriel gave a polite half-bow. "I will not be a servant under you, Champion, but I will continue to sere Lady Meridia upon Nirn. I will aid you if you have need of me; you shall always have my gratitude, and you shall always be in my heart."

"It's not about servitude, Gloriel. We fight as equals for a common goal. Your faith and dedication to Meridia are admirable, and I welcome your aid when needed," Cura reassured her.

Sabrina stepped forward and cleared her throat. "If you want me, you have me, Cura. I've gone from being a murderer, to a scoundrel, to a healer... and now, to a friend of the Dragonborn. All you need to do is say the word."

Cura smirked and tapped her on the shoulder. "Welcome, Sabrina. Didn't I say that I wanted you to meet Inigo?"

"If it's all right... I would prefer to remain here, in Aetherius." Bourlor spoke gently. "It has long been my dream to roam Kyne's Flower Fields."

Cura smiled at Bourlor, understanding his desire. "Of course, Bourlor. May your spirit find peace in Aetherius. Your skill with the bow will be missed."

Orthjolf stared at Vingalmo. "Hey, you ain't a Vampire anymore." he then gazed upon the Gray Prince, "And you ain't pale."

Agronak's eyes widened. "I feel... different. Rejuvenated."

Mary nodded silently. "You have all been cured of your Vampiric affliction. If you intend on returning to Nirn, you will have no need of it."

Fura Bloodmouth, Stalf, and the others looked upon one another in shock.

"Come." Mary placed a hand on Cura's shoulder and she led her onwards, through the archways. Korn followed closely, as well. Everybody else filed behind them and walked forward.

At the end of a long pier of marble stone, leading to a beautiful meadow, was Molag Bal. He was on his knees, reaching forward, a spear stuck through his chest, and his form encased in stone.

Cura's eyes widened. "Molag Bal!"

"He truly believed he could defeat the Nine Divines." Mary proclaimed, shaking her head. "His hatred knew no bounds. And now it rests upon you, Cura." She walked with Cura towards the pitiful petrified Daedric Prince. "You must confront him, once and for all. Where it counts." She placed a hand over her chest to signify her meaning.

"Where it counts..." Cura looked down at the Red Stone grasped in his other hand. "I understand, Mary. I'll do it."

The Dragonborn stepped forward and gazed upon the frozen form of the Prince of Domination. She placed her Dwarven Metal hand on the Red Stone. Her mind, at that instant, was transported into the darkest depths of Molag Bal's corrupted soul.

Th environment shifted from the harmonious plains of Aetherius to a world of distortion; sharp, floating islands, suspended by anchored chains and joined together by ruined bridges, rested above and below an endless chasm. All was darkness. All was death. Cura walked along the desolate path, under the Abyss of Molag Bal. Along the trail she saw figures composed entirely of ash; those whose souls had been scorched by the Stone. She saw glimpses of their pasts: a man being interrogated by a Colovian Soldier, a vision of a White wasteland underneath a misty sun and Saint Alessia, a large tree...

Wait. A large tree?

The Eldergleam?

Cura followed the path and looked at an archipelago that hung below, at the very bottom of the islands chain, hovering mere inches over the black void below. On that island there were ruins of an old world; and seashells and aquatic features upon its sands. And atop the hill on that very same Island, a giant, rotted Eldergleam tree. "There's something wrong with this picture. I feel it in my bones," Cura said to herself. She turned and looked around, feeling an eerie presence watching her. As she turned back to face the island, she noticed that the sky was turning red and a sense of dread washed over her. "This is not right..." She clutched her Elven Mace tighter as she descended the ruined bridge leading down to that small island below.

Molag Bal was there, waiting, as it were. He looked up at the Rotted Eldergleam tree, and at the figure comprised of ash trapped in front of its base above him.

As soon as Cura stepped upon the island, and her foot dashed a stone, the Daedric Prince was alerted to her presence.

Molag Bal smiled a cruel smile, "So, you have come to me, little Vigilant. Did you think you could end me so easily?" He chuckled darkly, "But first, let us play a game. A game of power and desire. Do you accept?"

Cura wiped her nose and felt the cold breeze pass her through. "I'm not here to play games." As Cura approached Molag Bal, she felt a powerful aura emanating from him, a force that threatened to overwhelm her. Yet, she stood firm, her resolve as unyielding as Stendarr's Hammer. "You have caused enough suffering," she declared, her voice ringing with authority. "it's time for you to go."

Molag Bal smiled mockingly, "Do you honestly believe you can simply banish me, child? I have existed far longer than the mortals who dare defy me." His gaze bore into Cura, attempting to break her will with his malevolent presence.

But Cura stood unwavering. "Yes, that may be true. But Alduin also existed far longer than me, and I defeated him."

Molag Bal's eyes widened in surprise, and he let out a dark laugh. "So, you're comparing me to a mere dragon? I am a Daedric Prince, girl! More powerful than any dragon and any mortal!" His voice boomed, the very air around them vibrating with his rage.

"Then let me ask you one question: why are you like this? Who hurt you?" Cura asked, her tone laced with bitter venom.

Molag Bal smirked, "Do you truly believe that there is anything in this world or beyond that could hurt a Daedric Prince such as myself? I exist beyond mortal comprehension, Vigilant. My power is unfathomable, unmatched."

Cura kicked a stone to the side. "But you weren't always like this, were you." She squinted her eyes. "You were once Bal, the Ayleid Bard, weren't you? The Bard who weaved tall tales and eventually came into contact with a creature from a previous Kalpa." She gestured towards the hill. "Underneath the Eldergleam."

Molag Bal's eyes narrowed as he considered her words. "How do you know of these things?" He hissed.

Cura shrugged. "I've had my fair share of encounters with the past."

Molag Bal laughed, a bitter and mocking sound. "Even if you are right, Child of Stendarr, I don't even remember. Everything is a fog... with every passing day, hundreds - no, thousands - of images sear my mind. Thousands of lives: Bal, Altano, Padomay..."

"Lord of Domination, Prince of Rape, Harvester, Lord of Corruption, the Tormentor of Men, the Schemer, God of Brutality, Sower of Strife..." Cura recited his numerous terrible monikers, her voice dripping with disgust as each one emerged from her mouth.

Molag Bal scoffed. "You think to bind me with your words, Vigilant? To condemn me with your filthy mortal tongue?" He sneered, his eyes glowing an ominous red. "I am beyond your comprehension, beyond your petty morality."

"And that is precisely what makes you so disgusting," Cura's eyes darkened. "you think you're beyond reproach. You think that morality is a meaningless concept, that you're above it. But you're not. Nobody is. All I see when I look at you is a bully gifted with too much power."

Molag Bal rose to his feet, towering over Cura. His laughter tore through the endless expanse, shaking its very foundations. "You dare to challenge me, Child of Stendarr? Do you have any idea what I am capable of?"

Cura stood her ground, unafraid. "No, I don't. And frankly, I'm well past the point of caring."

Molag Bal narrowed his eyes at Cura, studying her with a newfound respect. He could sense the steel in her resolve, the unyielding determination that burned within her soul. This was no ordinary mortal, but a worthy adversary.

"You are a fascinating creature, Vigilant. You would have made an incredible servant."

Cura stood unflinching. "I'd rather die on my feet here than live on my knees in your court."

Molag Bal smirked and reached for his iconic Mace. "Every dream comes to an end. Even dreams that no longer need their dreamer cannot escape this fate." His tone fell, losing its edge and growing surprisingly morose. "Well, let us finish this. Tell me who I am, who you are."

Author's Note: for this battle, "Vigilant OST - Molag Bal"

With a defiant stare, Cura held onto her faith and refused to yield. "I'll tell you who I am: a servant of the Nine, a protector of the innocent. I'll tell you who you are: rust on my mace." She raised her Elven Mace and Shield, and stared down the fiend.

This was it; the confrontation she'd been waiting for. All the resentment, all the cruelty, all the perseverance, all the suffering, it has all led her to this point. The Dragonborn stood face-to-face now with the Old Enemy of Man and Mer both, and she was not going to back down.

Molag Bal's laughter reverberated through the void as he raised his mace, its ancient sigil pulsing with an unholy power. "You are bold for such a small thing, Child of Stendarr." With a swift motion, he slammed his mace against the ground, shattering reality around him as the space warped. The sand began to pick up and dark flames formed a barrier around the space they were in, creating an arena.

The Daedric Prince roared, and lightning began to strike from the skies above.

"LOK VAH KOOR!" Cura Shouted, and the lightning storm dissipated. She ran forward and whacked the Prince's arm with her mace and leapt backwards quickly.

Molag Bal's mace swept horizontally, and narrowly missed Cura due to her maneuvering and smaller size. She held Spellbreaker forward. "WULD NA KEST!" with a blast of speed, she hurdled forward, ramming her shield into him and knocking him backwards like an oncoming canonball.

The impact was thunderous, and Molag Bal was sent sprawling, his mace flying from his grasp. His mocking laughter turned to genuine surprise as he hit the ground hard, leaving a massive crater. The Daedric Prince snarled, his burning form blazing brighter with fury. "You DARE?"

Cura switched to a defensive stance. "I dare."

Molag Bal's eyes blazed with fury as he summoned his mace back to his hand. The ground beneath their feet trembled as he stomped towards Cura, his massive form casting a dark shadow. "You are nothing but an ant, Cura. A speck of dust in the grand tapestry of Oblivion."

The air crackled with dark energy as he raised his mace once more.

"A speck of dust? Then you must really be pathetic for me to send you sprawling." Cura taunted.

Molag Bal's roar of rage echoed through the realm as he lunged at Cura with a devastating blow. She narrowly dodged, but the shockwave from his attack sent her tumbling backwards. As she struggled to regain her footing, the Prince's form grew even larger, his burning visage now towering above like a living inferno. "You think you can mock me, mortal? I am the Prince of Domination! The Lord of Coldharbour!"

Cura leapt out of the way of his next strike, and smashed his wrist with her Mace. The dust blew around the pair of them, creating a veil that obscured the world.

Molag Bal's massive hand wrapped around her throat, his burning grip searing through her armor and into her skin. She struggled against him, her vision blurring as he lifted her off the ground. "I will show you the true meaning of pain, Cura. The agony of being a mere mortal before a god."

His burning form crackled with power, the very air around them shimmering with malevolent energy. Cura raised her Elven Mace and drove one of the hooks on its flanges into his eye, and pushed downwards, gouging out his eye. "This... is for Carcette!"

Molag Bal howled in pain and rage, his grip on Cura weakening as he stumbled backwards. Blood and molten matter streamed down his face as he clutched at the socket where his eye had been.

The very ground beneath them began to shake violently as his power surged. Molag Bal's form grew even larger, now towering above like a living volcano. Cura cast a Healing Spell on herself, and then cast Stendarr's Aura around her person.

Molag Bal's rage reached a fever pitch, his massive form now looming above like a towering inferno. The very air around him crackled with malevolent energy, the ground beneath them trembling under his fury. He brought down his mace, smashing her into the ground.

Cura raised Spellbreaker, taking in most of the impact, but she felt her left knee pop. She stifled a scream, and bit her lip, instead. This also proved to be a mistake, as blood began to pour down her chin.

Molag Bal's massive form loomed above, his burning eyes now blazing with an even more intense fury. "I will show you the true meaning of pain and suffering!"

He raised his mace high, preparing to deliver another devastating blow. The very air around them crackled with malevolent energy, the ground beneath them trembling under his fury. "FEIM!" Cura Shouted, and her form became intangible.

Molag Bal's massive mace passed through her ethereal form, his momentum carrying him forward. He stumbled, nearly losing his balance. The ground where she had been standing was scorched and cracked from the force of the blow.

Cura reappeared a few feet away, her left knee still throbbing. She cast a quick Grand Healing on herself, the pain receding but not fully gone. She leapt onto Molag Bal's back and used Dawnbreaker in her left hand as a climbing pick as she moved higher up, Meridia's sacred flames scorching her nemesis. "This is for Inquisitor Pepe, and all who you deceived!"

Molag Bal bellowed in agony, his flesh searing wherever Dawnbreaker touched him. He tried to fling her off, but she held firm, stabbing repeatedly with the weapon. The ground beneath them cracked and split as Molag Bal's power lashed out, creating waves of destructive energy.

Finally, he managed to throw her off, sending her sprawling across the fractured ground. She rolled, coming up on one knee, still clutching Dawnbreaker. "You foolish mortal! Did you really think you could stand against the power of a Daedric Prince?"

His words cut through the air, laden with dark fury and the promise of untold suffering. He raised both hands, fingers spread, and a burst of crimson energy erupted from them, creating a massive magical explosion. The shockwave knocked out the ruins of the old castle which littered the field, and debris rained down from above.

Cura covered her head with Spellbreaker. "IIZ SLEN NUS!" a chilling vapour emerged from her throat, encasing Molag Bal halfway as he brought down his mace. Cura then dashed forward and began to slam his head repeatedly with her own mace.

"This!"

BAM!

"Is!"

CRACK!

"For!"

SMACK!

"TYRANNUS!"

Molag Bal reeled back, his head cracked and bleeding, his massive form swaying unsteadily. "You... you dare..."

He tried to swing his mace again, but his movements were sluggish, his face twisted in rage and pain. The Ice Form magic had clearly affected him more than he cared to admit. "I'll..." His words cut off as another massive explosion rocked the area near him.

Cura charged another Exploding Bolt of Shock on her Dwarven Metal Arm and loosed it at him, hitting him in the stomach. Then she loosed another, and another, and another, causing the giant fiend to fall on one knee.

Cura reached around to her back and drew Auriel's Bow, and nocked a Sunhallowed Arrow; one that she'd blessed herself. "This..."

She tugged the arrow's feathers, pulling it incrementally further back on its string. A glint in her eye gave away her intent.

"...IS FOR SERANA!"

Cura's arrow pierced the air, trailing a blindingly bright arc of light as it struck Molag Bal in the chest. The Sunhallowed blessed arrow burned through his flesh and armor, searing into his very being. The Daedric Prince howled in agony, clutching at the wound as golden flames spread from the point of impact, consuming him from within.

"I... I cannot..."

Cura, covered with burn wounds, drew her mace again and twirled it like a baton, and sprinted towards the Prince. "This is for the Gods, who you so shamefully mocked and grieved!" She leapt upwards, and snapped his jaw with its head in a sharp uppercut.

Molag Bal stumbled back, clutching his broken jaw as blood poured from his mouth. His massive form wavered, the wounds from the Sunhallowed arrow and the repeated impacts of the mace taking their toll. With a guttural roar of defiance, he attempted to summon his full strength for one final assault.

Cura, her own body battered and bruised, stood her ground, her Elven Mace at the ready. Molag Bal charged like a bull towards her, lunging at her and smacking her into the air with great aggression. The impact was brutal, sending her flying through the air. She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her. As she lay there, dazed, Molag Bal loomed above, his massive form blocking out the light. He raised his mace, ready to deliver the final blow.

Cura's mind reeled, but her instincts kicked in. She rolled to the side just as the mace came down, shattering the ground where she had been. Cura stumbled clumsily, her head spinning like a top. Her ears were ringing. With one hand, she clutched the Amulet of Kings.

"Alessia, you chose me because you believed I could make a difference in this world. That I could carry on the Empire's Legacy, and help those suffering in these uncertain times. I... won't let you down." With renewed resolve, she stood up, her wounds slowly knitting themselves together through the power of her gods. Her muscles tensed, ready to face her greatest challenge. As she took her stance, the golden radiance from her amulet cast an otherworldly light, drawing the eye.

Author's Note: for this part, "Elden Ring OST - Mohg, Lord of Blood Phase 1"

The battlefield was now completely silent. Everyone - her companions who awaited her in Aetherius and on Nirn, her enemies beyond the Void, the shadows of the damned, the very Daedric Princes eternal - was holding their breath beyond as Cura faced the looming monstrosity. The disdainful, vengeful and malevolent Molag Bal

A figure stood out to Cura, on a cliff nearby, watching them fight: it was Meridia, bearing her hood, with folded wings. Her radiant golden form was unmistakable. When Cura noticed her, the Daedric Prince nodded to her follower.

Cura heard her words telepathically, like the soft voice of a mother. "You have proven yourself worthy, my champion. Now, finish what you started."

Cura's heart soared with renewed strength and purpose. She raised her Elven Mace, its head beginning to glow with a golden light. The mace hummed with power, as if eager to be wielded against the forces of evil. Around her, the air crackled with divine energy, and the very ground beneath her feet seemed to pulse with power.

On the opposing cliffs, Cura could also see Martin Septim's phantom looking down upon her. He granted her a warm smile and a firm nod. His presence seemed to lend her additional strength, as if the last of his power was being channeled through her very being.

"Many stronger than you have fallen against me. Mannimarco had become my plaything. Vivec had become my consort. Do you truly believe you can win?" Molag Bal sneered. He kicked some dirt, and readied to charge her down once more. The ground beneath Cura's feet trembled as Molag Bal prepared to charge. The very air seemed to crackle with malevolent energy as he raised his massive mace, its dark surface pulsing with corrupt magic. His towering form cast an ominous shadow that stretched across the battlefield, and his words reverberated with ancient, otherworldly power. "You have proven yourself capable, but you are not without your weaknesses."

Cura stood her ground and beckoned him to attack. Molag Bal's massive form surged forward, his mace raised high. The very ground split beneath his feet as he charged, the earth seeming to recoil from his corrupting presence. His mace struck the ground with tremendous force, sending a shockwave of dark energy through the battlefield. The force was so great that even Cura's divine armour trembled slightly, but she stood firm, her mace already beginning to glow with radiant light.

Molag Bal glanced at the gleam in her armour and mace. "Most curious. This light powers you somehow. Meridia… where are you hiding?" He began to search the immediate area.

Cura used this moment of distraction to strike, her Elven Mace surging with divine energy as she slammed it into Molag Bal's side. The impact was devastating, sending the god staggering back and unleashing a thunderous crack that echoed across Oblivion. His flesh sizzled where the blow had landed, and a pained roar escaped his lips.

Cura took the opportunity to deliver several more blows, and with the hooklike flanges of her Elven Mace, she tore another chunk of his armour off. She cast a Lightning Bolt at his bare flesh. Molag Bal's flesh steamed and crackled with the divine energy of her attack, but he somehow managed to remain standing. He snorted and grunted through the pain, immense hatred filling his one remaining eye.

"When you are destroyed, the flies will pick your bones clean." Despite his defiance, blood ran down his side where Cura had struck. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and his mace arm hung limply by his side, temporarily paralyzed by the lightning bolt that had coursed through it.

Cura, emboldened by her successful attacks, pressed her advantage. She cast a quick Circle of Protection around herself, creating a barrier of divine light that would shield her from Molag Bal's next assault. The magical circle hummed with energy, its radiance contrasting sharply with the dark void surrounding them.

Meanwhile, Molag Bal's injured eye socket still oozed blood and ichor, the wound from their earlier clash a constant reminder of his newfound vulnerability. His remaining eye glared at Cura with pure hatred, his massive form looming above her like a tower of wrath. Despite his injuries, he raised his mace once more, the weapon crackling with dark energy that threatened to shatter the very air around them.

"Your defiance will not save you, mortal." he snarled, his voice thundering through Oblivion.

Cura confessed, "There is one thing I respect about you. One. Your tenacity to keep fighting. Even when the world crumbles around you."

Molag Bal's rage intensified, his massive form shaking as he unleashed a roar that echoed through Oblivion. "You dare mock me, mortal?" He raised his sharp, demonically-emblazoned mace, dark energy crackling around it, and brought it down with devastating force. The impact was immense, the very ground quaking beneath their feet. Yet, despite the sheer power behind the blow, Cura was still standing, her Circle of Protection absorbing the worst of the impact.

"FUS RO DAH!" Cura's Shout was answered by a mighty cyclone, the hallmark of the ancient Atmoran war cry, and the ground beneath them both shook violently.

The pressure of the force wave propelled Molag Bal back several steps, his balance faltering for just a moment. He quickly steadied himself, his remaining eye blazing with fury, but his surprise was evident - few mortals could have resisted the raw power of that attack, much less retaliate. His head grew lighter and his breath came short.

"Impossible." Molag Bal's words were laced with disbelief and rage. He stepped forward, his goatlike legs wobbling, struggling to support him.

Cura, her divine armor glowing with renewed strength, faced him without flinching. "You underestimate mortals, Molag Bal. We are not so easily broken."

Molag Bal's remaining eye narrowed, his massive form quivering with scarcely contained fury. "You think you've won, mortal? I am Molag Bal, the God of Schemes. I have plans within plans, and your defiance is but a small setback." He raised his mace once more, dark energy crackling around it. "I will break you, and when I do, your soul will be mine. Forever."

"Schemes are meaningless when you've met your end." Cura said plainly. She hung her mace back on her waist and reached instead for Dawnbreaker, her fingers closing around its handle in a firm grip. The ancient sword's radiant glow intensified, its divine light seeming to pierce through the very fabric of Oblivion. Molag Bal recoiled, his massive form taking a few involuntary steps back. "You dare wield that blade against me? The sword of my old adversary?" he growled, his words dripping with scarcely contained fury.

"I do more than wield it," Cura said, raising the sword, its radiant light now enveloping her completely. "I master it." Dawnbreaker blazed with an intensity never before seen, its sacred light pouring out in a blinding wave that left even Oblivion itself trembling. Molag Bal's massive form was engulfed by the radiant light, and for a moment, it seemed as though the god's very existence might be undone.

However, just before the blade connected, Molag Bal unleashed a powerful surge of darkness, a chaotic force that distorted the very space around them. The dark power pushed back against Dawnbreaker's light, and the weapon and the beast's flesh were locked in a struggle of impact versus guard. Cura struggled to push the sword through the torrent of darkness, dropping Spellbreaker and opting instead to use both hands to push it forward.

Molag Bal's massive form was visibly weakening, his flesh sizzling and smoking where the divine light touched it. "You... cannot... win..." he growled through clenched teeth, his remaining eye blazing with defiance and pain. The ground beneath them cracked and split, Oblivion itself seeming to recoil from the clash of light and darkness.

Molag Bal's shadows continued to push Cura back, and her strength was waning. She continued to push Dawnbreaker forward, when a vision appeared before her, as she gazed into the darkness: Bal, the Ayleid Bard, in his blue robes, his face sullen and depressed. "Please... end it." he whispered before disappearing. The vision startled Cura momentarily, giving Molag Bal an opening. With a roar of triumph, he unleashed a final, devastating blast of darkness that sent her flying backward, the impact driving her into the ground with bone-crushing force. She lay there, battered and bloodied, as Molag Bal loomed above, his single eye burning with malevolent glee.

"Foolish mortal," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. Cura gripped the stones with her fingers in attempt to pry herself upwards. Spellbreaker was dislodged, resting several feet away from her present location. However, Dawnbreaker remained in her right hand.

Molag Bal growled and stamped down on her chest with his hooved foot. The impact was tremendous, driving the air from her lungs and cracking several of her ribs. She felt as though she was being crushed beneath his immense weight. The darkness swirling around him seemed to feed off his malice, growing stronger.

The world around her blurred as pain and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. Through sheer force of will, she fought to remain conscious, to find some way to escape or counter his attack. But as she struggled to breathe, she could feel her strength ebbing away. Molag Bal's face twisted into a cruel smile, knowing he had her at his mercy.

"I will savour your screams as you beg for death."

Cura narrowed her eyes. "I'd die before begging for my life..." she spat up blood and tried to pull herself up again.

Molag Bal's laughter echoed ominously as he pressed down harder, the weight becoming almost unbearable. His massive form loomed above, blocking out what little light remained. "Brave words for one so close to death. But perhaps... you could prove your worth."

He reached down, grabbing her by the throat with one hand, lifting her off the ground. The pressure on her chest instantly lessened, but now she struggled for air. "Join me, mortal." His words were laced with dark promise. "I can offer you power beyond your wildest dreams. The ability to reshape reality itself. All you need do is pledge your loyalty to me."

Cura's vision swam as she hung suspended in his grip, her body screaming in agony. She could feel the darkness of his influence seeping into her, trying to corrupt her very essence. But even as her consciousness began to fade, a spark of defiance flickered within her. "I have... one thing... to say to you." Cura winced.

Molag Bal's grip tightened, his eyes blazing with cruel amusement. "And what might that be, little mortal?"

Cura's voice was strained, but her words were clear and defiant. "Begone." With a swift underswipe, she stuck Dawnbreaker through his lower jaw. Molag Bal's eyes widened in shock and pain, his grip on her throat loosening as he stumbled back. Blood poured from the wound, sizzling as it hit the ground. He clutched at the sword, trying to pull it free, but the divine power of the weapon burned his flesh.

Molag Bal began to struggle, his hands flailing about in a feeble attempt to reach the sword.

Cura cast a Healing Spell on herself, and began to focus on her magicks. With a great deal of channeling, she motioned side to side and arced her back, outstretching both of her arms as powerful violet electricity swirled around her and through her hands. With one burst, she slammed her hands to the ground and cast Fingers of the Mountain upon the dying Daedric Prince.

Out of the sky, a mighty blow of lightning unlike any which practiced Destruction Mages have ever seen came crashing down upon him. The sheer magnitude of the attack sent him flying backwards, his body contorting as it was hit by the immense force. He slammed into a nearby wall with such force that the impact created a crater, dust and debris flying everywhere.

Cura took a moment to collect herself, her breathing heavy as she felt the aftermath of the spell. She could see Molag Bal was still conscious, though badly wounded, his form broken and bloodied. Biting her lip, Cura seized the opportunity. She grabbed Spellbreaker and dashed towards him. She used the shield as she dove forward, using it to push Dawnbreaker further into his skull. With a deafening crack, Molag Bal's head split, releasing an ear-piercing shriek. Blood and gore splattered across the chamber as the Daedric Prince fell to his knees, then slumped forward, lifeless.

Cura stumbled back, her breath coming in ragged gasps, as she stared at what she had done. Around her, the very fabric of Oblivion seemed to tear and twist.

She grabbed Dawnbreaker by its handle and, with a tight yank, pried it out of his lifeless body. His skull had cracked apart, leaving the blade blackened and slick with ichor. The ground trembled beneath her as reality seemed to buckle. Around her, this Abyss within Oblivion's very existence unraveled, as though her victory had disrupted its fabric.

Cura turned and ran, leaping across the crumbling ledges and avoiding the widening chasms that now spread through the realm. She noticed that in front of the dead Eldergleam, the corpse comprised of dust began to glow, and she made a run for it, sprinting as fast as her feet could carry her. She leapt onto the ledge as the earth below her crumbled and fell into the void below, Molag Bal's lifeless body plummeting with it. The ground around the Eldergleam cracked and split, reality tearing asunder. Cura was knocked off balance by the quake, stumbling and falling to one knee. As she steadied herself, she noticed the Eldergleam's glow intensifying, its light pulsing with an otherworldly rhythm. The very air crackled with energy, and she could feel the power building around her. Her strength continued to wane, and Cura's fingers lost their grip on the ledge, and she plummeted into the void below.

However, Meridia unfurled her luminous wings and caught Cura mid-fall. She opened her golden eyes, regarding Cura with a mix of approval and something else, perhaps disdain, as her radiant feathers glimmered with celestial light.

"Cura," Meridia spoke in a resounding, echoing manner, "You have delivered a decisive blow to my enemy. Your actions will have far-reaching consequences for the cosmos."

Cura fell silent for a moment. Something about that comment gave her uncertainty, and, strangely, a sense of dread. "Lady Meridia..." She began, her voice unsteady, "What do you mean by that? What consequences?" The goddess's radiant form flickered ominously, casting stark shadows across the landscape.

Meridia's golden eyes narrowed as she gazed down at Cura. "Your actions have not only weakened my enemy but have also destabilized the delicate balance of power in the cosmos. The threads of fate are unraveling, and the consequences will be... significant."

Cura lowered her head. "But... it was what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to defeat him."

"Yes, you were. But the price of victory is often greater than the battle itself." Meridia gestured to the corrupted Eldergleam, now a twisted, pulsing mass of light. "The barriers between realms grow thin. The very fabric of Oblivion weakens. What was once a balance now teeters on the brink of chaos. But... that is for the Daedric Princes to contend with. You have merely done what was expected of you: you have defied all logic." Meridia's wings cast a golden glow across the landscape as she spoke. "You have proven that even the most implacable of fates can be defied. Perhaps... you are more than even I had anticipated." She stared at Cura, her gaze intense and unreadable. "But make no mistake, Cura. Your actions have not gone unnoticed. The threads of fate may be unraveling, but they will weave anew."

Cura, in her exhaustion, wrapped her arms around Meridia. "Thank you, for everything... I couldn't have made it this far without your aid."

The goddess stiffened slightly, unused to such physical contact, before gently placing a hand on Cura's shoulder. "You are... welcome. But remember, Cura - the path you have set upon is now more perilous than ever. The forces of darkness will seek to reclaim what they have lost, and the very order of creation hangs in the balance." She remarked, "Truthfully... you were meant to take his place. Now that Jyggalag has returned... things will become more complicated."

Before Cura could register what she had just said, the Lady of Light spoke again. "Go now. Rest. Your next steps must be carefully considered." She lowered Cura to the ledge where the Eldergleam rested, now an isolated miniature island floating in the void. She gestured towards the glowing light on the tree itself, behind the ashen corpse.

With that, Meridia vanished into thin air, an enigma as usual.

Cura hesitated for a moment, but seeing no other options available to her, reached for the light. As soon as Cura's fingers made contact with it, she found herself whisked away to another place: a wide, vibrant field, where many trees sprawled as far as the eye could see. Many vibrant flowers; lavender, hyacinth, lilies, and tulips bloomed underneath the beautiful tree and spread out further and further into the field. The Eldergleam towered over her, atop the knoll at the center of the field. She slowly moved her hand from it, and looked upon a Lute, which lay against the tree's roots.

Sitting upon the root, a young maiden with short, blonde hair, wearing a white gown, with a carnation flower in her hair and an Amulet of Arkay around her neck.

Lamae Beolfag.

A few moments passed and Lamae smiled expectantly at Cura, tapping her fingers against her lap. "Can you sing me the rest of that song?" she requested sweetly.

Cura stared at her blankly for a few moments. It was clear that the maiden wasn't speaking to her, but rather, through her.

"The rest?" Cura raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, the end. It's such a sad and cruel story. Shouldn't the ending be inspiring and full of happiness?" Lamae suggested, leaning back slightly and crossing her right leg over her left thigh, bobbing her foot slightly as she awaited an answer.

Cura sighed, and as though another was speaking in her stead, she said, "I will think about the rest until the next time we meet."

"Then think of something beautiful. Promise?" Cura sighed, and a soft smile came upon her face. "I promise."

Lamae's smile grew warmer, and she clutched the Amulet of Arkay hanging at her neck. "That's good to hear, my dear." She began to hum softly, then stopped. "But why do you look so tired? Is everything alright?"

Cura's smile faltered as she slumped against the Eldergleam. "It has felt like... a long... endless night. Like a neverending nightmare."

"I see." Lamae's features grew more concerned. She reached out a hand and touched Cura's Dwarven Metal arm, her eyes piercing through her vision and seeing Cura, at last. "You'll be all right. You're stronger than you think." Lamae's voice grew softer as she spoke. "The world may seem dark, but the light still burns. And you... you hold a piece of that light in your heart. It may be small, but it's enough to keep you going. To keep you... fighting."

Cura's head bowed slightly, her eyelids dropping. "I... I'm not so sure about that. Everything... it's all just..." She trailed off, her words fading into silence.

A man in ornate blue Fine Robes, with a long gray beard walked up the road and approached Lamae. "My lady, there you are. Lord Shor is waiting."

Lamae closed her eyes and smiled. A tender wind blew past Cura and her, carrying some flower petals, as well as the scent of lavender through the air. "Good. Then let's go." she said softly, slowly raising herself from the tree root. She turned to Cura and gently brushed her shoulder. "See you again." As she began her journey, she paused for a brief moment again, and added, "And please, when you see your friend, Inigo, tell him... I'm sorry, for what I put him through." With that, she turned and walked away with the robed man. Cura remained by the Eldergleam, the last light of day filtering through the branches above her.

After some time passed, a Headstone manifested before the tree, and a sad song began to play from the lute resting upon the tree root. Cura knelt before the grave and paid her respects to the fallen. She ran a hand along the stone surface, reading its name: Lamae Beolfag.

From the aether, the voice of Bal, the Bard, spoke.

"Sometime later, her screams echoed across the fjords of Skyrim. I remember carrying her unconscious, violated body to a nearby camp of nomads." his voice trailed somberly as he recounted the brutal story, until it picked up again. "But she did not wake up again and Nirn lost a bright star of her life that day."

The world around Cura seemed to grow brighter, as the sun climbed higher and higher. She felt a bittersweet sense of relief in her heart.

The Bard continued, "Once upon a time, when the Eldergleam was still young, before it was trapped underground, the world was full of danger and wondrous magic. But I will not bow down to the cruel fate. Someday I know this suffering will pass and fade away like a morning fog. All the sins will be forgiven and all the blood washed away some day. Everything will be buried by the dust of history and become a part of the songs."

Author's Note: for this, "Vigilant OST - True Ending"

Cura, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, raised herself away from the grave. She whispered softly, "Rest in peace, Lamae." She turned her back to the Eldergleam and the grave at its base, and began to walk down the pathway. She looked straight ahead, and a strange figure came into view by the large stones that decorated the path nearer to the gate.

Molag Bal, in a more humanoid appearance, leaned against the stone with his arms crossed. As Cura approached, his gaze fixed upon her, though there was no hint of aggression or hate in his eyes; merely perplexion, and a trace of something else... possibly respect. "You continue to defy me, my dear." Molag Bal's deep, resonant voice carried across the space between them. His crimson eyes locked onto Cura, burning with an intense, otherworldly light.

Cura stopped, her hand instinctively moving to her mace's hilt. But the Daedric Prince merely held up his right hand and shook his head slowly, as if to say he had no intention to fight.

Cura maintained a steady gaze, refusing to show any fear or hesitation. "You're not welcome here, Bal. This is no longer your domain."

"Please, just explain something to me." Molag Bal asked softly, his voice low and defeated. "I don't understand. If you wanted, she could have lived again... Why... Why did you refuse?"

Cura shook her head. "You will never understand." She took a few steps closer, her words firm and unyielding. "Lamae was an innocent soul. And I would never have given her back to you, not like that. Not as your thrall, your puppet, or your servant. She deserves better than that."

The air grew heavy with tension as the two stood face to face. Molag Bal's features twisted in a complex emotion - sorrow, frustration, and something almost like genuine curiosity. Then he paused for a second, "Wait... you still haven't told me your name."

Cura stared at him. What was he playing at? Of course he knew her name. Or had he forgotten? Perhaps in his frustration, he was truly ignorant of who she was. She sighed. "I am Cura Stormcloak."

The name struck something within him. His crimson eyes widened, then softened. He closed his eyes, a serenity never before seen washing over him. "A fine name. It will have a firm place in my soul." With those final words, he slowly began to vanish into the ether. As he faded away, his words lingered in the air: "I thank you, Cura Stormcloak... you have done what I long thought impossible..."

Cura stared at him for a while, perplexed, and the world faded out around her. With a few slow blinks, Cura opened her eyes again, to see Molag Bal's stonelike form crumbled on the floor, and the Red Stone gone. She shook her head, and before her stood a few of the Divines themselves. Behind her, stood her allies.

Cura recognized Stendarr immediately. He stood before her, his warhammer planted on the ground and a shield in his other hand. His blue robes caught the light of Aetherius, and his long, white beard was noticeable. His Horn hung around his waist on a sash, partially obscured by his chain mail cape.

Cura immediately descended upon one knee, but Stendarr beckoned her to stand. "Do not kneel, Cura; for it is we, who should be thanking you." The words of Stendarr filled the air, resonating with the weight of a thousand suns. As Cura stood, a surge of warmth and divine energy coursed through her veins, revitalizing her spirit. Behind Stendarr, the other present Divines nodded in agreement. Akatosh, the Dragon God, appearing as a man in purple garb and covered with light scales on his neck and the side of his face, smiled in approval, his scales gleaming with an ethereal light.

Akatosh's scales shimmered like a celestial map, each one representing a different era of the world's history. His eyes, ancient and wise, met Cura's with a silent acknowledgment. Beside him, the Goddess of Love, Mara, stepped forward. Her serene expression softened even more as she gazed at Cura.

"Mara's blessings are upon you, Cura Stormcloak, and all of you." Mara's voice was like a gentle lullaby, soothing the soul. She was adorned with green and red robes, and wore a white fur cape. Her hair was an ashen blonde, and her eyes deep pools of blue.

When Varla's eyes fell upon Mara, he lowered his face slightly, out of shame. Mary took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

"It is time, Varla." the Priestess said with a smile, "It is time for me to become whole once again."

A jolt struck Varla's heart. "Wh-what do you mean, Mother? What..."

Mary's eyes glistened with a deep sadness, yet also a profound hope. She rubbed the top of Varla's hand soothingly. "My child, I have walked among the people of Nirn, guiding and protecting... and Suffering in Coldharbour for Millennia. Now, the time has come for me to return to the Mother, to be one with my True self once again."

Varla's grip on Mary's hand tightened, his eyes wide with disbelief. "But... but you're the one who has been with us through all these trials. I.. I just got to know you! How can you leave us now? I... I can't allow it. No! I can't lose you again!" Varla shouted.

Maram, normally critical of Varla, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She isn't dying, Varla."

Aria whispered softly, feeling sympathetic to his plight. "Yes, Varla, she's not just leaving us. She's ascending to a higher state of being. She has fulfilled her duty and will now return to the heavens to watch over us in the way she always has."

Aria's words seemed to pierce through Varla's despair, but it was a small comfort amidst the overwhelming grief.

Mary let go of Varla's hand and walked towards Mara. Korn followed her, as well, and Mara reached out to her White Wolf. "Korn! Oh, Korn! My sweet, it has been eons." She knelt down to receive the wolf in a tender embrace. Korn yipped with joy as she danced over to her Divine half, returning the embrace by putting her paws on Mara's shoulders and licking her face.

Mary's voice trembled with a mixture of sorrow and joy. "I have missed you so, Mara. The trials of the world have been heavy upon us, but now, it is time for me to return to us."

Mara's eyes, filled with a serene light, gazed upon Mary. "My dear, you have always been a beacon of hope. Your journey has been long and arduous, but it is going to be okay now. Nobody will ever harm you again." She placed a tender hand on her Human Aspect's cheek.

As Mara's words enveloped Mary, a soft glow began to emanate from her form. The air around her shimmered with an ethereal light, and the very fabric of reality seemed to bend slightly to accommodate her ascension. Cura, the Vigilants of Stendarr and the other companions watched in awe, their faces marked by a mix of sorrow, shock, and reverence as the two beings merged together, the Human molding into the Divine.

The spectacle reminded Cura eerily of how she absorbed the souls of Dragons she'd defeated, only there was no skeleton left behind. All traces of Mary had vanished, leaving only Mara, and Korn.

Varla watched and a sense of sadness washed over him. He looked down at his grievous injuries; the armour that melted into his flesh, the terrible burns and lacerations, and felt the weight of sorrow on top of it all. "What has it all been for...?" he sobbed at last, tears flowing freely from his eyes. "I came this far with her just to lose her anyway..." He clenched his fists and his sobs grew more and more difficult to contain.

Seeing her child's anguish, Mara walked across the glade and embraced him, holding him in her arms softly.

Mara's embrace was both a source of comfort and a reminder of the journey they had shared. Her presence was a beacon of hope, even in the darkest of times. "Varla, my child," she whispered, her voice a soothing melody that seemed to calm the storm within him. "This is not an end, but a new beginning. We have fought so hard to reach this moment, and though it is painful, it is also a testament to our strength."

Varla reciprocated the embrace, burying his face in her shoulder. Mara began to soothe him. "I'm so proud of you, my son. You've come such a long way."

"I was a murderer. A bastard, a-"

Before Varla could continue, Mara hushed him. "You are my son. And you have repented of that past life."

The weight of Varla's past bore down on him, yet Mara's words offered solace. "Varla, you are not defined by your past. The path you have chosen, the battles you have fought, they are all a part of your journey towards redemption. Every wound you bear, every scar you carry, they are the marks of a warrior who has fought for what is right."

As Mara's words resonated with him, the tension in Varla's shoulders began to ease. The goddess kissed him on the forehead, and began to channel her power into him. Piece by piece, the armour that had encumbered him, that had fused into his flesh, began to slide off onto the grass beneath them, and the burns began to mend. Varla felt the warmth of Mara's power envelop him, and the pain that had long plagued him began to subside. The armour, once a constant reminder of his past, now lay discarded on the grass, its darkened plates glistening with dew. Mara's touch was both soothing and invigorating, as if she were pouring her essence into him.

Cura, standing a short distance away, felt a swell of emotion. She had seen many battles, fought alongside countless warriors, but there was something profoundly moving about this moment. Korn sat nearby, wagging her tail and panting as she watched the wounds disappear. As Mara's power continued to flow through Varla, the once-tormented man began to transform. His eyes, once dull and haunted, now sparkled with renewed hope.

Mara took a step back and began to weave magic around Varla, conjuring up a new set of armour on him; a helm with the accents of a wolf, as well as a beautiful silver mail, and a green cape with red on its interior, and a white fur collar around the neckline of the cuirass. The cuirass itself was a beautiful silver lorica, emblazoned with the markings of an Amulet of Mara; the knotted cross with a woman's face at its center. The greaves, gauntlets, and chainmail underneath were woven with divine care.

And, lastly, Mara took her knotted rope from around her waist and tied it around the beltline of Varla's new armour.

The moment Varla donned the new armour, a profound shift seemed to occur within him. The once heavy burden of his past seemed to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. Mara's eyes glowed with a soft, ethereal light as she stepped back, her hands still glowing with residual energy.

"Varla," Mara's voice was like a gentle breeze, soothing and powerful. "You are reborn. Henceforth, you shall be known to Nirn as Varla; Son of Mara, the White Hound."

Cura's eyes widened as she took in the transformation of her friend. The new armour glinted in the eternal sunlight, its intricate designs reflecting Mara's divine craftsmanship. The air seemed to hum with magic, and the forest around them seemed to hold its breath in reverence.

Varla, now clad in his new armour, felt an overwhelming sense of relief and strength. "Mother, this... this is amazing."

"Mama's boy." Sabrina's voice dripped with sarcasm as she whispered audibly to Sir Amiel, a familiar edge that had been her trademark since childhood. She glanced at Varla, who was now radiating an aura of confidence and purpose. His eyes met hers, and there was a flicker of acknowledgment, but no confrontation.

Sir Amiel, standing beside her, merely hummed a gentle tune, his eyes flickering with amusement. He turned to face the new Varla, his face showing a rare, genuine smile. "You wear it well, Lord Varla."

Cura stepped forward, her eyes reflecting the same mixture of awe and pride that Varla felt. She humbled herself before Mara. "How do you feel, now that you're whole again?"

Mara's gaze softened, her eyes shimmering with divine light. "I feel at peace, Cura. For the first time in millennia, I feel as though I can move forward once again." She gestured towards her son, "I feel the presence of my child, Varla, renewed. His path is clear, and his heart is now aligned with the will of the gods."

Varla took a deep breath, his armor glowing faintly with Mara's essence. He looked around at the gathering of allies, his heart swelling with gratitude and determination. "Thank you, Mother. I vow to honour your gift and to fight for what is right."

Mara nodded, her eyes misting over as she walked up to Cura. "And you, Cura..." her voice cracked lightly, and tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am going to bless you immensely, for all that you have done for me. I shan't forget it."

Cura felt a surge of emotion as Mara approached, her divine presence filling the air with a warmth that seemed to envelop her entire being. She knelt before the goddess, her armor clinking softly against the earth. "Thank you, Mara. I am honoured to have served you in any way I could."

Mara's tears glistened on her cheeks as she reached out and placed a hand on Cura's forehead. "Rise, Cura, and stand tall."

As Mara's hand touched her forehead, a radiant energy coursed through Cura's body, filling her with an overwhelming sense of purpose and strength. Her armor glowed with an ethereal light, as if the very essence of the goddess had infused her with a divine aura.

Mara's voice, now imbued with a deeper resonance, echoed in Cura's mind. "You have shown unwavering dedication to the cause of justice and love, Cura. May your Restoration be unrivaled upon Nirn; may every spell you cast be immense; may every demon that walks upon the world tremble at the mere mention of your name."

Cura felt the energy pulse through her veins, invigorating her very soul. As Mara's hand lifted from her forehead, the goddess's tears sparkled on her cheeks, reflecting the divine light that radiated from Cura's armor. The gathered warriors and Vigilants of Stendarr watched in awe, their faces reflecting reverence and admiration.

With a final, tender glance, Mara stepped back, her presence now a warm, comforting aura that enveloped Cura. "And may your bloodline be long, and powerful. May every member of your line be blessed with Restoration unparalleled, and may they be plentiful, and kind as you." As Mara's divine energy faded, Cura rose to her feet, her armor glowing faintly with a residual light. The warriors and Vigilants parted, forming a semicircle around her, their expressions a mix of reverence and determination. The air was heavy with anticipation as Mara stepped back, her eyes still reflecting the depth of her blessing.

Akatosh stepped up to Sir Amiel, and addressed him. "Rise, Sir Amiel Lannus. Your time has come; the Knights of the Nine who remain have found solace within Aetherius. I welcome you with open arms." Sir Amiel's eyes widened as he heard Akatosh's words. The great dragon's voice resonated with ancient power, each syllable vibrating through the air. He felt a surge of energy, as if the very essence of the world was acknowledging his presence. His armor, once a dull, rusted hue, now shimmered with a faint, ethereal glow, mirroring the divine aura that now surrounded Cura.

"Thank you, Akatosh. We are not worthy." Sir Amiel's voice trembled slightly, yet his resolve was unshaken. "But, I will not be staying. I seek to aid the Dragonborn upon Nirn."

Akatosh's eyes, ancient and wise, locked onto Sir Amiel's. "Your bravery is commendable, Sir Amiel. Your strength will be needed in the trials ahead. Go forth, and may the blessings of the Nine be upon you."

As the words of the great dragon faded, the warriors and Vigilants parted further, creating a path for Sir Amiel to approach Cura.

Cura smiled, "Thank you, Sir Amiel. I appreciate all that you and the others have done for me."

"No; the gratitude belongs to us, Dragonborn." Sir Amiel corrected her. "Were it not for you, I would be slain upon the sands of Coldharbour."

Melus Petilius and Atima stepped forward, and faced Mara. The little Khajiit waddled up to her, still clutching the doll she'd made for her in Coldharbour. "Is Atima free now?"

Mara nodded, her expression softening as she looked at Atima. "Yes, my child. The blessings of the Nine have lifted the curse that bound you to the forces of Coldharbour. You are free now."

Atima's eyes widened with tears of relief and joy. She looked at Cura, who was watching her with a gentle smile. "Thank you, Cura and friends, and Uncle Caius." Atima said, her voice trembling. "Atima owes you her life."

Melus sighed, finally restful. "My Vena waits for me; where can I find her?"

Mara smiled softly, "Down the mountain, at Kyne's Garden. She sits by the falls with her right now, waiting for you."

Melus' eyes sparkled with joy, and for the first time in forever, he smiled. "Thank you. Thank all of you." he expressed his gratitude and hurried down the pathway.

Atima walked up to Mara and took her hand, and smiled up at the goddess of love.

Sir Caius cleared his throat. "I think I'll stay here in Aetherius. Someone's got to keep Atima out of trouble. Might as well be me."

Sir Amiel nodded, "Certainly, Sir Caius. You may take your leave. You fought well this day."

Cura, standing tall amidst the celebration, felt a deep connection to the people around her. The bond they shared, forged through countless battles and shared hardships, was unbreakable.

Stendarr turned to Carcette, and gestured for her to approach him. Carcette stepped forward, her eye reflecting reverence as she approached Stendarr. The god of mercy smiled warmly, his presence radiating comfort and grace.

"Thank you, Carcette," Stendarr said, his voice resonating with divine authority. "Your unwavering dedication to justice has not gone unnoticed. Your actions have brought solace and hope to many."

Carcette bowed deeply, her voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you, Stendarr." Her face was downcast. In spite of all the good she'd done, and in spite of the differences she'd made, she was consigned to Jyggalag now. "I... at least I got to see Aetherius."

Stendarr placed a gentle hand on Carcette's shoulder, his touch imbuing her with a calming warmth. "Indeed, Carcette. Your journey, though fraught with challenges, has been a testament to the resilience of the soul. Remember, even in the darkest of times, there is always hope and always a way forward. You have defied fate. Not many mortals can claim such a thing."

As the divine words of Stendarr resonated through the air, Carcette's eyes shone with unshed tears. She felt a profound sense of relief and gratitude, the burden of her past endeavors lightening ever so slightly. The god's presence, a beacon of comfort, seemed to envelop her, offering solace that only he could provide. Next, Stendarr looked upon the Vigilants. "My sons and daughters of mercy and justice." Stendarr's gaze swept over the Vigilants, their faces etched with resolve and determination. "Each of you has stood for what is right, in spite of fear, and in the face of insurmountable odds, and for that, you deserve my praise."

Cura stepped forward, her eyes locking with the divine figure before her. The Vigilants stood tall, their presence a testament to their unyielding dedication to justice. Cura stood before Stendarr, clasping her hands together. The divine god's eyes, pools of wisdom and compassion, met hers with a gentle yet unyielding gaze.

"Cura," Stendarr began, his voice a soothing balm to the weary soul. "Your journey has been long and arduous, fraught with trials that would break the resolve of lesser beings. Many have turned to me in your wake, and you have inspired countless people, in Skyrim, and all across Tamriel. And, even in Coldharbour."

Akatosh nodded, "Your service to the gods is without equal; your compassion and your eye for justice are unwavering. We shall ever consider you to be our friend; no prayer shall go unanswered."

Overhead, in the skies, Cura could see the form of a White Dragon soaring; Kahkaankrein. And beside him, Morihaus, wings spread wide. Several birds flew the skies, as well. A warm smile formed on Cura's face when she saw them soaring overhead, and then something clicked: "Alessia! What about Alessia?"

"Perrif is doing well," Akatosh assured Cura. "she sits in my Chantry, even now, in the company of many Dragonborn Emperors. Do not fret."

Cura's heart swelled with relief at the news of Saint Alessia's well-being, especially considering what she'd witnessed.

Stendarr continued, his voice resonating with divine authority, "Your journey is far from over, Cura. Nirn needs you still."

Cura nodded, "Yes; and I will do my best to help, however I can."

Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine stepped through the crowd, and approached Cura. Mirabelle tapped her arm. "Our time together has come to an end now, Cura."

"Huh?" Cura was surprised to hear the sudden announcement. "You mean... this is where we part ways?"

Savos Aren nodded, "Well... yes. We were assigned to help you obtain the Amulet of Kings. Now that you've undergone that journey and gotten it, our mission is complete, and we can rest."

Cura felt a pang of sadness, realizing that her time with her trusted allies was indeed coming to an end. The bond they had formed through shared trials and triumphs would remain, yet their paths would diverge once more.

Mirabelle smiled softly, her eyes reflecting a mix of melancholy and pride. "We're proud of everything you've accomplished, Cura. You've brought hope to many, and your name will be remembered for generations to come."

"I am honoured to have been Arch-Mage during your studies, Dragonborn." Savos offered his hand for a shake, and Cura took it.

"And I the Master Wizard." Mirabelle expressed. "You were a credit to Winterhold, and to all of Skyrim, even if I may not have seen it back then."

Cura tried to contain her emotion, though she ended up pulling the both of them into an embrace. "Thank you both, for everything. Your support meant a lot to me when it counted." As the embrace subsided, Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine stepped back, their eyes reflecting the same blend of pride and sorrow.

Savos Aren's voice carried a note of solemnity, "Remember, Cura, the knowledge you've gained and the trials you've faced are your greatest weapons. Continue to wield them well."

Cura nodded, her expression resolute. "I will, Savos. I will."

Stendarr gestured towards Vingalmo, Agronak gro-Malog, and Orthjolf, asking them to step forward. "Your Vampirism is no more, and you have a chance at redemption, all of you. But aside from Agronak, none of you will be given a second chance should you relapse and seek out Vampirism again. Is that clear?"

Vingalmo, Agronak gro-Malog, and Orthjolf stepped forward, their eyes showing a mixture of determination and apprehension. Vingalmo, the once ferocious vampire, spoke first, his voice steady. "We understand, Stendarr. We are willing to make amends and live as mortals once more."

Agronak gro-Malog, the Gray Prince, nodded in agreement. "I am happy to be rid of this stain on my bloodline."

Stendarr's radiant aura enveloped the Volkihar Clan and the half-Orc, a symbol of his divine mercy. His voice, echoing with power, resonated through the air. "Then it shall be so. I shall grant you all a second chance at life, but as you have pledged, this is your last chance to repent of your previous ways. Failure will come with a swift and irreversible judgment. In life, you may not have feared my Vigilants, but I will show you the true meaning of fear."

The assembly fell silent as Stendarr's words resonated through the sacred field. The air grew heavier with anticipation and fear. The Volkihar Clan, once notorious for their vampiric brutality, now stood as broken men and women, their eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and trepidation.

Orthjolf, the once formidable leader, stepped forward, his voice carrying an edge of terror and remorse. "Stendarr, we understand the gravity of our past actions," Orthjolf began, his eyes locked onto the divine figure. "We have lived in darkness, preying on the innocent and spreading terror. But we have come to realize the error of our ways and seek redemption."

Stendarr's gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. "Redemption is not merely a word, Orthjolf. It is a path fraught with challenges and trials. We shall see in the coming years. Know that the gods are watching." As the divine aura of Stendarr dissipated, the assembly returned to the mortal realm, the tension in the air palpable. The Volkihar Clan, once a symbol of terror and darkness, now stood as hopeful individuals, their fates hanging precariously in the balance.

Cura, standing at the forefront of her army, felt the weight of their collective gaze upon her. Her companions, each with their own stories and burdens, looked to her for guidance and strength. "I'm ready to return to Nirn. Who will come with me?"

The air hummed with anticipation as Cura's words resonated through the assembly. Her eyes scanned the sea of faces, each bearing a mixture of determination and uncertainty. The Volkihar Clan, once feared for their vampiric might, now stood as broken and hopeful individuals, their fates intertwined with Cura's. They stepped forward.

Vingalmo spoke clearly, "We will aid Skyrim in this time of turmoil. You have our word, Dragonborn."

Carcette stepped forward, her hands clasped together. "I will follow you, Cura. There's a lot of things that need to be explained; I won't rest it all upon your shoulders."

Sabrina waltzed up to Cura with the grace of a tigress and leaned on her shoulder. "Cura, like I said a while back, if you want me on your team, you've got me. Anytime."

Cura chuckled. "I want you on my team, Sabrina."

"Yess!" Sabrina clenched both of her fists with enthusiasm before walking back to her place in the row before the Dragonborn.

Sir Amiel, Sir Henrik, and Sir Ralvas stepped forward and walked to Cura's side.

Sir Torolf shook his head, "I'm finally at peace. I'd maimed myself... carved my own flesh... gone mad in the pursuit of immortality. Now that I have a peaceful eternity, I'm not going to leave it." He removed his Greatsword of Anui-El and presented it to Sir Amiel. "This is yours now, Sir Amiel. Use it well, and remember me." As Sir Torolf handed over his Greatsword of Anui-El, a hush fell over the assembly. The blade, a symbol of his past torment, now represented a new chapter in his life. Sir Amiel, with a solemn nod, accepted the weapon, his grip firm and resolute.

Gloriel stepped forward, and nodded. "I will return, as well. The world could use Meridia's radiance now more than ever."

Varla turned to Mara and Korn. He bent down and caressed Korn's white fur. "I... am torn, mother. I want to help Nirn, but... I do not want to be separated from you again."

Mara's eyes, pools of wisdom and love, looked at Varla. Her hand, gentle yet firm, touched his cheek. "You are not leaving me behind, Varla," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "The journey ahead is crucial. But know this, wherever you go, you are not alone. The power of Mara is with you always."

Korn, sensing the tension, nestled closer to Varla and nuzzled his hand. He chuckled lightly, for the first time since he was a child, perhaps; and the white wolf licked his cheek affectionately.

"If you ever wish to speak with me again, go to the Temple of Mara in Riften, and pray." Mara instructed him.

Varla repeated the name to himself, to keep a mental note of it.

Mara beckoned Maram and Aria to step forward next. "As for the two of you; what do you plan to do now? I welcome you to my Golden Wheat Fields. After the suffering you've both endured, you have more than earned peace and tranquility in your lives."

Maram and Aria exchanged glances, a mixture of emotions playing on their faces. Maram, a man of great strength and quiet resolve, stepped forward first. He bowed deeply to Mara, his eyes filled with reverence and gratitude. "Mother Mara," he began, his voice steady, "I have been a wanderer, seeking justice and defending the innocent."

Maram's voice carried a deep sense of purpose as he continued, "But the world is vast, and the battles never cease. I wish to find solace in your Golden Wheat Fields, to rest my weary soul and recharge my spirit. I have been a warrior, but now I seek to be by your side; what I have always desired since childhood."

Mara's smile was warm and understanding, her eyes twinkling with approval. "You have always been welcome here, Maram. All you needed to do was seek me once more."

Mara's eyes turned to Aria, her expression softening with a touch of maternal concern. Aria, a woman with a past marred by sorrow and hardship, stepped forward hesitantly. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and hope.

"Aria," Mara said gently, her voice imbued with a soothing warmth. "You have suffered greatly, and your soul is weary. Come to the Golden Wheat Fields and let the peace of Mara envelop you."

Aria nodded, her eyes moist with unshed tears. She took a tentative step forward, her hand clutching the hem of her robes. "Thank you, Mother Mara," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "I long for peace, a place where I can rest without the constant fear of persecution and violence." She tapped Maram's hand. "And, wherever Maram goes, I will go, as always."

Maram smiled at his sister in arms and nodded. In life, the pair were inseparable; as well in death.

Mara's gaze was compassionate, her presence exuding a calming aura that seemed to ease Aria's anxiety. Aria smiled at Cura, "Best of luck in your days, Cura. Know that our thoughts and prayers will always be with you. Thank you so much, for saving us from that horrible place..."

Cura stood tall, her eyes reflecting the unwavering resolve that had defined her journey. She nodded at Aria, her expression a blend of gratitude and determination. "Don't worry about it, Aria. Your support means the world to me. I will carry your prayers with me always."

As she turned to leave, Mara's voice called out to her once more. "Cura, remember that the path you walk is not just yours alone. It is a beacon of hope for many."

Cura nodded, "I will keep that in mind."

Akatosh led the way to what looked to be a Wayshrine at the center of a pond.

"From here, you shall be returned to Nirn; but for those of you without bodies, I grant you Skyshards." Akatosh waved his hand and blue and white crystalline objects manifested in the air in front of Varla, Gloriel, Sir Amiel, Sir Ralvas, Sir Henrik, Abbot Silorn, the former Vampires, and Sabrina. "Consume the Skyshards and you will obtain flesh to carry your Animus once again on Nirn." Cura watched as her companions eagerly grasped the Skyshards, their faces filled with hope and relief. The blue and white crystalline objects shimmered in the ethereal light, their surfaces adorned with intricate runes that glowed faintly. Varla, ever the skeptic, looked at the Skyshards with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

"Skyshards," Varla muttered, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. "Always the answer, isn't it?"

Cura's eyes met Varla's, her expression a blend of understanding and determination. "Varla, these Skyshards are not just a means to an end. They are a gift, a chance to continue our fight and bring hope to Nirn."

Varla's gaze softened slightly, his bitter exterior momentarily cracking to reveal a glimmer of the man he once was. "You always were one for the dramatics, Cura."

"Says the Mama's boy." Sabrina laughed as she held the Skyshard to her chest, feeling its warmth seep into her.

Varla groaned, "Can you give it a rest? There's nothing wrong with loving your mother. If I had even a tenth of that love while I lived, I would never have ended up the way I did..." He looked down at the crystal in his hands once again, studying its form.

The group stood at the edge of the tranquil pond, the ethereal glow of the Wayshrine casting a serene light across the water. Akatosh's voice reverberated through the air, "May the blessings of the gods guide you on your journey. May you return stronger, wiser, and more determined than ever."

As the companions took their first bites of the Skyshards, a surge of energy coursed through their bodies. Cura stepped to the portal and inhaled deeply. She knew that her spiritual body and her physical body were about to be rejoined once again, for the first time in months. However that would feel, she did not know; though compared to what she'd experienced in Coldharbour, it would be easy.

The Wayshrine's ethereal glow enveloped Cura as she stepped through the shimmering portal. The familiar sensation of her essence being pulled apart and then reassembled coursed through her, a symphony of light and energy. All of creation, and all of the void passed her by as she was pulled in all directions.

She centered her mind, and focused on one thing: her physical body. As she was pulled down from the skies she could see Stendarr's Beacon coming closer, and closer, and closer. She could see the ramparts, the soldiers training, the Riften forest; everything. She could see the Beacon's fire; the Beacon's roof; the floor; the beds. Her body.

Her body!

Cura's vision sharpened as she felt her essence reassemble around her physical form. She lay on the bed in Stendarr's Beacon, her chest rising and falling rhythmically as she breathed in the cool, sacred air. The familiar scent of incense and the distant murmur of prayers enveloped her, grounding her presence in the mortal realm.

Slowly, she sat up, feeling the weight of her experiences pressing down on her shoulders.

Immediately, one of the Vigilants who swept the floor nearby turned around upon hearing her move, and the broomstick fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. He immediately began to shriek and fled down the hallways. "SHE'S ALIVE! SHE'S ALIIIIIVE!'

Cura sat up, gasping for the air that she hadn't received in ages, and began to look around. She was dizzy and disoriented, but awake, and aware.

---

Author's Note: Aaaaand that's a wrap for Coldharbour! It took us so long to reach the end, but we did it, guys! We made it through! Wa-hoo!

Before I move on, I just want to give a big Shout-out to Vicn, the author of the VIGILANT mod - the mod that inspired this whole Story Arc. His work is amazing, and ALL of his mods are definitely worth playing! I am definitely a fan, and will be playing whatever he comes out with next! (Started Glenmoril recently, actually - while I may not be adapting it, necessarily, I still am enjoying it!)

(And Vicn, if you ever somehow chance upon my fanfiction, this is for you: your VIGILANT Mod was PHENOMENAL! It has so many fine details and I can tell that you put a lot of care and love into every map; every line of dialogue; every lore entry. It is all so meticulously detailed and Lore-consistent. I hope you're proud of your work, and keep on doing what you do!)