As the first light of dawn seeped through the window, Aventus was immersed in contemplation of his lengthy return to Windhelm. The voyage's memories unfolded in his mind, each one instilling tranquility within his restless thoughts. With each slow breath, the remnants of nocturnal unrest dissipated. He reminisced about the Khajiit caravan he had secretly joined, where the steady rumble of wheels on the path provided a comforting rhythm. The Khajiit merchants, initially cautious, had shown kindness, their speech echoing melodiously in their native language. Journeying along serpentine roads, Aventus absorbed the vistas; he vividly remembered an imposing orc hunter by the lakeside, fishing, his stature overshadowing even Maul's formidable figure. The orc's calm demeanor as he fished was in sharp relief to the disquiet that Aventus harbored.

Aventus's mind wandered to the tales his mother, Livia, recounted of the Orcs. As a much younger child, he had found their formidable size and appearance daunting. Before Ulfric's rule in Windhelm, Orcs were a common sight in the city. He remembered his mother forming a friendship with an Orc woman, a bond built on mutual respect and understanding. However, Ulfric's policies eventually led to the Orcs' disappearance from the town. Reflecting on his mother's relationship with the Orc softened Aventus's views, highlighting the frequent misjudgments about people. A chilling memory then emerged: frostbite spiders on a tree, consuming a deer carcass. The scene was macabre, with the spiders' legs quivering as they dismembered their meal, their mandibles injecting venom to dissolve the deer's innards before consumption. The Khajiits, normally poised, were visibly disturbed by the spiders, exchanging nervous looks and hushed words. Aventus grimly likened the spiders' methodical feeding to Grelod's draining of joy and hope from the orphanage children. He mused, with a dark chuckle, that the spiders showed more compassion in their natural behavior than Grelod did in her deliberate cruelty.

On his travels, Aventus overheard the Khajiits speaking of a man with the power to slay dragons and absorb their essence. They referred to him as "Joor Zah-Frul," the Dragonborn, and spoke with respect and wonder. They depicted a formidable, muscular Nord named Igor, whose presence was as imposing as a statue, a fitting analogy for his character and strength. Clad in steel armor with his visage concealed, Igor's long black hair, thick beard, and matching mustache were his distinguishing features. The Khajiit said that the Dragonborn was a man of few words, but his valor and thunderous shouts that could rend the skies spoke volumes, marking his fate to deliver Tamriel from the dragons' threat. These tales offered Aventus a respite from his concerns, instilling in him a sense of awe and potential. Such memories, both serene and fearsome, anchored him throughout his extensive journey. The interplay of calm and peril provided him the fortitude to continue. Now, within the comfort of his abode, he took comfort in these memories.

As dawn broke over Windhelm, Aventus realized the necessity of regaining his composure. The tumultuous events of the night before had left him with frayed nerves and a weary physique. He was aware that summoning the Dark Brotherhood required thorough mental and emotional preparation. The children of Riften were relying on him, and there was no room for error. With a newfound determination, Aventus rose to organize his thoughts and soothe his mind. His upcoming task demanded calmness, focus, and resolution. He busied himself with housekeeping, arranging his possessions methodically. During this time, he indulged in memories of better days spent with his mother—her infectious laughter, her comforting presence, her steadfast support. These recollections bolstered his determination, serving as a reminder of the love and fortitude that had molded him.

Aventus was aware that the coming days would demand every ounce of his courage and resolve. The path ahead was still long, and the obstacles formidable. Yet, he took solace in knowing he was not fighting alone; the recollection of Maul's supportive words and the Khajiit traders' kindness lifted his morale. Throughout the day, Aventus seized moments to rest and recuperate, consuming a modest meal to restore his vigor. Despite the heavy burden of his quest, he permitted himself brief periods of respite, understanding the necessity of patience and a tactical approach. As dusk fell, the turmoil within Windhelm had diminished, and normality began to weave its way back into the city's fabric. Feeling more anchored and prepared, Aventus inhaled deeply, fortifying himself for the forthcoming trials.

Maul rested in the dim recess of the alley, observing intently as Grelod's anger hit its zenith. The elderly woman paced back and forth in front of the orphanage; her face twisted in anger. Constance Michel, Grelod's assistant, stood nearby, trembling as her breath turned to mist in the cold night air. "Find him, now!" Grelod spat, her voice a harsh whisper that cut through the silence. "Aventus has been missing for an entire day! Do you understand what that means?" Constance nodded quickly; fear etched into her features. "Y-yes, Grelod. I'll alert the guards right away."

Maul observed Constance as she hastened into the night, her footsteps resonating on the cobblestones. Drawing her cloak closer, she braved the penetrating chill on her way to the guard post. Maul, familiar with the city's rhythms, had noted the recent guard shift—a prime moment for a child to vanish undetected. Grelod's distress was palpable. Maul's mind wandered to Aventus, the boy whose daring escape from the orphanage had earned his respect. The act of giving Aventus a slip of paper and an iron dagger lingered in his memory. "You can make a difference," he had assured the boy. Maul harbored the hope that his words would prove prophetic. As Constance approached the guard post, Maul edged nearer, remaining concealed in the shadows. He caught fragments of her dialogue with the guards. Speaking in subdued, pressing tones, she relayed that Aventus had disappeared and Grelod was insisting on a search. The guards shared apprehensive looks, evidently cognizant of Grelod's fury and the possible complications it could entail. "All right, we'll start looking," one of the guards said, his voice laced with reluctance. "But if he's been gone that long, he might be well out of the city by now."

Constance nodded, her face pale. "Please, just do your best. Grelod will not be pleased if we don't find him." Maul watched as the guards fanned out, their torches casting pools of light in the darkness. They moved methodically, checking alleyways and questioning any late-night wanderers they came across. Maul knew Aventus had a head start, but the search would undoubtedly complicate matters. Grelod's sharp voice echoed through the night once more as she continued to berate anyone within earshot. "He'll regret ever running away! Mark my words, he will pay for this insolence!"

Maul's jaw clenched. Throughout his life, he had encountered many like Grelod, individuals who flourished through instilling fear and exerting control. Aventus, however, was an exception. The boy's defiant spark and unwavering resolve earned Maul's respect. In response to the boy's daring action, Maul made a silent commitment to watch over him. As the evening progressed, Maul remained a vigilant observer in the shadows, monitoring the guards' patrols and noting Grelod's escalating irritation. Constance made her way back to the orphanage, her posture reflecting utter despondency. The fruitless search was evident. Maul was aware that the city's unease would persist until Aventus was located. Yet, he recognized the boy's innate tenacity, which seemed incongruent with his youth. Having commenced a treacherous quest, Maul harbored hope for Aventus to muster the necessary fortitude to endure.

Maul lingered in the shadows; his gaze fixed on the flurry of movement at the city's entrance. The air was thick with unease, the guards' relentless pursuit of Aventus adding to the night's charged atmosphere. In the midst of this turmoil, Maul's attention was drawn to a Nord striding toward the gates. The man's formidable presence and icy aura were unmistakable. It was Igor, known as the Dragonborn, with his associate Serana by his side. What Maul and the others didn't realize was that both individuals were, in fact, vampires. "Hey you, get over here," Maul called out, his voice cutting through the night air. Igor looked annoyed as he approached. "Yes, what is it?" he spoke, his face still hidden from view by his steel armor.

"I don't know you. Are you in Riften looking for trouble—" Maul began, but Igor cut him off. "Cut the crap. I know you know stuff about Riften and what's going on, so save the tough guy act because, like you, I am still a Nord," Igor retorted, his tone cold and direct. Maul had to admit, this Nord was of equal size, and judging by his build, he had faced many battles and used similar tactics. Maul could also sense the aroma of magic emanating from Igor, something that piqued his curiosity. "Tough guy, okay, I'll bite," Maul said, a hint of respect in his voice. "Finally, someone with a backbone. So, what do you want to know?"

Igor remained aloof, his expression stern and unyielding. "What's going on here?" Igor responded curtly.

Maul's eyes narrowed. "Let's talk in private. I don't want the guards listening in on this conversation. Alright, follow me. And tell your lady friend to keep guard." Igor exchanged a glance with Serena, who gave a silent nod before moving to survey the area. Maul guided Igor to a hidden corner, well out of sight and earshot of the guards. There, the air hung heavy with tension as they settled into a space where their conversation could remain private. "There's a lot going on in Riften," Maul began in a low voice. "Aventus, a young boy, has gone missing. Grelod the Kind, the old hag who runs the orphanage, is losing her mind over it. The guards are all over the place, searching for him."

Igor listened intently, his cold eyes betraying nothing. "And why is this boy so important?"

"He's not just any boy," Maul continued. "He's determined to make a change, to escape Grelod's cruelty. I helped him, gave him the means to do it. Told him about the Dark Brotherhood." Igor maintained a stoic facade, yet Maul noticed a glint of recognition in his gaze. "The boy whose mother perished in Windhelm," Igor murmured, his voice a hushed echo. "Why reveal the Dark Brotherhood to him?" Maul responded, "He requires assistance—to halt Grelod's brutality definitively. The Dark Brotherhood represents his greatest hope."

Maul observed their departure, an uneasy feeling growing within him. "Keep this a secret," he shouted to Igor. Igor halted and looked back, his face stern. "You have my word," he replied before vanishing into the night, Serana accompanying him. As they proceeded, Serena peered at Igor, her curiosity aroused. "What's going on? Why is the Dark Brotherhood involved?"

Igor exhaled deeply, his face set in a grave expression. "The Dark Brotherhood, an age-old guild of assassins, was pivotal during the Oblivion Crisis. They were devotees of Sithis, the Dread Father, executing contracts for assassination. Their tactics were notorious, casting a sinister pall across Tamriel." Serena's attention was rapt, her eyes reflecting a keen interest. "What transpired during the Oblivion Crisis?"

Igor spoke with a calm resolve. "The Oblivion Crisis marked an era of upheaval, initiated by the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon who unleashed numerous gates to Oblivion, allowing swarms of Daedra to invade Tamriel. The Dark Brotherhood was not spared; their Cheydinhal sanctuary endured significant losses. Despite the heavy toll, they continued to fulfill contracts, some directly related to the crisis. It was an epoch rife with disorder and carnage."

Serana nodded, absorbing the information. "So, this boy, Aventus, wants to use the Dark Brotherhood to deal with Grelod?" Igor's gaze was distant as he replied, "Yes. The Dark Brotherhood is known for taking on contracts to kill those who deserve it. Grelod's cruelty must have pushed Aventus to desperate measures. He sees the Dark Brotherhood as his only way out." Serena's expression softened with understanding. "It's a dangerous path for such a young boy."

"It is," Igor agreed. "But sometimes, desperation leads people to seek help from unlikely places. We need to get to Windhelm and see if we can find him before things get out of hand." Serana nodded, then asked, "Do you think Grelod deserves to die?" Igor's expression hardened. "Yes. From what I've heard, she does. No one should be allowed to inflict such cruelty on children." The search for Aventus was far from over, and now, with Igor and Serana in the mix, the stakes were even higher.

Author's Note: Sometimes I get Serana's name mixed up with Serena. My apologies for the mistake.