Sundas, the 2nd of Sun's Dusk, 4E201

"So..." a child with dark crimson eyes put her hands on the table, her fangs flashing in a gleeful grin as she turned to a half-blood assassin across the table. "How did it go? I hear Windhelm recruiting practices are employing some... cutthroat policies to ensure more recruits. Has our little dragon gotten swayed over to the blue coats' side, by chance?"

The corner of Saya's mouth twisted into a barely visible smirk. Truly, there was no end to Babette's sass. To her credit, though, it was one of the biggest reasons why the Dunmer even liked the girl in the first place. That, and her admiration of the little vampire’s alchemical prowess - a craft that the half-elf simply couldn’t pick up no matter how many times she tried. Too much memorization involved for a person who likes improvising everything on the spot.

"You know, considering how almost all of Skyrim knows at least my vague description, one would assume that the guards would at least ignore me when I walk up to the city gates. But noooo, it's an eeeeelf, have to stop it and see if it's a spyyyy." Saya groaned, kicking back in her seat and letting her arms hang freely at her sides. The guards were always one of the tougher parts of Windhelm to deal with - mostly because all of them were die-hard Stormcloak soldiers who just so happened to be off-duty. Therefore, an earful of xenophobic comments upon entering, leaving, or otherwise traversing the city was to be expected.

"...it was a pain?" Babette inquired.

"It was a pain." The Dunmer confirmed.

At that point Nazir allowed himself a stifled chuckle. This kind of exchange has turned into a common occurrence now that Saya had finished all of the jobs he had to offer, leaving her with lots of downtime to ramble about her current machinations. Winging it was always Saya’s specialty, so everyone became quite intrigued when she let on that she had a plan for this particular chain of murders. On top of that, the interest was fed like a fireplace when she refused to reveal any part of said plans before they were already executed.

"When is it ever easy, am I right?"

"Ugh... you are, but I really, really wish you weren't." The girl sighed, reaching for her taffy treat and munching on it lazily. She never had much of a sweet tooth, but Nazir’s cooking was just too good to pass up. "I assume you want details on it?"

The collective stares of Nazir, Babette, and Arnbjorn in the corner were enough of an answer, forcing the elf to produce a low giggle of amusement before she swallowed the candy and leaned onto the table, using her elbow to support her head.

"Alright. So, it all started back at Whiterun..."

"Ah, Dragonborn! A pleasure to see you again, my friend."

The booming voice of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was a little louder than Saya expected and has attracted a bit more attention from the nobles than she would prefer. Sadly, there wasn't anything she could do about it now except put on her business face and bow slightly in greeting.

"Nice to meet you as well, my Jarl. I am afraid, however, that I'm just a messenger this time around. And the message is quite... important." It took her a second to figure out which word to use, because she didn't want to sound too threatening. Whiterun is a valuable strategic asset in the Civil War. Couldn't afford to have Balgruuf chickening out.

"...I assume it is from General Tullius, then?" Saya nodded, pulling out a note from under her gauntlet. She's gotten into the habit of keeping small important objects inside elements of attire rather than pockets or pouches, which could be cut off in a fight should she momentarily lose focus or fail the timing of her dodge on a bad day. "Very well. Give the papers to my steward."

"That... I am afraid I cannot do. I was strictly instructed to give the letter to you and you only. And when that kind of thing happens, as your Thane I advise that you listen."

The Nord man glared at her momentarily before sighing and nodding, taking the letter in his hands and reading it. His expression shifted from tiredness and mild annoyance to interest and alarm in the few seconds it took him to read the information out loud. Once he finished, the first thing he did was turn to his steward.

"Proventus, what do you make of this? If Ulfric is to attack Whiterun head-on..."

The balding Imperial stiffened, assuming a respectful pose that made Saya want to throw up because of how forced it looked.

Boot licker...

"As in all things, my lord, I advise caution. Let us wait and see."

Irileth's scowl mirrored Saya's inner thoughts perfectly as the Dunmer stepped forward and, instead of a lengthy reply, said only one sentence.

"Prey awaits."

Saya nodded. "If I may, my Jarl, I agree with Irileth. You do not want to wage war in your current state, but Ulfric will not wait for you to decide what you want to do. You can accept the General's offer and the legionnaires will be here by tomorrow sunrise, or you can refuse it and face the attack without assistance."

The Jarl’s blue eyes met her own, and the man scowled. She had made a rather deliberate pause at the end of her sentence, raising an eyebrow expectantly, awaiting permission to speak further.

In her reply came a sigh "...out with it." Balgruuf spat, his expression sour and unpleasant.

The Dunmer nodded and resumed, her voice calm and collected, but with a small warning undertone. "I've seen them fight. They may not have the sharpest swords or the strongest shields, but they have numbers. And in those numbers, your troops will drown."

The Jarl didn't respond immediately, but instead reached for the axe at his side, offering it to Saya. The mer took it, albeit not without confusion in her eyes.

“What am I to do with this?”

“Bring it to Ulfric Stormcloak. If he’s a true Nord, he'll understand.” Balgruuf said dryly before turning to his steward. The Imperial quickly scampered to his master, awaiting orders. “Proventus, bring me some good parchment and a quill. I'm writing a letter to General Tullius.”

Both of them nodded before leaving for their respective destinations, and, alone, the Jarl allowed himself to exhale deeply, practically deflating in his throne. The man looked well and truly exhausted. Whatever nobles that didn’t walk out at the start of the conversation have already left the dining room by the time it was finished, leaving Balgruuf with his housecarl.

“You said that prey waits, Irileth.” He said weakly, turning his head to face his companion. “Tell me… are we the prey?”

The Dunmer housecarl only closed her eyes, quietly responding. “That is up to you to decide.”

The half-elf rubbed her hands together, her breath turning into visible vapor. It was storming in Windhelm, thus she was quite thankful for Arvak’s flames which warmed her the whole way. Pushing open the gates of the Palace of Kings, she stepped inside of the grand building.

“Argh, damnit… Yol.” She cursed under her breath, fire flowing from her lips and coating her hands briefly before she waved the flames away, finally warm. A guard who was about to step up and ask what her business was in the palace quickly stepped back to his post once he realized who was in front of him.

Saya paid the lad no mind and began walking towards the throne. Ulfric was sitting there, his expression growing more grim when he saw the Dragonborn enter. Just seeing her was already leaving a sour taste in his mouth, and the face he made forced a quiet chuckle out of her mouth.

“Nice to see you again, Ulfric.” She began, not without an arguably unhealthy dose of cockiness in her voice. “How is ol’ Galmar doing? Not here today?” The girl inquired, putting a hand on her hip. She could practically see him physically struggling to stay calm.

“...he’s fine and out on the front lines, appreciate the concern.” Ulfric said through gritted teeth. His look was highly unpleasant, just bordering with a full out glare. “State your business. I am busy.”

With what, I do wonder. Perhaps… coordinating a siege?

She snickered. He wasn’t putting too much effort into not letting her read him. It was almost not worth it to try and push his buttons. A sleeping dragon is more fun to poke with a stick than a dead one.

Reaching under her cloak, Saya pulled out a fine steel axe, which began to shimmer with an orange magicka, floating towards the Jarl. He raised an eyebrow, looking at her, as if asking if it was for him. She only smirked in return, swinging her arm and embedding the axe in one of the armrests. The Nord glared at her, silently demanding an explanation.

“A message from Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun. He said you’d understand.”

The Jarl’s blue eyes gleamed as they turned to look at the axe before their owner snorted, smiling grimly. “Ahh… I see. You’re quite the daredevil to carry such a message here, Dovahkiin.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “It’s a pity you have chosen the wrong side...” He trailed off, as if trying to persuade her to change her mind.

Saya cut him off instantly. “History is written by victors, Ulfric. You have no right to decide what is right and what is wrong while you’re still here, warming your throne, instead of going out on the battlefield.” She returned his smile, chuckling. “Would’ve been nice to fight an army with at least one competent soldier. Well, unless your tactic is to drown me in blood and cannon fodder, in which case you’re welcome to keep on trying.”

Ulfric’s expression turned into a resentful scowl again, dropping the mask of diplomacy. Saya’s smile, meanwhile, only grew into a mocking smirk. He grunted, pulling out the axe and swinging it a few times, adjusting himself to its weight - an action that made Saya’s posture stiffen in wariness. And for good reason - because the next second, the Jarl threw the weapon at the Dunmer, who stepped to the side, letting the axe hit the floor and bounce with an ear-piercing metallic ‘clang’.

The girl turned slowly and glared at Ulfric, her smirk gone and her red eyes glinting from under her hood. The Stormcloak was standing up, pridefully staring her down from his elevation.

“You can return the axe to the man who sent it. And tell him he should prepare for some… visitors to entertain.” The man’s tone was cold and self-assured. The voice of a man who was sure he had the upper hand.

The mer couldn’t help but giggle. “Why, have the poor farmhands been feeling lonely because their wives turned them from Stormcloaks into Stormcuckolds while they were away?”

Ulfric grimaced, anger visible in his features. “Someone will cut out that sharp tongue of yours one day. And then, I will watch with utmost pleasure how you’ll squirm without your remarks or your Thu’um.”

“Aww, I’m looking forward to a day that a person strong or cunning enough to do that will appear. My trophy wall has been feeling a bit barren for my liking lately.” The Dunmer snickered. “But I’m afraid that even if my tongue parts with my mouth, it won’t be before I make a speech with your rotting head on a spike before the gates of Windhelm.”

Ulfric’s face was going slightly pale. He was practically fuming with fury, if looks could kill then Saya would be curled up and bleeding out on the floor by now.

Sadly, they could not, so instead the man took an all too familiar deep breath and shouted. And his voice rang out with Unrelenting Force.

“Diiv!” The Dunmer instantly responded, energy wrapping around her just before the gust reached her, blowing away the dining table and sending the axe behind her flying into the door. Dust filled the air as a shaking candelabra got ripped away from its support, breaking off the ceiling and smashing into the stone floor below, plunging the room into darkness.

Then, when the dust settled, only the moonlight shone through the windows behind Ulfric’s throne. That, and the two wings of flame that curled around the Dragonborn’s body, shielding her. Her pupils shimmered with the same energy, peering with predatory hostility into the Jarl’s eyes. And then, as if nothing happened, Saya straightened her posture and stretched, the joints in her back popping and making the mer groan in satisfaction before looking at the Nord in front of herself again, the malice gone from her gaze.

“It’s quite bad manners to kill the messenger. Although, I suppose I’m not one to lecture people on diplomatic behavior.” She chuckled, the wings dissipating into thin air as the energy faded from existence. “Still… you should reconsider your way of treating me.” A quiet whisper left her mouth again, and the moonlight from before became drowned out with a flash of lightning. He looked out of the window, struggling to keep his stoic appearance as dark clouds blocked out the sky and slanted rain began to pour, tilted by the raging winds. A thunderstorm. “...I might get mad, you know.”

Ulfric stepped down and stood, staring into his window, his gaze fixed on the rain that poured outside. He made a mistake. “Leave.” He said, his tone commanding, but quiet. “Scurry back to your Imperial masters. You have delivered your message and you have your answer. I will not forget this, Dragonborn.” The Jarl turned around, his gaze full of fury, but it was now controlled. “One day, our blades will cross. And that day, I will cut you down.”

Saya smiled, nodding. “...or die trying.”

He never responded the snark, turning away and looking outside of the window again. It was a true storm, one that Skyrim has very rarely. Winds raged outside, creating walls of rain while the dark grey clouds were pulled, like shutters, over the pitch-black night sky. Flashes of lightning struck the forests and mountains, setting fire to them only to be extinguished seconds later by the downpour that drowned the area in rainwater.

She was a walking cataclysm.

The Dunmer didn’t continue the verbal chess either, content with the result. She walked towards the door quietly, her hand glowing briefly as she pulled the axe towards herself, sheathing it and pushing at the door. Turning around one last time, she smiled when she saw that Ulfric was still looking out the window. It would’ve been easy to cut him down right then and there. Or, perhaps, push him out of the window…

But that's what made it uninteresting. It would be too easy . No hunt, no obstacles, no thrill .

So, she left.

And only a few minutes later, when her voice rumbled throughout the city again, and the clouds have disappeared to reveal the aurora-covered night sky - only then did it occur to Ulfric that he never heard her step out.

Turdas, the 3rd of Sun's Dusk, 4E201

The air felt acrid and noxious, almost painful to breathe. The smell of burning oil and metal filled Saya’s nostrils as she rode Arvak through the plains. The rays of the midday sun have been smothered by the smoke, which blocked out the azure blue sky, turning it into an evermoving ceiling of ashy clouds being painted red and orange because of the flames that burned the land below.

Scoffing, the Dunmer hopped off Arvak when she reached the city walls, her crossbow clicking as it sent a bolt through the helmet of a Stormcloak. The now lifeless body then fell off the ladder and onto its allies below, who screamed curses as the ladder broke under the force of the impact, making them all fall down onto the ground - where Saya was waiting, her blade barred.

Didn’t even have time to scream.

Sheathing her weapons, the Dragonborn then put the unbroken half of the ladder up against the wall at a tilted angle before stepping away a considerable distance from the object. Then, when she decided there was enough space between her and the makeshift ramp, the mer broke into a sprint, holding her breath as she jumped off the wooden step, cracking it, before her foot made contact with the stone bricks. In that instant, she jumped off and away from the stone wall, looking downwards and finally releasing her held breath.

“DAH!” she commanded, and the force was unleashed from her lips. Her ears started ringing and her eyes stung slightly from the sudden change in momentum, her Thu’um producing a small rumble and sending her flying over the wall like a cannonball. Turning in the air, she looked down and smirked when she saw Heimskr’s house below herself, sailing right above it. The Dunmer then repeated the word as the ground grew closer, this time using the force to slow her fall, resulting in a graceful landing.

With a smug grin, satisfied that her maneuver worked, Saya bolted off to Dragonsreach. If the “ladder squad” from earlier was anything to judge by - Ulfric was worked up to the point of not wasting any time with sending out the attackers.

Balgruuf needed men on the walls, and fast.

“Wait, let me get this straight.” Serana muttered, raising a hand to pause Saya’s story. “You’re going to tell me that you just… literally shouted yourself over a wall?”

Saya giggled amusedly, nodding. The vampire couldn’t help but laugh, herself, shaking her head and covering her face with her palm. It was stupid, it was dangerous, but on the other hand it was just so… so Saya . She remembered all the times that the Dunmer would spend hours mixing and matching words of power out of sheer boredom, trying to come up with combinations that could come in handy.

Saya still gets reminded of the “Ven, Toor, Wuld” combination every once in a while so she doesn’t repeat her mistakes. To her credit, though, the shout she produced was rather… effective, if a bit hazardous.

“And what next? Battlefield? Was Ulfric there?” Babette pried curiously, wriggling in her seat. She may have been older than everyone but Serana, but she was still an easily excitable kid at heart. Either that or she forgets to drop the childish act after a contract and it takes her a bit to “recalibrate”.

“Next, we reconvened in the war room… which isn’t even really a room, it’s just a table with a map behind the grand hall. Balgruuf argued with a Legate for a few minutes until they finally listened to me and realized - oh shit, we need to do our jobs! After that, the Legate moved out onto the battlefield to command his troops while Balgruuf would overlook everything from the Cloud District. I, of course, was sent to the front lines.”

Saya could feel her heartbeat reverberating in her ears, blood and adrenaline pumping throughout her entire system. Her blade was covered in gore and her armor was painted with blood splatter. Each strike was a soldier dismembered, each shot was a helmet pierced, each shout was a squadron immobilized.

And all the while, a red-scaled dragon circled around in the skies, raining down flames on the rebel catapults, fire spreading from one to another in moments due to how close they were.

Could’ve put them farther away and apart if you used trebuchets. Oh well…

The Dunmer’s red eyes turned towards the wall above the drawbridge when she got a breather. Balgruuf was standing there, looking rather… troubled. Understandably so - for the past half an hour he had to watch his men get slain by the Stormcloaks, barely able to put up a fight. The only ones who could hold their posts were the ones on the walls, and even so - only after Odahviing took care of the catapults.

As much as he didn’t like it, Saya was right. The rebels simply had overwhelming numbers, and Whiterun’s soldiers couldn’t keep up, even with the legionnaires helping.

Saya grunted, dashing towards the wall and stabbing some poor sap with her sword, twisting the blade and breaking his neck before pulling it out. Her hands quickly grabbed the ladder he had leaned to the wall, Saya quickly crawling to the top and hopping off onto the cold stone before kicking the ladder back onto the ground and setting it ablaze with a firebolt.

The battle wasn’t going good - she could see it from up there. More rebels were advancing from between the mountains and from the east plains. It looked like a final stretch - the sheer amount of them suggested that whoever was in charge of the attack decided that the previous rushes were not enough, so he just sent everyone who is still alive to take the city or drop dead.

“Balgruuf!” She called over, vaulting the spikes and hopping over to the platform where the Jarl was standing, huffing audibly when she reached him. The Jarl looked at the blood-covered Dragonborn, scowling slightly at her unsightly appearance.

“What is it, Dragonborn?” Saya didn’t say anything, only pointing at the incoming wave. The Nord’s eyes widened slightly, his thoughts running a mile a minute. There were too many.

“Your men… won’t handle that much… will they?” The Dunmer managed to speak, finally catching her breath. Balgruuf opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t. He knew they wouldn’t be able to take that… swarm.

“...no. We… Whiterun will fall if they reach us.”

Saya sighed, frustrated, crossing her arms and turning towards the incoming wave of soldiers. She had a few ideas, but none of them seemed like they could realistically work.

Well, none but one… but it was extremely dangerous.

“...Balgruuf?” She called without turning. It took some confidence to suggest something like this, so she waited until her heart stopped pounding and she was certain she had the Jarl’s attention. “...how much do you care about collateral damage to things outside the city right now? The farms, for instance?”

The man looked around. The sight was disheartening at the least and demoralizing at most - the farms have all been destroyed and pillaged. Whatever remained of the Western Watchtower had collapsed. Odahviing’s roars echoed in the sky as his wings unwillingly fanned the flames on the burnt buildings and swept away the corpses littering the roads.

“...there’s nothing left to destroy but the Stormcloaks. Whatever you have in mind, do it.” He finally spoke, his voice quiet. He was trying to keep composure, trying to not let his voice shake. It was painful. “...just keep my city safe.”

Saya didn’t need any further orders and jumped down, rolling as she landed onto the grass. With two shouts, she beckoned Odahviing to her and roused purple flames from which Durnehviir emerged. With the two of them by her side, she stood in front of all the defenses - whatever was left of them. Then, she turned around and looked both of them in their eyes.

“Cyclone. Is it a shout you both know?” Each of the dragons nodded. “Then on my signal - use it in the same spot. You’ll understand.” Durnehviir looked slightly puzzled while Odahviing smirked, knowing what was coming up right now.

Saya’s voice then thundered as she spoke, word by word.

“Ven.”

Balgruuf and Irileth had to push their hair behind their ears to keep it from getting in their eyes, feeling a chill on their backs as the wind began to rapidly pick up in speed. Dust, dirt, and ashes began to swirl towards a single spot a few steps away from Saya, who stood calmly and watched it unfold. The fine particles began to rise into the air as the wind picked them up, swirling in place and stretching out to reach the sky, pulling down the ashen clouds into its vortex.

“Toor.”

The column then lit up at the point where it touched the ground, and the flames began rising upwards, the fire’s tongues sliding across the vapor in the sky and dissipating. The wind was beginning to pick up in speed, widening the whirlwind which began slowly moving away from Whiterun and towards the plains. You could barely see the grass behind all of the blue cloth in which the soldiers wrapped their chainmail. And soon, it would all turn into ash.

Saya felt sweat dripping down her forehead. She was beginning to have difficulty breathing with all the oxygen burning up. But the fire was growing. It just needed a final push.

“Wuld.”

On command, the flames began spinning rapidly, the whirlwind turning into a full-blown flaming cyclone. Licks of flame set the sky ablaze, the remaining clouds darkening as the water in them began to evaporate and was rapidly replaced by smoke and ash. The grass and flowers was drying up and burning like paper, leaving a scorched trail behind the cataclysm the Dragonborn created.

Saya turned around to the two dragons and nodded, letting them step forward past her. Their backs visibly arched, taking in a deep breath of the hot air before they roared “VEN, GAAR, NOS!” in sync. Their breaths rushed after Saya’s cyclone, fusing into one another as a second tornado appeared for but a few mere moments before it was consumed by the flames.

The cataclysmic whirlwind almost doubled in size and momentum, ripping foundations of the burnt farms, pulling in weapons and corpses, tearing out door frames and picking up stones of the Western Watchtower before sending all of the debris back down and onto everything around itself. Scorched logs, red-hot rocks, molten lumps of metal and flesh - all of it rained down onto the Stormcloak army that scrambled, running into the mountains to save their lives.

And she didn’t blame them.

In the face of impending death - wherefore, heroism?

Tirdas, the 6th of Sun’s Dusk, 4E201

Saya arrived to the Sanctuary looking like she rolled down the Throat of the World while inside an iron casket with no padding. Covered in bruises, dirt, blood, and with her armor full of new tears and scratches from all the blades and arrows it diligently deflected.

In other words, she was a mess. But a very content-looking mess.

Absolutely nobody was surprised when she washed her face in the puddle under Sithis’ image in stained glass. Serana has paused her conversation with Babette, standing up to hug her partner, prompting a smile from the Dunmer and a snicker from the smaller vampire.

“How have you been?” Serana ignored Babette’s reaction, placing her lips on Saya’s forehead. Saya shivered - her lover’s pale skin was as cold as ever. Not unpleasantly so, however, especially since it greatly contrasted with all the fires she had to be around. Sieges were never easy.

“I’ve been everywhere. Six holds in three days is exhausting… had to rush everything to make it align with the Emperor’s schedule.” The Dragonborn mumbled tiredly, leaning into Serana’s shoulder and making a displeased noise. She looked exhausted - the dark circles under her piercing red eyes made her look almost like a daedra. Fortunately, sleepless nights aren’t something that Serana or Saya were not already used to.

“And what about the seventh?” Babette chimed in, tilting her head to peek around the older vampire’s shoulder. “I heard that quite some ruckus happened in Windhelm today…”

Saya snorted weakly, nodding. “You heard right. Serana, hun?” The girl hummed in response, showing that she’s listening. “If you could please bring me something to drink, I’d be extremely grateful. Windhelm was cold and my throat is killing me...”

Serana smiled, patting the half-mer on the back before retreating to the dining hall. The other two, meanwhile, ventured back to the main chamber, where Saya promptly sat down on the ground, leaning on the word wall. Veezara, being the first one to notice the assassin’s return thanks to his favorite spot being directly opposite of the entrance, had already notified everyone that she was back.

Thus, the tired Dragonborn didn’t get much of a break to rest - she returned to an audience expecting a story and an explanation as to why she was missing for three whole days.

This made her smile involuntarily. It may not have been the most normal family, but it certainly felt like a family. She could’ve sworn that she saw Nazir sigh in relief when he saw she wasn’t injured.

“Alright, so do you want the forts or should I get to the juicy part right away?” She snickered, seeing everyone’s amused faces. Nazir rolled his eyes, Arnbjorn didn’t even bother to turn around from sharpening his axe, while everyone else just laughed quietly.

“I think I’ll be speaking for everyone when I say that nobody really cares about the minor things.” Serana mused, returning with a mug full of warm mead in one hand and a blanket in the other. Saya smiled and took the drink, sipping on it with visible joy while the raven-haired vampire put the blanket over her shoulders. The Dragonborn said a quick “thank you” before turning back to the audience.

“Alright, so… I think I’ll start with a small history lesson. Have any of you ever heard of the Tongues?” Her eyes scanned the room, only seeing a small nod from Festus Krex and a puzzled expression from Babette, who only vaguely remembered the term. “They used to be ancient warriors capable of wielding Thu’um - they could Shout, like myself and dragons. Whenever they weren’t in battle, the most powerful of them had to be gagged - they had no complete control of their voice, and even speaking could cause great destruction.”

Saya paused, taking a sip of her drink to warm her parched throat before continuing.

“In a book I once found, Children of the Sky, I found an interesting little fact. Whenever one such warrior would kill another, they would cut out the fallen one’s tongue as a trophy and a powerful talisman to strengthen their own Shouting prowess.”

Saya then reached into her knapsack, pulling out a small glass jar. Some, such as Babette and Nazir, looked slightly repulsed, while Festus let out a hearty laugh. Gabrielle decided to remain silent, but smirked as she realized where this was going.

Saya placed the jar onto the stone near herself and placed a hand on the cap, grinning sinisterly.

“My friends, this is the tongue of Ulfric Stormcloak.”

Saya walked in front of General Tullius, pushing the gates of the Palace of Kings open with her shoulder. The inside of the building looked like the only thing that was still relatively stable in the city. The city was in chaos - collapsed crossfences, mutilated corpses, dragonfires lighting the night sky, and seekers floating around the city and picking out any stragglers that would try to escape, while bonemen wandered about, bringing any civilians to safety as per their summoner’s orders.

Absolute and utter chaos.

The palace, however, seemed almost… untouched. The table was empty of various dishes, unlike its usual appearance. There were no guards, either, and the steward was gone.

The only people in the hall were Saya, Tullius, Rikke, and Ulfric sitting on the throne, clad in steel armor stylized to appear like a bear, with Galmar grimacing and all but growling at his side.

“Ulfric Stormcloak.” Tullius spat, hate seeping through his voice. “You are guilty of insurrection, murder of Imperial citizens, the murder of High King Torygg, and treason against the Empire. Your punishment is death.” The General pointed his blade at Ulfric’s throat, who looked rather… unamused. “It’s over.”

“Such big words for such small a man, Tullius.” Ulfric chimed, leaning on his arm. “If you accept me to surrender like your Empire did to those Thalmor bastards, then you’re mistaken. It’s not over, and it won’t be over until I draw my last breath. I will never hand over Skyrim to your rotting skeleton of an Empire!” The Jarl roared, standing up and drawing a one-handed battleaxe from his belt. It was an intricate and deadly weapon. Decorated, but not overly so, with nordic patterns carved into the blade.

“Skyrim never belonged to you, Ulfric.” Rikke spat, following the gesture of her General.

The blonde man nodded. “Perhaps so. But I belong to her.”

At that point Saya couldn’t help but explode into booming laughter. Galmar looked at her like the scum of the earth, Ulfric mirroring the glare but with a bit more restraint.

“...ahh, Ulfric. You may not have been the king of Skyrim, but you sure are the king of hypocrites.” She chuckled, mockingly wiping away a tear that wasn’t there. “Accuse Tullius of fancy wording before following up with a bravado of your own, why don’t you. Surely, it will rouse morale of your troops, who will come running to save you… ah, pardon me.” Her gaze changed from that of a mocking jester to an ice-cold killer. “They’re all dead.”

“They died for a noble cause, witch. They protected their homeland and their culture. Unlike you and your kind, who had their homeland taken from them so you came here to pollute our land with your filth. Even if Nord blood flows through your veins, you’re still one of them - your treachery only confirms this.” He spat to the side, as if disgusted by even mentioning the Dunmer.

Saya’s glare only grew more intense, but her expression was completely calm and collected. Fury was boiling inside of her, but this wasn’t the time to unleash it.

“Bold of you to call me a traitor, turncoat.” Saya’s tone was low and openly hostile. “Don’t get me wrong. I hate the Thalmor as much as the next Stormcloak… but I do like one thing about them - their tendency to document everything.”

Everyone in the room stayed quiet in anticipation, the air itself feeling heavy with tension as Saya calmly pulled out a small leather-wrapped book. Tullius’ eyes widened briefly before he briefly cracked a smile.

Saya cleared her throat and began reading. “Thalmor Dossier, Ulfric Stormcloak. Status: dormant asset (uncooperative). Under protection of the First Emissary.” Ulfric’s features began twisting in anger as she kept reading, glaring daggers at her. “Background: Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War against the Empire, when he was taken prisoner during the campaign of the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation at the hands of First Emissary Elenwen, he provided intel to the Dominion forces which was to directly harm the Imperial City and quicken the siege. He was assured that the information he provided was crucial in the Dominion’s operations, although in actuality the Imperial City had already fallen by the time he was broken. After the fact, he was allowed to escape.”

The Dunmer closed the book, a smirk adorning her features as she watched Galmar’s expression twist into one of shock while Ulfric went pale with anger. It was Rikke who broke the silence.

“...stand aside, Galmar. You weren’t fighting for Skyrim… you fought for Ulfric. Give up, and your sentence may be lightened.”

Galmar lowered his gaze for a few seconds, contemplating her words. Ulfric looked disappointed in him, but only until the housecarl tightened his grip around his axe and turned to Rikke again.

“The Empire abandoned my homeland along with me. An old soldier, not needed by anyone. But, even if he isn’t fighting for the same reasons now, Ulfric gave me a reason to fight along with him. I will not betray him like the Empire betrayed me.”

Rikke shook her head, her expression defeated. Saya, on the other hand, drew her blade.

“Then both of you will die today.” The Dunmer said, solemn. She admired this kind of loyalty, but war is war. In time of conflict, loyalty is rewarded with either seeing death or experiencing it.

Galmar grinned, brandishing his axe. “Fighting side by side with a friend? Gladly.”

Tullius scowled, dashing at the housecarl, his gladius whistling through the air in a downward swing. Galmar had the wits to raise his battleaxe, blocking the swing with the reinforced staff part.

Surprised by the sudden attack, Ulfric gripped his axe and was about to jump down to help Galmar before he heard the words “He’s mine!”, followed by the familiar sound of a Whirlwind Sprint and Saya appeared right in front of him.

“You’re looking at the wrong target, Ulfric.” She hissed, tossing her sword into her other arm and punching Ulfric in the ear before shouting Unrelenting Force, sending him into a wall to the side. He grunted, shaking his head to stop the ringing and looking up just in time to see her attempt to stab him. The Stormcloak tilted his head, Saya’s sword embedding itself in the stone wall.

“Poor aim.” He spat, standing up and headbutting the Dunmer. She exhaled sharply, momentarily stunned by the strike. The Jarl wasted no time winding up his axe and swinging it, the blade lodging itself into the girl’s left shoulder, drawing a short shriek from her. With a malicious grin, Ulfric then returned the favor from earlier by kicking her in the gut with his knee.

Rikke couldn’t help but grimace at the sight as she accidentally looked over Galmar’s shoulder. The man was holding up very well, fending off both Tullius and herself, but not quite managing to land any blows on them, either. He was playing defensive, unlike his master.

With another frustrated grunt, Tullius struck again, and once again Galmar had managed to block him, then pulling on the staff to ram the end of it into Rikke’s chestplate, knocking her breath out. With the legate out of commission, Stone-Fist tugged on the battleaxe and attempted to kick Tullius away, as he couldn’t swing the axe with the General so close. Tullius, however, responded by catching the leg under his arm and stabbing Galmar in the knee with his gladius, lodging it under his kneecap and piercing the joint.

Crying out in pain, the housecarl abandoned his axe, grabbing Tullius by the collar and headbutting him. The General stumbled back, his sword still inside Galmar’s leg - and, not to cause excessive bleeding, the soldier left it inside, grabbing his weapon with both hands again and swinging at the Imperial before he felt the taste of blood in his mouth.

Looking down, he saw legate Rikke’s sword piercing him through the back and out the front. It was shaking, just like the woman’s hands were.

Galmar couldn’t help but smile slightly before she pulled the blade out and his corpse limply fell onto the ground.

“...thank you, legate.” Tullius said. Rikke only nodded weakly, muttering something as she knelt down over Galmar’s body. “What was that?”

Rikke looked up, wincing. “...nothing, General. Just saying goodbye.”

Tullius looked at her expression for a few seconds before nodding in understanding. His eyes instead shifted to Ulfric and Saya.

The Dragonborn had managed to recover from earlier, abandoning all principles of honorable fighting and instead focusing on killing the man in front of her.

You’re weak.

She gripped her sword tighter, preparing for another strike as she caught Ulfric’s axe by the handle. She was really kicking herself for never learning Disarm when she had the chance.

You’re slow.

Frustrated and wincing at the pressure on her injured shoulder, she shifted her grip and stabbed Ulfric in his arm, knowing that otherwise she would not hold up. When Ulfric grunted and stumbled back, she took the chance to swing the blade again, cutting broadly along his chestplate but not enough to pierce it.

You can’t beat him.

“Mul--” She couldn’t finish the shout as Ulfric backhanded her across the cheek and followed it up by grabbing her injured arm and twisting it. Saya shrieked as she felt her shoulder dislodge, kicking Ulfric in the leg and shouting “FEIM!”, phasing through him and stumbling back, holding onto her shoulder and biting into her lip.

Everything hurts.

His punches were damn strong. Her scale armor wasn’t built for blunt attacks. He probably broke a rib or two.

As her Ethereal form faded, she shouted again - this time, Unrelenting Force. Ulfric, however, mirrored her Shout.

You’re afraid.

And she lost.

Her Voice was too weak, and she was blown away by the force of his Shout. She fell, and she could feel a chill on her spine as he kicked away her blade and put his axe to her throat, stepping on her chest. He didn’t want her to take a breath. Couldn’t take the chances.

You will die. Why don’t you listen to me?

Because you’re not real.

Saya screamed. She coughed up blood and her vision was going hazy due to lack of air. Ulfric didn’t pay any mind to it, though, only stepping on her ribcage harder to the point where he heard another crack. There goes another rib.

Is this how I die? Not even to a dragon?

Not if you stop trembling like a puppy in the rain and make room to Shout.

...I can’t breathe. How do you suggest I do that?

Stop talking to yourself, for one. And use things outside your weapons, damnit.

Saya chuckled wryly. She felt pathetic, talking to herself. With her one hand, she gripped Ulfric’s leg and tried to lift it, only struggling uselessly. The Stormcloak’s expression twisted into one of sadistic amusement. He watched as she kept trying to lift his foot off herself, to no avail. Her arm dropped limply at her side, exhausted.

“...gave up?” He asked, looking into her eyes. They looked cloudy. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore. The Jarl lifted his arm, preparing for a sideways swing to cut her head straight off. “You disappoint me, Dragonborn.” Saya smiled, looking at him with a weak smirk. Even in the end, she was infuriating. And so, he swung.

And he felt his axe slip out of his hand as orange magic engulfed it, pulling it out of his hand and into Saya’s, who instantly embedded it into his thigh. Ulfric flinched in pain for a mere moment, but that moment was enough for Saya to roll onto her side, pulling her sword towards her from under the table and standing up, slashing at Ulfric’s ankle, just managing to cut a ligament.

Won't be using that leg for the rest of his life.

Tullius and Rikke were about to join in, but she stopped them with a glare.

“...he’s mine.”

She Shouted, her body shaking as energy enveloped it. Scales grew on top of her armor, horns formed on top of her helmet, and her fingers became tipped with claws. Dragon Aspect.

Took you bloody long enough.

Ulfric looked at her before scoffing. “Imitating a dragon… there’s no limit to your pride, is there.”

Saya smirked. “Should there be? It is a dragon’s greatest trait, after all.”

Ulfric grimaced and took a breath, shouting Unrelenting Force again. Saya simply stabbed her sword into the ground and raised her hand, her magicka seeping out and forming a ward that shattered with a loud noise and a flash of light.

When Ulfric could open his eyes again, he felt the Dragonborn grab his head and tilt it before sinking her teeth into his neck, piercing the skin and tearing out a piece of flesh before pushing him back and mirroring his Shout. It felt like he got headbutted by a dragon. The man could practically hear his lower back snap as he hit the wall, barely conscious and unable to breathe.

“You told me that you’d watch me squirm helplessly when someone would cut out my tongue… right?”

Saya moved her left shoulder, twisting the bone into place as the energy around her seeped inside, quickening her regeneration. The light of a healing spell soon amplified the effect, flesh knitting itself together and restoring her shoulder to how it was in mere moments.

Ulfric was shaking, holding a hand over his neck and barely being able to keep up the concentration to try and stop the bleeding with a basic healing spell - to no avail. His upper body flinched visibly as he tried to get up, coughing up copious amounts of blood, but his body simply wouldn’t move. His legs were completely paralyzed from the impact - it was a miracle he was still conscious.

Ulfric tried to reach for his axe which only resulted in a muffled groan of pain when the Dragonborn stomped on his hand, twisting her foot and producing loud cracks as his phalanges shattered and snapped out of place with each movement.

“Well, you’re already squirming and helpless.” The Dragonborn said, smiling and crouching in front of him. “How about I take care of the other part, hmm?”

Her hands reached forward and Ulfric tried to stop her with his other arm, but she simply grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled suddenly. The Stormcloak was seizing in agony. His ears were ringing. Saya, on the other hand, licked her lips.

“An eye for an eye.”

She squeezed his throat and lifted him against the wall. The man gasped momentarily, trying to draw a breath again, but realized his mistake when he could no longer close his mouth - Saya had forced her hand inside. Ulfric was trembling, his arms and legs hanging limply at his sides while he tried to shake his head and bite on her fingers. She couldn’t even feel it.

He could no longer taste the blood as she grabbed the tongue with her claws and tore it out.

“And after that I lobbed his head off and we carried it outside and Tullius gave some half-hearted speech to everyone who was fighting. Overall, I’d say it went pretty well.” Saya grinned, prompting a lot of wry chuckles and facepalms from the Sanctuary members. Nazir in particular was holding the bridge of his nose and shaking his head while Arnbjorn and Babette shared an unrestrained burst of laughter.

Serana, on the other hand, slapped the back of Saya’s head, causing the girl to flinch and rub the sore spot. “Hey! What’s that for?”

“That’s for being reckless.” The vampire said, and then she sat down and hugged the half-elf close, rubbing her back. “...and this is for coming back alive.”

Saya sighed, letting her have her moment. One thing the Dunmer always had trouble with comprehending is just how much Serana worried about her sometimes - she’s been through so much shit and still got out alive, after all. Why the concern, then?

And it’s not like she could ask Serana directly about it. Last time she tried earned her a slap on the face and a moody vampire for the rest of the day.

“So… does this all mean you’ll be staying here a while?” Gabriella was the one to break the silence, asking the question on everyone’s mind. She frowned, however, when the Dragonborn shook her head.

“...I’m afraid not. Being the ‘war hero’ and all, Tullius said that the Emperor requested my personal attendance tomorrow… not that I mind, I was basing my entire schedule around his visit tomorrow.” She turned to look at Serana, snickering. “Besides, someone does need to keep an eye on our Gourmet, no?”

Serana smiled wryly. “Yeah, yeah, you keep running that mouth of yours. In case you forgot, you still owe me half of what you got for the Balagog!” She complained playfully, poking at the Dunmer’s cheek.

“Ah, speaking of!” Festus interjected, reaching for the satchel on his belt and pulling out a document before handing it over to Serana. “It’s the Gourmet’s Writ of Passage. Astrid told me to keep it safe until the day, in case you had any contracts in the meantime.”

“I see, thank you.” Serana responded, taking a brief look at the invitation. It didn’t look damaged in any way, so it should be fine to use.

After some more idle chatter, the group eventually dispersed, allowing the pair to return to their room. Saya promptly flopped into the bed, sighing with relief while Serana sat down next to her, playing with the half-mer’s locks.

“You remember the plan?” Saya asked, nudging her partner. The vampire nodded, reaching into her alchemy satchel with a free hand and pulling out a small vial with what looked like powdered spices inside. “Alright. Then I’ll see you there? Or do you want to come with me?”

“You already spread information about how I look, remember? If they see us together it'll just sabotage your alibi.”

The Dragonborn sighed and turned over into her side, hugging her partner and grumbling into her back. “II guess… Well, suppose I'll be off first, then. I'd like to get to Solitude by midnight. You should probably move out by then.” She mused, as if deep in thought. Then, she suddenly bounced into a sitting position, remembering something. “Ah, and here.” The Dunmer reached into a pocket under her armor, producing a key.

“What's this for?” Serana asked, slightly confused as she took the key into her hands. It looked rather unremarkable.

“That's the key to my house in Solitude, Proudspire Manor. Swing by when you're there, I'll have an outfit and a potion ready for you.”

Serana giggled. “For just a second, that sounded like an invitation. But work is work, I suppose.” She stretched, looking at a water clock on the room wall. It was getting a bit late. “So you'll be moving out now?”

The Dragonborn nodded, yawning as she stood up. “I need to do a lot of everything… and I have a meeting with Elisif in the morning regarding the war thing…” She groaned, scratching her head. “It's a mess… sorry I don't have time to spend with you, love.”

“It's fine, as long as you promise me one thing.” Serana responded offhandedly, but with a tone that was guaranteed to catch her attention.

“Like what?” The girl turned around, having put her backpack on again and just about to leave the room.

Serana frowned slightly, looking at Saya's face for a good few seconds before sighing.

“...hun, get some sleep. You look like death, and that's coming from a vampire.”

Saya only chuckled. “You know I'm too paranoid to sleep alone.” She then turned around, smirking. “So I guess that'll just be more motivation for you to hurry up and meet me at my place.”

The Dragonborn then winked and closed the door. It was times like these that Serana was grateful vampires couldn't blush as she let herself laugh, flustered.

Never change, Saya. Never change.

Fredas, the 7th of Sun's Dusk, 4E201

Even though vampires generally didn't need to breathe, Serana couldn't help but give in to instinct, breathing deeply to calm herself down. It was one thing to kill a soldier, it was another to kill a beggar, and it was a completely different one to kill an Emperor. Thus, of course, a bit of anxiety was in order.

The guards let her pass on through as soon as she showed them the Writ of Passage. They looked a bit suspicious, granted, but she didn't pay it any mind. Nobody knew the Gourmet’s identity, after all, so they may have just been surprised to see it turn out to be a kinsman. Or, rather, a kinswoman.

It was only now that Serana could truly appreciate Saya's insistence on looting the Volkihar castle of all the blood potions inside. The guards were looking for a vampire. If she didn't bare her fangs too much, she'd look just like another regular person.

From what Saya told her, the Dunmer had already paid a visit to the cook. Thus, the vampire only had to prepare the dishes that needed poisoning.

Gianna had no questions, following the “Gourmet’s” instructions accurately while she opened the oven and added some spices to the duck roasting inside.

When the meat was ready, Serana left the cook to her devices after giving her instructions. Saya spent quite some time convincing the vampire that Gianna would do everything she'd say, so she had to trust her.

Thus, the assassin put on her most pleasant smile as she ventured out into the dining hall, carrying a duck roast on a silver platter.

“Aha, and here we are! Honored guests, I present to you - the Gourmet!” The Emperor's voice was a bit more enthusiastic than she imagined, but nevertheless Serana gave him a dignified bow before placing the roast duck down. “Oh, what's this? Pardon, but I was expecting your fabled Potage Le Magnifique. Has something gone wrong?”

Serana saw Saya smile in her seat and shook her head. “Worry not, your grace. The Potage is quite ready, I simply thought that a few minutes of cooling it down would go a long way to improve its quality. It'd be quite unprofessional if I served you my best dish only to have you or any of your guests accidentally burn your tongues, wouldn't it?”

The Emperor laughed, nodding in agreement while the noblemen restrained themselves to just a smile. It was rather noticeable they didn't seem too enthusiastic about being here. Politics.

“Please, your graces.” She placed a plate in the middle of the table. “Help yourselves. My assistant should be done any minute now.” A momentary usage of Vampiric Seduction went unnoticed by all but Saya, who reached over to cut herself a portion of the meat.

True to her word, by the time the Dragonborn was taking her second bite, Gianna had already brought the main dish to the table, it's sweet aroma filling the room. Serana stepped away from the table when she noticed Saya nod twice. This was the part where the Dunmer’s acting skills would come into play… along with her partner's alchemical prowess.

“Wait… don't eat…!” The Dragonborn forced out, weakly, before she suddenly coughed up blood and collapsed onto the table, similar symptoms showing in a nobleman on the other side of the table, whose alleged favorite dish was the duck roast.

The Emperor's eyes widened as he turned to where Serana was standing just a few seconds ago, but has now vanished under the cloak of an invisibility spell. Panicking, he looked over at Gianna, whose movements looked mechanical as soon as Saya dropped on the floor. He saw her grab a kitchen knife for just a split second before she stabbed him in the chest multiple times, the Penitus Oculatus scrambling to restrain her but only managing to do so when the Emperor was already a corpse, at which point Gianna elbowed one of them and promptly slit her own throat.

Just as planned.

Or so she thought, until Serana suddenly heard applause as she walked out of the tower. The vampire’s hand instantly went to her hip, grasping the handle of a Blade of Woe.

“Congratulations. That man, by far, was the most insufferable decoy the Emperor has ever employed. I am... so very glad he’s dead.” A voice she vaguely recognized began as its owner marched out from behind a pillar. It was an Imperial man clad in Penitus Oculatus armor… thus, bad news. “Ah, but I am even more glad that it was you who killed him! You, an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood, have just made an attempt on the Emperor’s life. Would’ve succeeded, even. Had it been the real man.”

Saya drew her dagger as soon as three more agents appeared, ready to defend herself. Maro, on the other hand, simply continued talking.

“Surprised? So was I, when a member of your ‘family’ approached me with a plan. You see, we worked out an exchange.” He glared at Serana scornfully. She returned the sentiment. “I get you, and the Dark Brotherhood continues its existence. But you know what? To Oblivion with the deal. How about this - my men kill you and bring me your mangled corpse, and another squad butchers your fucked up little family to ribbons right as we speak! That’s what I think of your little ‘deal’! You killed my son, all of you! And now your ‘family’ will pay the price for taking the only family I had!”

Serana winced when the agents drew their blades and approached her. A dagger wouldn’t be enough for this.

“Kill her. And make sure there’s nothing left to bury.” Maro spat, sending one last glare her way before leaving. The vampire bit her lip, frustrated. Wouldn’t stick around and let himself get killed with his underlings.

“You know, if you forget you ever saw me, I might consider sparing your life.” She said, looking around. There were five of them total. She could take them, but not without injuring herself.

The agents looked at each other and laughed hysterically. “Bold words for just one vampire.” One of them said, having calmed down. His blade glinted in the sunlight. “Out in broad daylight, no less… how about this, you surrender instead and we behead you nice and painless.”

Serana sighed. The hard way, then.

Blood red overflowed from the cracks that began to form on her skin, as if roots growing from her eyes and mouth. Her back seemed to almost bubble, the vampire hunching over as two pairs of bat wings sprouted from it and the skin popped like a balloon, revealing the form of something inhuman underneath.

Grey skin and claws like a daedroth. Eyes black as pitch and hair white as snow. Armor of moonstone and fangs of steel.

This was the first and last time those agents got to see a vampire lord.

Serana covered her face with a mask and hood as she searched through the Hall of the Dead later that night. She looked through every coffin, her eyes frantically scanning the boxes of wood and metal, looking for a single person.

And when she finally found the coffin she was looking for and threw away the lid, she shakily found the small bottle in her satchel and uncorked it. Her hand reached to lift Saya’s head slightly before bringing the potion to her lips, helping her drink it. For a few seconds, she was a ball of nerves. The Dunmer wouldn’t move.

Thankfully, a few moments later the half-elf began coughing as her lungs drew air once more, waking up from the lethargic sleep. Serana couldn’t help but hug the Dragonborn tightly once the coughing fit had stopped, sighing in relief.

“Agh… I’ll… need to say thanks to Babette later… but damn does the antidote taste like netch vomit…!” Saya cursed, struggling to keep herself from falling down before she put a hand over her mouth, turning around sharply and doing the same thing as the proverbial netch.

“...Saya, I know you just woke up, but we need to hurry. Now. ” Serana grabbed her partner’s shoulder tightly, and the half-elf looked at her, confused.

“...what happened?”

“Someone sold me out. Maro made a deal with one of our members and tricked them. Penitus Oculatus are raiding the place right now. We need to hurry.”

The Dunmer’s crimson eyes widened in shock. Someone... But who…?

“...Astrid.” She spat under her breath. “...let’s go get my gear. I know a way out through the sewers, I’ll summon Durnehviir when we’re out.”

Serana nodded and helped her out of the coffin, leaving it there before the two of them sprinted out of the catacombs.

The clock was ticking, but time was already up.

Loredas, the 8th of Sun’s Dusk, 4E201

A blade made of dragon bone slashed through the air, slicing the last soldier’s head clean off as Saya roared in anger. They were too late.

Whole carriages with barrels of flammable oil were all around the Sanctuary, some of them half-empty. And, judging by the smell of smoke in the air, they put them to use.

Serana couldn’t help but turn away when she saw Festus’s corpse. Pinned to a tree with dozens of arrows, bleeding out and trying to cover his face. At least he took some of the carriages and a few agents with him.

When the Dragonborn opened the door, she gagged. The smell of burning flesh was overwhelming, there was practically no air inside of the Sanctuary. Crouching and pulling a scarf over her mouth and nose, she made her way through with Serana following her close by. Two agents were in the main chamber, next to the corpse of Veezara.

“Say, which one was the rat?” One of them asked. The other could only shrug.

“What does it matter? One of the corpses, probably.”

The first one scratched his head, nodding. “Guess you’re right… What’s taking the others so long? The smoke’s getting real bad, should we go help them?”

“If you feel like getting roasted, go right ahead.” The other spat, turning around and marching towards the stairs. “I’ll guard the entrance.”

He didn’t get to turn around as Saya shouted him into the wall before sending a crossbow bolt into his head, killing him on the spot while Serana shanked the other agent before cutting his throat open. The two didn’t stop for a second, only moving deeper in as the smoke began to clear slightly and they heard a howl.

They came down just in time to see Arbjorn, surrounded by corpses, tearing one of the Penitus Oculatus apart before another one sent a blade through his chest and he collapsed. Saya charged in without a moment’s wait, returning the favor before ripping her blade out violently and slashing away at his torso, coming just this close to cleaving the man in two.

Three down… on both sides.

“IF I DIE TODAY, SO BE IT, BUT YOU CAN BET YOUR SORRY BEHINDS YOU WON’T FORGET THE BROTHERHOOD SOON ENOUGH, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

The Dragonborn turned swiftly, hearing Nazir’s voice was enough direction for her. She shouted “Serana, find Babette and get her out of here if she’s not dead yet!” before dashing off through the stairways and into the dining room, where she found the Redguard fighting off someone who looked like the squad’s captain. She pulled out her crossbow and took aim, sending a bolt to the back of his skull, earning a surprised expression from Nazir before she grabbed the Imperial by the hair and stabbed him in the side of his throat before tossing him into the fire.

“You’re… you’re alive? I was starting to wonder… wait, what about Serana…?”

Saya looked at him and nodded. “She’s alive too. The Emperor was a decoy. Someone sold us out.”

The Redguard scowled and coughed, covering his mouth and pinching his nose with his free hand. “Seeing as how almost all of us are now dead, I figured as much…” He spat before breaking down into another coughing fit, hunching over as he struggled to breathe. “...Sithis, can’t even breathe here. We need to get out, now!”

Come to me.

Saya flinched, but nodded. The two of them started running through the debris, the cave collapsing and chunks of stone falling down from the ceiling, smashing into the furniture.

You won’t escape with him, Listener. Come. I’m your only salvation.

As soon as Nazir ran through the doorway upstairs, Saya cursed as the ceiling almost fell on top of her. She coughed and rubbed her eyes, trying to get rid of all the dust. When she could see again, though, she noticed that the stairway was blocked off.

“...you have a bad sense of humor, anybody ever tell you that?” The Dunmer muttered before shouting to Nazir. “You go! Wait until the fire is out, you’ll know where to find me! I’ll be fine, promise!”

She wasn’t sure if those words were true. But she couldn’t do anything but trust the Night Mother in this situation.

Thus, the Dragonborn closed her eyes obediently after shutting the doors of the metal coffin around herself, the Night Mother’s corpse whispering into her ear, like a lullaby.

Sleep now. They will find you soon…

Serana was sure she had broken her nails several times over by the time they reached the coffin. She couldn’t care less. As soon as Nazir came out without Saya, she was ready to go back inside. He stopped her, though, reciting her instructions.

Because of that, she spent the past two hours sitting there, restless. She was willing to dig her up herself, if they weren’t willing to help her, but she had to wait. She had to believe that her little dragon was okay.

“There it is! She’s in there, I can hear her breathing!” Serana practically squealed when she found the coffin, helping Nazir drag it out onto the surface.

“...damn, this thing is… heavy.” Nazir huffed, sitting down and staring at the casket as if it had insulted his ancestors. “...any of you know how to open it?”

Serana was already picking at the lock. “I think I figured it out, just… give me a second… There!” With a click, the doors slammed open, revealing Saya sleeping inside, the Night Mother lying beside her.

Find Astrid, here, in the Sanctuary. Speak to her. Fulfill her contract.

The Dunmer’s eyes opened and she gasped, suddenly awake. She stood up and could barely keep her balance, wobbling on shaky legs.

“Woah, woah, slow down. It's alright. You went through some serious shit back there, rest a minute or two first.” Nazir said, holding Saya up by the elbow while she clutched her head.

“Can't… have to find Astrid…” She forced out, her throat parched and her voice raspy. “She's here… In the Sanctuary…”

The Dunmer stumbled forward, walking shakily. Serana switched places with Nazir, helping her walk. As if she knew it by heart, the Dragonborn led them to a chamber inside Astrid’s quarters. Inside was the burnt corpse of the owner… Or so it appeared, until the body coughed and looked at them.

“Y-you… you're alive… thank Sithis you're alive…” Astrid whispered. Her body was nothing more than a charred carcass, her skin black as coal and her hair burnt into ashes. The only thing that seemed more or less undamaged were her eyes, which stared like two orbs of life from a dead body.

“...it was you, wasn’t it. You betrayed us.” Saya said, clenching her fist. She wanted to be mad at her, but she couldn’t. Not in that pitiful state.

“...I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry… The Penitus Oculatus, Maro… he said that by giving you up… he’d let the Dark Brotherhood live… Hah…” She coughed, her body simply unable to laugh despite her best efforts. “By Sithis, what a fool I was… to believe that the Brotherhood’s worst enemy would leave it alone… haha… too good to be true… isn’t it…?”

Nobody said anything in response. There were simply no words to say. Everyone looked at her with unsureness, with pity. It was difficult to look at someone so prideful who was now so… destroyed.

“...I wanted things… to go back to the way they were. Before Cicero… before the Night Mother…” Her lips quivered, the charred skin on them breaking and bleeding. “...before both of you. I felt… like you stole my family away… my place to belong… when the Night Mother called you Listener… the leader… I... I just wanted it to stay the same…”

“...you tried to take family from someone to keep your family from abandoning you.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement. If Astrid could nod, she would. Instead, she simply cried.

“...you were right. The Night Mother was right. The Brotherhood survived for centuries… by following the old ways. I was a fool to… defy them… to think that I was above them.” Astrid closed her eyes. “...so I prayed to her, for the first time in my life… I wished for a contract… and I am both the target and the Sacrament.”

Astrid’s fingers trembled as she tried to unclench her fist, burnt sinew tearing inside of her hand. In her hand was a dagger. A Blade of Woe.

“...my Blade of Woe… take it… kill me. The Blade, a quill… my blood, the ink… sign the contract, and… lead the Brotherhood in my stead…” She begged, her eyes full of tears and blood. “...please…”

Saya stood down on one knee, her expression grim. She reached for the blade and took it from Astrid’s hand. The handle was cold.

“...very well. May your soul find mercy in whatever afterlife it finds its way to.”

Astrid closed her eyes, one final gasp leaving her lungs as her own weapon pierced her heart. It didn’t hurt. No, instead… she felt like the pain she felt had suddenly washed away.

And so, her burnt lips went still with their last words unheard.

“...thank you…”