(From: Chapter Four Act Seven: Truth (Part 1 of 2))

Taeyva: It’s her souls. Something is destroying them. Some kind of curse? Maybe an enchantment?

Talen: Did you say souls? Like, plural?

Taeyva: Yup. You all won’t like to hear this, but she’s a Prophet like me. And like me, she has two souls. A mortal one, which is what you interact with, and a daedric one, which contains our powers.

Malkor: It was a third Prophet that did this. Her name is Erinye, she is Molag Bal’s.

Torund: I’ve met her already. She could’ve killed me but didn’t. Do you think she is worth saving? Is it even possible?

Taeyva: She’s a Prophet of Mephala. She is absolutely worth saving for the incredible amount of knowledge she has about potential fates. I don’t know the extent of her powers, but I do know she can see something called the “Weave of Fate.” She can see every possible outcome of every possible scenario, but she can’t know which one will actually happen.

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(From: Chapter Four Act Seven: Truth (Part 1 of 2))

Taeyva: What’s it going to be, everyone? This is your last chance to release me.

Talen: Look… Um, Taeyva… I-

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(From: Chapter Four Act Seven: Truth (Part 2 of 2))

Sheogorath: I think you’ve greatly misunderstood our relationship.

Talen: You said… you needed our… help… for that realm…

Sheogorath: Yes. It’s called Null, by the way. Thing is, I don’t really need your help. You’re just a bargaining chip.

Sheogorath: That’s right, Talen. You’re not the special one. Your wife is.

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(From: Chapter Four Act Seven: Truth (Part 2 of 2))

Argus: This war belongs to the daedra. The Vigilant have no place in our battle! I give you Carcette as a peace offering. Claim her life however you wish. Enact your revenge!

Taeyva: You’re pathetic.

Taeyva: Finish him!

Argus: Argh!

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(From: Chapter Four Act Seven: Truth (Part 2 of 2))

Taeyva: If you really are sorry though, you’ll give this Prophet the chance you never gave me. Deal?

Carcette: You have my word.

Taeyva: Good.

Taeyva: Because we’re going to need all the help we can get.

Taeyva: Talen!

Taeyva slams the door behind her as she worriedly turns to her exhausted friend. Talen leans against the table, his hand pressed to his heaving chest.

Talen: I’m okay. I’m okay.

Talen: Please… We don’t have much time.

Taeyva checks the lock on the door then rushes over to him. She kneels down to meet his level and is taken aback by the pain that suddenly and clearly afflicts him. Talen’s eyes are pressed firmly shut as he exposes clenched teeth. Heavy breaths shift his armor up and down and his grip on his chest tightens.

Taeyva: Woah woah… What happened? Did you get hit?

Talen grunts as he struggles to open his eyes. He glances at her for only a moment before his attention falls to the dagger beside him, embedded into the table.

Talen: The wound… It’s stinging. I- I don’t know why. Listen to me…

Talen reaches over and grasps the handle of the dagger, yanking it free from the wood with strained effort. He extends a shaking hand, offering the weapon forward.

Talen: There’s no time to do this safely…

Taeyva beholds the weapon in silence. It trembles in Talen’s hand, reflecting a faint shine that she can already see faded in blood.

Talen: Please… I can’t do it myself.

Taeyva musters herself with a long exhale. She wraps her hand around the handle, letting Talen’s quivering hand fall to his side. She closes her eyes, preparing for what she’s about to do.

Taeyva: Okay… Brace yourself.

Without hesitation, Taeyva plunges the dagger into Talen’s chest. A sharp gasp flees his lunges as blood immediately begins to coat the blade.

Talen: Guh!

Taeyva: Good luck. I’ll be there soon.

Present day…

Taeyva: Hey. Can you hear me?

Taeyva: Take it slow. You’ve been through a lot.

Taeyva watches cautiously as Castalia sits up. Her eyes flutter as she glances about the room. First to Taeyva, with a look of recognition and a nod of appreciation. When her gaze falls onto Carcette and Dennis, there's little more than empty recognition.

Carcette: Um… Hello…

Castalia ignores her, turning her back to them as she faces Taeyva.

Castalia: Thank you, Taeyva. You’ve done more than you could ever realize.

Taeyva flashes a quick smile in response, but immediately begins scouring Castalia’s appearance. She scans for any additional wounds or lingering effects from the curse previously afflicting her. But most importantly, she tries to determine which of her two souls survived.

Taeyva: Red eyes… Pretty standard for a dark elf…

Castalia doesn’t seem to mind the examination, sitting patiently still and even taking her eyes off Taeyva to take in more of her surroundings.

As a silent lull emerges, Carcette loudly clears her throat.

Carcette: Castalia, is it?

Carcette steps forward, drawing everyone's attention.

Carcette: I gave Taeyva my word. I won’t treat you the way I treated her, nor will other Vigilant if I have anything to say about. But…

Dennis shoots her a skeptical glance as Carcette awkwardly bites her lip.

Carcette: That doesn’t mean I trust you. You’re still a daedric prophet and I swore and oath to-

Castalia sharply interjects as Carcette begins rambling, earning a flabbergasted scoff from the Vigilant’s Keeper.

Castalia: Yeah, I know.

Castalia hops off the table, displaying little signs that she was on the verge of death just moments ago.

Castalia: I have not given you a reason to trust me. I don’t want it until I earn it. I could say the same to you, but it’d be absurd of me to ignore the role you had in saving me. So thank you.

Carcette stumbles, fumbling out a series of clumsy responses before crossing her arms in a huff and diverting a glare.

Carcette: Yeah, well… whatever. I was protecting Dennis… It doesn’t matter.

Dennis chuckles, relishing the rare display of discomfort from her.

Dennis: Well said, Carcette.

Taeyva smiles as Castalia turns back to her. Her hesitations remain. The prophet in front of her could no longer have a mortal soul. And though that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s a foe, it could make her more volatile and dangerous. But so far, she seems willing, especially as an ally of Malkor’s.

Taeyva: You’re already being nicer to her than I ever was.

Castalia doesn’t reciprocate Taeyva’s attempt at comradery. Her eyes narrow as she suddenly adopts a more serious tone.

Castalia: There’s no more time to talk. Talen needs your help, Taeyva.

Taeyva steps back.

Taeyva: What? What do you mean?

Castalia: Come on, I’ll explain on the way.

Castalia took the lead, sprinting down the empty halls of the fortress. Taeyva follows close behind, keeping her guard raised. She isn’t about to blindly trust Castalia. She’s another prophet, bound to the Daedric Lord Mephala. She’s dangerous, especially if her daedric soul survived.

As far as Taeyva is concerned, Castalia poses the greatest threat to everyone in this canyon. But she isn’t about express this in front of Carcette.

Castalia: He’s upstairs. Made a dangerous misassumption on his relationship with another daedra and-

Taeyva: Stop!

As soon as they round the corner, out of view of the two Vigilant, Taeyva skids to a halt. She immediately flares her fingers, drawing magical energy into them threateningly.

Castalia freezes. She cautiously turns her head, making visible effort to refrain from sudden movements.

Castalia: Okay… I know what’s going on…

Taeyva: Yeah. I figured. So let’s get to it. Your souls. I couldn’t have saved both; there wasn’t enough time to.

Taeyva: So which one survived? You appear mortal… But how can I be sure?

Castalia raises her hands in surrender and slowly turns to face Taeyva.

Castalia: Relax, okay? You can sense other daedra, always could. Focus on me. What do you sense?

Taeyva narrows her eyes. This could be a trick. She doesn’t need to know Castalia to understand she’s a liar. But that doesn’t matter. There is no way to disguise her daedric presence, even if she wanted to.

No. This is no trick.

Taeyva: You’re mortal…

There’s a faint flicker of recognition in Castalia’s eyes before they fall into a blank stare. She sighs deeply and slowly nods.

Castalia: Yes. My daedric soul is gone.

Castalia: I… I am powerless now.

As Castalia averts her gaze, Taeyva's shoulders sag. She's one of the only people in existence that can even come close to understanding how Castalia feels.

Taeyva: I’m so sorry… I can’t imagine.

Castalia sternly shakes her head. A faint smile forms in her eyes.

Castalia: Don’t be. I’ve wanted this for a long time.

Taeyva nods her head. She doesn’t need any explanation. Her life, as turbulent as it has been, has been easier than that of most prophets. She doesn’t want to even imagine the life Castalia has been put through. But even so, she cannot share in the wave of relief as Taeyva worries what this loss means for them going forward.

Taeyva: I understand. But… Your ability to see the weave?

Castalia: Don’t worry. I’ve memorized the important strands. I can explain more, but right now we have to move. Talen is seriously in trouble.

Taeyva huffs, agitated with the limited information, but nods in agreement.

Taeyva: Bring me to him.

* * *

Castalia: He’s in here.

Taeyva was led to the upper floor, to the room where she was first judged on whether she would be allowed to stay in the fort or not. How such a little amount of time can feel so dragged on.

Taeyva shoots Castalia a suspicious glare. Her apprehension of the now former prophet isn't going to be alleviated by one discussion.

However, the faint smell of blood and the lingering of daedric presence in the room prompts her to accept Castalia’s invitation.

Taeyva warily moves into the room, trying to decipher the daedric presence ahead of her. It’s faint, not even strong enough to be a lesser daedra. But it persists, as if whatever gives off this aura is still in the room.

Taeyva prepares her magic for whatever may be ahead of her. She dashes around the corner and gasps, her guard instantly dropping.

Taeyva: Oh no…

Taeyva: Talen!

Talen lays still on the ground, a pool of his own blood still collecting beneath him. Taeyva drops to her knees, igniting her hands in a restorative aura.

Taeyva: Okay okay okay… He seems to still be alive, but only barely… Blood from the wound there… in… his… chest…

Taeyva trails off as her attention falls to the gaping wound in Talen’s back. It is massive, gouging cleanly through his back and out his stomach. No one should survive a hit like this. Except everyone should.

Taeyva’s eyes widen. This is no ordinary wound. It’s the source of the daedric presence.

Taeyva halts her procedure and whips around to Castalia.

Taeyva: You still remember the weave then? So tell me, what happened to him?

Castalia crosses her arms.

Castalia: I told you earlier. He made a dangerous misassumption on his relationship with another daedra. Specifically? Sheogorath.

The daedric lord's name slips out apathetically calm. Taeyva wants to be dumbfounded but finds herself strangely composed. Recent events have numbed her to shocking news, and this only confirms a lot of her suspicions.

Taeyva: Why would Sheogorath do this to him?

Castalia: Don’t expect me to know any reasoning for that lunatic. Besides, the weave only shows the fates of mortal souls. No. Talen, foolishly, thought he had bargaining power with him. Tried to sway the battle outside.

Castalia: Needless to say, it backfired. If he wakes up, he’ll have some explaining to do for sure.

Taeyva scoffs, remembering Talen’s hesitation on the matter of removing her chains. That he would trust and meet with the most depraved and insane daedric lord, yet not stand by her…

Taeyva grinds her teeth, furiously summoning her restorative magic once again and recklessly pours it into Talen’s body.

The waves of healing energy flow from her fingers. The wound on Talen’s back slowly starts to seal. Blood levitates into the air, smoothly gliding back into his veins through the closing wound.

As the last crimson droplets flow into him, a gasp of breath does too as Talen suddenly leans up, eyes wide.

Talen: Ah! Wha…

They flutter about, blinking in confusion, before eventually finding Taeyva’s disapproving glare.

Talen: Taeyva? Did you-

Taeyva: Shut it.

Talen gulps apprehensively.

There’s a pause as Taeyva’s jaw shifts. Her thoughts are in roils as Talen lays there in pathetic silence. 

Taeyva: Sheogorath? Really? What is wrong with you? You would go to a daedra of insanity over me? I thought we were friends. I thought you would stand by me.

Talen: Taeyva, I-

Taeyva: I’m not finished.

Taeyva: I know you weren’t going to take my side back there. I heard the hesitation in your voice.

Taeyva huffs. Her frenzied thoughts settle as a sense of dejection starts to weigh on her.

Taeyva: I was never using you or anything. I needed the chains off, but… but I wasn’t using you to that end.

Taeyva breaths deeply, blinking to clear the wetness in her eyes.

Taeyva: I wish I did now.

She turns away, not bothering to give Talen a second glance.

Taeyva: Let’s go, Castalia. I’m sure there’s plenty more healing I need to do.

Castalia follows Taeyva out, leaving Talen in silence.

He doesn’t try to get out another word. He doesn’t even want to. Anything said would only make Taeyva angrier with him. If that’s even possible.

How could he be so stupid? After everything Taeyva did for him, he still let Sheogorath get inside his head and distort all of it. And for what? Is Talen this easy to fool? Sheogorath saves his life one time and he betrays his friends and everything he stood for. The bastard. Bastard! How could-

Talen winces as a sudden pain emanates from his stomach. He grimaces as he delicately tugs his shirt open, revealing a large, pulsing wound…

…that somehow avoided Taeyva’s magic.

The vivid green of Dayspring Canyon has been washed in red. It stains the earth in bitter memorial of the fragile victory.

Fitting for the unmarked graves that won’t be dug.

Flowers die under the crush of a corpse as the wounded relent and greet the dead. Dirt becomes mud as bodies pour out the last of their crimson life.

It is clear to the living that they cannot stay here. And it is clear to the dead that this will become their tomb.

The few survivors, clinging to whatever life they have remaining, encounter a shallow, familiar feeling. The joy of a worthless victory is fleeting.

To one survivor, there isn’t even that.

Torund: Hey.

The gruff greeting doesn’t shake Malkor from his empty stupor. He’s fought many battles in his life, all for selfish reasons. He remembers early on how it felt to put his life on the line to pursue twisted gains for his tormenting god. It was corrupt. And that was the thrill of it.

But that thrill dies quickly. After enough victories, the fear that the crimson droplets flying before him stem from his own veins vanishes. Rarely does a battle elicit a sense of unknown anymore. Malkor knows he will win, he always has.

Except this time. This time, weaponless, surrounded by ambivalent allies and implacable foes, he didn’t know. For the first time in years, there was genuine fear. But not for his own death.

Torund: Ignoring me, then? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. One battle won’t change you from the same vile bastard you’ve always been.

The fire in his words isn’t enough to melt Malkor’s cold shoulder. Despite the displayed disgust, Torund stomps over and plops himself onto an adjacent rock.

Torund: You’re such a fucking bother. We won, you lived, Taeyva definitely saved your girlfriend. So quit pouting already.

Malkor scoffs, indifferent to Torund’s goading. He doesn’t know what Torund’s goal of this is, and frankly doesn’t give a shit either. Despite his better judgement though, he lets himself give in.

Malkor: She’s not my girlfriend. Fuck off already.

After spitting out his retort he waits for Torund to jab back. Either with a dumb, barbaric insult or a literal jab with his fist. Instead, a halfhearted chuckle escapes the oaf.

Torund: Hehehe… Be glad you survived. I won’t let anyone but me kill you.

Malkor snorts, a response that he immediately regrets as a smile forms on his lips. He tries to force it away, but sighs. It’s not worth it.

Malkor: Not if I kill you first.

Torund shakes his head with a begrudging smile as the two drift into an awkward silence. They each reflect on the calmness of the battlefield, appreciating the morbid peace. It’s a dark familiarity. Perhaps the only thing they share. The twisted sense of comfort in loss has a powerful mending effect.

But not quite powerful enough to ease the tension between them.

Before either of them take the effort to leave first, two endearing figures pull them from their seats.

Torund: No way…

A dumbfounded smile stretches across Torund as he barrels over to Taeyva.

Torund: You did it! You got them off! Ah ha!

Taeyva giggles from Torund’s rare expression of giddy excitement.

Taeyva: Heehee, yep! I’m back and here to help heal who I can!

The two momentarily celebrate before rushing off to the wounded. Behind them, an opposite conversation takes place.

Malkor: Hey, Cass…

Castalia: Malkor.

Malkor clears his throat awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck.

Malkor: I… Um…

Castalia shakes her head with a long sigh.

Castalia: Let’s talk somewhere private.

* * *

Castalia led Malkor away from the battlefield with no intervention from him or the surviving soldiers. They stopped behind a large stone, away from where most of the carnage and bloodshed took place.

A heavy silence settled between them for a while. Castalia kept her gaze down, but her eyes weren’t heavy enough to keep her from looking up expectantly at Malkor.

She isn’t sure why she dragged him back here. He didn’t say a word the whole way. No insulting remark, no apology, not even a sigh. His silence persists even now, and Cass can’t decide what to think. It seems like he’s different. Sad. That’s an emotion that doesn’t normally stick to him. But sad is just so… unspecific.

That’s the thing about knowing all the answers. Nothing is genuine. Everything is a puzzle piece. She can’t see the weaves of his life anymore so all she can do is guess. Does this man… this specific Malkor… feel regret? Is this despair or guilt? Is he dejected just for himself or is there some sympathy for her too?

Her turmoiled thoughts tumble into a spin when Malkor suddenly sighs.

Malkor: So is this it? The outcome you wanted?

Cass swallows, trying to alleviate her mounting tensions.

Castalia: What do you mean?

Malkor gestures to the world around them.

Malkor: You know. Your whole weaves of life thing. Us almost getting killed, me dragging you here of all places. Did you plan all of this? Is it going how you wanted it to?

There’s accusation laced in Malkor’s tone, though Castalia can tell he is trying to hide it.

Castalia: The short answer is yes. I mean, obviously there were some obstacles and events beyond my control. It really was a gamble that I’d even end up alive right now. Or part of me is…

Castalia trails off at the thought of her missing soul. Despite everything that daedric soul represented, she can’t shake the longing for its return. There’s a void in her now that can never be refilled.

What hurts the most is that this is what she wanted. She could never admit it to Malkor, but everything has gone perfectly. There were never any obstacles and the things beyond her influence couldn’t matter less. Everything has led to the loss of her soul and, by design, the loss of her connection to Mephala.

But just as the void in her will never fill, never will the burning hatred she harbors inside.

Malkor doesn’t say a word, watching Castalia slip into her own thoughts.

Being with her again is so conflicting. She’s somehow both an omen to the twisted paths his life has led and a reminder of how different those paths could have been. The yearning for the childhood they shared feels as if he’s being drowned and Cass is the anchor tied around his waist. There’s nothing stopping him from cutting that rope, but what’s it like down below? Could the dark depths of the sea be somehow brighter than the night above? And when he hit the bottom, would he be alone, or would he see the rest of them? His life is not the only one Cass has tied her anchor to. As the world is swirling in chaos and bloodshed, she is the one standing in the hurricane's eye.

And she doesn’t care. At least, not about the seeds she has sewn or whether they will wilt or blossom. She already knows the fates she’s strung, and only bats an eye when those fates clash with her own self interests.

And that’s where the problem lies. There’s no person in the world who Malkor understands so well yet can never truly trust.

Malkor sighs, easing out of the tense silence.

Malkor: So you lost your daedric soul… You’re finally free from Mephala then?

Castalia sniffles as she raises her head.

Castalia: Yes. Without my powers I’m useless to her.

There’s a brief pause. Castalia watches Malkor anxiously as he huffs contemptuously. Suddenly his demeanor shifts as his brows folds over a suspicious glare.

Malkor: Then why am I here?

Castalia: Malkor, I-

Malkor swiftly dismisses her with a wave of his hand and interjects.

Malkor: I don’t just give up. It was stupid and foolish to bring you here, I very easily could have died. Everything I’ve worked for my entire life could have been lost because of an emotional, impulse decision.

Malkor: A decision you knew I’d make.

This time there’s no attempt to hide his accusation. Castalia sheepishly cradles herself against Malkor’s piercing glare.

Castalia: You know I can’t tell you.

Castalia chokes on her breath as she takes a shaky gulp.

Castalia: Everything is all so delicate… Your weave is just so… so fragile.

Her voice breaks and as she starts to sob. Collapsing onto the rock behind her, Castalia hides her face in shaking hands.

Castalia: I can’t do it… I can’t see the weave anymore and I don’t know how to save you. Every outcome I saw, you… you…

Her words break as she tumbles into a fit of tears. Trembling overtakes her as tears begin to trickle down her wrists. Malkor slowly takes a seat next to her.

Malkor: Cass… Listen, I-

Mike: Booyah!

Mike: Best throw of my life! And I got my axe back!

Davey: Yeeeeeaaah!

Malkor: Hey!

The two obnoxiously loud dawnguard stumble back at Malkor’s furious holler.

Malkor: What the fuck are you doing?

Mike and Davey share a guilty look.

Mike: Oops, sorry. We, uh, didn’t see you there.

Davey: Our bad. But believe me, you’d be excited to if you saw it happen.

The two hesitate to gauge the reaction, but Malkor’s livid aura never wavers. After a few agonizing moments, Davey awkwardly clears his throat.

Davey: So, uh, we’ll see you inside then.

Mike: Yep. Uh, bye.

Malkor led Castalia back to Fort Dawnguard. No further words were exchanged as Malkor dwelled the final ones she said. Her knowing all of his past and potential future is nothing new, but that doesn’t diminish it’s invasiveness. Nor does it lessen the foreboding.

Pressing her would be futile. That emotional breakdown is the closest Cass will ever get to revealing the fates she knows. No matter how uncertain someone’s fate may be, revealing it would only make things more chaotic. Unfortunately for Malkor, it seems uncertainty is the least of his problems.

Cass was convinced, or better yet, aware of a singular fate for him. Is it death? That would make sense. He’s surrounded by people who want to kill him, and Cass specifically said she couldn’t ‘save’ him. But that really could mean anything.

Muddled by his thoughts, Malkor doesn’t notice when he and Cass arrive at the gate. A gruff voice startles him to attention as he stares down the extended hand of a dawnguard gesturing towards the fort.

“You two have been requested inside.”

Dennis: Look, the fact of the matter is we cannot stay here. We barely managed to claim victory, and with the losses taken we won’t be able to claim another.

The dawnguard from the gate led Malkor and Castalia down the hall, into a firelit chamber. Inside voices were already clamoring. All of the leaders were sequestered on the center table. A couple of chairs were dragged to the table ends, though some of the leaders stayed standing despite the available seating.

As the two of them enter the room, Malkor locks eyes with Taeyva who is smiling warmly beside one of the dawnguard from earlier. As their eyes meet, her smile vanishes. Grim stares are held for a moment before Taeyva redirects a warm one to Castalia, who is fiddling with her hands in the doorway. She offers Castalia a faint smile and nods to the empty chair at the other end of the table.

With a shaky nod, Castalia skitters past Malkor to the seat. The room goes silent for the first time as all eyes turn to her. Malkor awkwardly clears his throat and jogs to keep up, attempting to offer some kind of support with his presence.

As Castalia takes her seat, the silence hangs. Malkor folds his arms together as he plants his feet behind her. He adopts his typical scowl and attempts to appear as imposing as possible. This was effective in the Cult of Boethiah, but here his aura seems to fizzle as soon as it escapes him.

Dennis: So as I was saying.

Malkor suppresses a relieved sigh Dennis finally breaks the tension. He hasn’t felt this uncomfortable in years.

Dennis: It’s clear we can’t defend this fortress. A canyon seems like a defensible position, but as it turns out it just leaves us cornered.

Isran responds with a relenting huff.

Isran: It’s painful to admit, but I agree. The problem is where do we go?

Wary looks are shared as no one attempts to make the first recommendation. Talen raises his hand, grabbing their attention and redirects it to his left.

Talen: We can’t gamble on a destination. Problem is, there’s no way we can avoid doing that. I think this is the ideal time to put some faith in a new ally.

There’s a soft creak as Castalia shrinks into her chair.

Talen: I know trusting her early on is a gamble too, but Taeyva said she knows about the future. She could provide the best outcome.

Before Castalia can respond, much to her relief, Carcette interjects.

Carcette: Look, I agreed to give her a chance, but this seems like too much of one. We’d essentially be trusting the entirety of our forces to her.

Celann: What do you think, Isran? Carcette does have a point.

Isran: She does. On the other hand, being able to make the best decision is invaluable. The question is, will we be making that decision based on trustworthy information?

Elisif: Well I see no harm in hearing what she has to say.

Tullius: Yes, please, Miss Castalia, what recommendation do you have to make?

The room goes silent yet again as all attention is given to Castalia. She calms her nerves with an exhale and gives a thankful nod to Elisif and Tullius.

Castalia: Look, I don’t expect you all to trust me. And Talen is right, this is a fine chance to put trust to the test. Because you only have one option anyway.

Castalia can feels the tension mounting in the room as the many skeptical faces threaten to break the silence.

Castalia: We need more allies, and we need a defendable fortress. That leaves one place. Windhelm.

It’s a fitting name for the daedric realm of Molag Bal. Coldharbour. Real hell isn’t hot, it’s freezing. Ice bites into your flesh and devours your energy as your body shivers for warmth. It is controlling and invasive, penetrating your skin and forcing desperation. Every tremble is a beg. A plea for a warmth that will never come.

Erinye has never gotten used to it.

Erinye: I wish I miss my mother.

Erinye ogles the table before her, twirling the soul gem in her hand, and remembers when Argus laid her atop it and brought her into this never ending nightmare. Three thousand, one hundred and thirty eight years. A prophet is born to fulfill a specific purpose, and that purpose was finished long ago.

Erinye: I remember when I did. That humanity is so easily taken for granted. Now I only remember how emotions feel. I can't tell if that's the same as having them.

There’s a soft groan as Argus returns to consciousness. Erinye carefully sets the soul gem onto the table.

Argus: Erinye? What’s going on?

Erinye sighs. The aggressiveness of it startles her. She’s supposed to be heartbroken, not livid.

Erinye: You fucked up. Damn it, Argus. You fucked up!

Erinye squeezes her eyes closed as her breathing starts to escalate. Argus doesn’t say a word, waiting patiently when he shouldn’t be. It’s obvious what is going on, so why isn’t he fighting back? He is always so resolute and calm. It’s infuriating.

And yet Erinye can’t be more grateful for it right now.

Erinye: You do know what’s happening, don’t you?

Erinye’s voice shakes. She doesn’t want to say it herself.

Argus nods with a forlorn stare.

Argus: I failed. And Bal has no patience for failure.

Erinye pulls away from the table. She steels herself with a deep breath and takes her position before him.

Erinye: I don’t want to do this.

Argus gazes up at her.

Argus: I know. But you have to do as he says, or he’ll never let you ascend. I’m happy to die if it gets you closer to that.

As a smile crosses Argus’s lips, Erinye’s daedric heart breaks.

Argus: Goodbye, Elizabeth.

To be continued…