The Temple of the Divines has been quiet since the departure of Olivia. It was usually bustling with activity during Olivia's attendance, the citizens of Solitude flocking to the doors like birds after a storm. Many claimed it was her eloquent sermons that kept them returning or her pious counsel to troubled souls. However, when her attendance ceased, so did that of the majority of Solitude. The most reverent citizens still made their regular bouts to the temple for worship, but it was left mostly desolate aside from Priest Rorlund and Priestess Freir.

Rorlund: We must be steadfast in our faith, my dear.

Rorlund: Receiving an answer in return is beyond rare. Even should it never come, we should consider ourselves lucky to have been in such service either way.

Freir: But don't you ever have doubts? Without a response, how can I ever be sure that I am on the right path?

Rorlund: You can be sure because you are on a path right now. No matter how lost you may feel, or how wrong things may seem, you have a destiny that has already been set in motion; and nothing can change that.

Rorlund: Live by the commandments and go by what Akatosh said. "Worship the Nine, do your duty, and heed the commands of the saints and priests".

Rorlund: Even should your world crumble around you, you can take solace in that the divines will always have a plan for you.

Freir furrows her brows turns her eyes to Rorlund. He had never been very good at consolation, always taking things one step too far. If only Olivia were here; she would know just what to say.

Freir: Um, okay, Rorlund. Thank you...

Rorlund smiles and rubs the back of his neck, feeling very spirited. The citizens of Solitude never ask him for aid, but Freir always thanks him for his. If he can keep this up, maybe he'll even surpass Olivia someday.

Rorlund: Ah, well, it's no trouble at all. You know, maybe we could head upstairs and... heheh...

Olivia: Rorlund. What are you doing?

At the sound of Olivia's voice, the two priests can not have more different reactions. Freir whips around in astonishment and can barely contain an excited squeal. Rorlund, on the other hand, creeps around slowly. With eyebrows raised high and teeth gritted, his expression is almost as rigid as the rest of his body.

Freir: You've returned!

Rorlund: Wha- You're back?

Olivia: Yes, I am. Rorlund, don't think I don't know what you're up to. I'll speak to you about Temple mannerisms later. I've had a long journey, and need rest.

Olivia: Until then, you will be in the lower floor, organizing the food stores.

Rorlund: But, they were just organiz-

Olivia: Rorlund.

Rorlund: Yes, ma'am...

Olivia swiftly turns on her heels, eager to return to her room and long awaited bed.

Olivia: And Freir, please continue with your normal duties.

Freir: Yes, Priestess!

Olivia marches back down the aisle without a second glance. Despite such a short reunion, Olivia has already had more than she can stifle from the two priests.

Freir has a good heart and a devoted mind, but expects too much. A day doesn't go by where she will not seek advice from Olivia, begging for advice on feeble transgressions or yearning for answers that can easily be found with additional research. If that isn't troubling enough, Rorlund often tries intervening with their private sessions, boasting about knowledge that Olivia has refuted countless times. She's lost track of how many people have come to her addled by Rorlund's horrendous advice. With each time she would have to invalidate his words and mend the damage done with advice of her own.

But Olivia can not think about them now, nor even wants to. She has more important things to focus on now.

The next, and final, dragonborn has awoken and been set on the path. After thousands of years since its creation, the Aedric Prophecy "Dragon" will finally begin.

When Olivia first discovered the prophecy, many of her colleagues in Cyrodiil were skeptical. It was one thing to find an Aedric Prophecy, but claiming the hypothesis that she did was an entirely different matter. The thing is, however, it was never Olivia's hypothesis to begin with. It was that of the one who actually found the Aedric Prophecy...

...and who gave her the Elder Scroll to begin with.

Olivia: You! Why are you here?

Castalia: I really cannot believe you gave that naive priest the responsibility of watching over this. Come on, do you not understand just what this scroll really is?

Olivia freezes. She never thought she would see this elf again.

Olivia: You need to leave. This is a holy place, not permitted to those who worship the Daedra.

Castalia sighs. She slides out of the chair, keeping hold of the scroll in her hands. The reflective golden casing glistens in the candlelight, reflecting arcs of red and blue over its surface.

Castalia: Sure about that? It was pretty easy to get in here. Maybe the divines don't really care or maybe they've already abandoned us. What do you think?

Olivia clenches her jaw. She should have known this elf would be back. No one hands over an Elder Scroll as willingly as she did without wanting something in return.

Olivia: What do you want?

Castalia: I want you to repay your end of the bargain. You owe me, Priestess. If not for me, you probably wouldn't even be called that.

Castalia: Oh, how the priests gasped when you pulled this out to show them, proclaiming "your" theory of the Great Dragon War and the end of time. Very well done, they ate it right up.

As much as Olivia deigned to admit it, Castalia was right. She had been trying for years to make it to the rank High Priestess, yet all the she did never amounted. Until she met Castalia that is.

It was in her bedroom in the White-Gold tower. Unlike the temple in Solitude, the White-Gold Tower was huge and had room for every occupant to have their own private quarters. Olivia was just returning from a service, and after climbing the hundreds of steps to her bedroom, she collapsed atop her bed as soon as she got through the door. It was a hard hit; the beds were low to the ground and piled with feathers that often tumbled out between the wooden frame. She used to have a pillow, but the stitching of the case was so poor that nothing was left inside, leaving it as only a decrepit cloth, its original color no longer visible under the multiple layers of dirt.

Still, it was home.

Yet that night, it did not quite seem so. The bookshelf still sat beside the door, packed so tightly that piles of bound leather and paper were beginning to form at its base. The small desk on the other side of the room from her bed was still a mess. Broken quills and ink splotches were strewn over its surface. The book "Ten Commands: The Nine Divines" was still left open to the page Olivia had left off. Scattered next to it was a pile of pages with copied text, written over with scribbles and dashes and ink spots. Behind the bed, sitting just beneath an open window, was Olivia's dining table. It was a deep brown, with scratches on the legs and a hole in the center that was just the right size for holding a soup bowl. Olivia never bothered to keep it organized, she enjoyed working on it as well as her desk; especially when eating. Yet that night, its contents had been thrown off. Pieces of paper were scattered over the floor with books having fallen behind. Even her bowl, thankfully empty, had toppled down.

If the table was cleared, Olivia would have assumed a breeze blew in from the window. But the table wasn't cleared. Resting ominously atop was a large, golden scroll, reflecting a white glow from the moon outside. Before Olivia could investigate, a voice called from the doorway, proclaiming to have an offer she could never refuse.

Olivia: I researched your claim for a year before I brought it before the council. The work was my own, you just brought it to my attention.

Castalia takes a few steps forward and then carefully lowers the scroll, resting it against the side of a table.

Castalia: Yes yes, you were a studious little girl. But listen...

Castalia's voice darkens.

Castalia: I'm going about this the nice way. I have more methods of getting information, and you will not like them. So return the favor and answer me this...

Castalia: Where did you send the Gerruck and Elyvaea?

Olivia gulps. How does she know about them already? Sure, it wouldn't be long before the whole of Nirn would learn about the Dragonborn's arrival, but so soon? Or is this for some other reason? Is it some weird coincidence?

Olivia: I don't kn-

Castalia: Save it, Priestess. I know he is the Dragonborn and I know you met with him. Look, I won't kill him. Believe it or not, you and I both want the same thing. And believe me when I tell you, Gerruck will not go forward with his destiny unless I intervene.

Olivia: And I'm supposed to believe you?

Castalia: I'd be surprised if you did. But you know Gerruck is being held back. He lacks the drive to carry out a great task. And I know just how to give it to him.

Castalia: So Olivia, tell me.

Castalia: Where are they?

The first thing Gerruck noticed was the cold. It wasn't that it made him shiver nor did it come as a surprise. He grew up with cold weather; sub freezing temperatures were pretty routine. But that is what made it odd. It did not make him shiver or jitter his teeth, but he could just barely feel the nip of the icy chill against his skin.

Elyvaea: So you really thought I'd think you're crazy?

Gerruck: Well, yeah... I start blabbering about magical wind flying out of a wall and you're supposed to believe that?

Two days have passed since their encounter with Olivia. The majority of that time was spent trekking across Skyrim, only ever making two stops along the way. One was the night prior, at the base of the Throat of the World, where they took a long deserved rest in the Vilemyr Inn before setting out again early morning. The other was before the journey even began. Elyvaea, who was quickly discovering the brunt of Skyrim's cold weather, insisted on adequately preparing for the journey ahead. She scurried off so quickly it took Gerruck nearly a half hour of searching only to find her curled up by the fire inside of the Riverwood trader.

Elyvaea: Yes, I am. I'll always believe you. It's the reason I'm trudging through this cold right now after all.

Gerruck smiles.

Gerruck: Haha, you're right, I shouldn't have doubted you.

Gerruck: Speaking of this cold, I have to admit I prefer your original attire.

Elyvaea cocks her head and purses her lips.

Elyvaea: Well I am not trying to die of frostbite unlike someone I know. I mean really, it's well below freezing and you haven't so much as shown a goose bump.

Gerruck: I'm a nord! I will admit there is more of a chill up here, but resisting this kind of temperature is in my blood and all Nords as well.

Elyvaea shakes her with with a smirk.

Elyvaea: You're crazy.

Gerruck: Probably, yeah. But hey, look!

Gerruck: We're here.

Gerruck makes it to the top of the stairs and stops. It is right there, High Hrothgar. All he has to do is walk up one more flight of stairs and every childhood story will no longer be a fairy tale. The stories of Tiber Septim, Ysgramor, Hakon One-Eye, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Felldir the Old, Olaf One-Eye, Jurgen Windcaller, and every hero Gerruck has ever known will disappear into reality. His own reality. Will he go down in history as a Hero of Old? Or will he fail and disappear from time, only to be remembered by the dead? These are the questions that plague Gerruck's mind as he stands at the base of High Hrothgar. He places his hand on the back of his neck and suddenly feels a chill; it's very cold.

Gerruck: I don't know if I can do this...

He nearly jumps at the touch of a surprisingly warm hand on his shoulder.

Elyvaea: Yes you can, Gerruck. Come on, I'm right here with you.

His fingers warm as they are enveloped by Elyvaea's. With a careful tug, she takes the lead, pulling him along. One step at a time, they climb to the entrance of High Hrothgar. With each one, Gerruck's breathing steadies until he is suddenly at the top, staring face to face with a large, bronze door.

Elyvaea: Go ahead, Gerruck.

Elyvaea: It's time.

Gerruck takes a deep breath...

Gerruck: You're right.

...and opens the door.

Gerruck: Woah...

Gerruck and Elyvaea enter the temple. The large, metal doors slid shut behind them, sealing away the bitter chill from the outside with a loud gong. As Gerruck peers across his new surroundings, his jaw drops.

The temple was surprisingly warm. Multiple candles flicker throughout the room and a large fire blazes beneath two massive banners hanging from the ceiling above. Sunlight pours in from a skylight opening in the roof, small white twinkles occasionally fluttering down with it.

Sitting beneath the ray of light is a man. He wears a long, dark grey robe that somehow shined in the white light. Gerruck does not have to guess who it is.

Gerruck: A Greybeard...

Elyvaea removes her hood and shakes off a final chill.

Elyvaea: Not quite what I was expecting...

Gerruck can barely keep himself from smiling. Whatever trepidation he felt before disappears as he gazes at the man before him.

Gerruck: He's just how the tales describe!

With hesitancy, Gerruck raises his arm.

Gerruck: Uh, excuse me. Mr. uh... Greybeard?

He wasn't sure quite what he expected, but as the Greybeard stirs, Gerruck flinches.

Arngier: So...

Arngier: A dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age.

Gerruck: Um, yes, sir.

Elyvaea: Confidence, Gerruck. You can do this.

Arngier: Call me Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards.

Arngier: Come, dragonborn. My brothers and I wish to speak with you.

Gerrucks takes a deep breath. This is it. He turns to Elyvaea, his eyes strained and brows scrunched. She nods and returns a confident smile.

Elyvaea: Do it.

Gerruck lets out a breath and nods. He turns to Arngeir; as he proceeds forward, he notices three robed men enter the room and march in tandem with him.

Gerruck stops opposite of Arngeir, dumbfounded. All four Greybeards, right here. He is so distracted be barely notices Arngeir speak.

Arngier: ...and welcome to High Hrothgar.

Elyvaea leans against the wall and watches from further back. This is a big moment for Gerruck, and in turn for her as well. She isn't quite the nervous wreck however, as in her eyes the four men before her are nothing more than reclusive hermits. As she watches Gerruck stand stiff as a board in front of her, transfixed by the heroes in front of him, she knows he thinks of them as much more.

It is rare to see him like this. Gerruck can be quite the vainglorious nord, and the only person Elyvaea has ever seen him admit to being inferior to is herself; and even then it's only to archery. For him to humble himself before anyone is a shock at the very least, but it is something to admire. If the Greybeards are such people, then it is her privilege to listen to them. But also because she is sure Gerruck is missing the majority of the words they are saying to him.

Arngier: You undoubtedly have many questions, so I would like to assure you that they will all be answered in time.

Arngier: You have a great destiny, but it is not one that will come easily.

Arngier: We are here to prepare you.

Arngeir finishes and Gerruck is silent for a moment. He does have a lot of questions, but isn't sure which ones he can ask. Every muscle in his body screams for him to beg for the answer to his destiny, but his gut tells him that information will be withheld. Instead, he decides to test the waters with a simple question, but one that he revels in the most.

Gerruck: Will you teach me to shout? Like the Ancient Heroes?

It felt like a silly question. What kind of dragonborn doesn't learn how to shout? Well, there was Tiber Septim... But that has to be an exception. Right?

Argneir takes a deep breath and turns toward his brothers, each of whom return a solemn nod. Turning back to Gerruck, Arngeir replies with a word that makes Gerruck's heart plummet.

Arngier: No.

Arngier: You will not learn The Voice.

Gerruck: What? W-why?

Arngier: You're destiny is much different from the Dragonborn before you. You will fulfill the role as champion of the Nine, not as a slayer of dragons.

Arngier: We will guide you towards that role, Dragonborn.

Gerruck smiles and he feels his heart lift. He should not have been upset. To be the Dovahkiin is a great honor in and of itself, whether he can shout or not.

Arngier: A war on a planetary scale is about to begin, and the Nine have chosen you to lead their charge. Will you accept this role? Are you ready?

Gerruck: I am ready, Master Arngeir!

Arngier: We shall see...

Taeyva: Come, my hounds, burn the glass. Before the eye, only red will pass.

Taeyva: Sorrowful seas, massacre the slow; down the moon their blood will flow.

Vampire: Will you fucking shut up?

Vampire: I don't know what type of voodoo crap you're trying to pull, but after two days of it don't you think it isn't working?

It isn't voodoo or an incantation that Taeyva chants, or even a spell for that matter; much less "voodoo crap". It is just an old rhythmic she learned shorty after entering servitude to Hircine. Of course, she wants it to have some effect on the staunch vampire who has adamantly guarded her cell the past couple days. He hasn't so much as left to take a piss since he first returned to the post.

Every time Taeyva accidentally glances at back of his mangled, tar colored head she grimaces. It isn't because of his appearance or voice, the oaf rarely spoke, but the when he did it was either to ridicule or retort. At first, the two swallowed one another's presence like vile phlegm. Their distaste with one another hung in the air like a foul stench. After a few hours of this, the vampire thought he'd have some fun and gave Taeyva her first meal. He picked up a cracked brown bowl from the dining table and sauntered over to her cell with a smug grin. When he reached the cage he wobbled the bowl in his hand and, with a condescending voice, taunted "Hungry, girl? Wanna eat? Sit... Sit... Speak!"

Of course, this only made Taeyva grimace, but her blatant discomfort only provoked the ridicule further. The vampire sneered and laughed, with a twinkle in his eye he bellowed "Bad dog!" and hurled the bowl into the cell. It tipped over in the air and splattered its contents all over the rusted floor and Taeyva herself. She still occasionally finds speckles of the gooey, crimson liquid crusted in her hair.

Taeyva's stomach growls as she looks over at the red stain on the cell floor. Chunks of raw meat, which she can only assume is human flesh, is scattered atop and quickly kills her appetite. She hasn't eaten in days, but a growling stomach won't keep her from pestering the vampire further.

Taeyva: Come, my hounds, burn the gla-

The vampire slams his fist on the cage and whips around.

Vampire: Shut up!

Vampire: How can you possibly say that for two days straight?

Vampire: It doesn't even make sense, you idiot! You can't burn glass! The moon can't bleed!

Vampire: And killing slow things? What's the point of that?

Taeyva: Woah, buddy, you need to calm down.

Vampire: Fuck off! No, I am not going t- ack!

The vampire's bawling cuts off, as well as his spewing saliva. Taeyva doesn't even get the chance to finish rolling her eyes as they widen instead along with her jaw.

Vampire: Wha-What th-

The vampire sputters. Blood spews from his neck and dribbles from his lips as he speaks. His hands fly to his neck at the sudden pain only to find the long shaft of an arrow jutting out.

Vampire: How did y-

He is cut off by a final cough, blood and spittle flies from his mouth and spatters on the stones below him. Aghast, he glares one last time at Taeyva before collapsing lifelessly against the ground.

Taeyva stares at the corpse beside her, speechless. She does not recognize the arrow. It is a deep, blueish grey and looks to be made out of the chitin of chaurus. The feathers along its rear aren't even feathers at all, but rather thin layers of insect appendages.

Taeyva: What in the world...

She turns to where the arrow came from and gasps. She was hoping she wouldn't run into these things.

But it seems they ran into her...

The falmer hiss and screech, brandishing their weapons and flexing their magic. The remaining vampires and thralls in the cave draw their weapons and match the falmer with taunts and shouts.

Vampire: Haha! The prey is here!

Vampire: Mmmmm, I await your blood!

Vampire Thrall: I-I'll kill you!

Both forces continue to provoke one another, neither one initiating the fight. With each one's attention taken, Taeyva carefully slides to the side of her cell where her previous guard now lay dead. He has to have the key on him, this may be her only chance to escape.

Taeyva: Just be distracted for one second...

As if one queue, the fwip of a bow cuts through the air. Taeyva doesn't notice which side it came from, but doesn't care. As the room explodes into a fight, she knows her time is ticking.

Isabel: What is going on out here? What the...

Isabel: Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Isabel snarls at the scene before her. Of all times, why did there have to be a fight now? She flicks her wrists, summoning tendrils of flames that arc across her palms.

Isabel: Let's make this fast.

Back at the cell, Taeyva finally manages to find the key to the lock which was stuffed deep into the vampire's boot.

Taeyva: Found it!

She is one her feet in an instant and already has the key jiggling inside the lock before Isabel can make it down the ramp behind her. With a loud click, the lock snaps open and tumbles from the cage door.

Taeyva: Let's get out of he-

Taeyva: Woah!

An arrow flies through the air and snaps against the stone wall behind her. The room had turned into a full fledged battleground, and Taeyva doesn't want to stay here any longer. But she can't leave yet, not alone.

Spinning on her heels, Taeyva turns away from the carnage and the only way out.

She dashes around the stone pillar behind her cage to the other side of the ramp. Sucking in a breath, Taeyva sprints forward leaps upwards to the platform. Her fingers barely reach the edge, and her grip nearly fails as her body swings forward.

Taeyva: Hang tight, Talen.

Taeyva: I'm getting you out of here.

With a couple of heaves, Taeyva manages to pull her body over the edge. She slides onto the wooden floor, arms already sore.

Taeyva: I seriously need some upper body strength.

With a grunt, she forces herself to her feet. Ignoring the fight emanating behind her, she rushes further into the cave.

Taeyva finds herself in a small room. A few bookshelves line the walls and an alchemy table sits on the floor on the opposite end. It is a mess. Multiple vials and ingredients are strewn over its surface and the mixing bowl in the center is filled to the brim with a deep red goop. Taeyva does not even want to guess what it is, but also does not have the time. Her eyes rapidly dart from wall to wall. They quickly come to Talen, who sits silently against the wall with his arms bound tightly over his head.

Taeyva: Talen!

Taeyva drops the ground, sliding over to her unconscious ally.

Taeyva: Hey! Wake up! We have to leave, now!

Talen grunts and raises his brows. It takes a moment for him to open his eyes, groggily and unfocused.

Talen: Huh? T-Taeyva?

Talen: How did you...

Taeyva: There's no time. The vampires will kill off the falmer very soon. We won't get another chance to leave.

Taeyva: Here. Let me untie those binds.

Taeyva takes a closer look and notices a red hue spreading across the ropes along with a long gash across Talen's wrist. She shouldn't mention it; it would only cause Talen to panic. Yet as Taeyva places her hands on the binds, he does so anyway, yanking back his hands and causing her to do the same.

Talen: No! Don't untie me!

Taeyva: Excuse me? I'm trying to save your ass here!

Talen breathes angrily for a few seconds before unclenching his eyebrows and turning away.

Talen: I-I'm sorry... But I can't leave.

Taeyva's lips curl. He did not just say that.

Taeyva: What did you just say?

Talen: Look, I-I...

Talen: I can't lose her again.

Taeyva sighs. This is going to be harder than she thought.

Taeyva: Talen, I'm risking my life to get you out of here. You're coming with me, whether you like it or not.

She leans in again to untie the ropes. But before she can get close, Talen screams out.

Talen: I said no!

Taeyva: Talen...

Talen shrinks back, his eyes wide with shock. He shakes his head and averts his eyes; forlorn, he stares at the cold stones below him.

Talen: You don't get it. She is all I've thought of for five years.

Talen: And now... with her finally back...

Talen: The thought of repeating these last five years... Please, Taeyva, just go. You can never understand how I feel.

Taeyva crosses her arms and sits back, eyes strained. She is never sympathetic; even priding herself on the fact. Yet as she watches Talen sit there, his eyes beginning to well with tears, she actually feels a pang in her heart.

She can't get him out of here. Dragging him away from here will only pull him further into despair. But she isn't going to leave him without hope.

With a sigh, Taeyva stands to her feet.

Talen: Wh-what are you doing?

Taeyva: You're right, I don't understand what you're going through.

Taeyva: But I do know what it feels like to be lost.

Taeyva walks over to one of the shelves. An iron dagger sits expectantly atop of it. Taeyva picks it up carefully.

Taeyva: You feel trapped. Like there's nowhere left in life to go.

Taeyva: You're afraid to move on because you feel like you've failed.

Taeyva: But listen...

Taeyva: To fail means to try.

Taeyva: And you tried. You tried harder than anyone I've ever met.

Taeyva: But now it's time to move on.

Taeyva slides the dagger handle into Talen's palm. She holds it there, staring into Talen as he stares back. A few tears cascade down his cheeks and he wraps his fingers tightly around.

Taeyva: Sometimes all you need is a way to go.

Taeyva turns to leave but stops. She sucks in a breath and turns to Talen one last time.

Taeyva: That woman, Isabel, is not your wife.

Taeyva: Your wife is the woman you remember. For her sake, I hope you make the right choice.

She waits for a response but it doesn't come. With a solemn nod, Taeyva turns away and runs out of the room.

Isabel: How many of you are there?

In the center room, the battle continues to rage on. Isabel has watched some of her coven fall, but fortunately even more of the falmer. Yet the more elves that die, the more that seem to appear. If that isn't bad enough, she was beginning to tire and her own fire magic is starting to wound herself. Her vampire blood leaves her susceptible to the embers bouncing out of her palms, but frost magic would have little effect on the corrupted snow elves.

Isabel: Why are these damn vermin even here?

At the same time, Taeyva sprints from the back room and is relieved to see the fight still going on. Without wasting a beat, she flings herself over the railing and down onto the battlefield below.

The path out winds down the cave on the other side of the room. Standing between it and her, the battle persists. If she is getting out, through it is the only way.

Channeling all the courage she can muster, Taeyva takes a deep breath and charges into the heart of the fight.

Isabel: Die already, damn it!

As Isabel scorches the foes in front of her, she catches a glimpse of Taeyva fleeing.

Isabel: So she made it out, huh? It doesn't matter.

Isabel turns back to her opponents and smiles.

Isabel: All I need is Talen.

Taeyva flees through caverns and tunnels, the clang of metal and bursts of magic receding with every step. The corpses of vampires and thralls litter the ground, shrinking in number the further away she runs. At last, she reaches a tall room with a ramp circling up the walls. She reaches the top in an instant and nearly cries at the sight of light ahead.

Taeyva: I made it.

The sunlight burns her eyes, but she forces them open. The closer she gets, the more the light envelops her. She starts to squint and her eyes nearly close. As she exits into the outdoors, the brightness stings her eyes the strongest yet she finds them flying wide open.

Voice: Taeyva...

Voice: It's been a while.

Malkor: I think we have some catching up to do.