Three days earlier...

Taeyva: Malkor, wait!

Taeyva's arm shakes, but not from the cold. It has been five years since she last saw the man before her, and back then he swore to kill her on their next encounter. As she glances skittishly at his extended blade and the elves around him, she fears that promise will soon be fulfilled.

Malkor: Wait? For what, exactly?

Malkor: For you to summon more spriggans? For you to kill my people once more?

Malkor drops his arm and glowers.

Malkor: I gave you a chance five years ago; spared your life. You repay it by butchering my followers.

Taeyva gulps. So he did return to the Sacellum; no doubt discovering the remains of her handiwork. It won't be easy to explain her way out of it.

Taeyva: I had no choice, okay? I was actually trying to help you.

Malkor scoffs.

Malkor: Oh, I know all about you and Hircine's plan.

Malkor: You see Molag Bal as the strongest contender, and think that by helping Boethiah, I will help you.

Malkor: But you cannot deceive the deceiver. Once Bal is out of the way, Hircine will turn on me and take Nirn for himself, right?

Taeyva: Hircine doesn't want Nirn for him, he wants it to remain. The balance of life must go on, The Hunt must go on.

Taeyva: Boethiah, Molag Bal, Mephala, and every other prince only wants to transform the world into their own twisted realm.

Taeyva: How can you possibly want that?

Malkor rolls his eyes, raising his sword once more.

Malkor: Because in that world I would rule.

Taeyva sighs. She did not expect to convince Malkor to take her side, but she was hoping he'd at least spare her life. She looks up to the sky. Snow flurries continue to descend from the bleak grey above.

She has been trying to get help for two days inside that cave and nothing heard her; but now that she is outside...

Closing her eyes, Taeyva extends her arms and chants the call for what she hopes won't be the final time.

Taeyva: Come, my hounds, burn the glass.

Malkor lowers his sword.

Malkor: What are you doing?

Taeyva can no longer hear him. As she continues to chant, the marsh opens before her like a book; the heartbeat of every nearby beast loyal to Hircine pulses in her ears.

Taeyva: Before the eye, only red will pass.

She can sense them all; the fish, the crabs, foxes and rabbits. But none of those are going to be able to help her, no. Taeyva needs Hircine's most fierce and numerous hunters; wolves. She singles out the hearts of the hounds, calling for their aid. The more she calls for, the louder the beating becomes and the less of the world she hears...

Taeyva: Sorrowful seas, massacre the slow.

...until the thrumming of hearts boom in her ears like a percussion of drummers.

Taeyva: Down the moon their blood will...

Her eyes fly open and the pounding in her ears ceases. Every wolf within a hundred yards heard her call, and every one of them answered.

Taeyva: ...flow!

Malkor frantically scans his surroundings; the soft billowing of wind is replaced by the ferocious resonance of growls. A small pack of wolves slowly stalk his surroundings, their snouts tucked low and their beading eyes transfixed at their prey. There aren't many for now, but Malkor knows what Taeyva is capable of. If he doesn't dispatch this group soon, he'll be overwhelmed.

Malkor: Incoming!

As if on queue, the hounds lurch into their attack, descending rapidly on Malkor and his falmer.

Knowing full well that this a distraction, Malkor dares not turn away from Taeyva; yet the wolves leave him no choice. Malkor snarls as a vicious barking forces him to face the threat; catching Taeyva smile smugly at him as he does.

Malkor: Stupid mutt!

The wolf shrieks as Malkor's blade slices its throat. It tumbles to the snow, whimpering.

Malkor: Damn it...

He doesn't give the wolf a second glance and looks ahead to see Taeyva dashing away, somehow keeping pace with three wolves sprinting alongside her.

Malkor: Don't let her get away!

Up ahead, three wolves conjoin around Taeyva. She immediately recognizes them as the Alphas as they run alongside her, awaiting commands. Though she has never met them face to face before, Taeyva recognizes each of them by name. She turns to the larger one on her left, Sonne; the Alpha of the largest pack in Hjaalmarch.

Taeyva: Gather your pack and patrol the perimeter of the Marsh. Malkor has an army that he will surely call for, keep an eye on them, but do not engage unless necessary. Go!

Sonne barks in understanding and pulls off. Taeyva turns to the wolf on her right, Himmel. As the Alpha of a pack from the Pale, Taeyva is surprised she made it; but doesn't bother questioning it.

Taeyva: Himmel, keep the falmer already here occupied. Threaten them, intimidate them, do anything you have to, but don't fight.

Taeyva: I don't want any of you dying. It's not worth it, okay? Now go!

As Himmel sprints ahead, Taeyva looks to the final Alpha remaining: Mond.

Taeyva: Mond, you're with me. That's your pack fighting Malkor back there; they've done enough. Protect me until we're out of the swamp, let's move!

Malkor: Go after her, but don't engage.

Malkor: Send your elves to force her past the altar, where I'll be waiting. And if any of you run into a wolf, kill it.

Malkor: That will break her.

The marsh erupts with the ringing of battle. Falmer hiss and screech as they spew bolts of lightning from their palms and hack and slash with their weapons. Wolves continue to pour into battle pack by pack, overwhelming the falmer. Yet their numbers only add to the whimpers and whelps echoing across the snow as they fall dead one by one.

Taeyva sprints through the carnage, Mond by her side, mustering all her willpower to put the cries of her companions behind her.

Taeyva: Come on, Mond!

She rushes down the hill to the river below. A single falmer stands at the other end, reaching for its sword.

Taeyva: Heh, that's not gonna work.

Taeyva knows all about this hunting technique. Send a few members of the pack ahead to intercept the prey and they can control where the prey flees. But Malkor has the situation all wrong. Taeyva isn't the prey here...

...the Falmer are.

With its attention set on Taeyva, the snow elf doesn't even get the chance to scream as members of Mond's pack pounce; tearing into it's throat. Taeyva and Mond don't miss a beat, plunging into the frigid water and clambering over onto the other side of the shore.

She allows herself to feel a tinge of hope as they make it past. All she has to do is plow through the falmer Malkor sent to intercept her, and she'd be free.

She and Mond splash through the marsh, the sounds of battle dying away with each step.

Mond suddenly stops, baring his fangs and letting out a menacing snarl. Taeyva slides to a halt, unaware of what Mond could be sensing. Now, without the pounding of her footsteps or the splash of water, a strange sound resounds ahead of her. A series of sequenced ticks and clicks echo from the hill above them. An occasional gush or hiss fills the air, a blast of steam rising up shortly after it.

She has never heard anything like it. Her eyes grow wide as the sound's makers trudge up the hill and into view; she has never seen anything like it either.

Taeyva: What in the...

Massive metal machines trudge through the snow, their bodies ticking and whirring. Some appear vaguely humanoid, with old, withered faces like that of an elder. Yet their bodies are made entirely of golden metal, rusted, dented, and scratched. The others are metal beasts themselves. Gusts of steam hiss from vents in their limbs and bodies, blasting falling snowflakes and subliming them directly into steam.

She and Mond cannot fight their way through this. Most of her wolves are already occupied with the falmer too. They could turn back, but that would only pin them between these machines and Malkor's elves. There has to be a-

Taeyva's frantic thoughts cut off at a loud howl. She turns to see a massive pack of wolves storming from the other side of the hill...

...with Sonne leading the charge.

Relief fills Taeyva, but it doesn't last long. Attacking these machines means certain death for Sonne and his pack. She can't let this happen. But she also can't do anything to stop it.

Sonne's pack rush in to attack, taking the machines off guard.

They manage to knock over some the humanoid ones, but the larger beasts appear completely unphased by whatever bites or scratches the wolves attempt.

Taeyva watches with dread as wolves begin to fall; her eyes fill with tears. Mond nudges her with his snout, urging her to take the chance and flee. Wiping her eyes, she nods and dashes from the battle. It was Sonne's decision to attack, she won't let it end in vain.

Squeezing her eyes shut to the carnage, Taeyva sprints through the marsh, using Mond's presence to guide her. They run for what seems like an hour until they are either too far to hear the battle or it has come to an end.

Taeyva dares open her eyes again to find them much further in the marsh than she thought.

A single falmer clambers towards them up ahead; probably another one of Malkor's interceptors.

Taeyva: Mond, grab its attention. When I say so, move out of the way.

Mond barks and dashes at the falmer.

He drops low and snarls, intimidating the falmer to a halt.

Taeyva is confident that Mond could kill it with ease, but refuses to take the risk. Enough of her friends have died today.

Taeyva: Alright, Mond...

Taeyva focuses magic in her hands. She has no knowledge of offensive spells, but is more than adept at healing and restoration. Putting enough power behind a healing spell and focusing it into a tiny point turns any common restorative effect into a destructive one. She hasn't tried overloading a healing spell for years, not since being abducted by the vigil, as casting magic in general leaves her completely drained. But now isn't the time to worry about that.

Taeyva: Now!

Taeyva unleashes the spell right below the falmer's feet.

Mond dashes just out of range of the effect as his opponent is sent skyward. Taeyva's legs begin to shake before the falmer can even descend. Her vision growing blurred, she falls to her knees, her lungs begging for air.

Taeyva: D...damn it... Fucking... Vigil...

Mond trudges over and pokes her head with his snout.

Taeyva: Ha... Nice work, Mond. Help me up?

Silently, Mond turns to the side and holds still as Taeyva wraps her fingers around his soft pelt.

With a single tug, she pulls herself back to her feet. Her knees wobble and she nearly tumbles back down but Mond stands firm, letting Taeyva put her full weight on him.

Taeyva: Whew. Thank you, Mond. When we get out of here I'll cook you a meal myself, how does that sound?

Mond wags his tail and hangs out his tongue, panting. Taeyva ruffles his ears and wraps her arm over the scruff of his neck.

Taeyva: Shouldn't be far now. We've made it really far, I doubt-

Taeyva stops as Mond shakes off her arm and growls.

Taeyva: What is it, Mond? Falmer?

Malkor: Close.

Taeyva freezes; her body rigid with fear. How did he find her? There's no way...

Taeyva: No...

Malkor: Yes. You really didn't think you could outsmart me, did you? Hmmph. Fire.

Four fwips of a bow sound simultaneously as the arrows release. Taeyva shrieks and raises her arms as a shield.

She squeezes shut her eyes, waiting for the hit. Her teeth clench at the thumps of the arrows impact, but the pain never comes.

Suddenly her body is knocked back. Taeyva falls onto the snow, cracking her back against the tree behind her. A heavy weight hangs over her lap, yet when she opens her eyes, the heaviest feeling is in her heart.

Taeyva: No... Mond... No. No. No! Mond! No!

Mond lays lifelessly atop her body, pinning her to the ground. Taeyva tries to feel for a pulse or a breath, anything, but it doesn't come. Tears begin to build up and a single drop slides down her cheek.

Taeyva: I'm so sorry...

Malkor: Tsk. Pitiful.

Malkor's scoff yanks Taeyva back to reality.

Malkor: Is this really the best you can do?

Malkor: The great Taeyva! Witch of Hircine! Leader of the Glenmoril Wyrd!

Malkor: Dead in the Drajkmyr Marsh.

Taeyva's chest starts to feel tight, the air around her thinning. There aren't any wolves nearby and even if she wanted to call them, Malkor wouldn't give her the chance. She looks down at Mond, dead on her lap, and sighs. A life given for naught.

Malkor: How far you've fallen. You used to have an entire coven behind you, hundreds of warriors who'd die for you. Now? Some wolves.

Malkor: I don't know what Hircine sees in you. You're no leader, no hero.

Malkor: You are alone, Taeyva.

Malkor: You have no friends, no followers, no one to lead.

Malkor sighs.

Malkor: I gave you a chance, Taeyva. Five years ago, I gave you a chance.

Malkor's fingers coil around the handle of his sword.

Malkor: I'm ashamed you blew it.

Malkor: Any last- what the?

Malkor cuts off, his attention taken by the falmer soaring through the air beside him. It crashes into the snow with a moan, dead upon impact. Malkor immediately spins around to see the other three falmer laying dead on the snow as well.

Malkor: What? How could...

He continues to turn until his eyes fall upon the culprit and his jaw drops.

Malkor: No...

Malkor: Not possible...

Malkor: You're supposed to be...

Werewolf: Hrrrr! ROOOAAAWWWW!

Malkor grits his teeth as the werewolf roars. His brows furrow as he matches the beasts glare. Deep orange eyes peer into his, a glare of pure hatred. Malkor expects nothing less from this wolf, this man, as he feels mutual. Underneath that skin is the only man who has ever bested Malkor in combat. It was a fight that haunts him to this day, one he would give anything to have again. But now is not the time, not with the dragon break so soon.

Malkor: Don't move! You know just as well as I do that your victory was luck. You don't want to risk losing here and neither do I.

Keeping his sword raised, Malkor carefully begins to move away, growing more and more on edge with each precautionary step.

Malkor: Take her and go. Follow me and you die.

The werewolf ceases its roar, instead letting out a low growl. It bares its fangs and barks one last time at Malkor before turning to Taeyva. With its attention gone, Malkor turns and flees.

Malkor: Damn it.

Neither Taeyva nor the werewolf make a move, staring at one another in speechless awe.

Taeyva will recognize this werewolf anywhere, even after all the years it has been since their first, and only, encounter.

Taeyva: It's you...

Taeyva: You saved me... Again.

Present Day...

The ground remains awash by snow, glistening under the light of the sun. The once grey sky, consumed by crying clouds, has vanished; an unfamiliar blue dawning in its place.

Malkor rests his shoulder against a large stone pillar, one of the many surrounding a large, circular altar deep in the Drajkmyr Marsh. Taeyva's escape gnawed as him the past few days, but the sight of sun this morning brought a much needed respite.

He traces his eyes over the altar, marveling the runes and basking in the magical aura emanating from them. It is the perfect place to perform such a powerful spell.

Resting against the altar's stone steps is Jarl Idgrod, her breathing slow and steady. She has been sleeping through a nightmare the last few days, one she will soon yearn to return to...

...as the real one is yet to begin.

Jarl Idgrod takes a deep breath as her eyes slowly flutter open.

Jarl Idgrod: What... Where... How am I-

Malkor: Alive?

Jarl Idgrod gasps. Her lower lip quivers and she kicks against the snow, shirking away from the men she swore killed her.

Jarl Idgrod: You killed me... I felt it. My throat.

Malkor smiles.

Malkor: I'm glad to hear you think that. The greater the deception the more effective the spell will be.

Her brows clench and furrow. What is he talking about?

Malkor stops and gestures behind her before she can ask, his lips curling into a lustful grin.

Malkor: The spell also requires sacrifice. Behold.

Jarl Idgrod turns to face the altar and her heart plummets.

Jarl Idgrod: No...

Idgrod The Younger: Mother...

Aslfur: Love, I'm sorry.

The feeling of dread and despair is quickly replaced by that of loathing and scorn. Jarl Idgrod turns to Malkor, glowering.

Jarl Idgrod: You bastard! You gave me your word.

Malkor's grin widens.

Malkor: I also made you believe you were dead.

With a shrug, Malkor turns away from the Jarl and to his falmer, their blades waiting anxiously in their hands.

Malkor: Kill them.

Aslfur: Goodbye...

Idgrod The Younger: Mother! Please!

What little complacency Jarl Idgrod had is yanked away as the flamer draw back their weapons. Her thoughts go into a frenzy and she dives forward in a panic.

Jarl Idgrod: No!

She can do nothing but watch as the flamer's blades descend on her husband and daughter. Her heart begs her to turn away, but her body feels frozen. She can feel a tear tumble down her cheek, her eyes filling with dread.

The next thing she sees are the white clouds of the sky.

Malkor: They aren't the sacrifice...

A sharp pain in her back shoots pain into every nerve in her body. She swears she screams but hears no sound.

Malkor: You are.

Every sense is masked by the pain in Jarl Idgrod's back. The world around her begins to fade into a blur. She doesn't remember falling but feels her chin thud against the stone altar.

Malkor: You see them? Look.

It takes every ounce of energy left for her to lift her head, regretting it immediately.

Malkor: That's your family. Dead.

Malkor twirls his fingers, summoning pink, magical arcs that slither around them.

Malkor: Now look again.

Jarl Idgrod cranes her head once again, her eyes clouded by tears. She doesn't know what game Malkor is playing, but looks none-the-less. A deranged mix of bewilderment, confusion, and fear consumes her, as she has no idea what to make of the sight.

Lying dead before her is not her husband and daughter, but two lifeless corpses, their identities unknown to her.

Malkor: I swore to not harm your family. I'm a man of my word.

Malkor: But I am also a deceiver; and the greater the deception the more effective the spell.

Malkor leans over and grabs his sword's handle. He gives a single twist of the blade before yanking it free and watches Jarl Idgrod breath her last.

Malkor: That went smoothly.

Sliding his sword away, Malkor turns to the falmer.

Malkor: Remove the two corpses and do not disturb me.

Malkor: I have work to do.

Dusk begins to set. Darkness settles over the altar. Malkor stands waiting, adorned in his helm and mask, used in all Boethian rituals. The spell was performed perfectly. The greatest difficulty to it is deceiving the vessel the proper amount. The trick isn't the quantity of deceptions, but rather the magnitude of them. At least, Malkor assumes. This spell has never been performed as it was impossible to do before.

But he has no doubts in his mind that it would work. After all, he, with the aid of Boethiah, created the spell themselves.

He patiently watches Jarl Idgrod's corpse, the candlelight flickering against her pale, lifeless skin.

She was chosen for her potent magical ability. Any normal corpse would implode under the extreme pressure of this spell, but a mages power remains inside of them, even in death.

It is for that very reason that only a powerful mage could be used for this. That magic energy can be tapped into, turning death...

...into life.

Not just any life, no. Reincarnation is not what Malkor seeks. A corpse is nothing more than a soulless husk. One waiting to be filled.

Malkor bends over, dipping his body into a bow.

Malkor: Sorry for the wait, M'Lady.

He lifts his head, his eyes twinkle in the candlelight.

Malkor: Welcome to Tamriel...

Malkor: ...Boethiah.