CHAPTER I - PROLOGUE - A New Home

One year. It has only been that long.

But a lot can change in a person during that time.

Kill her.

Those two words repeated itself in her head. Several times her hand instinctively fallen upon her two daggers. Several times her heart ached with pity for the orphans. Several times her eyes darkened as the children shared to her how they lost their parents.

Through a cold and cruel, never-ending war that bloodied the land.

Much like her own.

Everywhere she went, anywhere she finds herself, war found her. She had spent her entire life living in one. Spent her childhood fighting in one as part of a ruthless mercenary corp. Spent the early days of her career preventing one.

And now she was supposed to care for one in a country she had no idea even existed? Hilarious.

Her adolescent years shone like Shining Poms amidst the bleakness. She had spent it surrounded by true comrade-in-arms that would never leave her. They prided themselves as one family, and as one class: Class VII. They were her dearest friends.

It had been one year since they all fell apart — since the first among them had died.

"Do you miss them?" the children asked.

"...Yeah."

She wished she didn't. Not after what happened. And it wasn't like she was going to see them anytime soon.

It had been many nights since she stumbled upon the strange artifact. The information she had of the auspicious item provided little to what power it held- only what price it would fetch for were she to deliver it to her client. It was a golden, cylindrical object, adorned top to bottom with fancy runes and sigils. Two handles jutted out from both ends, and the middle part could be pulled open like a scroll.

She thought little of it. Nothing happened for Aidios knows how long as she gawked at its indecipherable contents. She regretted going through a second reading when the large mysterious artifact of unknown origin started to glow, however.

First, it was burning incandescence that blurred her vision. Second, was darkness. Pitch and abyssal. The third thing she knew, she was diving headfirst into vast open water.

'Riften' was what the residents called the place. It was the nearest settlement from the lake she was hurtled into. Although, calling it a city would have been generous. All around her stood dilapidated wooden houses, weathered shop stalls, and alcohol-flooded kegs. Old planks constituted as walkways for its inhabitants, most of whom were muscular, bearded men whose livelihoods consisted of fishing and competing who could guzzle down the most mead.

There were more barrels of mead than there were people. Sara would be rolling in her grave.

Oh, and the entire place reeked of human waste and rotten scum. The town proper itself was only one staircase above the neglected and antiquated canal that bisected the city. Quite a genial place, if she had to say.

"What did you do after you arrived?" a boy asked her. Their leader, no doubt. He was taller than the rest of the lot, and naturally, they all herded near him. Their cute eyes glimmered with fascination and awe.

Maybe there's hope for these kids, after all, her mind assured. Although, this would be the last time she would see such youthful optimism. Not after what she had planned to do.

This land wasn't Erebonia. It was an aptly warm and lovely nation called Skyrim. The iron railway tracks she had grown to live with and love were nonexistent. Instead, her sights feasted upon somber tundra mountains and the eye-searingly red forests of the Rift, located in the southeastern regions. The capital was far out to the northwest.

She had asked where the nearest train station was but was met with utter confusion. Now she wasn't sure trains were even invented here yet.

That was the last time she was going to ask the locals for directions, though. She did NOT want to find herself in another brothel.

Nor did she want to… appropriate another man of all his gold when he had to lead her someplace isolated and asked her, in her face, if she was a stripper. Or worse.

Another slur and one sexually-harassing drunkard mugged later, and it became clear that she attracted a lot of unwanted attention. Not just because of her alien, silver hair nor her piercing lime eyes, but because of her diminutive stature, pale-dead skin, and supposed foreign race. She'd need a change of clothes soon. Preferably with a hood and some heels.

So in a less technologically developed world filled with wizards, vampires, elves, dark elves, and DRAGONS... humans were racially offended by her height. Wonderful.

Oh, and giant humanoid lizards exist. And cats.

The cats were fine. They were fluffy, furry, and adorable with their long whiskers she just wanted to pull on. They had a funny accent too.

The lizards were slimy and scaly and spoke in a creepily indirect way.

Not racist. She just preferred cats. That's all.

She wasn't in Zemuria. This wasn't her home. Yet she was sitting here: Honorhall Orphanage — huddled next to homeless orphans who would never last a day out in the wilderness.

And she wanted to find out why. That was the reason she had to go.

"Alright, you worthless guttersnipes. Storytime is over. Go to bed," the old matron said, tapping her foot impatiently. "And YOU better leave. Now. Take your filthy boots away from me and NEVER come back. Or else."

What a charmer. No wonder they call her Grelod the "Kind". She was just about to leave anyway.

"Okay, everyone. Say goodbye to Miss Fie now," another woman said.

"Goodbye, Miss Fie!" the orphans recited in unison. Their faces wore a mix of heartwarmingly forced smiles.

Well… it's not like she couldn't leave them a little farewell present, right?

Fie turned to the young woman. Constance Michel if her memory served her right. In contrast to the cranky hag, Constance was actually what one would describe as 'motherly'. She was a volunteer worker for the orphanage out of sheer kindness from her heart.

She would take care of the kids, Fie thought.

"Miss Fie, thank you so much for visiting us during your stay. The kids were always so happy when you were around telling your stories," Constance said with a beaming smile plastered between her dimpled cheeks. "Will we ever see you again?"

"Someday. Not soon, though."

It was then that a malicious grin danced on her lips. Something glinted in her eye as Grelod retreated further into the orphanage.

"I got a present for you guys," Fie said.

"Oh? What is it?"

"You'll find out. Close your eyes."

Constance Michel looked puzzled but obeyed. That was going to be the last of what she saw of her.

With silent footsteps, Fie brushed past the woman towards the kitchen. Her mind clear and her face blank, she nonchalantly pulled the curious object from the shelf.

A steel cutting knife.

What are you still doing here-

What are you doing with that-?!

She heard Grelod scream. Or thought she did. She couldn't make out anything through the adrenaline ringing in her ears or the seething red in her eyes.

She couldn't see the despair in the old crone's face as her skull was slammed to the wall. She couldn't hear the banging of knives as the matron's neck was nailed into the hardwood of her beloved orphanage. She couldn't savor the scalding heat of her finely-aged blood as it gushed down from her crucified corpse.

Fie wordlessly strolled towards the exit. A guard had come running, but he left just as quickly when a small purse of septims fell into his hands. She didn't feel guilty at all.

Behind her, the children cheered. She didn't care. Grelod the Kind was dead.

Nobody had any right to treat other people as worthless. Not to orphans. Not to her. Not orphans like her.

Riften was a stinking place that reeked of human waste and rotten scum. It was a genial place if she had to say. She was glad to leave. She never planned on staying.

Skyrim wasn't her home.

Here, she couldn't rely on her allies nor her strength to protect them; she was alone. Here, she was not a Bracer that supported the people; the people around her were ungrateful, self-centered, and self-righteous piles of shit. Here, she could be anything she wanted to be in order to survive.

She wasn't home. So why should she care for anyone else besides herself?