HOLY FUCK AN UPDATE!

Why are you still reading this? The disclaimer?! That was ages ago!

So put on your wellies and ready your ponchos. You're in the splash-zone.

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Chapter 13
The Betrayed Part 3:
The Cleansing of the Vale
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Morning, 22nd Second Seed, 4E201
Darkfall Glade, Chantry of Auri-El
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While Farkas and my Ana broke camp under Scales' watchful eye, Drevas took me aside for a short chat.

I knew it'd been coming since telling the party of my renewed memory; Farkas got it out of the way first, before my summoning Hircine yesterday. That he took it all in stride warmed my heart, verifying my decision of calling the large Nord friend.

My Ana told me, softly while we both began crashing from the potion wearing off, that she was worried I'd not love her any longer, the silly woman. Though I'd suffered from amnesia, I regretted none of my actions; if I'd been flighty or overly cautious on arriving in this world (fleeing from the Falmer in Blackreach was perfectly understandable, as I was the furthest thing from properly equipped at the time) or much more unlucky, I'd have surely perished.

As for Serana, the matter was… more complicated.

I loved her still. Amnesia or no, I knew how I felt about Serana; she was… my equal, in more ways than one. She wanted to see this world that'd been brutalized both from within and without flourish and prosper in these gray, uncertain days.

It reflected my own goal, before Pettigrew's stupidity: to secure a place in Magical society and stamp out the corruption running rampant through my country; once everything was running efficiently, overtures would be made for the gradual cessation of the Statute of Secrecy. With Harry and Ron at my side, and the rest of our friends contributing in their own ways, all of Earth would prosper as Magic and Science were joined in the name of progress.

Were a layman to hear such an ambitious plan, it would no doubt sound like I wanted to rule the world. That wasn't the case. I just wanted to show them the way, to do my part to bring all humanity under a single roof in community and friendship. A lasting peace…

My Ana was the same. If she ever got involved with politics, she was of the disposition to advise rather than rule. If she wished to enter the world of Alchemy, it wouldn't be for poisons and necromancy, but so that she could research diseases, find ways to prevent them from infecting the populace.

Harry was like Serana… if Harry was, firstly, a gentle, fiery, beautiful woman and, secondly, far more experienced in the ways of the world.

Despite this, as I told my Ana sleepily, I loved Harry still; a part of me longed to fling myself into his arms once more, to be comforted by his strong, warm embrace. While I'd been in Hogwarts, for those three years, just being in his presence made me feel safe, secure…

Like how Serana made me feel; even though I was in the clearing where I summoned Hircine, with Drevas taking a seat on a stone, just knowing my Ana was nearby and listening for any untoward sounds lit a flame of warmth in my chest.

That she let me take lead in our relationship, helping me even as she lets me be myself, only solidified that feeling of warmth, of love…

A brief flash drew my attention to Drevas as he lit his pipe once more.

We were both kitted up and ready to go, Stormbringer and the Fang in their proper places, along with Eclipse on my belt, magically-expanded messenger bag strapped securely to my right side, the braids Hircine and Lavinia gave me carefully arranged so as not to get in the way of my helmet. The Toolbox was in its place on my mentor's back, Starfall glowing with its inner fire in the bluish dark of the cavern.

"You want to know what my world is like, don't you?" was my intelligent opening, based upon my observations of the Mer before me.

Around a toke, "Not particularly. This world is weird enough, and you'll have time," a stream of smoke, blown away from me. Nice that he was being courteous, "later on, that is, to write down a few anecdotes. No, I'm more concerned with how you're taking all this." And he gave me a piercing look.

I had a quick think and, "Not that I'm inexperienced with hair-raising terrors and strange occurrences, having attended a magical school and all," my lips quirked, "but this adventure's hardly par-for-the-course by either of our standards."

"Lass…" ah, he knew I was avoiding the question. Sod.

"What do you want me to say, Drevas?" I was feeling a little backed into a corner, and Kresh had started growling, so after calming the Shepherd I forged on, "I can't remember my parent's faces, what their names were or how they sounded; I'm essentially trapped in a world that's been teetering on the brink of apocalypse for hundreds of years," I was starting to breathe hard, "and… honestly, I feel like I've been shanghaied into coming here by your fucking Gods!"

Huffing, I began pacing while my mentor, the person who'd done his best to ensure my survival, watched me with a frown on his lips, smoke curling from pipe and nose.

Like a dragon.

But he kept his silence as I rambled on, anxiety and not a little fear creeping into my tone, "This wand," I plucked the item from its scabbard and waved it about, "was made with the heart-sinews of a dragon; when I touched it, I had a vision, briefly, of a dragon, watching me. Hells, I've seen a dragon egg hatch, took care of the poor thing for days! And," I whirled on Drevas, his face still impassive until my last word, "I'm fairly certain that either the Aedra or Daedra have contacted my world sometime in the past!"

He raised an eyebrow, hummed thoughtfully and offered, "Possible, but thus far, there's little evidence-"

"Evidence," I spat disgustedly; I'd show him evidence! "Nine Diamonds, Sixteen Rubies." Drevas' red eyes flew wide open in shock, right before he started coughing roughly as some smoke went down the wrong pipe. "You've heard of that book, haven't you?"

After he collected himself, the aged Dunmer rasped, "Heard of it? Lass, there's only one copy of that book left in this world," his eyes were hard as they met mine, "and for good reason; it's a compendium of rituals, lore, and knowledge that's been passed down, from one Skywatch Commander to the next, since the Merethic Era. Herma Mora, the Imperial Cult, and the Tribunal of Morrowind would give their left arm – or whatever the hells Mora has – just to have a glimpse of its contents!"

So it was a book containing forbidden knowledge… Fair enough, "Well," I absently scratched the scars on my temple, "there's a copy in my school, Hogwarts. In the restricted section of the library."

My mentor looked like he was getting a headache, "Gods and devils, Hermione, please tell me that section is secure?"

"It is. Anyone who tries taking a book without a permission slip (yes, of course magic is involved!) will leave the library with their ears ringing. The books scream," I explained to his quirked brow, "but we're getting off track, again. How did it get there?"

"Who knows?" grumped Drevas, glaring hard at a nearby cluster of mushrooms. A Luna Moth fluttered about them drunkenly, "With the way Aetherius behaves, along with the things Master-level Conjuration can do… When I was in the Soul Cairn," he began, drawing my attention; neither he nor Ana were keen on relating their time in that mysterious place, "Serana's mother and I got into a debate concerning your origins, and the knowledge you brought with you."

"You said you wouldn't tell anyone! You promised!" I'd let it go for some time, seeing as it was only Serana at the time, and everything worked out for the best, honestly, but promises were sacred things in my mind. That he'd broken it twice…

"I promised I'd tell no one in power, Hermione," my mentor sighed, but the look he gave me all-but screamed 'shut up and pay attention', so I did, "and that I'd do all in my power to see you home. And, though I detest the practice of Necromancy, Valerica, Serana's mother, is a Grandmaster of Conjuration, which, as you well know…" he trailed off meaningfully.

I got it. "Spatial manipulation," groused I, folding my arms and frowning, "Without her help, you wouldn't have been able to contact Professor Snape," and wasn't that quite the feat!

"That, and there's a few other things we spoke of," knocking out his pipe, Drevas fixed me with a tired look, "In Blackreach, and, more recently, Fort Dawnguard, you demonstrated a knowledge of Runic Enchanting that, for all intents and purposes, hasn't been equaled since the Dwemer vanished. Both Valerica and I are of the opinion that, sometime before 1E700, the Dwemer somehow managed to reach your world."

This was news to me! That, and I wasn't stupid. I got the implications of such an action, a race as advanced as the Dwemer accessing my world in the ancient past… possibly teaching primitive Man how to use their magic.

Wait. Not possibly. The theory was very probable indeed. There was a part of Britain's Magical history where, long before the Romans came, a gap appeared in the Druidic Edda. Before, little more than nature magic and ritual; after, there were wands and rudimentary Runes and…

Honestly, this was very alarming, hence my saying squeakily, "They… may have." I explained, briefly, what I'd just remembered from Professor Binns' droning lectures, "Granted, the official line is that the ancient Druids went into hiding due to dragon attacks, but…"

He nodded, glaring at a pillar, before saying slowly, "Hermione, I won't think any less of you if you don't want to go on-" he stopped as I hissed at him. I had the teeth for it, too.

"Oh no you don't, you aged s'wit. You do not bring me on an adventure and expect me to shirk out just because we've had a rough patch!" I stormed up to the old Dunmer and poked him in the breastplate! "And if you think I'm going to abandon my Ana to several thousand Falmer and Hircine only knows what else, you're just as belligerent and silly as Lydia thinks you are!"

He blinked, looking scandalized with a hand on his chest, and rasped, "Lydia thinks I'm silly?"

After I briefly imitated a landed carp, we both had a laugh, the tension broken. By Merlin and Hircine, I couldn't ever stay mad at this Mer, could I?

If he treated everyone like this, catching them flat-footed in the middle of an argument, no wonder he was still alive.

That, and, well, Starfall, "Just making sure you're still up to this, lass," said he, standing and knocking his pipe out as Serana and Farkas started clanking up the stone bridge leading back to our campsite, "Although," his expression turned thoughtful, "once we've dealt to this infestation, I'd like to investigate that archway we came through. It might give me or Serana some ideas on how to send you home, as I'd sooner strike a bargain with Old Vile than bring you through the Soul Cairn."

Oh! I nodded in agreement, then put my two Knuts in, "Actually, speaking of that… Maybe it's like the Guild Guides of Morrowind?"

He waved a hand negative, collecting the Toolbox as Farkas and my Ana approached, Scales lurking in the shadows deeper into this cavern, where some of those gleaming flowers were growing. After a quick gear check, we got to following the clannfear out of this dank cave; I couldn't wait to see daylight again...

"The Guild Guides were… well, that was more Conjuration anchorites; you stand in a circle that's been enchanted with a unique spell, fitted with a whole soul gem of course, then the Guide's caretaker cast a specific spell, and you, basically, get summoned to the corresponding Guide point."

Well that seemed quite efficient, and easier on the stomach than Floo travel, so I asked why they went out of style.

Then he chuckled darkly, "Imagine two people arriving in the same place at the same time. It didn't happen often, but there were incidents." Oh. Ouch. "No, these archways the Snow Elves built, the Wayshrines… they're different."

Ana was within earshot by then, and happily gushed her own opinion to us, "They're rather incredible, aren't they? From one point in space to another, instantly!"

"Isn't conjuring, say, a Daedra, just as instantaneous?" was what I felt an intelligent question; Conjuration in general was a rather wooly subject, to me anyway. Trying to focus on an image of some kind of creature (or item, with Bound spells), then drawing on your magic, then creating a rift in space that brings that ideal into the material world.

No wonder so few sane people became proficient in the art. Serana and Drevas got a pass.

In the adventuring line of work, a little insanity was actually healthy!

"Usually, no," Drevas replied to my question as we trundled on through the dark caverns, a maze of rocky bridges playing host to more titanic fungus materializing in the gloom, "There's always a slight delay between Aetherius, or Oblivion in the case of powerful Daedra, and the ideal manifesting in Mundus."

I mulled that over as we trudged across one rocky bridge after another, until, fifteen minutes later, I arrived at a likely conclusion.

Frowning, I asked, "There was a delay with the Guild Guides, wasn't there?" At Drevas' nod, I huffed, "Well, it's simple then: each of the Wayshrines might be connected to each other through a resonant enchantment that probably accesses a pocket dimension in Aetherius. I theorize," I went on as we stopped in the shade of a towering mushroom, my mentor stooping to collect more of those flowers while my Ana listened attentively, "that, with each activated Wayshrine, a portal opens that accesses this pocket dimension, resonates through to the appropriate archway, and brings the two points together."

Serana hummed thoughtfully, smiling at me, "That… sounds plausible…"

"So what's that in Common, then?" grunted Farkas, who'd been listening with disinterest. "Because it sounds like you're saying we're in another Plane, like Oblivion."

Huh. It did sort of sound that way…

Drevas, however, shook his head while rising from his ingredient gathering, "No, we're still in Mundus. She's saying… remember when Gelebor used that spell to open the first archway?" our Nord friend grunted by way of reply as we moved on toward a larger stone ledge, above our heads with a faint glow about it, Scales watching for threats ahead of us, "That was the key in the lock, opening a door to somewhere else in Mundus. Each door has a different key." Farkas hummed in understanding.

"Theoretically," stressed I. If I was wrong… but it sounded right, given what I'd learned…

My Ana patted my shoulder, smiling warmly at me, "We'll certainly find out one way or the other, my 'Mione."

While warmth thrilled through me, we trudged on…

Until we reached the ledge at the top of the cavern.

A wide field opened before us, the only life present being stubborn mosses and glowing fungi, though that wasn't where our attention was drawn.

Another Wayshrine, still hugging the ground, sat in an alcove at the far wall. It looked exactly the same as the one Gelebor guarded, though this example had its own sentinel: a ghostly form stood guard near the shrine's base. As we approached warily, Serana murmuring "Here we go…" as we went, I saw that the smoky, glowing being was of the same build and figure as Gelebor, but was wearing robes. He was clearly male, and his eyes seemed to stare at something far off, face impassive and calm despite our party's grim appearance.

"Hail," called Drevas as we came close; the Prelate, as Gelebor referred to these shades, didn't even look at him; frowning, Drevas waved his hand through the air in front of the ghost's face. Still nothing, "Hm. Serana, you have the Ewer. Maybe it's the key?"

Nodding, my Ana unhooked the Ewer and strode forward carefully. I watched, Stormbringer held steady and Kresh sitting at my side, tense for any unexpected ambush.

At five paces, the Prelate suddenly looked at my Ana, the swiveling of his head so sudden she stopped in surprise.

Then the ghost spoke, in a tone of affected reverence, "Welcome, Initiate, to the Wayshrine of Illumination, the first step on the Pilgrim's Path. Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El, and fill your vessel with His enlightenment?"

Farkas coughed lightly, drawing a raised eyebrow from my fellow Dragonborn, as Serana intoned respectfully, "Yes."

Smiling beatifically, the ghostly Prelate spread his arms wide and intoned back, "Then behold Auri-El's gift, my child: the light of Auri-El, banishing the Shadow from the hearts of the Righteous. May it illuminate your path as you seek tranquility within the Inner Sanctum!" and, turning to face the Wayshrine, a light flared from within the Prelate.

And, just like before, the Wayshrine rose from the ground, light dust and moss falling from it as it grew to its full height.

At the same time, as Serana walked into the shrine and we all approached slowly, a warmth seemed to flare inside me; my companions were the same, Serana jerking and shivering slightly, Drevas humming thoughtfully to himself, and Farkas quietly asking, "The hells was that?" Scales also let out a small bark of surprise, head swiveling about in confusion. Even Kresh made a surprised noise and stated, Truly, this is a holy place of Auriel…

'What makes you say that, Kresh?'

The warmth that embraces us, it is the Light of Akatosh. I… do not know the details of its implications, Hermione. I am a Daedra, after all.

Relating that to the party had Drevas' eyebrows lifting into his helm, "Ah, well, that makes sense. Probably a blessing, though it feels different from what you'd get from a shrine to Akatosh. I'll have to brush up on my lore, once we find a good spot to take a break."

"Whatever it is," put in Serana as she dipped the Ewer in the Wayshrine's basin, "it's making me feel… lighter. Like there'd been a small weight on my shoulders, and now it's – whoa!"

That final exclamation was echoed by all present (save the Prelate, who was staring blankly at the cavern we'd come from) as another rippling window opened in one of the Wayshrine's archways, revealing a cavern of rough grey stone… lit by Magnus' light.

"Oh, thank the Gods," Farkas intoned with obvious relief, glancing Drevas' way, "It's safe, right?"

"Duh, Farkas," I replied, watching Kresh's shadow go back and forth through the gate; I then repeated his report aloud to my friends, "The air's a bit thin, and it smells like it's snowing further on."

Drevas nodded, first at us, then at Scales, "Well done, everyone. Let's get out of this bloody cursed hole." No arguments were forthcoming, even Serana showing obvious eagerness to see the sun again.

Before stepping through, I glanced back, looking into the dark of the cavern… where my memories returned, where I'd sunk lower than even the bandits and monsters I reviled.

'Never again. With the Nine and Hircine as my witness, I will never use that spell again, even if all the world is in peril.' Nodding to affirm this self-made promise, I stepped through the archway.

And immediately found both Drevas and Serana examining either side of another ruined arch with glowing hands, the portal closing after I'd stepped through, Farkas watching them in increasing impatience and boredom, "What are you two doing?" asked I understandably; research was all well and good, but, "Shouldn't we wait until-"

"I believe you may have been right about these archways, Hermione," interrupted Drevas with a curious smirk on his face (and now that we were in the light, I noticed he needed a shave), much to my surprise, "Serana, can you confirm it, because from this side, it looks like what Hermione described…"

My Ana nodded, a proud, loving smile directed my way, "This is fairly close to a Gate to Oblivion, but it doesn't pass through any of the Planes! Not only that, but it only activates when certain conditions are met; there's so many spells stacked together in this archway I can't tell which one makes the Gate! Oh, if only we had more time to study this!" Her hands started glowing brighter, "Maybe if I…"

Drevas waved her down, "Serana, stop. The arch is inert now; best not risk damaging it. It was behaving differently," he added to me while Serana pouted and stepped away, "before you came through. Something to do with accessing a daedron field that's been anchored, I assume, somewhere in the Aetherial Plane but, at the same time… not." He looked confused, regarding the archway while stroking his beard. "How bizarre…"

I tried that against what I knew of Physics and Conjuration; there but not… oh! "I got it!" both my mentor and girlfriend looked at me with hungry looks in their eyes, the knowledge fiends! "A flat, two-dimensional partition in the raw, unformed parts of Aetherius, a static daedron field, Drevas, that allows each arch to resonate, through a psijic link, with its counterpart elsewhere, bringing two points in Mundus together and shielding any entrant from the raw magics thereof, using an enchantment tied into the stones themselves! And it's not anchored in another plane, it's anchored here," I stomped at the ground, grinning in victory, "Anchored by something the Snow Elves built: a shrine to the Dragon-God of Time and Space, Akatosh!"

There was another explanation: that it was like the Floo, back in my own world. This was unlikely, however; that method of transportation used tunnels that wove through an alternate dimension that was, in its turn, tied to Britain's ley-lines through key-stones set in specific locations. According to Drevas and Serana, this wasn't the case here, so… apply what I knew of Tamriel's way of using magic, add some Hogwarts magic and a sprinkle of physics, and Bob's your uncle!

Stunned silence fell at my declaration, my Ana's mouth hanging slightly open, eyes wide with realization, and my mentor staring at me like he'd never seen me before. I let this go on for a few moments before turning to look at Farkas.

He'd raised an eyebrow at me, arms crossed, before he ground out slowly, "So… the reason these… doorways… the reason they keep working is because… Akatosh?" I nodded quickly, happy that he picked it up, "Why the hells didn't you just say that?"

That seemed to restart Serana's thought processes, as she retorted hotly in my defense, "She did say that!"

"Then why'd you two start catching flies over it, eh?" and the Companion turned and stalked away down the cavern while I huffed good-naturedly at his antics, pointing out over his shoulder to our now-grumbling companions, "Besides, we'll have plenty of time to figure out why those things work, once the Falmer are dealt with."

Agreements were had by sages all around that magical archeology is easier to do without worrying about waxy, cannibalistic creatures trying to chew on your ears, so we put the arch out of our minds and forged on.

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Late Morning, 22nd Second Seed, 4E201
Chantry of Auri-El
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Mists hugged the jagged mountaintops as gentle snow fell about the party; from the rocky ridge they'd arrived on, the cave's exit at their backs at last, Serana and her companions beheld a ravine, sparsely populated by evergreens and glowing flowers, rolling off into the distance. The far side was obscured by a dense fog, though craggy peaks peeked out as the wind blew softly about them, the snow-capped rocks wreathed in the shadow of the gleaming clouds above.

Here and there, toppled pillars and broken archways lay in the mossy earth, underscoring the lovely scenery with the reason this place was empty of life. Though the Falmer were in residence, and held great numbers, this didn't change the fact that the Chantry of Auri-El was a ruin, an artifact of a time long forgotten.

A feeling came over Serana as the party followed Drevas, the Dragonborn carefully forging a way down the icy, slippery stones ("Stupid ice!" snarled Farkas as 'Mione healed his bruised backside with suppressed giggles).

The feeling was one that the noble vampire first felt when she'd entered a Dwemer ruin: a feeling that she was trespassing, walking in halls she had no business within. Though the feeling was unusual, Serana reminded herself of Drevas' words, when she'd plumbed a barrow at his side, shortly after her awakening:

"Preserving the past is for sacred places, locations that have power greater than mortal man, or artifacts of the ancient world, held together by no less than dust and faith. The draugr, the Dwemer, hells, anyone who abandoned a place for the scavengers, or were ousted for whatever reason, or defend them in undeath, their opinion matters little. We have purpose in these halls, whether it be for some artifact or hidden knowledge that the world needs in these times of sorrow. Let them have these dusty, rotting halls, so long as hope is restored."

While the words were rather bardy, they were what Serana needed to hear; rare were her ventures beyond the walls of Castle Volkihar in her youth, and most of those were to watch her 'family' collect cattle for the larder. Occasionally, Serana assisted them, but one feeling always stuck out in her mind, no matter the activity they engaged in: that feeling of trespass, of seeing the world and being humbled at its size and scope, learning that the castle she lived in was only a small fraction of the wonders splayed across the lands of Tamriel.

Her father's teachings, of the importance of Old Molag and their Highblood clan, paled before the fright that lived in young Serana's heart, at seeing the world beyond the castle walls.

Those days were long distant, now, and she quashed the feeling; Serana, along with her friends and beloved, had purpose in this ancient shrine, and the dark-haired vampire would sooner become ash than waver before hardship.

So Serana decided to distract herself as they carefully traversed the ravine (no Falmer about, according to everyone's nose, but that could change), not only from these feelings, but from the incessant tickling in her mind that urged her to uncover the mystery of these Wayshrines, and asked her beloved a question, "What means of travel are available in your world, my 'Mione?"

Her beloved, a few yards away, hummed before answering, "Magical or mundane?"

"Mundane, please," Serana lightly laughed, "I need something to distract me from those portals."

"Ah, yeah," her beloved nodded, before frowning in thought, "Well… it's difficult to explain; I'll start with some background, if you don't mind?" Serana nodded eagerly, noticing Drevas tilting his head and Farkas glancing over; clearly, she wasn't the only one curious about her love's Mundus! "Right, so, please understand that not everyone in my world is capable of magic, unlike here, so there are two societies: one where those with magic live apart, in secret, hidden from those without magical ability, and the mundane world, where humanity has progressed without the aid of magic. From what I understand," added Hermione with a sour expression, "this has been the status quo for the past three hundred years.

"Anyway, I grew up on the mundane side of things, so I've had exposure to both worlds. Describing the magical side, honestly, is much easier than describing the mundane, or Muggle, as the magicals call normal folk," Serana's beloved rolled her eyes at the silly word even as Drevas snorted in derision and Farkas made a face, but Hermione wasn't done yet, "To put it in terms you'd understand, the magical world is like a reflection of… well, the Aldmeri Dominion," Drevas sent her a look over his shoulder, but 'Mione was on a roll, "in that much of their number see the mundane, non-magical folk, at best, as a quaint curiosity that should be protected and/or ignored; at worst… well, I'm sure you can imagine. Like the Thalmor, they have fewer numbers than the mundane side, but, well, magic is a power all its own, and power corrupts.

"On the other side of the coin, the mundane world is, largely, ignorant of the existence of the magical world, but this hardly matters, as… and, again, this is so you can understand how I see things… mundane society, technologically speaking, is more-or-less how I'd imagine this world would be like, if the Dwemer never vanished."

Serana blinked in surprise, asking quickly, "So, you use steam engines and the like?"

"Not… really. We used them a lot, in the past, but we have different engines now," her beloved shook her head slowly, face grim, "Now, they take oil from the earth and refine it, to fuel controlled explosions inside engines, which moves other parts, which creates propulsion. Most of the time," Serana had a hard time picturing such a machine, and from the set of Drevas' shoulders, so was he, "these engines allow vehicles… think of them as carts without horses, but made of steel and lighter metals, like aluminum… to move down roads of hardened tar and stone at speeds faster than… well," she shrugged, as though such a thing was an everyday occurrence! "Faster than a dragon can fly, though most places don't allow such speeds."

Around a quiet swear, Farkas put in, "How do they keep the… vehicle or whatever from exploding?"

"I don't know," laughed Hermione, "I don't make the things, just ride in them!"

"Well, it doesn't sound very comfortable," observed Drevas over his shoulder as they passed another toppled pillar, halfway through the ravine, "hurtling around in a metal cage like that."

Serana spoke up before Hermione could, as her beloved looked a little cross, "Well, if they're popular enough to require special roads, I'm sure Hermione's world makes due," a pause, "They are comfortable, yes?" if they weren't, well, Serana might prefer the magical side of her beloved's world.

Huffing, Hermione scanned the approaching fog-choked forest and replied, "Of course. Most of them – 'cars', that's what they're called – have leather seating, with fabric ceilings, and apparatus that controls how hot or cold the interior is, plus a whole slew of safety features that keep you from flying all over the place while in motion, or to keep you from dying, in the event of a collision."

Well now! "And… this is done without magic?" It sounded fairly impressive to Serana's ears!

'Mione nodded, though her eyes took on a dark cast, "The wonders and horrors of the mundane parts of my world would make the Dwemer weep with envy." Drevas bid her elaborate. After a pause, Hermione sighed and complied, "There are other engines, using different kinds of fuel, that use more powerful, directed explosions to lift a craft into the sky."

Drevas stopped and turned to look at Serana's beloved in surprise, the rest of the party looking at the armored teenager with varying degrees of shock while the Dunmer inquired hoarsely, "How large a craft?"

"Oh… some are small, about the length of Breezehome. Some are even smaller, like a shed with an upward-facing windmill that gives it lift," a flying house?! Serana thought she'd heard everything, "But there are passenger varieties that carry people from city to city, country to country, continent to continent, across oceans and over mountains. Those are, um, about the length of Dragonsreach, maybe a little longer?"

A rock warbler twittered in the distance while Scales sniffed the air, looking about. Otherwise, all was silent after this revelation.

It was… unbelievable. A flying palace? Shakily, Serana voiced her misgivings, adding, "S-Surely a machine of such size would fall at times? And the noise they must make!"

"Bugger size and noise," Farkas grumbled, not taking his eyes off Hermione, "Why would you want to get inside one of them? Sounds like a fucking deathtrap, is what." Drevas nodded slowly, but he looked thoughtful.

And Hermione was shaking her head, smiling softly, "You don't get it, any of you. After the schism between magic and physical logic, those without magic had to make do with what they had at hand. For three hundred years, they progressed, exploring and, in some cases, conquering every land in the hope of bringing every house of humanity together. There are other vehicles that have explored the depths of the oceans, and…" she pointed at the sky, "we only have one moon, back in my world. And we have stood on its surface.

"When I say the Dwemer would weep, I'm not joking," Hermione finished tiredly, while everyone else stared in disbelief, "And if you think all of that is impressive… don't. Because it's fucking sad, is what." And she started walking again, shaking her fellow adventurers from their awed stupor.

The moon. Serana could hardly wrap her mind around such a concept, standing on the surface of a heavenly body, at the mercy of the etheric winds. But she still asked, "Why do you say it's sad, my 'Mione? It sounds wonderful, amazing."

Hermione's reply was bitter and colder than the Sea of Ghosts, "Not everyone has a car. Not everyone can feed their family, though there's enough arable land to feed every human on Earth in some countries. Poverty is rampant, as is racism and intolerance, though those in power say the world is one community, living in harmony. It's a lie. The most advanced technologies we develop, rather than expand our species' scope, rather than enrich our world… we use these advancements to create weapons of war…" then she looked up and Serana, eyes fearful and grim, "And what I fear most, about my situation here, is that the Thalmor might discover my world, and take those technologies that've been developed for war.

"Honestly, nothing Tamriel has ever experienced, in all its history, can compare to the weapons Earth could bring to bear. Has brought to bear, in terrible wars that cost tens of millions of lives," her voice was sure, but still cold and bitter, and it chilled Serana, hearing her love speak of such terrible loss; mercifully, Hermione finished quietly, softly, in a begging tone, "So please, don't ask about what weapons my people made to make each other bleed. They are terrible, and some of them would make you wish for the Oblivion Crisis."

"I'll take your word for it, lass," Drevas didn't miss a beat with his raspy drawl, "Bear in mind, though, that the Oblivion Crisis isn't the worst this world has seen," a hum of agreement came from Farkas, who was to Serana's left, eyeing a ruined archway ahead of the party with suspicion.

Serana agreed with Drevas' observation as well, but didn't give it voice; just like 'Mione didn't want to speak of her world's weapons, so terrible that, when used, their wars cost millions of souls, there were some things that shouldn't be aired under the light of day, some things that weren't mentioned, even to one's friend or lover, but were known to anyone with a passing interest in history.

The Soul Shriven, the Red Moment, the Middle Dawn; within these strange and unusual points of time, where even historians disagreed on the sequence of events, there lurked horrors fit to make even the Daedra quiver.

As the party arrived at the archway, which seemed to be just that, an archway ruined and partially toppled by Falmer and time, Hermione hummed in begrudging agreement herself, "Well… yes, but your civilization could do with being less… bloodthirsty. And yes," she snapped when Drevas opened his mouth, "I realize that's hypocritical of me, given my… religious devotions, but my point stands!" Drevas shrugged in reluctant assent before going back to examining their surroundings.

Though Hermione's inflection made her sound like she'd swallowed a lemon, on speaking of her position as Most Favored to Hircine, to Serana's ears, "You sound like you don't quite believe your own words, my 'Mione."

"I don't!" Serana's beloved looked up at her with a quirky expression, Kresh darting out from her shadow to sniff at the archway, which framed a partially-buried road that led to those misty crags; on the other side of the area they were stood in, a dense evergreen forest shielded any features which might lie beyond the snowy growths.

Hermione continued as Serana examined the surroundings, "Before coming here, I put very little stock in religion; blind faith never really appealed to me, I suppose, and my world doesn't have anything like the Aedra or Daedra… as far as I know, anyway…" the teenaged Dragonborn shrugged and frowned thoughtfully at the nearby forest, "I… I can get behind why everyone in Tamriel believes in their faith, though, one way or the other; hard not to believe, really. It's not like your gods are silent."

That… confused Serana, the bitter note that her beloved ended on, but she let it go. She'd ask what Hermione meant by 'silent gods' later, as Drevas was looking between the crags and the forest while drumming a finger against his bow's grip, eyes narrowed with indecision.

Taking a whiff of the air told her a few things, but less than she'd have liked; the road to the left held the scent of Falmer, and other creatures, while the forest to the right was virtually untouched by the creature's taint.

On one hand, their mission was to purge the place of Falmer and retrieve the Bow; on the other hand, they didn't know the geography of the Chantry at all, so some exploration was in order.

Before she could engage Drevas in another debate, however, Farkas spoke up, addressing Drevas, "We should go right, boss."

"Why?"

"Doesn't smell as bad, and we don't want those fucks coming from behind, just in case they covered their tracks," ah. Serana loosened one of her daggers in its sheath and began walking toward the trees, Hermione moving in step with her.

Around a hum of agreement, Drevas gestured with his bow, Scales taking the hint and darting into the dense foliage; once the clannfear vanished, the old Dunmer started grumbling again, "This Warmonger's either smarter than the average Falmer, or there's something going on that we're not seeing."

"Still on about that?" grumped Farkas as they entered the trees, dried pine needles crackling beneath their boots with the occasional crunch of snow, "The little shits'll show up eventually."

Hermione cut across Farkas before he could go on, "No, Drevas is right… Down in Blackreach, they probably had a Warmonger, given the size of the place and all, but we were there for days and didn't really get attacked; just the odd scout or wanderer that ran afoul Drevas, Scales or me. Probably because we didn't mess with anything that was important to them, or cause a loud ruckus… until the end, that is," the young witch finished with a light blush.

"And we've destroyed their breeding hive," deadpanned Serana in conclusion, spotting something glowing ahead, in a clearing; she'd be having nightmares about that place, the hive, for weeks, were it not for her beloved's embrace, "I may not be as experienced in these matters as you three, but when you kill an animal's young, especially pack animals like the Falmer, the rest of that pack will come down on you with ruthlessness."

Feral vampires were known to act like that, after all… now that she thought about it, regular vampires did that too… hmm…

Farkas scoffed as they arrived in the clearing, which played host to another spectral Prelate and a snow-and-pine needle covered Wayshrine, Scales bobbing his head side-to-side and making silly noises at the indifferent specter, only ceasing in his teasing when Drevas hissed in reprimand.

"They're up against a deadlier pack. Animals know when to run…" then the young Nord blinked, before scowling hard at their surroundings, "…the Falmer don't; little fucks always run at you till they're dead or you are. I get it now. Something's up."

Around a pleased hum, Drevas replied, "Good that you've decided to wise up, lad. Pass over the Ewer, Serana?"

The question took her by surprise, but Serana hardly hesitated in unhooking the vessel from her belt even as she returned his question with a mildly teasing observation, "Oh, I didn't know you liked Akatosh so much. All you ever seem to do is complain, when it comes to the Nine."

He glared, but took the Ewer gently, muttering, "Shut up, girly," then he looked at the object, hands glowing slightly, frowning as he examined the artifact closely. After a moment, he blew out a frustrated breath, "That is the most subtle enchantment I've ever seen. There's no patterns in this, just pure manipulation of magic, tied to the physical vessel."

"There a reason you're appraisin' pottery, boss?" grumped Farkas impatiently, Hermione drumming her fingers on Stormbringer in equal restlessness; Serana's own feelings matched theirs. She didn't want to stay in this place any longer than necessary, no matter how beautiful the scenery was.

"Just trying to figure out how those portals activate," admitted Drevas with a shrug, "But, yes, that can wait until this adventure's behind us and I can bring Valerica here." Wait, bring her mother here?

As Drevas stepped closer to the Prelate, Serana realized the answer: the Dunmer wanted to get Hermione home, Serana's mother was probably the only person in the Planes (barring the Telvanni) who could equal his skill in Conjuration, and the strange Gates of this place were the closest they'd come so far to finding a viable solution.

It wasn't like they could bring Hermione to the Soul Cairn. Serana would sooner dine with Namira, or treat with Old Molag once more, than take her beloved through that cursed, desolate place. How her mother put up with seeing that blasted wasteland every day, for thousands of years, she had no idea.

Satisfied with this turn of logic, Serana did a quick survey of the way they came, just in case the Falmer tried to sneak up on them; while she did this, the Prelate gave his welcoming speech to Drevas, "Welcome, Initiate, to the Wayshrine of Sight, the second step on the Pilgrim's Path. Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El, and fill your vessel with His enlightenment?"

Out the corner of Serana's eye, she saw Farkas stick his tongue in his cheek, and her ears caught a quiet snicker from her 'Mione's lips, even as Drevas intoned soberly, "Yes." Putting the reactions of the two Hircine devotees aside, because it confused her slightly, she observed the finalization of this latest leg of their journey.

"Then behold Auri-El's gift, my son," spoke the Prelate with the same affected tone as the other, "and let His Sight lend you guidance as you continue on your journey of discovery."

Another flare of light, another rising Wayshrine, but Serana instead took the opportunity to politely ask her beloved, "Whatever is so funny, my 'Mione?"

Her first reply was a humored snort, followed by, "Innuendo, my Ana. Farkas gets it."

Innu-oh.

'Fill your vessel'.

Ohh… Serana found herself biting her lip to keep from laughing when, as Drevas filled the Ewer in the shrine's basin, Farkas heckled the Mer with a suggestive tone, "Oh yeah~, Dunmer, fill that vessel!"

Hermione lost it, outright squealing with laughter as Drevas gave the young Nord his most disapproving glare; Serana was fighting with all her might not to dissolve into laughter herself, Scales letting out a chirp before waggling his scaly brows at the disgruntled Dragonborn glaring at them.

"Oh, all of you can just go straight to-"

A flash of light from within the shrine interrupted his caustic rebuttal, causing the aged Dunmer to jump and look at something hidden from the rest of the party's sight by the shrine's entryway, "Oh. Huh."

"What is it?" Hermione darted forward, glancing suspiciously at the Prelate, who was once again staring blankly into the middle distance.

"Here, hold this," shoving the Ewer into his surprised apprentice's hands, Drevas walked quickly out of sight as Serana and Farkas arrived at the shrine themselves…

And vanished through another portal! This one opened into deep, blue-lit darkness, 'The cavern?'

Then Drevas came back through, grinning like a maniac, "It goes back to the first Wayshrine we found! Looks like you were right, lass," he patted said teenager's helm, her face transforming into a cute scowl at being treated like a child, "these Wayshrines must resonate with each other. Fascinating; I'll have to find someone better versed in Falmer lore, check this place out," and he continued muttering to himself, drawing out his journal and jotting notes, all while walking back into the forest, Scales dutifully trotting at his side.

Hermione, on the other hand, just tied the Ewer to a strap and asked Serana curiously, "I've… only been on one adventure with him; does he… get like this a lot?"

Hurrying to keep up with the tall Elf, Serana sighed, "Not really; but, well," she smiled at her beloved, who jogged up to her side, "You know how old he is. It must take a lot to get him excited," Serana kept her eyes on her teenaged love while she hummed in agreement; after glancing at Farkas, who was moving a little ahead of them, the Daughter of Coldharbour asked softly, "You don't like how your world is run, do you my love?"

Blushing softly, Hermione shook her head the negative and looked up at Serana with a small smile, "No, but that was one of the plans Harry and I had… once our schooling was over, we'd try bringing the two worlds together again… Still," the young woman sighed sadly, "I don't think the present, in my world that is… I don't think it's time yet."

Serana rubbed her beloved's shoulder and spoke encouragingly, "If not now, then someday, my 'Mione. You are beautiful and strong of will; I've no doubt many would follow you into such a shining future, if that's what you'd make of the world," her lover's dream coincided with Serana's own! 'Gods, is this why I am on this path? So that I'll be able to achieve my dream of bringing peace to the world?'

Teary-eyed but positively glowing at the praise, Hermione whispered back, "It is… and you've just earned yourself a snogging my love, my Ana," she finished with a promising grin, warming Serana's being.

"Get a bush, you two," Drevas' voice drifted back to them from the front, though it sounded strained; Serana, around her irritation at the Dunmer ruining the moment again, wondered what was making him tense…

SKREEEEEE!

…ah, the Falmer. Of course.

. . . . .
Noon, 22nd Second Seed, 4E201
Chantry of Auri-El
. . . . .

"Line!" Drevas roared, nocking an arrow and rushing ahead of us, toward the pass we'd given a miss earlier on, "Serana, my right! Hermione, take the left with Farkas!"

Setting my crossbow to fire/shock, I rushed through and out of the trees –

And nearly got skewered by an arrow that flew right past my head! 'Shite! If I hadn't stopped…' an inch or so further, and… no, I couldn't think about dying! 'I've made it this far, I can make it to the end!'

Down the rocky embankment, several Falmer were coming at us, shrieking and snarling and waving their weapons menacingly; in the light of day, I noticed that they all had items and trinkets strapped to their bodies. Pendants, little bags whose contents jingled or rattled, dried mushrooms and… body parts; fingers, toes, one even had a wind chime made of bones acting as a loincloth. These things were scattered over their bodies, and the sight, which I mentally documented even as I took aim at a pair that were running toward me, made me realize something. Apart from being further disgusted by the Falmer, that is.

'They can't see, but their hearing and sense of smell are stronger as a result,' I'd have to ask Drevas if he'd noticed the Falmer's use of affectations. But not right then.

Right then, facing down a platoon of thirty of the little bastards, I had to stay alive, "The White take you!"

Cha – BZZK! Cha – BZZK! Cha – BZZK!

Green shafts flew from Drevas, followed by red ribbons that scattered into exploding darts, Farkas adding his two drake's worth with steel shot. Most of the little buggers died to our onslaught, while three or four managed to find cover in the rough outcroppings scattered at the feet of the crags, where they then tried to snipe at us.

And there we were, with expertly drawn arrows, tearing spells, exploding bolts, and one fearless Daedra.

But these Falmer were just a distraction, as the main host came behind them, heralded by Farkas' yelp of fear.

Frostbite Spiders, some as big as a carriage, came chittering down the pass, Chaurus beetles and their horrid flying cousins interspersed between them. Volleys of acid and webbing fell upon our party, necessitating our falling back toward the cover of the trees, Scales darting out to strike one or two enemies down, covering us as we tried to figure out how to stop the small horde falling on us.

Seeing their formation, a wall of spiderlegs and chitin marching dutifully toward us, gave me an idea.

Switching to my Reductor setting, I called merrily to my companions, who were still doing their best to keep these nightmarish insects at bay, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" I'd always wanted to say that!

"What?!" Drevas called back uncomprehendingly, sending a stream of pyroclastic fire into a cluster of beetles, dodging a spat web and sending an arrow back in return.

Cha – BLAM! Cha – BLAM! Cha – BLAM! Cha – BLAM! Cha – BLAM! Cha – BLAM!

I raked Stormbringer across the attacking force, aiming for the center of the wave; my plan worked, much to my private pleasure! Those coming behind my attack stumbled in craters and found themselves easy pickings for my Ana and Farkas, while those in front were thrown off balance by the shower of rock and viscera that fell upon their backs. Scales rushed forward and put down any that Drevas or I missed in our mop-up action.

Shaking my head and flicking some magic to my ears to take care of the ringing, I grinned triumphantly over at Drevas and called, "It means, look out, explosions inbound!"

He looked about to quip something back when the ground shook.

Then it shook again, accompanied by a distant thud.

"Shite…" Farkas swore, unsheathing his sword and, propping it against a tree, nocked another arrow, eyes flicking over the pass in worry, "What now? A giant?"

An arrow thudded against the tree I was using as cover; I couldn't see anything in the mist that was still clogging the pass ahead, "Lass Yah!"

A small squad of Falmer, on the ridge near the pass' entrance; another arrow hissed by me, launched by one of the little blighters! I took aim at their formation, holding my breath as Kresh howled happily….

And then the breath left me in pure horror, Kresh's howl cut off with a stunned choking yelp.

"FROST GIANT!" Drevas roared, voice cracking in fear for the first time; he must've been using Aura Whisper too.

Also, I couldn't blame him for being afraid.

Out of the mist it came, like a Minotaur was crossed with a frost troll and scaled up until it nearly dwarfed the giants I'd seen wandering the plains around Whiterun. Unlike those (mostly) peaceful sentinels, this beast was covered in chitin plates and other detritus, and looked like it would enjoy killing and eating us very much, if the glare it was giving our party was any indication.

The two Falmer riding on its shoulders screeched madly and eagerly, launching arrows our way, the beast they were riding toting what looked like a tree trunk, the roots fashioned into massive claws. I wondered at the purpose of such a fell weapon even as I took a shot at a knee, hoping to unbalance this monster, even as the sight sent a cold wave of fear through me.

With good reason: even though the Oblivion Crisis rendered this species of beast nearly extinct, their ferocity and toughness were the stuff of legends. Entire companies of Hold guardsmen had been crippled for life or slaughtered in the past centuries, trying to put down these feral, titanic, man-eating terrors. They were magically resistant, and, barring extenuating circumstances or sheer dumb luck, could only be taken down through long and bitter attrition.

So I wasn't all that surprised when my bolt hit the giant's knee… and did bugger all!

Well, it did jerk its now-slightly-bleeding leg back and let out an angry growl that sounded like a falling mountain, but I'd hoped for a little more dismemberment!

More bolts joined the first, aimed at every part of the beast lumbering toward us, accompanied by blood bolts, swearing (even my Ana was), and arrows; right when one of Drevas' arrows sent a Falmer flying off the thing's shoulder, the Frost Giant swept it's weapon across the ground, the clawed ends coming up with a boulder the size of my room in Breezehome!

It was also giving us all the stink-eye, its arm tensing to whip that branch, which it was now holding in both hands ('Oh shite oh shite!') and hurl the stone at us!

'Shite!' paling as the titan drew its arm back to throw the rock, I acted on my instincts and let a surge of righteousness flow up from my chest to my lips, and Shouted, "FUS RO!"

The Shout was echoed by Drevas' own, both expressions of the Thu'um barreling up the slope and into the Frost Giant right as it swung the tree, loosing that boulder at us with an angry roar that drowned out our Shouts.

The result was almost comical.

Arrested by my Shout's impact, the deadly missile seemed to hang in the air, spinning, while the great beast staggered from the Thu'um's backwash. Then Drevas' Shout hit it, sending the boulder rocketing into the titan's face with a wet crunch!

The remaining Falmer on its shoulder screamed in terror, cut off as the beast fell with a great crash that shook the mountains… revealing another chitin-armored Frost Giant lumbering through the pass behind it, the beast giving a roar of fury and challenge that made my ears ring!

"Fucking hells," swore Drevas in disbelief even as I grimly loosed a few bolts at the thing's head, my Ana snarling audibly as she added a few woefully ineffectual cutting ribbons to my volleys, "are you serious?!"

I silently agreed as the creature began walking at us, using an arm as a shield against our arrows and spells, a stone-headed greataxe taller than the Gildergreen held in its other hand. Gelebor wasn't kidding! The Chantry must've been a nightmare, even before the Falmer showed, if this was one of the challenges Initiates had to face!

One of Farkas' arrows went high and wide, then, striking a jut of stone above the beast and making some snow fall on its head; it roared in annoyance, the ground shaking as though it'd used a Thu'um itself!

Drevas called over in an annoyed tone, Scales snarling at his feet and swatting the Falmer's arrows away, "Farkas! Stop playing with the thing and…" he trailed off.

The jut of rock above the Frost Giant cracked.

I blinked, because, 'No. No bloody way.'

A shower of pebbles fell on the Frost Giant, the beast shaking its head angrily, hitting the wall of the pass in its blind fury; the jut of rock now had a visible crack in it, and was shifting…

"Farkas," my Ana choked out, while Kresh and I stared with silent incredulity, "What did you do?!"

The rock broke free from the cliff and fell when the beast took another menacing, earth-shaking step forward.

WHUD!

And had its head smashed clean into its ribcage, the two Falmer riding the thing sent to the ground with their own skulls caved in, dead before they hit; the newest Frost Giant corpse teetered, swayed, then collapsed forward at the pass' entrance, killing another three Falmer snipers and sending the other five running for cover with terrified, hateful screeches.

None of us tried to shoot them. We were too busy gaping in plain, gobsmacked shock at Farkas' handiwork. Even Scales, I noticed as I started to turn to look at my Nord friend, was staring ahead with his beak hanging open, one eyebrow twitching. Slowly, one by one, we turned to look at the smugly smiling Nord…

Who flashed Serana a grin and asked, "So, how many points is tha-oof."

And then he took an arrow to the chest.

"FARKAS!" I cried, running for him as he staggered back and whirled behind a tree for cover, his own eyes bugging at the shaft in his breastplate.

Hiss-BWOOM! Went Drevas' fire spell, filling the pass ahead with explosive ash and illuminating the scene in orange light as I arrived at my friend's side, to find him pulling the (thankfully bloodless) Dwarven arrow out of his cuirass with a disgusted snarl.

"RUN, YOU LITTLE FETCHERS!" my fellow Dragonborn roared, the sound of a blood ribbon smashing into stone far away making me look up to see the last two Falmer running away, a red mist hovering over a wide belt of popping, cooling magma, "RUN!" one of those last Falmer fell with a green arrow in its back before its partner disappeared over the ridge.

Putting the fight out of my mind, I asked loudly (because my ears were still ringing from the Giant's roars), "You good, Farkas?!"

"Yeah!" he nodded, rubbing the gouge on his chest with a frown before grinning at me, "Guess I owe Gunmar one, huh?" I grinned back, my panic fleeing before the relief I felt at seeing him unharmed; goodness, that was close! If that'd been a Daedric arrow, it might've been Farkas' last moments, there.

Serana appeared by my side as I babbled my last thought at the smirking Companion, took one look at Farkas and shook her head with a humored smile, "And that's why you don't let your guard down, Farkas. Oh, and the Frost Giant still only counts as one kill."

"Oh come on!" the Nord complained as Drevas came walking over with Scales, the pair sending a few glares toward the pass as they went, "That kill should be worth at least three!"

I shook my head, smiling myself as the adrenaline wound down, "No Farkas. If a dragon only counts as one kill, it's the same as the Frost Giant. You get one kill, then… how many, my Ana?" I looked up at my love with a small smile, which was returned with a fanged one of her own, "Five?"

She nodded agreeably, which just brought Farkas' smug back; then Drevas arrived ('How does he move so quietly?! Wait… ugh, Muffle on his boots,'), holstering his bow and looking at Farkas in pleased surprise, "Ah, you're alive, good," he said breezily, as though he were truly relieved the young man was unhurt, but I could see the mischief in his eyes, "I wasn't looking forward to stuffing your giant, dead arse in my Toolbox."

The mental imagery made me snort and my Ana stifle a giggle with her hand while Farkas glared at the shamelessly grinning Dunmer. Then that grin was turned on myself and Serana.

I knew what that smirk meant, having seen it on Fred and George's mugs more than once, 'He's going to pay us back for the last Wayshrine, I just know it!'

So I cleared my throat and gestured my crossbow at the visceral devastation ahead of us, trying to change the focus, "We, ah, made a mess, it seems," bits of Falmer, spider, Chaurus and two (thankfully) very dead Frost Giants littered the slope, their blood and guts splayed over the snow and exposed stone like a macabre abstract painting.

Humming, Drevas started walking fearlessly toward this scene, Scales going before him and checking over the dead, "Well, let's get on past it then. The sooner we get past all this gore, the sooner we'll finish this awful gauntlet," I holstered my crossbow and drew the Fang with an agreeing nod.

Frost Giants don't smell very nice, even in death; nonetheless, we needed to go past them to traverse the crags, and both Drevas and Farkas were busying themselves collecting what arrows were still intact. I took the opportunity to examine the first dead giant.

Or, more accurately, Kresh did, the shadowy hound whipping around the edges and wagging his tail excitedly. 'What'd you find, Kresh?' I thought to him, walking a little closer as he sniffed a spherical rattle hanging from the beast's wrist.

There is something magical within, mist-ah, Hermione! Came Kresh's excited reply, right before he tore at the ball's shadow with his teeth, the physical object tearing open and disgorging its contents for my perusal.

A skull, some other bones, a few rocks and… a decorative egg?

Banded with sharp designs that formed from a matte, dark grey material about its middle, the item glowed with light from somewhere within its pointed purple top and bottom; after I brushed the bloody snow off it, anyway. It seemed carved, like one would a gemstone…

I turned it about in my hands, gazing into its depths curioiusly, Kresh wagging his tail vigorously and reporting, much to my excitement, It feels like a Sigil Stone, Hermione! Well, the Daedric hound tilted his head in thought, a little, anyway. Sigil Stones are more fiery and… heavier.

Recalling stories of the Oblivion Crisis, particularly how the Gates were closed, I felt my excitement redouble! Could I use this to find my way home?!

"Master!" I called, running around the dead beast with Kresh at my heels, finding my fellow Dragonborn in the process of removing the Frost Giant's horns, Toolbox open at his feet; Serana also looked over from where she'd claimed what seemed like a bag of glitter from a Falmer corpse. I was too excited to look closely, voice almost shrill as I held up the egg, "Kresh says it's like a Sigil Stone!"

"Oh! Really now?" eyebrows raised in surprise, he tossed the horn he'd just harvested into the cluttered Toolbox and carefully lifted the item from my hands while I bounced in place!

"Oi!" Farkas' voice carried down to us from the other Giant's body, drawing our attention to his upraised hand; it held another egg! "The hells is this thing, Dunmer?!"

"Bring it over!" my mentor called back as Serana arrived at my side, looking between me and my find with pleased interest; I hugged her quickly as Drevas' hands started glowing.

I might be able to go home! I might be able to bring Serana to see my world! Oh, she could apply for the DADA professor's post, or we could open an apothecary or Potions store! And I could…

Oh, Harry! 'Serana and Harry will get along, I'm sure of it! Oh, I hope he understands! If not, I'll… I'll give him a lecture on how amnesia can effect a person's personality! Surely he won't hate me for my lapse, and accept me for who I've become…' whatever he decided, I had to own my choice, even if it was made while my memories were suppressed. My Ana deserved the chance.

"Hmm…" Drevas' thoughtful hum brought me back to the present; my Ana was gripping my shoulders caringly, Farkas arriving with the other egg, which he was looking at suspiciously.

Then Drevas spoke, a frustrated frown on his face, "It's like a Sigil Stone in that it forms an anchorite between one fixed point in Mundus and another. I think, anyway," he turned it over in his hand while I deflated; it… wouldn't send me home? "I have to hand it to the Snow Elves: their way of enchanting involves less pattern symbology and more artistic expression."

He exchanged the one in his hand for the green egg Farkas produced, passing my find over to my Ana, who examined it herself; I was, at this point, praying for a different opinion from my girlfriend. Who knew what Harry and Ron were getting up to in my absence, or what new horrors were presenting themselves at Hogwarts?!

My mentor nodded, though his frown didn't abate, "Yeah, more or less the same basic purpose, but the resonation feels different."

Serana swore under her breath, drawing our collective attention, "Blast it. I know this Enchantment could be used to open a Gate to any of the Planes," I heard the capital 'E', and felt my hopes rise, before she frowned apologetically at me, "but I can't read Falmer… and the only person who can is Calcelmo of Markarth, and he might just want to buy it off you for his museum instead of allowing a look at his notes. Oh, my 'Mione…"

She hugged me empathically, but I was confused by her wording, so I took the egg out of her hand, a kernel of an idea forming, "Um," I glanced at her, then held the egg back out for her to take, "The Enchantment's stable, right?" she nodded, that spark of interest re-entering her eyes; I drew my wand, "Make sure it stays that way, I'm going to try something…"

Drevas' face appeared on my left, "What're you going to try?" he asked, brows raised in concerned curiosity.

I pursed my lips, recalling the spell, "It's a basic spell that reveals what magic is tied to an object, and displays them visually; if runes are embedded into it, it should show them. Also," I added with a small smile, "with the way your world's magic functions, it'll also show the ethereal patterns that have been laid into the object. It's a perfectly safe spell that doesn't interact with the enchanted object on any active level; I found it in a primer on Curse-Breaking last summer… I'll explain what that is over lunch," I added when one of his brows lowered. Still, he nodded at Serana, whose hands began to glow around the egg.

She smiled reassuringly at me when I hesitated; honestly, I was just scared I'd blow her hands off, but then I remembered that she'd reported being cut in half once. That, and my Ana was no slouch when it came to magic; I trusted her. I gave her my heart, after all.

So I banished my worries, and pointed my wand at the egg and went through the wand motions, "Revealio Incantatem."

What appeared to be a painting appeared above the egg; in the center was a 12-pointed shape that resembled a snowflake, a strange calligraphic script flowing along each arm to swirl in the center, where the material that comprised the 'snowflake' made a thick disk with a small square hole in the center. Around the outside of the shape was a circle that held more aetheric writing.

Wide-eyed and hearing Kresh's awed huff at the back of my mind, I looked up into Serana's own surprised orbs, "Does it, um, feel different?" I asked, hoping I hadn't broken it somehow.

She shook her head and said quietly, "No, it's quite stable. I've never seen an Anchor stone like this before, or a spell that could reveal magic like this," she added with a proud smile that made my heart swell. Then my love glanced at Drevas before nodding to me, "Alright, deactivate it."

I did. No explosions! Sighing in resignation and relief, I looked over at my mentor…

Whose eyes were narrowed in furious thought as he scribbled in his diary, though when he spoke up, he sounded proud, "Good find, lass; this should make getting you back to your own world much easier. When we're done here, we'll head over to Markarth, wait for the Dawnguard so we've got backup before knocking Harkon's block off," then his eyes rose to meet mine, and his gaze softened into mischievousness, "While we wait, we'll wring the cobwebs out of Calcelmo's dusty skull and have him interpret this thing."

'Yes! Oh, wait.' I gave my mentor a dry look, "Still, first we have to go through Hircine and Mara knows what else to get that Bow… wait... where's Farkas?" Where'd he get to? Wasn't he just right next to us?

The tall Nord's head poked up from behind a rock over thirty feet away and downwind, "What?"

Serana sighed in exasperation, handing a disgusted-looking Drevas the jeweled egg, which he stored in the Toolbox with its emerald partner; my love then glared at the nearby Werewolf, "I've heard of most mainland Nords being wary of magic, but this is getting ridiculous, Farkas!"

I was in agreement; there were tons of magic getting slung around him all the time, especially when we were in Falkreath together, and he never really flinched! Was it because of Ana? Because, ooh, if it was –

"I was takin' a shit, bloodsucker!" Oh. Never mind, then.

. . . . .
Early Afternoon, 22nd Second Seed, 4E201
Intrinsic Falls, Chantry of Auri-El
. . . . .

'Thirty-seven linguistic characters; seventeen distinct symbols that aren't recorded in Aetherial Symbology, all but two of the remainder have slight differences to the reference images, thirty-eight symbols in all. Altogether, seventy-five: 37 in supposed Falmer script, 38 magickal symbols,' Drevas mused around his pipe, staring at his sketch of the Enchantment Hermione revealed.

Said apprentice was currently regaling her beloved and Farkas about an adventure involving a series of labyrinthine catacombs hidden beneath her school, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley (for some reason, he wanted to punch that second family's ancestral patriarch), something called a niffler, and an abandoned box of enchanted silverware; apparently the quest ended up with the trio discovering a long-defunct training hall in an abandoned wing of the castle, which they spent quite a bit of time restoring for their personal use.

The last wasn't important. He knew from experience that the interesting part of any adventure wasn't always the destination. What you saw and did along the way was far more exiting and palatable to the regulars at a tavern, cornerclub, or inn. Or Lydia, whenever he related to her the details of his adventures, which were then meticulously recorded by his dark-haired Housecarl, as part of their agreement: he would drive the bandits out of the Hold, and she would help him write his memoirs.

No bandits in Whiterun, and the story of Drevas of Mournhold was already seventy pages long; it likely wouldn't be much longer, either. Some things were best left in the dark…

Looking up from his journal, pipe held in his smiling lips, Drevas beheld a fine example of this philosophy, that sometimes… the journey was better than the destination.

A wide shelf of snowy land stretched across his sight, the cliffs standing tall and proud over a long ravine; ice formed pillars amidst jagged rocks, water pouring off the top of that shelf in the widest and certainly most majestic waterfall he'd ever seen. Crowned with a high ridge of rock, with a regular construction built on high in the far distance occasionally becoming visible through the mists rising from the feet of the rainbow-dappled falls…

Yes, Drevas smiled, seeing sights like these, long lost to the ages, made the hardship and battles he'd gone through worth all the aches, pains and grief.

His companions seemed to think so as well… save Scales, who was further down the slope, giving the stink-eye to the odd Falmer sticking their head out on top of those crags. That… was unusual, Drevas decided, his frown returning as he mentally examined his opponents once more.

Falmer Warmongers were still Falmer, and, therefore, weren't very long-lived. While the corrupted race did still have a primitive dialect (though, in Drevas' experienced opinion, that was due more to long survival over four millennia than anything else), the last few Warmongers the veteran warrior faced weren't so… tentative.

"Problem, Drevas?" blinking, said Dunmer looked up at his apprentice, who'd sidled over and was looking at his open journal with an innocently curious expression.

Humming and blowing a stream of smoke away from her, he replied, "Not so much puzzling out how this Enchantment works than wondering why the little buggers aren't attacking still." Still, Drevas looked back down at the drawing; the square hole meant something, as it didn't really fit into the rest of the design…

Letting out her own hum while Farkas buried the campfire in snow, Hermione thought for a brief moment and suggested, "Try… I dunno, spinning it? Maybe the letters will form a different pattern," she explained when he gave her a dry look, "if it spins fast enough."

He had to admit, it was inspired, and allowed, "It's an idea, but," Drevas shut the journal and heaved himself back to his feet, "until we know what it's for, we won't know what it does." Hermione nodded sharply while he stretched, limbering back up and stifling a small burp.

Lunch had been warm roast rabbit and lettuce-filled buns with an apple and some summer ale to wash it all down. For three of their members, anyway; Kresh didn't need to eat, and Scales could eat damn near anything, so Hermione gave him some of her smoked venison, which had gone off a little in her pack. Drevas didn't mind; if it was food, it went in the clannfear.

Speaking of food, Hermione and Serana had popped off for a few minutes before returning with blushes on their faces, not long after the fire got going, the younger member of the pair looking a little pale underneath the pink of her cheeks; he hadn't asked, just tossed his apprentice a blood replenishing potion with a soft reprimand about 'time and place', which they'd taken with good grace and a promise to make more prepped food for Serana.

And wasn't that just another coup to add to the pile this young woman had amassed since he dragged her half-dead body through a door a million years ago! 'If she keeps this up,' he thought, watching as she checked her straps with a focused scowl, Kresh whirling about the party's feet, 'I won't have anything to surprise her with…'

That, and her world seemed quite a bit more exciting and dangerous than he'd originally suspected; his first impression, apparently, was only a small slice of something he was still trying to come to terms with.

Another Mundus? Sure, why not? But that Mundus being possessed of possible highly-advanced (by comparison) Dwemer technology, to the point where that dead race's language was commonly taught as a style of magic?!

That was a little harder to take in.

Drevas shook his head; there he went again, ruminating on things that had no bearing on the situation at hand. So what if his apprentice knew magic that was lost to Tamriel, or that her world had technology that would probably devastate Mundus? It wasn't like their worlds would be permanently… connected…

'Who am I kidding?' the old Mer thought to himself, looking first at the valley below, then the ridge above; the Falmer had pulled back, and there was no sign of the next Wayshrine, so… he glanced left, 'Should she get the chance, or can't bring Serana with her on the first journey, she'll probably figure out a way to come back here… hm. Maybe those crystal eggs?'

Drevas gestured with his bow, getting the party's attention, "We go left, check the near side of this valley," he pointed at the opposite side of the river below them, "then we cross the river – it's iced over up that way – and make for the lake that's up behind that ridge; if the Falmer could navigate it, so can we."

"Mmm, and there's a jut over there on the far right," Serana observed, pointing at the far side of the ridge; Drevas saw it, and nodded as she continued, "If the geography of this place is anything like elsewhere in Skyrim, there's a box canyon or something over that way, maybe more of the valley…"

"Good a plan as any," grunted Farkas, shouldering his rucksack and glaring up at the sky, "Least it ain't snowing."

Some minutes of carefully making their way down the snowy bank later, Hermione decided to break the silence of their journey, as they came close to a dense copse of trees.

"Drevas?" he glanced over at her; she looked curious as ever, "Where'd you learn Alchemy, if you don't mind my asking?"

He tore his gaze away from his apprentice, and looked ahead; the way seemed clear… and he could sense more of the unique reverberation of a Wayshrine ahead, and a little bit higher.

After ordering Scales to head up and scout the area, he answered Hermione, "I've picked it up over the years. Here, there, everywhere. Or are you asking where I learnt it first?" she nodded, that eager gleam in her eye; it touched him, to know there were young people out there interested in history, even if it was his own.

Not exactly fire-side tales, those.

Around a small sigh, he told them, as he knew Farkas and Serana were listening just as attentively, "First potion I ever made, I was… oh, fourteen I think; it was a regenerative buffer… tasted like skeever piss, it did," that got a snort from Farkas, "but it did the job. After…" Drevas shook his head, dispelling the echoes of the Expedition's screams, "…Vvardenfell, I spent a good five years in Black Marsh. Learned most of what can and can't be done with Alchemy while I was there."

He didn't elaborate, listening to the sound of snow crunching and armor clinking, glancing to his right every time the ridge came into view; the Falmer hadn't come back.

"From who?" his still somewhat innocent apprentice asked.

"An Argonian." Drevas replied shortly, before continuing in softer tones, "After Black Marsh, well," he shrugged, "I never stopped experimenting. Explored Elsewyr for a while, then me and a few others, my wives included, got a trading caravan started-"

"Wait, wives?" interrupted Serana in a disbelieving voice as Scales let out his 'all clear' bark; looking over his shoulder, it looked like the vampire couldn't quite believe her ears, and from the look on Farkas' face, the lad couldn't believe anyone putting up with Drevas' shite for more than a few weeks at a time, either.

He chuckled and went back to making sure he didn't trip over any tree roots hidden in the snow, "Aye, Serana, my two wives. One I'd known since before Vvardenfell, the other was another of the expedition members. The second one was the one who had the idea for the caravan, and the first helped me scrape up the cash to keep the thing going; last I heard, one of my great-grandkids is still running the thing."

And he didn't like thinking about it, either; luckily, the Wayshrine made itself known before their eyes, white stone and Prelate and all… with Scales bobbing his head back and forth and dancing badly in front of the stoic guardian. Drevas chuckled at the sight, which nearly scattered the bittersweet and faded memories of Elenwen, as he'd known her, and… R'siiri.

A clank behind him drew Drevas' attention back to Hermione; she was glaring at Farkas and rubbing the back of her helmet, while the Nord stared right back at her impassively. Weird. Serana, on the other hand, asked imploringly, "So… um, how did that work? Two women and you, that is?"

Drevas blinked, then hissed in annoyance, "Have I asked what you and Hermione do in your spare time, woman?" twin blushes decorated the female members of the party, but Drevas wasn't done with them yet, "You already know I had a daughter, once, and a wife I lived with in Hammerfell; that was the second one, the first one… she stayed around long enough to make sure we were settled before heading off to take care of something. One's dead and gone, and the other…" he growled and looked at the Wayshrine, "let's just say we didn't part on the best of terms, and leave it."

"Calm, Master," his apprentice piped up from next to him; Drevas looked down to find her smiling slightly, holding the Ewer in her arms and Kresh swirling around her feet, "Serana's just asking because… well, Harry, you know?"

Oh. Damn, he'd done gone and made a fool of himself again, didn't he? Master Ged would've walloped him one for that, "Ah, yeah, just… a sore spot, Hermione. And, well, I wouldn't know," he shrugged while she frowned up at him, "I don't know what Harry's preferences are, or how things like that're done in your world, but here…" how should he put it?

Farkas picked up from where he left off, "Here, it doesn't matter; so long as you're not, like, a wife-beater or some shit like that," Drevas nodded sagely; he'd had to knock a few heads around for that sort of thing, back in the day, "anyone can get married. Guy with a guy, girl with a girl, two guys and a girl, or the other way, doesn't matter. The Divines bless 'em, so long as there's love in their hearts… 'bout the only thing you can't do is start a harem, unless you're a cat that is."

"Enough," sighed Drevas when his apprentice opened her mouth again, "You can learn all this shite in Winterhold, and I'm starting to miss my bed. After you, lass."

Huffing, Hermione turned and said to Farkas, "You got the next one?" grunt. "Right. Here goes," and she approached the Prelate.

Serana glided to a stop in the place she'd occupied, and smiled up at Drevas, which made his hackles rise a bit; happily, she didn't say anything, and neither did Farkas when he came to a stop on Drevas' other side and the Prelate greeted Hermione.

"You stand before the Wayshrine of Learning, Initiate," Drevas hummed to himself as Scales sniffed a tree off to the right; Sight, Illumination, Learning. Some kind of theme, but the Divines were like that, "Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El, and fill your vessel with His enlightenment?"

Both Drevas and Serana glared at Farkas, but the young Nord's face was sober and impassive as he watched Hermione with his arms folded; noticing their glares, he glanced at them and mouthed, 'What?' with an innocent expression.

As the vampire next to him grumbled something too low to hear, Drevas' lips pursed in annoyance; fucking obtuse Nords.

"Yes," Hermione's voice brought the three's attention back to the Wayshrine, where the Prelate spread their arms once more and spoke their blessing.

"Reside, then, in Auri-El's great gift: Learning, the act of knowledge passing through the ages, master to apprentice, forever. Let it shine upon your mind, as you continue your pilgrimage to the Inner Sanctum."

Another Wayshrine rose, another draught into the pitcher – then secured to Farkas' belt – and they made their way for the forest's edge; on the way, however, Drevas noticed something… unusual.

"Is anyone else's vision, I dunno, clearer than before?" he asked while examining the twisting path that seemed to rise up to the ridge across the valley; Drevas could make out the details in the stonework, even at this great distance.

Hermione hummed, "Yeah… hey, is that a seagull?" she pointed straight up, and, lo and behold, a seagull, gliding on the upper airs; if Drevas' sense of direction was right, it'd come from High Rock and was booking it toward Solitude.

"So… you think these Shrines are blessing us, old Mer?"

Drevas nodded to Farkas' technically rhetorical question, "That, and we shouldn't think too hard on it," he began stomping down the slope, heading for that winding path, "Like you keep saying, we've got a job to do."

. . . . .
Afternoon, 22nd Second Seed, 4E201
Lake of Reflection, Chantry of Auri-El
. . . . .

"I don't like this."

I had to agree with my mentor; everything about the lake made Kresh growl and my hackles rise. If there wasn't some kind of ambush waiting here… actually, that'd be more suspicious, if we didn't get jumped during the crossing.

It was still a very beautiful lake, though; over to our left, a hundred yards away and a quarter mile up, a waterfall fell from next to some kind of white marble construction, the Inner Sanctum no doubt. If I'd brought my bag, and my broom… no, no point thinking about that.

A wide, misty lake, covered in ice, spread out before us; it was nearly flat, only the odd snowdrift marring its gleaming perfection in the slowly setting light of Magnus. A jut of rock marked the midway point between us and the other side, which I could only make out because of the arches that marched off and to the right.

As an aside, we'd found a chest on our way up there, and in it was a book; a book written in Falmer! That, and the strangely square golden chits that were in the chest with it, meant that we'd have something worthwhile to trade with Calcelmo once out of this eerily beautiful place.

Huffing, I switched Stormbringer to Reducto and scanned the rocky ridge at the outer edge of the highland lake, "No Falmer, least, none that I can see anyway."

A whiff of blood came to my nose, followed by Serana's worried voice, "We're really about to spring this trap, Drevas?" my mentor humphed in unhappiness, making my beloved sigh, "Well, at least you're about as happy as I am, walking into another deathtrap."

Farkas spoke up gruffly, "A deathtrap is something the Dwemer would do, Serana. This…" he grumbled, "…fucking Falmer. It's always something that comes at ya sideways…"

Rolling his shoulders, Drevas nodded down at Scales, who nodded back, then the tall Mer bade us, "Single file, ten paces between us, bring up the rear Farkas," and off he stomped, bow nocked and Scales right at his side, both seasoned veterans searching for threats.

A shared glance with Serana had me going first; that way, she could watch my back as I watched my mentor's. Still, Kresh didn't like the ice, and wrapped himself around my body. I didn't mind as much, probably from skating on the Black Lake back in first year, but if the frozen water kept creaking with every other step, I was going to get mad.

"Does this ice seem… a little thin to anyone?" my Ana spoke up worriedly when we were nearly halfway across.

I was about to say that ice four inches or more in thickness could hold a carriage easily when an echoing THOOM ahead brought us all up short.

A dragon. A massive, blue and red scaled dragon had just busted through the ice!

I had just enough time to bring my crossbow up and put the wyrm in my sights when the ground fell out from under me and oh gods teeth –

CRSSSH!

"GHAAAAAAAA!" I screamed as the second dragon's jaw shattered Stormbringer and my right arm against my chest as it swallowed me whole, Serana's scream of fury and horror drowned out as I was dragged down, down, into the wet darkness.

Kresh screamed in rage between my ears as the world spun and undulated around me, DIE BEAST! DIE! DIE! I could feel him lashing out, digging furrows in the esophagus we were hurtling down; suddenly, it constricted, smashing my already ruined arm against me, but that time I didn't scream. Mostly because I was trying not to throw up all over myself.

Instinctively, and panicking out of my mind, I kicked out to either side, my boot spurs finally finding purchase as the beast I was inside of let out a terrible roar, the sound of flames billowing outward coming to my ears, along with Drevas' first Shout of the fight:

"DUR NEH VIIR!"

A growl left my throat, 'I'm not going to die like this!'

And then a roar… no, calling it a roar didn't do the sound I heard justice; too plebian a term, unfit for the sky-cracking, clamoring warhorn that heralded nothing less or more than Death.

It was the eruption of Red Mountain. It was the grieving of the mothers of the stillborn, the final cries of adventurers dying in the deep, and the fires of Oblivion given voice.

The sound I heard was fear, and I felt it in the beast around me.

Good. It should be afraid, 'Kresh! Bring me my knife!'

The dread knife found its way to my hand as a sudden sense of vertigo took hold; the dragon was diving. The walls of flesh around me tried to force me down, but my boot spurs just drew more blood, digging deeper furrows. A loud crack came from my left shin as it broke from the strain I was putting into stopping myself from ending up in the fucking beast's stomach, and the fact that it felt like my lungs were trying to find my hips didn't help.

Then an impact jarred my darkened, blood-soaked world, right before a torrent of the coldest water I'd ever felt poured over me. It felt like a million daggers piercing my flesh, but I still held my breath because, 'if I exhale I won't have any air and oh gods please I don't want to die!'

In that dark, cold, howling (Kresh) haze of pain, the sudden blow that slammed into the dragon from my right, arresting its movement and drawing a choked gasp of pain from me, as the bones in my arm ground together, was unexpected. The dragon's strangled cry of terror said whatever'd stopped us had a good hold on it.

To my advantage, that cry of terror caused the beast's esophagus to open slightly, giving me a chance to use my knife; it would probably be my last chance.

I took it, Kresh's searing roar following my blow through as I did my best to give the demon a fatal wound, the shadowy hound swirling his being over my hand in a tickling storm of teeth and claws.

The blade dug deep, dragon-flesh parting before tempered ebony and the vengeful wrath of a daedra; we struck something turgid. I twisted my arm as a terrified, strangled scream tore out of the dragon.

CRACK

That deafening sound reverberated through my bones, right before the tenseness of every muscle in the beast went limp in death; distantly, I heard another explosion, followed by the world shaking, which heralded the pained, dying roars of another dragon. A split second later, a muffled Whudd signified Drevas caving its skull in. Hopefully.

I just wanted to go home.

A red ribbon tore through the dark, bloody mess I was entombed within, followed a mere moment later by my Ana's arms, pulling me from the suddenly-crackling corpse of the dragon that'd eaten me. I could feel her shaking, trying to stifle her worried sobs; I clung to her, ignored the persistent ringing in my ears, and let her help me limp painfully away from the beast's flaming corpse, Kresh spitting in its shadow before swirling his furry warmth around my legs in comfort.

Like before, there was a hot rumbling in my bones as the dragon's flesh immolated itself; unlike before, the dragon's life force was absorbed without any visions. I thanked Hircine and Stendarr this was the case, because I could barely see, let alone walk!

An eternity later, I was laying against a boulder, chugging down a healing potion on the rock in the middle of the cursed lake, which allowed me to take in the latest battlefield.

Five dragon-sized holes were in the ice, two of which now had the beast's smoking skeletons lying next to them; Farkas was bustling about, collecting arrows, while Drevas was dragging an extremely indignant Scales out of the freezing water. A third dragon was crouched at the lake's edge, glaring down at a third Frost Giant, whose guts were now spilled all over the ice; this third dragon looked like Death, its scales and flesh rotting, flies buzzing around it, wings partially in tatters…

But it was huge. The dragon we'd faced near Riften was half its size.

'Good thing it's on our side…'

As soon as that thought passed through my mind, the rotting dragon vanished in a swirl of purple flames. Durnehviir.

Drevas, on seeing me get swallowed by a dragon, had summoned one of the most powerful things at his disposal… to save me, or avenge me… I felt I was better off not knowing the thoughts that'd passed through my mentor's mind in those moments. I was having a hard enough time coping myself.

Finally, enough of my hearing returned that I could hear Serana's worried pleas, "Hermione? Have you healed? Oh gods, please be okay-"

"Ana," I rasped, looking at her; she looked like she'd been crying, and that nearly made me cry, "I'm… okay," taking a few more breaths and feeling my ribs finally pop back into place, then seal, I asked, "Stormbringer?" I wished I just imagined my bow's destruction, but knowing our luck…

Farkas came around the corner, right as I asked that, a canvas blanket under an arm; he looked angrier than I'd ever seen him, but there was something in his eyes… a softness, when he looked at me. "Sorry, lass," he said, kneeling and unfurling the blanket; the shattered pieces of my crossbow sent a pang through my heart, and a grieving whine left Kresh's lips, "Can ya magic it back together?"

Looking at the stock, which was split right through a critical Rune cluster, I shook my head miserably, "No," I sniffed, then saw Drevas approaching with a soaked Scales, "N-not without g-g-going… home…" I sniffed again, trying to keep my tears down; my Ana hugging me didn't help. Farkas just knelt there, muttering hateful words, mostly directed at the vale around us.

Once he got in earshot, Drevas looked at me for a long moment, as though he were deciding what he was going to say; Scales nudged his hand. After a glance at his familiar, Drevas opened his mouth:

"Whatever we do, we don't mention a word of this to Lydia. She's still in shock from when I jumped down a dragon's throat."

Dead. Fucking. Silence.

"What." I managed to croak out; I knew the Dunmer was madder than Sheogorath at a tea party with Professor Trelawney, but this admission was a little extreme. Even Farkas was staring at him in horrified shock.

My mentor had a glazed, faraway look in his eyes as he reported, "Skyborn Altar, back at the beginning of the year. Big bastard, he was. I tried to jump on its face and ended up going down its throat," he looked at me, a slightly mad gleam in his eye, "On a related note, that's why Lydia never makes anything with ground beef. My manner of exit was rather… messy."

…Well, that made me feel a little better; still, I was slightly angry that he wasn't more sympathetic to my plight. Then again, I volunteered for this; for my Ana. For Skyrim. For the way home.

The path was paved with corpses. I was determined to not be one of them.

Looking over my gear, after nodding to Drevas and letting out a stressed sigh, one that was joined by everyone else, I found my right gauntlet had become a mess; a quick Repair Charm helped, but I'd need to put some leather straps on to keep it from coming undone again.

Some minutes of walking later, we came to another Wayshrine; as we walked, Drevas revealed that the other Frost Giant, the one that'd tried to ambush us, had another Snow Elf egg on it.

However, at that point, I didn't much care. Like the others, I just wanted this task done and over with.

"You have toiled, and struggled, and now stand before the Wayshrine of Resolution, Initiate," the Prelate intoned at Farkas, our tall friend dwarfing the ancient ghost, "Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El, and fill your vessel with His enlightenment?"

I was leaning against my Ana, clinging to her, so I had something solid to remind me that I hadn't been killed, her arm around my shoulders still shivering at odd moments, no doubt re-living those awful minutes I spent in a dragon's gullet; Drevas, to our left, was silent and still, like a dark monument to battle, Scales glaring at nothing next to him.

Resolution. Be resolute in the face of hardship. Those words would later find themselves in my journal, long weeks from that beautiful place where I lost what was left of my childish innocence, and found the path I'd walk forever after.

I didn't know this, then. That day, beneath the darkening sky, I simply watched, absently stroking Kresh's shadow on my leg, as Farkas spoke, in a voice choked with suppressed emotion, "Yes."

The Prelate's head tilted back, and it spoke once more, "Your will is resolute, and Auri-El favors you. Keep that knowledge in your heart, for your struggles have not yet ended. One Wayshrine more, child, before you rest and reflect within the comfort of the Inner Sanctum."

Another Wayshrine rose. Another draught for the Ewer. Three portals opened, leading to the shrines we'd already visited, but I felt no more professional curiosity.

I just wanted to burn this place. Burn it, and purify all the horrors that lurked in its deceiving beauty.

"The water's frozen," Farkas spoke, looking into the Ewer, rousing us from our reflections; making a huddle around him, we found that, yes, the water was freezing inside the pitcher.

"Hmph," Drevas grunted, face pinched in annoyance, "Probably so none of the buggers spilled any on the way; wonder how many times that happened before they enchanted it?" he finished with a smirk, which was echoed with all our own quietly-expressed humor; with a sigh, he looked up at the sky, and then frowned, "Also," then he punched Farkas on the shoulder, after my Nord friend passed the Ewer back to Ana, hard enough to make the big guy stumble.

Shocked and angry on his behalf, I asked hotly, "What was that… for?" I saw the sky, which was now roiling with steel-grey clouds; Kresh's whine of worry was echoed by my own whimper of pained realization, seeing the snow on distant peaks blowing off them like banners.

A snowstorm. Of course it was a snowstorm.

My Ana sighed in defeat, and then Farkas saw it too, his angry face giving way to sad resignation, "Aw, fuck."

"Yep," Drevas gritted out, popping the 'p', as he turned and made for the box canyon, right where my Ana said it would be, "You jinxed it."

. . . . .
Midnight, 22nd Second Seed, 4E201
Paragon Altar Glade, Chantry of Auri-El
. . . . .

The storm was letting up, as far as Farkas could tell; good thing they'd found the canyon, and that Drevas had literally everything in that weird case of his, or they'd have really been in for it.

Most people who lived outside of Skyrim didn't realize that it wasn't the cold that killed most people, or the frost trolls, or the giants, or, honestly, anything else that lived in the province. Bandits were more of an infection than anything, and so long as you left the barrows alone, the draugr would leave you alone.

No, the number one cause of death in Skyrim was snow. But not the softly falling flakes of Windhelm or the near-constant flurries of Winterhold.

It was the blizzards that did people in. A snowstorm? No; snowstorms just buried houses. A torch and some muscle, and you'd be fine. Unless by 'snowstorm' one meant 'a living wall of thousands of icy cold whips, that will tear your flesh right off your bones and put holes through your body'; that was a Skyrim blizzard.

Elsewyr had sandstorms. Morrowind, Black Marsh and Summerset had volcanoes and monsoons. Orsinium and High Rock had avalanches and earthquakes. Valenwood had hurricanes.

Skyrim had blizzards. And one had just whipped through the valley they were camped in.

Luckily for his new Pack, Serana had good eyes, better than Farkas', and found a ruined dais right next to a natural spring. Some canvas sheets and wooden stakes from Drevas, some of Hermione's cleverness, and Farkas' muscle, and they had a nice, big, warm tent set up around the thing.

The peak of the tent was affixed to a tall stake that Farkas couldn't believe came out of that Toolbox, and, within those canvas walls, the Pack slept restlessly for a few hours while the wind howled and battered the mountainsides. At least, the rest of Farkas' Pack did; none of them, Farkas included, were in the mood to talk much, so after a small dinner of smoked venison and water, everyone else crashed on their respective bedrolls.

Farkas leaned himself against one of the broken pillars on the dais, set his sword against the ruined stonework, and faced the closed and securely tied flap that led back into the vale. The Chantry of Auri-El.

The young Nord wondered what Kodlak would say, if he could see what Farkas was now up to. Frost Giants, undead dragons out of nowhere, his Shield-Sister swallowed by-

He shook his head, slowly dislodging the memory of Serana's cry of horror, on seeing her beloved vanish into the dragon's maw, the crossbow's pieces falling all over them. The Hound of Jorrvaskr found himself hating the Shrine to Akatosh, hating that it was changing them; he could see it, in Drevas' slowly becoming more quiet and reserved, in Hermione's steadily hardening eyes, in Serana's smiles not coming as quickly or as often…

And his own resolve, to see the mad task through to the end. No matter what other horrors lay in wait for them. The reason in his head was simple, though: Hircine had Favored him, bid Farkas walk at Hermione's side. So he would. The Pack came first; everything else was just fluff, in his mind.

A sudden shift of cloth and soft exchange of feminine words had Farkas looking pointedly at anything except Serana and Hermione; from the smell of things, though, it wasn't them getting more intimate, but Hermione getting up… and walking toward him.

Looking at her, Farkas was reminded that any self-respecting devotee to Hircine would be able to see the lightness of her feet, the confidence in her shoulders, and the hard resolve in her gold-cored brown eyes; they'd be able to smell the pine needle aroma that drifted off her, mingling with the scent of blood that never seemed to go away…

Maybe that was why the other Companions trusted her implicitly, Farkas mused, as Hermione stopped next to Drevas' bedroll…

And, winding her leg up slowly, kicked him in the ribs.

Farkas hid his smirk; that was another reason he didn't mind his current task. Endless entertainment.

"Oof. The fuck do you want, girl?" Bad move, Farkas thought. Never wake a sleeping Dunmer. No matter how funny it was.

"The eggs," Hermione whispered, nodding her head at the other pillar, and what Farkas had originally assumed was a cut-down pillar, or a Falmer bin, "This is where they're used."

It was after this cryptic statement that the fire flared, revealing Serana had silently gotten up to start it, her glowing eyes meeting Farkas' with a serious nod.

He kicked off the pillar as Drevas groaned and asked sleepily, "And just how do you know that?"

"Hircine told me."

Farkas froze. Then remembered that the young woman before him was Most Favored, and sighed, 'More Daedric shit. Great.'

The Dunmer sat up, with extra grumbles, and withdrew the three eggs they'd collected, asking, "Did the Huntsman tell you anything else?"

Hermione nodded on receiving the items, Serana gliding over to her back; then Hircine's Most Favored looked directly into Farkas' eyes.

Her voice, when she spoke, had a strange quality to it, "Come, Child of the Wild. You will need a better blade, if you wish to endure the remaining trial, and Hircine has judged you truly worthy." And she walked toward the small pillar, as though in a trance, with the other three adventurers (and one sleepy clannfear) gazing at her back.

"And yes, He told me to say that, too."

Farkas snorted, and replied modestly, as he didn't really have to fake it, "I hear and follow, Most Favored."

Drevas' head hit his pillow again, Scales grumbling in his sleep next to him, and the tall Dunmer bid Serana with a wave, "Take the Toolbox and store whatever in it. I'm going back to sleep." With an eye-roll, the vampire did as he said, and glided over to Farkas right as Hermione selected the sapphire egg, taken from the Frost Giant that'd tried to ambush them at the lake.

She held it over the cut-down pillar, which began to glow with a turquoise light. "Hey, Elf!" barked Farkas over his shoulder, "Those things are keys!"

The Dunmer was suddenly beside them, journal out and watching attentively. Farkas rolled his eyes; edict from Hircine, and he sleeps. Strange magic that might unleash something terrible – he drew his blade and activated the enchantment – and the mad Mer gets his ass in gear.

Hermione hummed, waving her wand between the key-egg and the lock it was supposed to go into, then muttered loud enough for all to hear, "Resonance… I was right. The egg's enchantment spins to activate the tumblers, and keeps spinning so the door stays open," and she let the egg go.

It drifted into the small altar with a click, and then a shimmering mist appeared before them; Farkas couldn't see what was within, but he could smell snow, and ice, stronger than the scent of same about them. Which meant it was likely cold, wherever it led.

Hermione clearly didn't care, as she held out her hand; the White Fang appeared in her grasp with a flash of silver light, and she turned to Farkas. Eyes lidded, Hermione stepped up to Farkas' side and nodded curtly at him, "After you."

Shrugging, Farkas glanced over his shoulder; Serana had drawn her silver blade and was looking at the gateway with more or less interest, and Drevas had picked up Starfall, clutching it in one hand with his journal and quill in the other. Both nodded to the young Nord.

Steeling himself, he stepped into and through the shimmering curtain of light, the Huntsman's Most Favored at his side.

It led to a room of rough white stone and filigreed windows, reminding the Nord of pictures he'd seen of the Aeylid ruins in Cyrodiil; the other side of the windows were covered in heavy sheets of ice, and an altar, on the far side of the room, played host to three stone chests, several dusty quivers of moonstone arrows, some gleaming Elven plate and arms, which were black and white, like Gelebor's but of a lower quality, rather than the traditional gold…

There was a glittering coming from the altar's surface; as he carefully edged forward, sniffing the air – no enemies – he asked Hermione quietly, "So what's Lord Hircine giving me?"

"He didn't say," drawled Hermione, moving slightly ahead of Farkas, squinting at the glitter, which became partially shrouded by Kresh's running all over the altar; then her eyes widened in shock, right as Serana let out a pleased hum at the sights around them, the young Dragonborn hissing, "Oh that is obscene."

On moving closer, the young Nord gaped at the source of the glitter: gemstones. No, those were fucking boulders, they were, dozens of them; reaching out numbly, Farkas picked up a rose diamond the size of his eye and examined the flawless stone incredulously, muttering, "I know this ain't what Hircine gave me."

Serana piped up, over to the left, "I smell bonemeal, around the corner here," looking over, Farkas saw that there was an alcove; dropping the gem carelessly back onto the table, where Drevas quickly scooped it up and placed it in a drawstring pouch with the others, Farkas stomped over to the other part of the room and looked inside.

A wolf's skeleton lay on the floor, in the back corner of the otherwise empty alcove. Next to it, leaned against the wall, was a sheathed claymore.

Its crossguard was red, the hilts bracketed with gold, and brown leather wrapped the grip; a gleaming ruby shone on the square pommel, and the blade, once Farkas was in front of the softly shining claymore, was silver, with a bluish gleam to it.

A fine weapon, by any stretch of the imagination, but not one Farkas immediately recognized; or Hermione, surprisingly. As soon as he picked up the weapon to examine its weight and heft (fantastic, better than any he'd ever held), Farkas saw his Shield-Sister in all but name whip out Howl to the Moon, which she then began paging through with a frustrated expression.

"It's not in here," the young woman grumped, before stilling; a glance at Kresh showed Farkas that the Alpha was speaking to her again. A moment after her stilling, her eyes widened slightly, then she called over her shoulder, "Master Drevas?"

"What?" came the Dunmer's distracted voice from the other room; Farkas drew the blade as Serana walked back into view, the vampire 'ooh'-ing at the shimmering weapon. It was light, and fit nicely into his grip; the young Nord wagered he could swing it with one hand, and not feel much discomfort.

"My knowledge of the Daedric Prizes is a little hazy," drawled the First Huntress, drumming her fingers on the Fang's haft, "but I'm fairly sure Chrysamere isn't one of them."

'What.' thought Farkas in no small amount of shock, looking at the blade in his hand with a new eye.

"WHAT?!" came Drevas' disbelieving roar, which disturbed some of the dust in the ruin, heralding the Dunmer himself storming around the corner, Toolbox open under one arm; no sooner did the veteran soldier lay eyes on the blade did he stop, and gazed at the weapon in wonder, muttering, "It can't be… that was in the Nerevarine Exhibit at the Mournhold Museum."

While interesting, that the weapon was once wielded by the Nerevarine herself, that wasn't what made Farkas feel unworthy of even looking at Chrysamere; legend had it that King Harald, the first High King of Skyrim, once held the legendary blade, and, by its edge, defeated the mighty warrior Randagulf.

"However it got here," Hermione's quiet voice shook Farkas from his musings, the young woman already turning to walk away, "it belongs to Farkas now."

And she left without another word, Serana following close behind.

The young Nord and the old Dunmer exchanged looks before the Mer grumbled, "Well, at least Hircine gave it to someone who'll do the legends justice," Drevas smiled and clapped Farkas on the shoulder, turning back to organizing the Toolbox…

While Farkas frowned at the gleaming blade, saying aloud, "I don't… feel like I've earned it."

"Tosh, boy," scoffed the Dragonborn, closing the Toolbox with a quiet clack and rising to his feet, "The Prizes never fall into the hands of those who've earned them, but those who'll use them well."

"Speaking from experience?" asked Farkas, sheathing Chrysamere and slinging the strap over his shoulder, next to the greatsword Hermione crafted for him; after the Dunmer nodded solemnly, Farkas grunted in understanding, adding, "Sooner this is all over, sooner we can all rest easy."

As the pair made for the exit, the elder of the two warriors scoffed again, "Yes, all of you can rest easy. I don't have that ruddy luxury; Thane of Whiterun, Dragonborn, more titles than I have fingers and toes. I swear, should've just hared off to Cyrodiil…"

. . . . .
Midmorning, 23rd Second Seed, 4E201
Glacial Crevice, Chantry of Auri-El
. . . . .

My Ana yanked an arrow from the last Falmer guarding the snowy pass we'd spent the past morning navigating, the filthy thing collapsed against a Charus-chitin fence; it hadn't been easy, traversing the cliffs behind us, but fight our way through we did.

I'd thought, as we entered the pass and the resident Falmer began firing at us from on high, that we'd found their final redoubt, and that our journey was nearly at an end. Unlike before, I couldn't assist my friend, mentor and lover in providing overwatch; instead, I trusted in the durability of my remaining armor…

And took point, rushing forward with Kresh and Scales to take the fight into close quarters; none of my companions chided me for the act, for putting my young life at risk. It warmed me, actually, every time there was a break in the action and I allowed the others to catch up to us, to see the understanding in their eyes. Especially my Ana's eyes.

After having a good night's sleep – and conversing with Lord Hircine in dreams – I was… not galvanized; I already had the determination to see my task through to the end.

No. I was irritated with the wretched creatures that kept attempting to waylay us. If they had been Daedric creatures, I might not have felt that way; at least I could've expected a decent challenge from such opponents.

Instead, I was once again busying myself with cleaning Falmer blood and gore off the White Fang, Kresh tearing valuables and curious objects from the pockets of our departed foes, Scales watching the crack in the wall of ice ahead with still focus. In the corner of my eye, I saw my Ana glance at me questioningly; I sighed and smiled at my vampiric love, "Makes you wish for draugr, doesn't it?"

"Oh, definitely," agreed the light of my life in this world; she rose from her crouch and glared at the same crack Scales was, adding in a clipped voice, "Draugr are at least somewhat imaginative and difficult to fight, and unlikely to somehow tame Frost Giants."

I blinked, gave my lower lip a bite, and said in my own clipped voice, "I hope that dragon burns in Akatosh's presence for wrecking my crossbow."

A hand clad in elven mail was laid on my shoulder; I smiled up at the owner, my Ana, as she encouraged me, "I'm sure it is, love," she glanced over her shoulder as the men arrived, both Farkas and Drevas having checked over the Falmer village behind us; to them, Serana called, "Anything interesting?"

Drevas waved another Falmer book in the air with a smile! "Found a few more coins, too," the leader of our group reported happily, Farkas saying nothing but smiling nonetheless, "and Farkas found a couple Daedric rings. If this keeps up, we'll have plenty to trade Calcelmo for some insight into those paragon eggs."

Serana nodded next to me, adding cheekily, "And if he tries to refuse, we'll just bring them to mother, and rub our findings in his dusty nose," I smirked behind my scarf at the byplay… before settling my gaze back on the crack in the ice.

Ice? No, a glacier. Taller than Whiterun, from the gatehouse to the peak of Dragonsreach, it was a massive blue-white wall before us; in its front, a pool of fetid-looking water acted as the doormat to our next obstacle.

"Laas yah!" I whispered; four troll-shapes appeared, further into the glacier. Pursing my lips, I laid White Fang on my shoulder, reported what I saw to everyone else – grumbles were had, but no complaints; instead, everyone began checking their gear, while I… considered.

I'd read the book, Howl to the Moon, after helping Farkas collect Hircine's gift, Chrysamere. The book was enlightening, to say the least; as Most Favored, my duties weren't as constant or taxing as, say, Lucia's would be, once she became a full Priestess of Kyne.

Basically, it fell to me to ensure all Were-people followed the teachings of Hircine. I could create altars, if I wished, and I could preside over congregations of hunters who sought the protection of the God of the Wild… but I didn't have to. I could go my whole life without starting a cult and Hircine wouldn't take offense.

There were still things I absolutely had to do, though; at least once a year, preferably on Hircine's feast day, I had to strip out of all my clothes, paint my body in wolf's blood, and then hunt down and kill a beast of the wild with nothing but a stone knife and my wits, before cutting out and eating its heart in Hircine's name.

To say that I was somewhat revolted would… be an overstatement; compared to what other cults to the Daedric Princes had to do, to ensure their liege's continued blessing and assistance, eating a creature's heart raw wasn't that bad. Couldn't be worse than drinking cat Polyjuice.

The rest of the required rituals and duties were straightforward: I would have to tattoo my forearms red, in honor of Hircine, after my 18th birthday; I couldn't eat meat I didn't either kill myself, or wasn't killed by a dedicated hunter (most hunters in Skyrim praised Hircine, according to Farkas, so that wasn't an issue); if I was ever blessed with carrying a child to term, it was mandatory I give birth naturally in a forest glade; finally, if the peace of Nirn was threatened – from within or without – I had to call on the Wild Hunt, and lead them into battle as Hircine's earthly messenger.

Which led to the consideration of the present; if I summoned the Wild Hunt, the path to the Bow would be cleared…

But that would be cheating, I was fairly sure, in the eyes of the Gods. At the same time…

I was done playing the game of keep-away the Falmer seemed fond of. It was time to show them exactly how buggered they were.

Lifting my left hand, I called on my magic, formed it into the appropriate Conjuration pattern… and attached a thread to my shadow before speaking aloud:

"Kresh, Alpha of the Wild Hunt, Firstborn Hunter of Hircine, attend to His Favored, for her enemies are wicked and many. Lend her your claws and fangs, and rend their flesh with her for a time."

I hear and obey, Most Favored! Let this Hunt commence!

With a happy howl – and more than a few gasps and mutters of surprise from my fellows – my shadow bulged upward and twisted, the spell resolving in a swirl of starlight and the scent of a temperate forest in summer.

Kresh was much larger than I imagined, the top of the Chorrol Shepherd's head nearly as tall as Scales' crest before one counted his ears; his coat was white and black, as opposed to the classic brown and black, and his eyes were a gleaming gold.

The Daedric hound howled to the sky, before gnashing his teeth at the crack in the glacier; I grinned myself, feeling the fire in my chest flare in response to the declaration of the start of the hunt. Then I looked to everyone else.

Serana clearly understood, if her nocked bow and eager expression were anything to go by; Farkas was also ready to get the final push underway, loosening both his greatswords –

Then Drevas shoved another green potion into the Nord's chest, stating evenly, "Odds are the buggers have set pickets all through the next leg," I nearly snatched the energy potion from Drevas and waited for Serana to get hers before uncorking mine, Drevas finishing in a hard voice as we all prepared to enter the glacier, "Unless it's to make sure there's none hiding behind us, we don't stop or make any detours until we make the last Wayshrine."

None of us argued, or otherwise replied. All of us were eager to see Whiterun and our friends again, and we were all prepared to go through the Falmer to do just that, to see it through, save the world, and go home.

It was time to end it.

. . . . .
Noon, 23rd Second Seed, 4E201
Pass of Radiance, Chantry of Auri-El
. . . . .

I was furious.

Four bloody hours of climbing a chaotic switchback path up the glacier. Traps by the dozen, rocks and arrows from above, and the fucking screeching of Falmer hounding us for every inch. Chaurus leaping out of cracks in the ice, fireballs flying at us from every angle…

None of it was terrifying to me.

Kresh howled with happiness as he, with Scales cackling next to him, tore through the ranks of Falmer that tried to ambush us time and again; White Fang sliced through chitin as I danced through poison sprays; blood ribbons trailed behind Elven arrows, my Ana flaying the beasts that fought us for every icy foot; fireballs dispersed over Farkas' laughing form as he rushed one shaman after another, putting Chrysamere through its paces while Drevas covered him, the powerful Dunmer humming what sounded like Auriel's Ascension as he pinned the shrieking beasts to the walls, or sent them screaming into the black abyss below.

By the end of it, as we left ice behind and found grey stone again, we paused to take a drink of water and check our equipment again. All our faces were hard, including Kresh's, his ears laid back as he snarled at the tunnel ahead.

Where countless shrieks and cackles came to our ears, along with the chittering of Chaurus and the roar of at least two more Frost Giants.

I swished water around in my mouth, trying to get the rotten, moldy aftertaste of Falmer out of my mouth, the accursed being's scent so thick in the air I could taste it through my scarf. Gritting my teeth angrily, I snarled, "Damn these fucking creatures to the depths," then I screamed in the host's general direction, "AND DAMN WHOEVER'S CONTROLLING YOU! WE WILL KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

"Oh, I'm sure they know, lass," grinned Drevas, a cold pulse coming from his body as he started to shake, then giggle, "I'm sure they know, hehehe!" Scales turned black and red, chittering and barking in eagerness.

It was the trolls that gave the game away, at the entrance to the glacier: their eyes were purple, a telltale sign of possession.

Someone, possibly Vyrthur, was controlling not just the Falmer, but every creature that we'd fought so far. Whoever they were, they knew they were backed into a corner; they'd filled the pass ahead with nearly every Falmer that escaped our purge of the Vale, a horde that no doubt numbered in the thousands.

It was Shriekwind all over again, except with far more enemies… and much higher stakes.

Our opponent knew we were dead-set on killing them, while every one of us knew that failure meant the death of Tamriel at Harkon's hands.

To wit, none of us were going to hold back.

Ripping my helm off, I tilted my head to one side and looked at Serana, whose eyes were fading to orange, "Ana."

She only hesitated a moment before drinking deeply my magic and blood; when she finally came up – and I grabbed the blood replenisher Drevas handed me – my beloved's hardened eyes turned a deep black, the burning red within pulsing like distant stars.

Licking her teeth, my Ana drew her silver sword and a dagger, whispering as she drew herself up and prepared for the final stretch, "Talos, Kynareth, Stendarr, watch over us all."

"Ysgramor, look upon your son with favor," Farkas intoned, Chrysamere held in both hands; the Dwemer blade I enchanted for him had cracked, back in the glacier. I wasn't worried. Farkas was nearly as dangerous as Drevas was. His body shifting and taking on a partial wolf form only underlined this.

Healing my neck with a twitch of will, I put my helm back on with another snarl of hatred for our opponent… and called on my magic one more time.

"Doran."

My shadow split with the warhorn-like roar of Kresh's Mastiff brother, but I wasn't done; I couldn't call the full Hunt, but three was better than nothing.

"With-Teeth."

The laughter of the Jackal of Hircine echoed against the stone walls surrounding us, the whirling purple-green spell in my hand audibly crackling as I spoke the final word, "Come."

Doran the Siege Tower was damn-near the size of Farkas' Werewolf form, claws that could shatter granite and sporting jaws that could crush a Daedroth with ease, his purple eyes glowing with resolve in the cavern's dark; conversely, With-Teeth the Thresher had fangs that looked sharper than Daedric ebony, and her red eyes glittered with untamable bloodlust. With Kresh shining like a beacon in front of us, I must've looked like an Aspect of Hircine.

Not that I much cared; the only thing on my mind was the extermination of our foes, and meting out justice for the one who controlled them.

Satisfied, I plucked White Fang from where I'd stabbed it into the ground and waited, both for the regenerative potion to replenish my magicka reserves… and for Drevas to complete his preparations.

With an ear-grating screech, Scales struck Drevas across an exposed part of his arm, the Dragonborn having removed a gauntlet for the occassion; chuckling, my mentor – and Proven of Boethiah, Daedric Prince of Blood and War – replaced his gauntlet and struck Scales across the clannfear alpha's side. Rippling red energy encased the reptilian daedra, Scales letting out a roar of anticipation.

The Falmer shrieked and screamed in reply; they were ready for us… or so they thought.

"Drevas," I growled, my teeth clicking due to my lengthened canines – the magic I used had side-effects, but I'd known that. My now-bloodthirsty mentor twitched his head toward me, "Like the hive."

I wish he didn't giggle like he did, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I'd rather have him at my side than not.

Drevas and I started forward, the old Dunmer beginning the Shout, "Fus."

Three more long strides, Doran moving between us, Kresh to my right with Farkas, Scales on Drevas' left, Serana and With-Teeth behind; ahead, the light of the pass resolved, and we saw what was waiting for us.

Countless Falmer, on the crags, on the cliffs, covering the ground, nearly all of them armored; later, we would find that their controller made them slaughter all the remaining Chaurus, as we'd burned most of their supplies in the breeding hive. All of them were screeching madly, bows taut with hundreds of arrows, an armored Frost Giant in the middle of their formation, the beast holding a pair of huge glass warhammers, its lone eye a putrid purple.

"RO."

The bows arrayed against us were pulled tight. I let fire ripple into my mouth.

"YOL TOR!"

A baleful fireball left my lips, so hot it turned the muddy, snowy ground into a dry, cracked waste at its passing.

"DAH!" Drevas' shout was faster than usual, entwining my fireball and sending it crashing into the Falmer formations, ripping apart their spells and arrows with impunity.

The walls of the Vale shook with the resulting explosion; unlike last time, we'd all since put wads of cotton in our ears to deaden the endless explosions we were being treated to, so our ears didn't ring much.

As for the Falmer, the combined Thu'um was devastating.

Their center lines were shattered by the explosion, their overwatch on the crags shaken loose only to fall to their death or injury; the Frost Giant balked at the sudden attack, roaring in hatred and fear. All the Falmer were stunned, knocked off-balance by our attack.

And there we were, with fire and blood in our eyes.

Drevas threw Starfall again, the dread hammer crashing into and through a heavily armored Falmer, the ebony-clad Dunmer following up by throwing ashfire spells and rushing in with Doran and I.

Scales screamed and ran up the wall to attack the remains of their left flank, Farkas let out a warcry and followed Kresh toward the crags on the right.

Serana rippled over our heads and blinded the Frost Giant before biting its neck, whirling blades of red magic whipping out to flay the lines that'd been spared the deadly Shout, the hulking beast's horrified scream suddenly cut off by a spike of blood bursting from its forehead in a spray of cranial fluid.

And I danced into the fray, trusting With-Teeth to kill any we missed, telling our enemies what was coming as I parted chitin and flesh, killing my way forward behind Drevas.

"THE NIGHT ENDS HERE! FOR TAMRIEL! KILL THEM ALL!"

. . . . .

Again and again, Farkas swung the Champion's Blade.

Through steel, chitin, and magic, all parted before the legendary claymore.

Kresh appeared in his vision, dragging a troll down by the neck, a lightning chain smashing the Falmer that tried to take advantage.

Blood ran in a river, up to his ankles. The pass turned to mud, but Farkas forged on through the screaming red haze.

Through a choke-point, and he came to where Drevas was making his stand; something in his mind told Farkas to stay away, so he culled the outliers, sticking to Hermione's side.

The Companion watched the Most Favored tear an arrow from her shoulder and run screaming back into the fray, the White Fang reaping the blighted creatures.

Side-to-side, back-to-back, they fought together like they'd been born to it. Legs, fists, magic, and blade, all were put to use in the bloody melee.

Only once did Farkas' promise something coherent to their opponents, the memory of the hive in his thoughts, the rest of his breath used in roaring defiance against the literal army arrayed against them:

"TALOS, GUIDE MY HAND! FALMER, YOUR FATE IS SEALED!"

. . . . .

Serana had only seen so much blood once before; if she was still capable of thinking clearly, the Daughter of Coldharbour admitted, later, that she likely would've stopped to get Hermione out of the fray. More out of fearing for her safety than anything, as the morass reminded the elder woman of Coldharbour itself.

Alas, that bright and shining day filled with echoing screams, with the scent of blood overpowering her senses, she wasn't capable of thinking clearly.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

The Falmer were endless, but Serana was ready for them; she flew up onto the walls and poured fire into their holes, burning their reinforcements before they could inconvenience her allies.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Her blood whips reaped vengeance in great arcs, cutting down scores of opponents with each pass; any sane general would've ordered the retreat long ago – especially with Drevas, Doran and Scales ripping through the center like a buzzsaw – but Serana didn't care.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Serana's enemy was before her, between a shameful death and salvation for Tamriel.

If she'd been able to think clearly, instead of focusing on her next opponent, the next threat to her beloved, Serana Volkihar would've noticed the golden flames that rippled over her blood crescents, the sunbursts that exploded with her darts.

She would've noticed the fear appearing in the faces of the Falmer.

She would've heard her own voice, shouting her own promise, shortly after Farkas':

"FIEND! COWARD! WE WILL BREAK YOUR AMBITIONS, IN THE NAME OF THE NINE! FOR NIRN!"

. . . . .

The mace was always light in his hands. It'd been that way, ever since the Argonian madwoman forged it from the blighted metal of Baar Dau's remains in the Scathing Bay, the crater that was all that remained of Vivec.

"Only one of Bothiah's Proven may ever wield this weapon. Now face me, you cowardly little boy, or I shall burn your homeland in the fires of your people's arrogance."

It was the first honestly good thing he'd ever done, killing the mad bitch that taught Drevas all there was to know of evil.

And by the Gods, Aedra and Daedra, he would go to his grave putting the fell mace to good use, as opposed to its intended purpose: breaking the walls of Morrowind.

Tearing through another cluster of pale beasts, Drevas came to another uphill tunnel – and that was a Dwemer siege-ballista.

'How the hells did they get one of those?' the old Dunmer distantly thought, through the red haze of battle, bloodlust, and magic rippling around him; the great bolts were enough to dispel the Siege Tower of Hircine – Hermione's scream of rage rang against the ancient stones – but the Hound had bought Drevas the seconds he'd needed.

"WULD!" and then he was amongst them, shattering the ballista with a vicious blow, Scales and his companions only seconds behind, quickly helping Drevas tear through the remaining pickets; there were fewer, which meant they were almost to the elites.

'Almost there. Just a little more.'

As he ran, as he killed, Drevas could hear the God-Ancestor laughing in Oblivion, lusting for the coming battle, delighted with the Proving her devoted follower offered her, willingly or unwillingly, as the group ran up the tunnel toward their final confrontation.

Such was the price he paid to kill that Argonian. He'd pay it again in a second.

A hundred times over, and a hundred times again.

His life in service, against the many threats that plagued the world.

For Tamriel, for Nirn. No matter the cost to his own soul.

They reached the exit. The Falmer were ready for them.

Black chitin and Falmer buildings filled a clearing larger than the market square in Whiterun. In the center of the mass of pale flesh and gnashing teeth, another hulking, horned giant.

Drevas didn't smile. He bared his teeth.

"FUS RO!" Hermione broke their enemy's greeting volley of spells and arrows, staggering a few dozen of the hundreds of Falmer and the last Frost Giant that were arrayed in the clearing.

Across the glade was the Warmonger, body covered in weapons, the white shield on its arm.

It pointed its daedric sword at the adventurers and screamed, and their enemy charged.

Drevas rushed to meet them with a feral roar, a crimson haze settling over his eyes and thoughts, his companions leaping in with him. He stabbed a Falmer through the chest and used it as a meat-shield, shattering his enemies with Starfall in his other hand, the ashen fire wreathing his ebony-clad form ripping the Falmer's flesh to shreds before they could touch him, the sound of the last giant dying mingling with his friend's roars of defiance…

And Drevas' screamed offering - willing or unwilling - to the God-Ancestor of the Dunmer:

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! THE FALMER FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

. . . . .

Cut – cut – cut – too many lines-Kresh with me – cut-cut-parry-dodge-slash-cut.

There were so many of them.

Dodge-parry-slash-slash-cut-duck-chain lightning-bombarda-cut-cut-cut.

My armor looked red, not a speck of green or gold to be seen. The ground was a morass of blood, innards, and flesh. It was hard to stand, to move forward.

I kept going.

Three steps left-cut-dodge-fireball into the flanking group-slash.

I kept moving. I didn't hesitate. Everything was either on fire or covered in red mist.

Another chain lightning left my wand, roasting the ones immediately around me; a howling roar, near the Falmer tower, accompanied by a laughing bark, signified Farkas and With-Teeth getting cut off. Scales was practically covered in enemies. I couldn't see Serana, but I knew she was watching my back, and Drevas was a whirlwind of ashen inferno, screams and bone-rattling blows, smoking corpses flying left and right from where he fought.

I noticed all of these fights and ignored them. Because the Warmonger was approaching me at speed.

Its hideous teeth were curled into a cruel smile, a daedric sword coated with ice in its right hand, the beautiful kite shield it led with sickening me. Not because I thought the item corrupt.

The shield had turned aside the Killing Curse. It was beautifully carved, at odds with the horrible nature of the Falmer. I had a feeling that even White Fang wouldn't be able to mar or break it.

So I improvised.

"Reducto!" I hissed, aiming at the Warmonger's feet; it danced to one side, avoiding getting its foot blown off, and lunged at me with a shriek.

I danced to its right and parried the thrust it aimed at me, replying with a slashing strike toward its shoulder. It turned in time with my blow, letting the blade of may nagitana skip over the top of the shield. A ripple of golden light ran over the white carapace from the point of contact.

Dodging backward, I planted my feet as the Falmer bashed the shield in my direction, even though I was too far to hit.

A blast of golden light nearly took me off my feet. If it wasn't for my training, or the Fang, the overhand blow that came at me might have connected; as it was, I cut the daedric sword in half and thrust my weapon at the Warmonger's face.

The tip of the Fang rang against my opponent's shield, forcing me back; three Falmer rushed at me from behind, while Kresh leapt at the Warmonger's exposed arm with claws and teeth, the Alpha so coated with blood he looked like a proper demon.

I struck the weaker Falmer down easily, but Kresh didn't even get a hit in, the Warmonger smashing the edge of its bulwark into the side of my companion's head; with a flash of purple, black, and starlight, I felt the furry caress of the daedric hound wrap around me once more.

Hermione! cried Kresh between my ears as I bared my teeth in a hating snarl at the Warmonger, who drew a glass sword that crackled with electricity, Do not strike the shield! It is Aedric!

"Expelliarmus!" the spell missed the Falmer by a hair, but disarmed one that was trying to snipe my Ana, who was bailed up by a few dozen more of the creatures; I circled to my right, parrying another few questing strikes from the Falmer, trying to find an opening-

A blood bolt shattered against the artifact on the Falmer's arm; I used the distraction to clip the creature's thigh after quickly breaking its sword guard. Unfortunately, I couldn't avoid it when the Warmonger bashed its shield again.

I landed in a pile of broken bodies, ears ringing slightly. Gritting my teeth through the pain – there were blades and broken pieces of armor digging into places where my armor had been rent during the mad running battle – I glared at the approaching Warmonger, a spell on my lips-

Drevas appeared through the fire, his armor torn and cracked, Starfall shrouded in an ashen aura, my fellow Dragonborn's eyes glowing rubies against his skin in the dark of his helm.

The Warmonger noticed, loosing a bolt of lightning at me as it turned, bringing the shield to block my mentor's overhand blow.

A Steadfast Ward dispersed the spell thrown at me; I added a Shield Charm when Drevas let out a cry of bloodlust and victory.

Kresh darted out and back. The back of the Falmer's right knee exploded in a shower of gore.

Starfall descended like the vengeful fist of the Gods.

The white Aedric shield gleamed like Magnus.

Ever after, even after Solstheim and Sovngarde, I would never be able to describe the resultant sound, as I hadn't, nor would ever, hear anything like it; the closest one might come would be a volcanic eruption, or a mountain shattering.

The shockwave, however, was easy to describe: pain, unlike anything I'd ever felt or would ever feel.

That qualifier has a lot of competition.

I was lifted off the ground by the impact. Spikes of oh-gods-it-hurts-no ripped into every part of my body, bringing a searing pain that seemed to burn my bones. Kresh's scream of horror, accompanied by With-Teeth's choked gasp as she was dispelled, would haunt my dreams for years.

The feeling of my Daedric companion ripping shrapnel from my body nearly made me pass out, my vision popping with stars and black spots. If it weren't for the potion working through me, I likely would've died.

Finally, I managed to lift my head from the bloody gore I laid in and saw the result of Drevas' attack, through tears and ringing ears.

The Warmonger was limping, its mouth open in a near-continuous scream; blood ran down its wounded leg, and the bones of its shield-arm were clearly shattered beyond spell or potion. Part of its humerus was poking out of the ruined limb. No other Falmer was standing, and the nearby tower had collapsed onto the crags behind it.

Drevas, to my horror, was trying to stand, blood and death in his expression as he tried, and failed, to rise from the ground and finish our enemy; his armor was nearly ruined, pieces of Starfall pushed out by flashes of gold-silver light. Blood ran from his gnashing teeth, but he couldn't get up, wouldn't get up in time.

And then there was Farkas, running out of the smoke and flames that'd engulfed the tower, his armor covered in dents and tears but still enough to protect him, Chrysamere pulled back for a devastating strike, my Nord friend roaring in insuperable fury.

I pushed more magic into healing my wounds and tried to get up, not taking my eyes off the Warmonger; it parried Farkas' opening strike and began giving ground, backing toward me. My wand was in my hand and somehow unharmed from the explosion.

Golden light burst in the Warmonger's left arm; my blood went cold as it began to lift its shield, ready to stop Farkas' next thrust-

A blood whip sailed in from stage left and lopped the Warmonger's shield-arm off, the Aedric bulwark thudding into the viscera-soaked ground.

Ana. Her armor looked like ruined lace, my beloved nearly naked she'd taken so many hits, but the fury in her eyes was a balm to my soul.

The Warmonger didn't even have time to scream before Farkas cut its other arm off and skewered it through the belly.

It laughed, a cold, hideous sound in the sudden silence of the Vale.

Farkas, lip curled in disgust, eviscerated the Warmonger with a twist and downward slash, spilling its guts into the horrid morass of the battlefield; with a wet gasp, it fell to its knees, and the Companion of Ysgramor beheaded the filthy thing.

It was over. The Falmer were destroyed, to the least and last. We'd won.

I finally managed to find my feet, only for my Ana's arms to wrap around me; my chest heaved in relieved sobs as I hugged her back. We'd won. We survived.

Over the next minutes, I repaired my friend's armor as best I was able; unfortunately, my repair charm wasn't able to fully fix everything. My left gauntlet was a ruined mess, to say nothing of my cuirass, Drevas' breastplate was in ribbons, both of Farkas' gauntlets and pauldrons had been shredded, and the less said of Serana's gear, the better: I was only able to get the chainmail and a few plates back into working condition. Fortunately, my Ana had the Warmonger's shield to protect her; I whispered its nature to her as she took it, and we both agreed that we'd wait until we were rested to tell Drevas.

Wiping away the last of my tears, I finally noticed Drevas frowning sadly at the ruined haft of Starfall.

After a long pause, my mentor looked at me; I didn't expect what he asked, though, "Can you collect the pieces?"

I nodded, sniffed, and asked hoarsely, "You don't want it repaired?"

He sighed and shook his head, glaring at the dead Warmonger, "No. It's better this way. That mace wasn't made for good things. This was a fitting end for it."

None of us had the strength or inclination to argue; that my mentor produced an ebony claymore, whose edges shone like the setting sun, calmed our fears that he'd be without a decent weapon for the final confrontation.

There was still Vyrthur to deal with, after all.

It took another twenty minutes to collect every piece – though most of that time was spent digging Scales out of the mountain of corpses he'd been buried under – after which we shambled our battered selves down a narrow path.

At the end, a ruined arch that framed the entrance to a mist-shrouded bridge… and, next to the toppled archway, the last Wayshrine.

We approached together, Serana unhooking the Ewer stoically. I kept to her right, Drevas to her left with Scales, and Farkas to my right.

Before she could step forward, the Prelate looked at us; his eyes gleamed like distant stars.

"Hail, Initiates. Through trials and hardship you have toiled together, struggled against insurmountable odds. Rejoice, children, for you have overcome, and now your journey hastens to its conclusion. You stand before the Wayshrine of Radiance, the final step on the Pilgrim's Path," spoke the Prelate, whispering voice seeming to shake my soul; I gripped White Fang tighter to fight against the tears in my eyes. From the grunts – Farkas – sighs – Drevas – and sniffs – my Ana – I wasn't the only one moved, "Are you prepared to honor the mantras of Auri-El, and fill your vessel with His enlightenment?"

"Yes," Farkas rumbled hoarsely, but strongly, jaw clenched tight, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Yes," I managed, then ran my tongue over my slightly-longer canines. I'd have to do something about that eventually.

"Yes," whispered Serana, her hands shaking on the Ewer, which was starting to glow with a golden light. I leaned my shoulder against her arm, and the shaking stopped with a loving sigh from my beloved's lips.

"Yes," tiredly intoned Drevas, looking as though he'd like nothing better than his bed and a bottle. I was certain all of us agreed.

"Brack!" barked Scales, the clannfear alpha standing straight and proud; the rest of us chuckled lightly… and pointedly did not remark on the Ewer's light flaring after the daedra's bark.

The Prelate smiled, and spread his arms, "Then may the Radiance of Auri-El protect you as you climb the road to the Inner Sanctum, and final enlightenment."

The Wayshrine rose. The last draught entered the Ewer, four portals framing the basin, one archway ominously blank. An eight-rayed sun appeared at the top of the frozen water in the pitcher.

While interesting, none of us were overly concerned; everyone was too tired to make guesses at the doings of the Aedra, or even talk.

After taking care of the necessary – seven hours in armor, in a constant fight; never, ever again – and eating a light dinner, I snuggled into Serana's chest and fell into a deep sleep, my love asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow's bedroll, Drevas setting sentinels in the form of three Winged Twilights before crashing face-first onto Scales' unconscious form next to Farkas, who'd nearly passed out while getting the fire going. I doubt a dragon attack would've woken us.

Which was a pity, as Vaermina threw a party in our dreams.

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So was that worth a year's wait or what?

But seriously, this chapter actually took all of last year to write out fully. Near as I can figure, this chapter is 24,500 words long, making it the single longest chapter I've ever written for any story I've typed out.

Also, after rereading what I wrote before – and growing more than a little as an author – I'm deleting last chapter's ranting AN (teach me to start arguments I can't be arsed to finish). OTOH, here's a few reviewer responses! Yay!

Wednesday's Jest: the last person to be Time-Turner/Portkeyed ended up on the other side of an Oblivion Gate, during the Oblivion Crisis. Also, Dumbledore is an ass who showed Harry the pictures to break his will and make him more pliable to suggestions, because the prophecy or whatever. Being built up and brought down in the span of a year is a Very Bad Thing when you're talking about a bunch of hormonal teenagers with cosmic powers at their disposal – Serana is a teenager emotionally, due to her awful parents.

Otherwise, yes, the pacing and all else regarding this story is very scatter-shot, mainly due to how it's been written: as an AU retread of Skyrim and, off-screen, Harry Potter. Also, as my first work, the early quality is poor by my standards.

The prologue is not exactly indicative of anyone's relationship at that point in time. We've still got a way to go before we get to that confrontation; by then, everyone's feelings should be clear.

Thanks for reviewing!

Jose19: Never judge a book by the first pages. Thanks for reviewing!

…That's it, actually. Everyone else seems to like (when they're not arguing over my stupid, stupid proposition-which-is-deleted).

I'll do my best to make sure the next chapter isn't so gods-awfully long. I'm going to try for 12k, at most, and may someone smack me upside the head if I try doing another huge chapter like this (unless it's absolutely necessary).

I hope everyone enjoyed, and sorry again for taking so long! Have a great day/night/other!

~Baked

Next time: The Betrayed Part 4: Touching the Sky