Prologue

Somewhere in Aethurius, the gods gazed deeply into Nirn.

A man woke up in startle, his gasp breaking the night's silence sharply. The air cold under the shadows of the Jerall's mountains, giving a refreshing chill against his bare bronze skin.

He breathed out heavily, white mist escaping his mouth was seen faintly in the moonlights. From the wagon's end entry, between the slits of loose canvas flaps, he could see two bright sickles sat on the tall mountainous horizon; one deep aquatic green, and a bigger one, vibrant red… like his eyes.

He stared at the moons from where he laid before the shuddering jolt jerked sharply up beneath him. The carriage shook as a wheel went over a protruding rock. The sound of horses' hooves thudding continued. Scowling deeply, he swept the fur blanket off him then pulled himself up to sit on the hard wooden floor.

Pulling his purple hood up, tightening his mage's robe around him, he slipped out of his bedroll. He moved up to the front of caravan, taking the laid strange red crystal-topped staff beside the bedroll, then untied a part of the canvas. Pulling the canvas' flap aside, he poked his head out and looked up to stare at the driver.

"Can't sleep?" the Dunmer asked.

Another rock went over and the wagon shuddered.

"Aren't you worried about bandits?" the Imperial man asked wryly, completely aware the wagon was enchanted with every means of illusion spell – well not the ones that encourage violence at least.

"As long there's no rogue mages poking from far, the enchantment won't be weakened," the Dunmer replied calmly.

"You want me to take the shift now?" the Imperial asked.

"I'm fine. I prefer the night time," the Dunmer answered. Silence broke between them until a purse came from the dark elf. "I've never caught your name," he muttered.

The Imperial remained silent for a while. "I have many but I think," he said hesitatingly. "Sul will do," he added.

"Odd name. I expect more… Cyrodiilic," the Dunmer commented. "I have to ask. Why did you pick me? Don't you trust the Khajiit caravan?"

"I prefer sticking to small groups that has no reputation whatsoever," Sul answered shortly. "You haven't told me that name of yours."

"Vaden will be fine. The usual name would just get people tongue tied," the Dunmer added the last part. But his red eyes twinkled in hidden humor that quickly vanished. "Skyrim is on shaky ground at the moment what with civil war. Not much traveler comes here anymore." A small inquiry tinged the end.

"I could say the same for traders like you," Sul replied to the gentle prob with a shrug.

"I have… business," Vaden answered flatly.

"We all do," the Imperial added quietly as he gazed at the sky above, filled with rippling auroras.

He stood there, bored and tired. His legs almost numbed and slightly ached by the hours of standing in the chill. Staring at the horizon, he noted the blue hue against the twinkling night sky. Dawn was coming. Not long now, he thought, his shift almost complete.

The sound of hooves thudded in the distant. The Imperial guard looked up. A carriage, no. It was more of a covered wagon what with a thick enchanted canvas tied over the arching bows. He guessed it was to carry storage and items in a more secured and preserved way. Of course, that meant bandits would definitely aim for this carriage. It does look like it was carrying expensive stuff.

Where are the guards though? Strangely, only two people were accompanying it. Hardly enough to protect the contents in that wagon. They were more like passengers tagging along conveniently – well, a passenger, he corrected when he noticed a lone hooded one lazing inside, and from the grey skin of the driver, a Dunmer to coach the four horses at the front.

"Halt!" he called out as the wagon approached the walls of Helgen.

The reins pulled and horses whickered. Moving past the team of horse – Skyrim's breed, he went up to the driver, fur-cloaked for Skyrim's cold weather and hiding much of the mer's figure. The Dunmer surprisingly stepped down from his seat and slid his hood back, as if to stand on equal footing. His calculating red eyes though settled on the Legion's armor.

"Let me see your trading pass," the guard ordered, just following procedure.

Coolly, the Dunmer pulled out a parchment bound with leather covering. He passed it into the Imperial's hand. The guard noted the quick gleam of a silver wolf-shaped ring against the blue ashen hand before opening up the folio.

Without looking up from the folio, he asked, "Name?"

The Dunmer grimaced. "Vaden," he sighed, "Redoran," the dark elf added flatly.

"Heading for Whiterun, hm? With no guards at all?" He gestured at the lack of mercenary.

The Dunmer just smiled in reply. "It's just me and an extra passenger. Problem?"

Yeah, bandits that were known to ambush traders between patrols. "Suit yourself," the guard said flippantly as he handed back the folio. Not his fault if they got rob… or killed.

The guard glanced up at the passenger sitting against the inside the wagon. A bearded Imperial raised an eyebrow in reply. Red and green eyes gazed back at him with amusement crinkling their corners. Gods damn, how in the oblivion one get eyes like that? He thought quietly. Not wanting to stare, he dropped his gaze onto a gold chain that fastened the shawl into a royal purple cloak.

Amulets of various size and shape decorated evenly along the chain. Most prominent were the Nine Divine, especially the amulet of Talos that dangled brazenly in the open with its Divine siblings. Quickly flicking his eyes back and forth, the Imperial caught his meaning and the collar of the shawl was quickly tugged over the controversial piece.

The guard sighed. He did not want to report to the Thalmor. Every time he stood before them, all he could feel was the harsh rake of their eyes judging him as just a lowly man. And he was no ass kisser and was still a loyal worshipper of Talos… beneath. But unlike the Stormcloak, he was no big mouth.

"Carry on." He stepped aside and quickly motioned the guards on the watch.

It was about time to open the gates anyway. He turned around but stopped when a call crowed from his comrade. Turning around again, a speck – a scout on a worn black horse burst out from the snowy distant horizon. He stilled and waited, watching the figure grew larger and real until the living breathing scout was right before him.

"The roads are clear of bandits," the scout declared, breathing heavily a bit. "They're all lying dead at the sides, killed but not by us – judging from the wounds," he added and gulped.

The Imperial guard frowned at this.

"And… this," the scout interrupted his silent question. Pale face still flushed, the scout fumbled through the uniform, then produced the report and handed to him.

With a quick read through, he knew General Tullius would want his hand on this immediately. Handing the report back, he quickly ordered the scout to the Legion's barrack. An important… prisoner was soon to arrive somewhere later in the morning.

A thickly accented voice cheered, "I'm soooo going to enjoy this!"

"You enjoy putting misery onto Yourself?" a rich throbbing voice, female, asked amusedly.

"Dear sister," the voice answered in a friendly mocking tone. "You're asking this question to meee here. And I'm sure your champion will also enjoy this," the voice chortled.

Horses needed to be fed, brushed, cleaned, and hooves have to be checked. And where was the tub to wash in? He was not going to dump himself in Skyrim's icy water just to get a wash. Vaden grumbled to himself as he brushed the third horse.

Bandits. It has to be bandits. They always ruined his mood. They always had. Nothing had changed about them throughout the decade of his unaging life. Ambush, plunder, try to wreck everything, only in his case, ambush, get killed by him and waste good resource just to survive the onslaught. His poor horses had to be the victims last night. Never mind that they were Skryim's hardy breeds.

And where was that mage? He looked up crossly then noticed the purple-cloaked Imperial was standing idly by the side, watching a unit of Legions escorting a grey-haired Imperial.

Rolling his red eyes, he picked up an idle piece of gravel from the road, and tossed it. It would have hit the side of that thick hood of his but it didn't. Strangely, the mage didn't need to turn at all when he neatly caught the rock.

To say Vaden's nerves are a bit tight this morning was an overstatement. He… just hated surprises. That's all. He didn't know what spell Sul used last night, but it teleported the bandits hundreds feet up from the ground into the distant, which sent them plunging down to their death with horrible screams. The worst thing about it was that Sul was sniggering and grinning at the sound of their demise.

The quirkiest part was that the mage was awful in the art of Restoration… so awful the spell's effect ended up being destructive. And he swore, the sound of chicken clucking followed by a weeze and boom could be heard from one of the awry healing spells turned fireball. So exploding chicken as fireball that was supposedly to be a healing spell?

An explanation was demanded. Sul only answered with how he used to be a great healer, until oblivion happened. Whatever that meant, it made him silent and serious again.

So he got a slightly unhinged mage as a travelling companion, and perhaps a potential psychopath, judging from the manic demented look he was giving him last night.

But thank goodness he didn't ask the mage to heal his horses. Granted that he could've healed them himself, but his potion was better than his magic. Even Sul found himself choking at the potency of the potion from just a sip. But no one likes their medicine, Vaden's dry thought added sourly when he caught his horses eying him.

Vaden looked up when he heard the creak of wagon wheels moving passed him. A group of Legions surrounded two wooden carts, escorting what looked like four sullen prisoners. He watched silently as they head towards one of the tower barracks, where the headsman was waiting in front at the courtyard.

More carts followed behind.

Execution? Vaden frowned as he watched from the distant.

"Stormcloaks, caught on the borders of Cyrodiil," Sul's voice came from behind him.

"Why were they on the borders?" Vaden frowned. "The last thing I expect from the rebels are on the front steps of their enemy," the Dunmer commented as the Imperials escorted the two groups of bound Stormcloak to the courtyard.

Plenty more waited outside the execution court. It was strange, why bother giving an execution when they could just finish them off during the ambush.

"Perhaps that was what they were aiming for. Being unexpectedly stupid," Sul replied quietly.

"Halt!" a harsh guttural woman's voice called out from the courtyard.

They watched quietly as a captive rushed pass by them. A swift whistle and he fell flat onto the ground with an arrow was on the back on his head.

"You disapprove of them," Vaden said quietly as he stared at the runaway's dead, stilled, bleeding body lying few feet away from them.

"I disapprove their blind attitude on bigger things and their childish squabble," the mage answered briskly as a grey-haired Imperial, probably the commander, berated at a gagged Stormcloak. "When there are crisis to recover from, they instead waste their effort in wars," Sul muttered in disgust.

"You're referring to the Imperials or Stormcloaks?"

"Both," the Imperial mage retorted then sighed heavily. "But then I'm just oversimplifying."

Silence passed by as the last of the prisoner, a small one amongst the many hardy soldiers, stepped down. Vaden immediately frowned.

"That." He pointed out a despondent Nord. "Is no Stormcloak. Just a young mortal," Dunmer muttered. "Barely twenty summers seen," he commented on her young age.

Sul searched and noticed the Nord also. "One of the wilds," the mage commented when he noted the skittish side-ste when one of the Imperial approached her.

"Careful with this one," a man commented. "She knocked out three of us with her own bare hands."

One of the wilds, Vaden echoed Sul's comment. How appropriate, judging from the messy state she was in. Wearing grey rags with her long dirty blonde hair more of a bird mess, skin stained with dirt and mucks, but her eyes were wide… reminded him of those deer caught in fright.

"Who are you?" one of the grim Imperials with the death list asked gravely.

There was no reply. None at all.

"Speak, prisoner!" the female commander barked.

She flinched in answer.

"The name, prisoner," the grim Imperial asked calmly.

She only shook her head.

"Can you talk? Speak? Can you understand?"

Another shook.

"She's a mute," Sul concluded flatly. "Not soft in the head though. Not soft at all," the mage shook his head as he murmured this.

Vaden wondered how the mage was sure on the last part. For all he knew, she may be soft headed in the head. Probably pushed out of her own village from superstition. It happened before, a baby born not with the right mind but too young to tell… until they aged where it was more apparent to tell when compared to other children.

"No matter. It's the headsman block for you, anyway," the harsh captain snapped in the distant.

"By your orders, Captain," there was a resigned tone in the soldier's voice. "I'm sorry, kinsman. At least you'll die here, in your homeland." There was pity in his voice.

Vaden almost jumped when Sul grabbed his shoulder tightly. The mer turned and noticed the mage was looking up at the skies, searching for something.

"Did you hear that?!" he hissed sharply as his strange eyes scanned the cloudless skies.

"Hear what?" Vaden frowned and followed his sight.

There it was. A distant roar of some animal. It lingered and hung in the air. The mer frowned and stared at others. Strange, no one noticed it… except for that savage prisoner, distracted by the sky while an Imperial firmly guided her to the block.

Another roar and Vaden immediately looked up. His marksman's eyes scanned the skies quickly and noticed a flicker of black dot in the sun. The hair on the back of his neck immediately crackled in warning.

"We've got to go," Vaden said flatly and just turned around.

"Too late!" Sul shouted.

The sky shattered, and all of them stumbled to the ground as if the weight of the skies doubled. Panic hammered in Vaden's chest as the feeling of despair pressed down on him. His hands grasped the ground in desperation. Instinct kicked in, he pushed himself up and scanned his surrounding sharply. The sky ablaze as the air shook around him, raining with fire. Skyrim's cold air gone, replaced by stifling, stinging heat that slapped against his skin. It was as if he was back at Red Mountain.

Searching as he stumbled to his screaming horses, he stopped in mid-track. Shit! He couldn't abandon those tools! One was already lost in gods know where. The others are not going to follow! He quickly spun around and immediately sprinted to his wagon.

Reaching the wagon, he flung the canvas flap open, and scrambled quickly to the unassuming chest at the back. Pushing the other chest off it, he immediately fumbled for his keys and unlocked it. He snatched the Dwemer gauntlet and hammer within-

Another roar and the world around him exploded. Wood all around burst into splinters, spraying all over him as the whole wagon tipped and crashed on its side, sending him and the whole items and chests on top off him. His ribs slammed hard onto one of the bow as he flung hard against the side.

"Vaden!" a distant voice called amidst the screaming, yelling and smashing. "Vaden!"

The mer only laid still under all the heavy coffers.