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Chapter Text

“Is this your final decision? Ald’ruhn? Not Corrol or Cheydinhal? These guilds are offering decent positions. Was there a reason you declined?”

“It is, master-wizard Raminus Polus, and we both know that.”

Raminus nodded. He didn’t question his student’s words, as Godryn Ovathur stood out from his peers with his ambitiousness, responsibility and a natural magic gift, despite his family’s odd restriction on learning certain schools of magic to the fullest. However, Morrowind seemed a waste of this young mage’s potential, with its unstable political climate and ever-growing hospitality towards foreigners, including non-local dunmers. Surely it was better for him to join one of Cyrodiil’s guilds instead. 

Nine, if he was so adamant on going to Morrowind, he could’ve at least chosen a better city. Judging by the reports that the University has been receiving from guilds all over Tamriel, Ald’ruhn seemed to be failing, since even Balmora reported better than them, not to mention the Balmora’s guild was simply bigger. Unfortunately for Raminus, Godryn was never known for oversharing and some questions were to be left unanswered. 

“Well, I see no reason to try and talk you out of this. I suppose there have been attempts already.” 

He chuckled when Godryn let out a frustrated sigh. The Ovathur family was quite peculiar and it always seemed like that they knew more than they were telling. There was one thing Raminus knew for sure: magic ran in the family, as Godryn was not the first of them to attend the University. Although he couldn’t recall what House their family belonged to. Was it Hlaalu?..

Godryn was somehow different from his family as well. Over the years of teaching at the University, Raminus had seen a variety of students, both mer and man, gifted and not quite. Funny enough, Godryn owed his memorable first impression not only to his magic abilities, but also to his uncommon height: he stood taller than an altmer. Later he had proved himself as a great acquisition to the University. It seemed to Raminus that the young mer was constantly assessing his surroundings, while being an impressive example of rationing one’s magicka, which had allowed him to excel in practical classes. 

Who knows, maybe he would fit in in Ald’ruhn after all…

“In this case, I’ll make sure to send a recommendation letter to Morrowind. However, you’ll have to get there by yourself. Our portals can only take you as far as Cheydinhal and there you'll have to figure out how to cross the border. Please understand that i can not assist you on this journey, as my knowledge on this subject is quite limited,”

“Thank you, I’ll handle it from there. I was going to sail off Cheydinhal anyway. But there is one more favor I’d like to ask you for. If my parents show up demanding answers, please tell them I have tricked you into sending the papers. I need a headstart.”

***

Azura, of course he was running off! He was so sick of his family watching his every move. It was hard to tell if it was some sort of overprotection or a narcissistic attempt at raising an obedient doll, although Godryn himself believed it was the latter. He respected family traditions, but his mother, a particularly authoritative woman, used them as leverage to bend his spineless father and all of their children to her will. 

Godryn was used to getting the worst of it as their eldest son and it was only natural for him to try to escape that depressing environment, even if it meant crossing the ocean to do so. Hence, Morrowind. He had no idea why their elder had forbidden even thinking about going there, but he had no time to give it a second thought as the sudden death of grandmother Dreryn gave him a once in a lifetime opportunity to flee. 

“Of all times, you want to leave now? In the toughest moment for our family? I don't want to hear you say another word about it!”

“Whenever anything goes not the way you planned it’s ‘the toughest moment’! When was the last time I did anything you didn’t tell me to?”

Often their arguments were interrupted by his father telling him to stop getting on his mother’s nerves, once she started to pretend to faint. Much to her displeasure, these performances had little effect on Godryn.

“N’chow! All our knowledge died with grandmother, don’t you understand? What do our traditions even mean, if we’ve lost all the history of our ancestors? Why do we even have elders, if they aren’t telling us anything for some made up safety reasons? We don’t even belong to the House Hlaalu, bunch of rootless f’lahs!”

This thought haunted him. What was the point of all this? The Ovathurs were weird from any angle. Confusing restrictions on their magic, senseless hierarchy and a door in their family home, locked with some powerful spells. 

Only once had he seen Dreryn leaving that locked room holding something. Then he had failed to vanish from her sight and she had had him come closer and handed him some kind of an amulet. She had explained nothing, even when Godryn had asked if he could see what was in the room, she had signed and told him to wait. Was she going to pass on the knowledge to him?

It didn't matter anymore. That day had been the day Godryn had first thought about running off, and the amulet was the only hint he had, however small it was. Asking any dunmer from their Cyrodiil community wouldn't help, considering how culturally different they were. 

It'd be best to find out everything in Morrowind. It remained the case for small: to get there somehow. 

“For Azura’s sake, quit thinking about the past! You don't even have a clear plan to follow!” Godryn slapped himself in the face. Whenever nobody was looking, his image of confidence disappeared, turning him back into the adolescent fool he was. He was completely unadapted to being on his own and it was only natural for him to be scared of the changed environment. But what if it was his only chance?

Young mage raised his head to look at the University building. One could think he was a young student, staring at his new place of study. 

He had packed as lightly as he could: camping supplies, rations and money, nothing that could be bought on the way. Despite that, the bag was still too heavy for Godryn and he had to chug a potion of feather to make it to the carriage. At such times Godryn couldn’t help but curse his weak physique. Why didn’t he take a battle mage elective?

Sometimes he dreamt of being a skilled battle mage in dark robes, masterfully wielding both his staff and magic. The only thing that seemed off in those dreams was his golden skin.

Shaking those thoughts off, he entered the archmage's office through the main door. Raminus was already waiting for him there, holding a package.

“I notified our guild guide, she must’ve prepared the portal by now. Here’s your letter,” he offered it and the package to Godryn. “Also, here are a map of Morrowind and an empty journal, a small gift from me personally.”

Taken aback by an unexpected gift, Godryn nodded and uttered his goodbyes, before stepping on a pad that took him to the council Chambers. Slight dizziness worried him much less than the fact that he had no idea how it felt to travel through the portal over long distances. An argonian lady was standing right in front of him. 

“Is it your first time jumping over such distances? I adjusted it to make it as smooth as possible. Unaccustomed people throw up often, you know. They’re waiting for you on the other side.” she said, stepping aside and pointing at the portal. 

Godryn stepped into the circle and turned his head to take a look at the room. For some reason he felt like soon those portals would be removed. 

Godryn held his breath and closed his eyes when the room around him started to blur. The shakes were stronger and took longer than he expected, and when he opened his eyes, he saw an old breton woman that deactivated the portal right after. Godryn couldn’t recall meeting her the first time he had visited Cheydinhal. That didn’t matter anyway: why bother remembering anyone if he’s leaving this blasted country? Despite being native to Cyrodiil, Godryn never felt like he belonged there. He had no idea if he’d feel at home in Morrowind though. If he hadn’t got an opportunity to run off to Morrowind, he’d have settled in Cheydinhal. 

The ride in the carriage to the border was as peaceful as expected, the only point of interest being a dilapidated Farragut keep. A remarkable amount of falling apart buildings like this one were scattered throughout Cyrodiil. It even seemed wasteful to not try to rebuild them to use again. However, considering how much blood had been spilled there during the Three Banners War, maybe it was better to tear them down completely. Godryn had also heard people talking about necromancers swarming in those ruins, and made sure to keep his staff at hand while they were passing by.

However, old stones weren’t as interesting to Godryn. He was much more interested in the slowly changing landscape. Spending most of his life within four walls, he had never had a chance to pay closer attention to such things and even the tiny changes excited him. Blaming the cold air, coming down from mount Valus, Godryn tried to draw his long legs in. 

The nord carrier glanced at him and slightly smiled. 

“The mountains on the other side are the Velothi mountains. They are much steeper and are harder to pass through on a carriage so I’ll drop you at the southern gate.” he pointed forward. 

The dozing Dunmer, who had not expected them to arrive so quickly, sat upright. Indeed, in front of them stood a long wall that went around part of the mountain. They drove forward a little more until they stopped in front of two guards - a dunmer and an imperial. The difference in attitude towards them was easily noticeable: the imperial spoke casually with the carrier, while the mer glared at Godrin, who was spinning around looking for his papers.  

Once he found and handed them over, the guards’ expressions changed, much to Godryn’s surprise. “Welcome home,” the dunmer one said. Oh how Godryn wished that was true…

There was some truth to it though, considering Morrowind was his ancestral homeland. However, his patchy knowledge gained from the scarce amount of books he had managed to find at home barely covered a quarter of his people’s history. He had taken every chance to learn more, sneaking off to a library to read up on Veloth, Resdayn, the Dwemer War, and Saint Nerevar. He was so enthralled by the latter he even dreamt of fighting by his side. Waking up from those dreams he couldn’t help but think how exhausted the hortator looked. It made sense, ruling the country must’ve been a heavy burden to carry alone, after all - Nerevar didn’t establish the First Council for no reason. If he had been a member of it, Godryn would’ve been a faithful liegeman to the Saint, even dying for him seemed desirable in a way. 

He frowned and blew his hair off his face. It was childish to spend any more time thinking about his dreams - the map in his hands and the route he was yet to figure out were arguably more important as well as stading right on country border. 

Fortunately, Godryn’s confusion wasn’t left unnoticed by the guard, who approached him to return his papers seconds later. 

“Everything seems fine with your papers, you can keep going,” he leaned a little to the side to see what the young traveler was looking at, and then asked him to lower the map a little lower. “Are you going to the island?”

“Yes, to Ald'ruhn”.

It’s good that the guard didn’t raise his head higher and didn’t see the embarrassment on Godryn’s face.

“You’re in Stonefalls. To begin with, I would advise you to walk to Kragenmoor, from there take a carriage to Old Ebonheart, and sail to Vivec, then either take a Silt Strider through Balmora to your destination, or by ship from Vivec to Gnaar Mok, and on foot to Ald'ruhn”.

On foot? Godryn mentally thanked himself for stocking up on potions. The idea of carrying all his supplies on his back was not flattering, but another problem arose: the amount of money for the rest of the trip. There were still enough supplies for one day's journey to the city, but he had no idea about the prices or even if there would be an opportunity to replenish his supplies. Walking didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

After he left the border zone, it became clear why he was warned about the “inhospitability of the mountains.” The road that led to the city was surrounded by high, sharp hills, and was generally very rough and crooked, completely unfit for carriages. It was amazing how the same mountain was completely different on both sides. Perhaps the reason for this landscape was the dusty wind that was now stinging Godryn’s face, which wasn’t blowing on Valus's side. 

The farther he was getting through, the more alien and unfamiliar the area became; common to Cyrodiil architectural colovian form slowly faded away. The most surprising, though, was an enormously big mushroom-like trees and abundance of plants he had never seen. An urge to harvest every one he saw was great, but was outweighed (literally!) by a thought about arriving in Kragenmoor and finding a tavern or an inn for the rest after more than three days of traveling.

Kragenmoor was the first city in Morrowind the dunmer visited, immediately impressing him from the very gates. Perhaps, it was a ruse to keep the visitors from getting disappointed right away.

Judging by the centuries old tarnished stone anyone could tell the city had been there for centuries. Godryn realized he had been mistaken thinking Cheydinhal took after dunmer architecture, only similarities noticed in arched roofs. At least they looked less boring: much pointier, with vertical and horizontal spires. Dunmers definitely loved arches, any triangular-shaped forms, even in windows, and absolute symmetrical composition in buildings. There were no twisted roads and dead ends of alleyways, but almost a perfect road circle instead, making it impossible to get lost and easy to find an inn. Before finally going to one, Godryn visited a local mages guild hoping to use their teleport, and got no luck there - portals on the island weren't that common.

At the inn, he was unjustly robbed of 40 drakes for a bed and bath for the night. He didn’t stay long, although he wanted to, but something was driving him straight to Ald'ruhn. As luck would have it, he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, climbing into the cart with a languid face and a headache.

Godrin had suffered from migraines for as long as he could remember. It was difficult to predict their onset and even harder to tell what was causing them, and numerous attempts to treat it barely relieved the pain. The only pattern he had noticed was that those dream-stories from Dunmer books always made him wake up exhausted, as if he lived through all the events personally instead of resting.

It became obvious why the young mer was completely unfit to be a battle mage: the sheer amount of fortify fatigue potions and coffee he took to get himself out of the bed, had any other person drunk them, would have been enough to power them up to kill a Daedra prince with their bare hands. However, this was not the case as that night there were no strange dreams or anything out of ordinary to exhaust him to that point, so, the morning before leaving, Godryn looked in the mirror by the door with a sour expression, mumbling “scum” and pointing a finger at his reflection.

***

On the first day of his stay in Morrowind Godryn blamed his malaise on acclimatisation. However, in the following days he only got worse, and the pleasure of having an adventure was replaced by an urge to throw himself overboard. The idea of cutting down expenses by taking a boat to Gnaar Mok resulted in an awful seasickness and general lack of sleep getting the best of him. Short stops in coastal cities provided only a superficial idea of local life, but even like this they aroused genuine interest in the young mer, who had been locked up for most of his life. He was already regretting not travelling by land. Who knows, maybe there will be another opportunity for him to explore both the island and mainland parts of Morrowind fully.

Gnaar Mok turned out to be a simple fisherman village, consisting mostly of wooden houses. Compared to them, Godryn looked like a noble, and, judging by the dirty looks, he wasn’t very welcome there. This was not surprising at all, yet frustrating. Accustomed to living with one foot in the Imperial City, he rarely visited the villages, but seeing the local port made him realise real poverty was even uglier than his idea of it. 

Figuring out the way to Ald'Ruhn became an impossible task - no one wanted to even look at him. And if they did, they looked away in disgust, as if he was a leper.

The only one who responded was a red-haired dunmer standing by the side of the road. He seemed even too eager to do so, almost crashing into the young mer.

“Greetings, sera! Name’s Sevalis! Do you need help?”

Ovatur carefully examined his sudden companion from head to toe. He did seem trustworthy, nor did he spark in Godryn any desire to respond. The mer in tattered clothes standing in front of him could be a thief, offering help so that he could then take him for everything he had and vanish.

However, refusing help would be a mistake.

The stranger, as if could read his mind, caught his eye again.

“You won’t get far looking like that. Frankly, you look like a Hlaalu taxman, who came here to rob people of their last savings. No wonder no one is happy to see you. They are scared to the marrow after the Sixth House attacked the city not so long ago.”

Wait. An attack?

“The Sixth House? What is it, like a new gang?” - Godryn wondered. 

Sevalis looked genuinely puzzled.

“You don’t know?”

Godryn had no choice but to take a risk and agree to be escorted by this stranger to Ald’ruhn, keeping his hand on the staff just in case. Sevalis turned out to be extremely chatty, but seemed honest, gladly answering any question Godryn asked him. It turned out that the Sixth House is the ruined house Dagoth, which had been reborn to take revenge on the Tribunal. The Tribunal are the living gods, those very faithful advisers of Nerevar, who actively opposed the evil that had settled in the Red Mountain and had been striking fear into the hearts of people. This “evil” seemed especially hateful of temples and any outsiders like the Empire, cursing them with incurable corprus.

The situation itself sounded horrible. However, Sevalis, sporting a smile while telling him about it, was sending even more shivers down Godryn’s spine. 

“If the living gods rule over Morrowind, why don’t they just join their efforts and destroy the evil at once?”

“And that, my friend, is exactly why I have lost all faith in the Tribunal! Take my advice on that, don’t let their priests lure you! You’re not from around here, are you? You got the Telvanni looks, but the accent is giving it away.”

“Is there any amount of money I can give you to shut up and just walk me to Ald’ruhn? I appreciate your help but what are you trying to pry from me, and more importantly, why?” - Godryn stopped. 

A sheep different from the rest of the herd is quite likely a wolf. For a moment Godryn thought he caught a glimpse of lilac in his companion’s red eyes. 

“Oh, simply trying to warn you. Gnaar Mok belongs to Camonna Tong and you could easily fall prey to them. I’m a pilgrim of sorts, offering truth to everyone I meet on my way. Speaking of the way, we’re almost there!”

They were, in fact, reaching Ald’ruhn. The non-stop talk of his fellow traveller distracted Godrin, and time passed quickly.

He was finally DONE with this journey. Earlier he felt like he had spent an eternity crossing the mountains, but now it seemed to have ended so abruptly that he needed a moment to fully grasp that. His hazy gaze cleared for a moment, allowing him to take a look at the city gates, then blinding him again, when Sevalis tapped him on the shoulder.

“I think we’ll meet again, my friend. Welcome home.”

Godryn said goodbye to him and walked to the gate. Like a bolt from the blue, light flashed in his eyes. It was hard to imagine a worse timing for that. The dunmer put his hand to his forehead, realising that a migraine was about to render him unable to think.

He quickly spotted a building with a familiar eye symbol and walked there. Sevalis gazed at him from afar, standing still, almost unnoticeable in the sunset’s reds.

Chapter Text

Godryn's appearance on the threshold of the Ald'ruhn guild was far from graceful. From the outside it seemed that he was mad at something, but his everyday face always looked this judgmental and dissatisfied, even in a relaxed state. However, at the moment he really was irritated - the young mage was damn tired after the journey, still trying to process the information that he found out on the way here.

The throbbing pain around his forehead wasn’t making the situation any better, turning his thoughts into a complete mess.

However, he wasn’t received as rudely as he was in Gnaar Mok: at least he didn’t have to ask a ton of questions to get an answer to at least one of them.

The local guild, in all its meagerness, was inferior to the expensive decoration of its Cyrodiilian counterparts, but in terms of functionality it was clearly one step ahead, which made sense considering the location, although made it stand out from the Imperial understanding of a “magical educational institution”. Perhaps things were different in other parts of Vvanderfell and mainland Morrowind.

Finally he got a chance to take a closer look at the place.

At first glance, the outside of the houses seemed quite small, but in reality they went deep down in the ground. Dunmers definitely loved full privacy, preferring to have as few windows as it was possible, which was noticeable even in some houses in Cheydinhal and his own, although here it reached its peak, and people lived with just a couple of small stained glass windows in those shells. The Mages Guild was no exception, illuminated only by blue lamps.

This was all certainly new for him, but to Godryn, who had a penchant for unusual and exotic forms, dusty Ald'ruhn seemed beautiful.

Perhaps the blood of his ancestors reacted to being in familiar lands, or perhaps he was just really excited, which was not surprising for someone who had spent hours walking around the Imperial City. Those walks had become a habit, as well as examining every bump on the walls around the districts. It was somewhat therapeutic for him and a good way to occupy himself, considering how restricted he was, so yes, he knew the placement of every darned stone within those walls.

Another hobby of his was searching for secret places and holes where he could hide his things. His mother often got mad about the damaged furniture in their house, but Godryn was deliberately letting himself be caught so later he could hide stuff right under her nose. 

Sometimes he felt like he was praising Mephala by doing this.

One could say that he was given a fairly generous welcome. In fact, he was the only Dunmer, other than Tanar Llervi, who was supposed to work here. Ironically, it was Tanar who gave him a traditional Dunmer greeting - called him a n’wah.

Godryn didn’t hesitate to give her his most sardonic smile, and, pointedly turning his back to her, he went to unpack in the room assigned to him.

That night he dreamed of driving in a caravan past a giant live crab.

***

The next day he felt somewhat better. For a person suffering from a migraine, dark, barely lit spaces were the best medicine, and the young mage made do with just one homemade potion. His interest in the local flora and fauna was purely pragmatic: Godryn wanted to find the perfect recipe that would remove all the negative effects from coffee beans and not drain all his stamina by the end of the day.

Unfortunately, he overslept and lost the time he needed to make himself presentable, so he had to speed up his morning routine: hastily untangled his hair, slightly matted from the dusty wind, rubbed the ointment under his eyes with both hands at the same time, and then drew a curved line on his forehead with a brush. In fact, the sigil was supposed to represent a closed eye, with the letters doht above and yoodt below it.

He wasn’t very religious, but according to their elder, these were ward sigils that she insisted he use for protection in moments of weakness. To his surprise, it actually worked, relieving headaches, so drawing these sigils became a kind of a daily ritual.

Or maybe he's a hypochondriac. This seemed more like the case.

However, he was not the only weird one. Edwinna Elbert gave the impression of a woman extremely detached from reality, although it was entertaining to listen to her stream of thoughts, except the fact that Godryn felt a blow to his pride, barely able to carry on a conversation on a topic, having only book experience behind him, the practical representation of which was limited by his imagination. On the other hand, he wasn’t considered a promising student for nothing, and he managed to understand at least some of the terminology, only getting lost at “work” jargon. 

Well, one can’t just be born with the experience of life, unless, of course, one is someone else’s reincarnation. Wouldn’t it be convenient to just know everything in advance and not have to think about the consequences of your actions? Godryn hated very few things more than embarrassing himself in front of others, and such a skill would come in handy.

Immediately after a short introduction, he was sent to the city of Vivec for a book, and was immediately reassured - the portal in Ald'ruhn connected with all branches on the island. Godryn didn’t mind it that much, it’s just that teleportation constantly caused unpleasant symptoms.

His common sense kicked in and Godryn managed to avoid taking any rash actions, including but not limited to visiting Vivec for other purposes rather than work. It was better to calm down and take things slowly, especially considering that they were allowed to use portals for personal reasons. 

Godryn’s curiosity increased even more when he was handed some opening scrolls. Edwinna didn't bat an eye when she bluntly said that this would not be less of a purchase, and more of a “borrowing.” Well, stealing it is.

“First of all, I need ‘Chimarvamidium’ and ‘The Chronicles of Nchuleft’, it doesn’t matter if you buy it here or in Vivec. Then you’ll sort out a pile of scrolls and arrange some books. I appreciate that you joined us, but I hope you understand that we are not going to spoon feed you like they did in Cyrodiil. You’ll get a more significant job to do later, we can’t do much today due to an ash storm.”

Well, he wasn’t going to complain.

Oddly enough, the portals on the island turned out to be much more stable, but since they were public access in Morrowind, one had to pay a heavy price to use them, and it made the guild a thoroughfare. 

The first problem in Vivec was finding that damn book. It took Godryn about twenty minutes of asking around before he got onto something. An Altmer woman seemed suspicious: her answer seemed shady and her eyes were darting to the backdoor every now and then. 

Naturally, now we had to figure out how to get past her unnoticed. It was impossible not to notice a tall Dunmer sneaking around, sweeping all the dust from the floor with the hem of his robe, and Ovathur retreated to cast invisibility on himself with a wave of his hand.

The scroll he had prepared in advance came in handy, but almost removed his invisibility while Godryn slipped through the door.

They didn’t notice him - judging by the steps, the sorceress moved away to the opening leading to the corridor. While using his second scroll on the chest, he eavesdropped on a short whispering conversation.

“...I doubt that anything will happen, the last time something like this happened was about five hundred years ago. Vivec is being heavily patrolled right now.”

“Nevertheless, five bodies of these “patrol officers” have already been found. I’m so tired, this place gives me nothing but nightmares!”

“It’s none of our concern, we are not ordinators. And by the way, it’s a full thirty minutes’ walk to the temple.”

“Yes, but we are in the Foreign Quarter, who knows, who could be passing through. The temple uses us as a shield!”

A nervous sigh was heard and for a moment Godryn panicked it was he who let it out.

First the Sixth House in Gnaar Mok, then the massacres in Vivec - what the hell is going on on Vvanderfell? He didn’t even have anyone to ask about it all. He had to make some friends in the guild and he had to do it as soon as possible.

But this had to wait until he got out of this closet. Judging by the inaudible and fading voices, both mages went out into the corridor, and the young man was able to slip past unnoticed, hiding the book behind the folds of his black sleeveless cardigan. Layered clothing always came in handy, allowing him to conceal both objects and his bony body.

Any desire he had to visit Vivec later outside of work vanished, and his earlier decision of taking a ship to Ald’ruhn instead of travelling through Vivec seemed great.

When Godryn returned, the head of the guild was not there. He decided to leave the book in his room after skimming through its pages out of curiosity. He happened to have read “Song of the Alchemists” and “The Seed” by Marobar Sul during his studies. The Chimer were mentioned here, although not in the best light.

Without much thought, Godryn looked at his fingers, imagining his skin dark golden. It would probably look nice.

When he was on his way out to get the next book, he suddenly heard an Altmer call out to him. How come he kept bumping into them all the time?

“You are very quick for someone who arrived from distant lands just yesterday. I heard that you were sent after a book, and I happen to be heading in the same direction. My name is Anarenen, I’m an alchemist.”

“Godryn Ovathur. I’m surprised you noticed me - it seemed to me that foreigners were not welcome here.”

“The local folk, yes, but I’m as foreign here as you are, if you think about it. I saw you yesterday, and I thought that you were the tallest Dunmer I’ve ever seen. It’s actually nice to have someone on your eye level. You have no idea how stiff my neck gets, especially when talking to a Bosmer”, - Anarenen chuckled. “We can drop the formalities.”

Godryn gave him a reserved, yet a sincere smile. His neck and back knew the pain that came after hunching over books for hours too well.

What an uncommon thing to have in common. Perhaps they could become friends?

“So you’re an alchemist? Tell me, does anything useful grow here? At university I passed alchemy with the highest score, but the problem is that we mostly worked with local herbs, and rarely with imported ones.I’m looking for a cure for my illness.”

“Of course it does. Local flora appears scarce and dangerous to use, but in reality there is an abundance of it because of the volcanic ash. Feel free to ask me whenever you need help - fellow alchemists are a delightful company to me. When we get back, I’ll give you the book on it.”

They both walked out onto the busy street of Ald'ruhn. Apparently, the locals were preparing for the ash storm, bringing everything that could be damaged back inside their “shells”, although there was not a hint of clouds in the sky.

“What illness were you talking about earlier, by the way? I hope you weren’t talking about corprus.” - the Altmer asked, walking ahead towards a huge crab-shaped building. Ovathur had never liked mudcrabs before, and it was scary to imagine the existence of specimens of such size on Nirn.

"Of course not! I'm just unlucky enough to have chronic headaches, hence the query. The Cyrodiilian cure didn’t work, and I was hoping some of the local herbs will help.”

“Is that why you were so irritated? Tanar said that you were no good, although it seemed to me that you were just tired from your journey.”

Godryn snorted loudly.

“If she has any issues with me, she’s free to voice them directly to me, instead of muttering them under her breath. Yes, I was tired. I had a migraine. I also had to walk to the city with some pilgrim that accosted me. He couldn’t stop talking about some Sixth H-”

Anarenen shushed Godryn and tugged him by the sleeve.

"Not here. How about you finish your business, return to the guild, and we’ll talk?”

Frankly, he was more curious than annoyed, although the abundance of information made his head pound unpleasantly as he was trying to process it. Anarenen promised to make time for explanations, but for now their paths diverged: Godryn turned to the bookseller, and his colleague went to the crab shell to buy herbs.

He could not help but be pleased by the variety of books unfamiliar to him. It was funny how carefully they treated the books from Morrowind, when the imperial ones were somewhat randomly lying around, their titles barely visible under all the dust. It was worth taking a closer look at those that would explain more to the unfortunate n’wah than the library copies of the Imperial City. It made more sense to choose ones in Dunmeris.

It’s not that Godryn was suddenly imbued with patriotism - rather, a teenage rebellion surged within him. It was still unclear to him why there was an atmosphere of constant tension regarding Morrowind in his odd family.

As far as Godryn knew, his family had lived in Cyrodiil for at least ten generations, although they did not flaunt that. There was enough time for their family to become filthy rich and even seize power, but instead the Ovathurs were known only as a “wealthy and modest” family. No attending events, no high-profile positions, or even the appearance of an aristocracy. No, they were indeed rich, but they were also frightened by it, mostly due to the instructions of the elders of the house.

It was as if their estate had its own state, unlike anything else. It was extremely totalitarian, simultaneously allowing and prohibiting absurd things. The main taboo was, of course, Morrowind.

He suffered the most from this system, as the first-born, who was expected to be the next one to continue to keep the entire family in chains. The desire to escape did not appear spontaneously, it accumulated over a long time, something he could hold on to. Yes, Godryn was an extremely private mer, but he was drawn to society much more than one could think he was. In the house he was greeted by nothing but cold formalities that completely killed the concept of family, turning them into shadows with masquerade masks.

He didn't know having an identity was in full, although he was quite good at pretending. The young Dunmer, like a skooma-addicted Khajiit, was tightly dependent on the opinions of others, but did not lose hope of breaking out of the psyche-destroying habit of adapting to others, as he had done all the time until he entered the university.

What changed then?

Nerevar Moon-and-Star. The book had greatly impressed Godryn, who had been neither informed of the history of his house nor had ever seen Morrowind in real life. The young mer wished to see such unity among the Dunmer, especially in his own home. Nerevar seemed to be someone who was bound by the duty to protect Resdayn, but managed to keep his personality. Godryn remembered that day very well because later he had had a dream where he had imagined Nerevar as a humble caravan driver, just like him, dreaming of something bigger than just languishing in one place.

That day was also the day his migraines started.

“Are you buying or just window-shopping?”

The salesman's voice pulled him out of his head. Ironically, he was looking at the very book he was thinking about.

“Uh...no, thanks. I’m looking for ‘The Chronicles of Nchuleft’.”

Damn, he will regret it later, having spent all his savings.

“What local literature can you recommend to foreigners?”

The Imperial made sure to offer him only what would hardly have appeared anywhere other than Morrowind. This purchase hit his wallet hard, but it brought him a feeling of freedom, as if these mere books would give him at least any understanding of Dunmer culture.

As Godryn left the store, he realised why Anarenen had shut him up so abruptly. He got chills, he felt as if he was being watched. He looked around, pretending to look for his way, subtly trying to find the source of his anxiety.

Locals were right about the weather - clouds were gathering in the sky, and the intensified wind was driving them even faster. There were noticeably less people outside, and Godryn’s eye easily caught a woman staring right at him from the side of the stairs.

As soon as she was noticed, the woman turned around, forcing her gaze away from Godryn, and quickly walked towards the shell house.

What's on the minds of these people…

Anyway, it's done. He decided not to wait for Edwinna and started working on the scrolls. The lack of personnel to sort out this red tape piling in front of him was striking. They clearly didn’t bother to even sort the papers, and in addition to the scrolls, Godryn was constantly coming across completely useless pieces of paper.

But one of them, visibly old and frayed, piqued his interest.

“3E 397, Tirdas, 8th of HearthFire”

BELOVED PEOPLE OF MORROWIND!

STAY AWARE!

STAY VIGILANT!

A certain Ashlander named Peakstar, previously called "Incarnate" and "Nerevarine", is wanted in connection with treacherous deception. As it has now become known to detective residents and magistrates of this district, she was recruited by the Sixth House and is now in hiding. The statements of this person are obviously false. Her prophecies turned out to be lies. The dishonest nature and vile goals of this thief are now clear to everyone. Peakstar is wanted by the ordinators and city guards for a panoply of crimes. Report all encounters with this criminal to the appropriate authorities. If spotted in public places, raise the alarm.”

Nerevarine. Godryn could only hope Anarenen had answers.

Godryn had always worked faster when curiosity overcame his reason. Since he was going to focus heavily on history, it was better to use the notebook gifted to him to take notes, otherwise his brain would not be able to withstand the amount of information.

***

Godryn was so absorbed in reading he didn’t notice Anarenen entering his room.

“I was considering ditching this conversation, but that would be a wrong thing to do,” - he sighed, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

Godryn turned his head, although his gaze seemed to still be on the page of the book.

“Anarenen, can I be honest with you? I don’t know, maybe it’s normal for people here to be followed and talked nonsense into their ears... I don’t understand what’s going on here at all!”

“It’s not easy here, it’s true.”

Anarenen dropped to almost a whisper.

“There is something in the mountain here, and it seems to have somehow revived the Sixth House that existed during the First Era. Now they strike every now and then, and mainly on temples dedicated to the three living gods. Ald'ruhn is under the full protection of the House Redoran, and ordinators are constantly sent there. But this is the only temple on the island that is inaccessible to visitors, except for the members of the house and ordinators, with rare exceptions for pilgrims.”

“Interesting. A pilgrim helped me find my way to the city. However, he openly said that he had no faith in living gods. It was from him that I first heard about the Sixth House. And one more thing...” Godryn took a piece of paper from the table and handed it to the Altmer. “There is also a mention of the house. Who is Peakstar and who is the Nerevarine?”

“So you don’t know?”

Godryn’s eye twitched. If he had had a septim for every time he heard that...he'd have had two septims.

"No. Despite that I'm clearly a Dunmer - I don't know anything about my heritage. For some reason, my parents forbade even the mention of Morrowind in our house, and now I want to find out why.”

"Sorry to hear that. Well, I don't know much about Peakstar, most likely she was the last one to be called the Nerevarine. The Ashlanders, local nomadic tribes, have a prophecy about the return of Nerevar and the restoration of justice. There is a tavern opposite the guild, you can find one of the Ashlanders there, maybe he will tell you more.”

That was worth remembering.

“Here’s some advice: don’t mention the Sixth House anywhere outside, for your own safety. The ordinators watch those who are suspected of having connections or even showing the slightest interest in it. Oh, by the way! Before I forget,” - Anarenen stood up, putting a book on the table. “This one is about the flora of Morrowind, including my commentary, for you to study. I’m always happy to talk about alchemy.”

It turns out that Altmers are nicer outside of Cyrodiil.

Or he had never had luck to find a nice one there. Godryn felt that his ears had turned red, and he was sure that this was clearly visible even on his dark skin. Damn rosacea...

"Thank you."

***

“Tirdas, 17 of Last Seed, 3E 427. Second day after arriving in Ald'ruhn.

Notes:

“Lives of the Saints.” Obviously, a description of the saints and their deeds. This is the first time I’ve seen ordinary people being worshipped, but I actually enjoyed it. There is a small mention of Nerevar and the “betrayal of the House Dagoth.” I genuinely don’t get it, how can a WHOLE house betray the one who led Resdayn to prosperity?

Sevalis mentioned the destruction of the house. This is so strange, wasn’t it possible to simply exile them?

My ancestors, as far as my memory serves me, left Morrowind in the first era. Hm…

“The Five Far Stars.” Still not sure why I bought it, but the poems are really beautiful. Learning more about those Ashlanders would be nice, at least out of curiosity about their culture.

"Ancestors and the Dunmer." That one room back home is a shrine for the Ovathurs’ house. What's the point of keeping it locked up then? Moreover, if the Dunmer honour their ancestors, why can’t we communicate with them? On holidays, as expected, we pay honours; it’s just that the elder herself takes them to the sanctuary and, most likely, communicates with the ancestors. One thing is unclear - why was it forbidden to learn summoning magic? It was tricky to pass the exam with this nonsense restriction.

What worries me now is that there will be no one to contact the spirits and watch over the room. And it’s unlikely that the seal on the door is simple, so opening it now without the elder would be a problem. 

Note to self: make sure to find out what kind of amulet the elder gave me. I’ll probably keep it on me - my ancestors have amazing taste in jewellery.

"The Doors of the Spirit" Same problems here. If they were allowed to communicate with their ancestors, life would become easier.

“Five Songs of King Wulfharth” I’ve read it in the university library and didn’t understand very well what it was about.

The Nords have an extremely clumsy language, but damn interesting stories, however, often embellished.

Even barbarians love to show off.

It’s easy to tell they were because Lorkhan's heart is nothing more than a legend. On the other hand, the story of Nerevar is mentioned in both Nordic and Dunmer sources, however, with different endings. I wish I knew which one is true...”

Godryn put down his quill and sneezed.

The worst part of completely insulated spaces is stuffiness. The walls smelled cold, smelled musty from the layers of dust lying on the furniture, and caused worse headaches than bright light.

It was worth going out to get some air.

Outside it was much warmer and it was easier to breathe. The sky, however, was already clouded with heavy orange clouds coming from the direction of Red Mountain. Only a few remained on the street, namely the patrol and a couple of residents.

Ovathur wasn’t going to go far, and simply walked around the guild’s building. Only now did he pay attention to the gates that surrounded the mountain on all sides. They were about five to ten times taller than the huge shell house, and he could feel extremely powerful magic radiating from them.

He was scared to even think what was behind them.

"Shards of memory reach for shards,
The soul is bound to bones."

Godryn flinched as the woman he noticed staring at him earlier that day appeared before him. She stepped closer and gestured towards the amulet hanging around his neck.

"And reason heeds the sacred heart,
Yet the body yearns to groan."

The same lilac eyes were staring at him again. It could be a coincidence, but he found himself actually dreading to even turn his head in her direction.

“If you know what’s good for you, hide the amulet from prying eyes, my advice to you. The answers will find you on their own.”

Godryn wasn’t fully conscious when he turned and sprinted back to the guildhall, dashing through the halls like a whirlwind and into his room before slamming the door shut. His heart was pounding erratically as he reached for a quill on his desk with a shaking hand.

“Tirdas, evening.

Either I'm crazy or I'm being followed. Now that I’m thinking about it… it was as if Sevalis was waiting for me before approaching. Now this woman, who I saw during the day, spoke in verse and warned of danger.”

Just in case, Godryn wrote down the verse on the edge of the paper while he remembered it.

“I’ll hide the amulet just in case. I had no idea it would attract so much attention. It’s as if Sheogorath has played with people here.

I need to be more careful. I hope at least Anarenen can be trusted.”

Godrin slammed the diary shut and exhaled heavily. He was shivering either from the cold or from the nerves, and the air felt even heavier than it had been before his walk. Thoughts were beating against the frantic pounding of my heart, not allowing him to calm down.

He needs a good night's sleep. Without undressing, he fell onto the bed, and the weight of his thoughts quickly sent him to the kingdom of Vaermina.

***

A long and wide hall that seemed endless. A cacophony of sounds came from everywhere, from laughter to whispers, but instead of people there were the dead, whose faces were frozen and did not move, as if they were wearing masks.

Each step echoed like a bell tolling in the ears. He wanted to cover his ears, but neither body nor mind obeyed - they only walked forward, led by their companion at this cursed ball.

The companion was talking to the guests. His voice was soft, almost flowing, but not like a stream, rather a mighty waterfall, sweeping away all thought and knocking the air out of him.

One wanted to listen to every word he uttered. One wanted to cover their ears from the pain these words inflicted.

The man was not tall, but he was dreadful, even more so than the Red Mountain. His snow-white hair fell in loose waves over his broad shoulders.

He was the only one wearing a mask. A mask that had become one with his face.

The stranger walked forward, his steps echoing in unison with the ringing of the bell.

He had bonemold legs. Legs that echoed the beat of Godryn's trembling heart.

And muffled screams, barely echoing in the guildhall, tainted his nightmare.

Chapter Text

Godryn woke up in a cold sweat. He felt absolutely horrible, even worse than he did on the first day, and he couldn’t even tell what time it was.

What was it anyway? Acclimatisation? Paranoia? A fever maybe? Deep down, Godryn had hoped to start a new life in a foreign country without any incidents, but he wanted to howl already. The rapid beating of his heart pounded painfully in his temples, making it difficult to concentrate, wrapping it up with an unpleasant feeling of nausea. Making an invigorating potion sounded appealing…

Unfortunately, he had had to leave his alchemy apparatus at home. He could use the guild’s apparatus though. It was good enough to make little noise and the walls were thick enough to protect others’ sleep. Settling for a basic restoration spell wasn’t really an option: it barely gave him any relief. 

Godryn left his room, intending to quickly make his way to the apparatus and back but had to stop by the balcony, when he noticed some House Redoran guards arguing with Edwinna. She seemed quite collected.

Next to them stood Anarenen. Unlike Edwinna, he looked much more concerned. Judging by his ruffled hair and slightly unfocused eyes, he was abruptly woken up. It was early in the morning then.

However, something was off. 

“Great, Ovathur, you woke up just in time! There’s a job for you, you have fifteen minutes to get ready,” she pointed at a clock. 

“It’s urgent, very important and very serious. House Redoran is ready to engage with the guild and offer a thousand drakes to anyone who takes on. That’s a good opportunity for you to earn your first money here,” she continued, not letting Godryn get a word in.

Strangely enough, there was no enthusiasm in the Breton woman's voice. She was clearly unhappy with the presence of local guards, and she made it clear to the men standing behind her, pointing at them from behind.

“You must ensure the safety of my subordinates and provide them with protection at any time if you want to receive immediate assistance before the arrival of the Buoyant Armigers and ordinators. Don't even try to make a stupid foreigner out of me if you think you have the right to come in and demand my people as meat shields.”

While Godryn stood there puzzled, Anarenen went up the stairs to him and pushed him back into the room.

“Is it like her thing to send you on a job and not explain anything?” Godryn asked, even more confused.

“We are being sent on a suicide mission, that's what’s going on. The Tribunal Temple was attacked at night, and this seems to be the worst attack on the island in the last few centuries. Every single one of the ordinators was killed, and there were casualties among templars. The Redoran guards, who were the first to rush to the rescue, were also injured. No one expected damage of this magnitude, and now they are in a desperate situation. We were asked to help provide emergency care to the victims.”

“The first impression I got of dunmers in this short period of time was the disregard for foreigners. Although the Mages Guild is an independent organisation de jure, it cooperates with the Empire.”

“It’s true. However, while they are waiting for the arrival of the  Buoyant Armigers, they need to help the victims as soon as possible. However, I advise you to refuse this assignment. Putting a novice in danger is completely unwise on Edwinna's part.”

“I can make my own decisions, thank you very much,” Godryn snapped. He was still feeling unwell. However, he didn’t come all the way here to simply trade the four walls he’s stuck inside for another set of them. Anarenen’s words clearly struck a nerve. 

“Go make some healing potions.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“Healing, Anarenen! I’m a healer!”

“Yeah, clearly. Can’t even heal yourself,” Anarenen shook his head, left and shut the door before a silence spell could be launched at him.

Godryn sighed heavily. He would’ve healed himself with magic, if he could. Kynareth, what was he getting himself into…

Godryn decided not to change his clothes, assuming he’s going to work with a lot of blood, and decided to resort to an invigorating spell to perk himself up. Then he picked up his restoration staff and grabbed some healing flasks from his bag. He kept those for emergencies. 

A rather unkempt mer was looking at Godryn from a small mirror lying on the table, a smudged symbol on his forehead and large uneven spots all over his face. The mage only snorted irritably, realising that there was no time to preen himself, and wiped the paint off his forehead with the back of his hand. He would draw it again once he’s back. On his way out he stole a glance at Anarenen, who was hunched over the equipment, but felt bad for his reaction to the truth. The situation was indeed serious enough, and Anarenen only wanted to warn him of danger.

Well, it was a shame Godryn intended to put himself at risk. 

***

The aftermath of the attack was indeed quite large-scale. Smoke was billowing from the temple, carrying the echo of voices; despite the dawn having barely begun, the residents, alarmed by the noise, were already beginning to wake up, especially in the area close to the temple.

The storm's aftermath did not bypass Ald'ruhn and put the entire infrastructure out of action for at least a day. Surprisingly, the houses were only covered with a layer of ash dust, confirming the ingenuity of the local architects. If a similar storm had passed through Cheydinhal, the city would have been reduced to splinters.

The closer they got to the temple district, the more Godryn's chest tightened unpleasantly.

It wasn’t the temple that was burning - the smoke and smell were coming from the covered bodies being burned by the guards. Alarmed locals stood behind the area fenced off with sandbags, and some of their voices were filled with despair.

Godryn had to strain to understand the local dialect.

“The Three damn you! My son, my boy, took the priesthood and spent years getting here, and now you’re telling me you won’t even give me his ashes for the burial?!”

“Those who have directly encountered the plague creatures, even after death, can be a potential source of infection, and the ashes must be scattered in a place remote from civilization.”

More indignant cries were heard over sobbing.

"Then explain why the body of the son of the advisor Sarethi was taken away and not burned right there with everyone else? How is he any better?"

"No bodies were taken away, stop spreading panic!"

The altercation began with renewed vigor, and Godryn had no desire to listen further - he was worried about something completely different.

He had all the reasons to be worried - Godryn had never been in excellent health, having fallen ill all the time as a child. A memory popped into his head: during a lecture on epidemics, the teacher had talked about a similar one in Morrowind, which had swept through relatively recently - at the end of the last century - and was described as extremely contagious and incurable. If the guard had meant exactly that, then, most likely, he would return to the guild infected.

And then it would be his ashes to be scattered in the wind.

The thought sent a herd of goosebumps down his spine. Godryn pressed his staff closer to his chest and looked around carefully as he walked along the road. Apparently, he was brought to the temple area, where a small group of people had already formed, mostly guards, who were actively interrogating those who could see something, including the victims.

“Under epidemic conditions, prioritising always plays a crucial role. Healers have a difficult task, on which the survival rate depends. If you are alone on the battlefield, be prepared to either treat the sick, or protect the healthy from leprosy, or try to ease their death.”

“You don’t have to come inside - there is no longer a reason to protect me. An Altmer alchemist will soon approach the temple; in order to prevent unwanted spread of infection through contact with each other and, especially, with the population - ask for a disease resistance potion for yourself.”

“If you say so.”

The guard's seemingly ordinary answer got on his nerves for some reason. Right now, everything irritated him: the attack on the temple, the victims themselves, and the coloured spots before his eyes. It felt like he hadn't rested at all after the journey, and was in a state of extreme exhaustion.

Closing his eyes and interlocking his fingers, Godryn tried to concentrate. Search magic was practically invisible to the naked eye, but with its help one could examine the space around. In terms of its effect, the spell belonged to the school of mysticism, but he was not looking for the source of magic or a specific object, but the source of the disease instead. To his relief, he only found wounded people ahead.

However, an invisible trail stretched behind him, causing Godryn to take a few steps forward, away from the source. When he finally dared to turn his head, he faced a wall of the temple.

"Are you going to do something or are you going to keep standing there?"

He almost tripped over a Dunmer woman lying on the ground. The woman was obviously severely injured, but despite this, she scolded Godryn quite vigorously. Without thinking, he immediately bent down to provide first aid.

It was not for nothing that healing became his main specialty. One could’ve said the choice was made purely for personal gain, if not for the fact that every time he healed it was painful.

Among themselves, restoration mages call it “magical burnout”, when the use of magic is strained. This is why healers are generally the most stress-resistant and the most callous of all.

With Godryn, however, it was a little different. He did not have “magical burnout”, but his willpower was constantly exhausted anyway. Even at that moment, he had difficulty finding the strength to concentrate, and yellow magic pulsed unstably on his fingertips. 

"Never try to go beyond your powers unless the situation is critical. Above all, a careful attitude towards yourself makes a healer mage an extremely effective ally, because he usually becomes the last one to exhaust in the team." An unexpected cry pulled Godryn out of the abyss of thoughts that was sucking him in, and Godryn staggered, flopping his butt on the ground. The woman looked at him, then at herself, questioningly and fearfully - in place of a deep jagged wound there was now a trace of a scar, which normally would have appeared only after two months. Only the blood, which looked out of place on the restored skin, reminded of the freshness of the wound.

"Well, now I think I'll be able to help others," the woman assumed a sitting position, but her face was full of worry. "And you could use some rest - you've turned very pale. Vekh, I've never seen anything like this before..."

When he looked down at his palms, he noticed a strong tremor. And the fact that - as it turned out, the healer at the temple - noticed his pallor was not a good sign.

Because Godrin usually blushed when stressed.

“See… what exactly?” Godryn struggled to speak.

“Speaking as a healer, I don’t know what kind of magic you used. The standard treatment feels like a slight numbing tingle, but not like hellish pain. It’s like the body hasn’t recovered… but has gone back in time. Hey, can you hear me?...”

Godryn sensed danger. Not the one that is waiting in the corner, but the one that has not yet happened.

He is sure that the desire to run away will cause a feeling of regret for the choice not yet made.

For some reason, a scene appeared before him: Sevalis’ frightened face with his arms spread out, and Anarenen, dragging Godryn away.

He resists and rushes forward, towards the pilgrim, because sharp spikes are behind him.

When he breaks free from the grip and touches Sevalis, the red-haired Dunmer's face, like a mask, falls to the floor, revealing emptiness.

“Stand still, would you?!”

The world around him seemed to have lost all sound. Godryn jumped like a scalded cat and rushed to the door, coming crushing into the temple. His feet led him somewhere along the corridors, stumbling over obstacles. The guards standing at the entrance immediately rushed after him, cursing loudly: he dared to jump over a dead body and step on the fragments of a wall fresco. They only stopped in front of the stairs, almost completely stained brown from blood.

Godryn put his staff in front of him just as Anarenen crawled backwards onto the landing, his hand outstretched in a defensive gesture. The magic stone thudded against someone's ribs, causing the person hit to stagger back, as Anarenen managed to unleash a bolt of lightning just in time, sending someone flying into the centre of the room, right onto the rubble that remained of Vivec's shrine.

Godryn extended his hand and helped Anarenen to his feet.

“Are you… okay?” the Dunmer said worriedly. Anarenen was about to wave his hand, but when his gaze landed on him, his face showed concern.

“Compared to you, in perfect health. You’re bleeding!”

If Godryn could look at himself from the outside, he would have seen a dishevelled Dunmer with a half-empty gaze and shaking hands. His nose hadn’t stopped bleeding, almost the entire collar of his robe blood-stained from it.

But he couldn’t care less about it.

“Godryn!” he heard a stifled voice from the side. When he turned his head, he saw Sevalis lying on the floor. It seemed he was wounded.

Moving his gaze from Anarenen, to the guards, to the wounded man, he turned his staff vertically and hurried to his acquaintance.

“Don’t come too close, whatever it is, it ’s dangerous, damn it!”

“Gracious Kynareth, what have I done… You scared me! I thought that Anarenen saw a monster, and I swung without even thinking...“.

“Don't worry. I assure you, this is nothing at all compared to the pain of divine blessing!”

“What blessing, what are you talking about?”

”I carry the truth, Godryn! And you really are more powerful than you look,” Sevalis smiled broadly, baring his rotting teeth. When did that happen to them?

“You're able to hear me even with no corprus. The Bone Lord was not mistaken.”

“B’Vekh, he’s unwell! Support his back so he doesn’t hit his head!”

“Godryn, keep looking at me!”

Instead of words, an inarticulate moan escaped his mouth, as if Godryn had forgotten how to speak all of a sudden. His body felt stiff, but he was still trying to move. 

His efforts were fruitless, instead of a smooth movement, his elbow clicked painfully, and both wrists twisted at an unnatural angle, dropping the staff. 

The moment he landed on his back, Sevalis stood up and spread his arms out to the sides. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Godryn noticed the flashing end of an outstretched sword.

“Tell them all they live in a lie!

In a sick fantasy of a three-eyed demon!

They shape the world to their liking,

But not all will disfigure itself for them!

The Bone Lord is proof of that!

He carries no void, 

He seeks not to break the mind of the world through dreams,

He is but a dreamer, a guide to the truth,

Truth you shall see, if you will to look!

He, who carries justice into the minds of meek and strong alike,

Is ready to accept anyone who cares for the fate of Resdayn,

And the Tribe Unmourned shall finally be wept for!”

“Shut him up!”

“I can’t! Will any of you help me hold him before he injures himself?!”

“The Three shall die by the hand of the one they fear!

Cold shall become the heart of Warrior-Poet!

Forgotten be the face of the Father of Mysteries!

Mother Morrowind shall crawl on the ground, writhing and screaming in pain!

For I shall become thrice their slayer, once for each betrayal!” 

The last thing Godryn noticed before he lost his consciousness was Sevalis’ head flying off his shoulders.

***

He woke up in his bed, announcing his awakening to Anarenen, who had just dozed off, with a groan full of pain. 

The body was still shaking, and it was obvious how exhausted he was. His hair stuck to his sweaty face, causing discomfort, and Anarenen, as if noticing this, carefully pulled the strands of Ovathur’s back.

“Godryn. Why didn't you tell me you had epilepsy?”

“This happens... extremely rarely. Where is... Sevalis?”

“Who?”

“Do you remember, the pilgrim... that I told you about. He was… there with us.”

The last memory abruptly burst into his mind, and his previously distracted gaze sharply focused on the Anarenen. His eyes shot open.

“You... killed him! Cut his head off... why?!”

Anarenen had been looking at Godryn all this time with a look full of animal fear that made him uneasy.

“I was... attacked by an ash zombie. You ran to help, but your face was almost white and blood was dripping from your nose. I was about to get us out of there, but for some reason you decided to get close to this creature. I realised that something was wrong when instead of saying something, you groaned and threw your head back, falling to the floor. I barely managed to grab you by the back before the seizure hit you. And you also hit me hard in the face: usually with the help of potions, bruises quickly go away, but this time it took two days to get rid of it...”

“Wait, what? Two days?!”

“Yes, you have been unconscious for these last two days. I must admit, I was getting worried, because during the attack you were talking some nonsense, and then you shrieked - right after one of the guards beheaded this monster. Do you remember anything from that day?”

“I swear, I saw Sevalis in that room… He was talking nonsense, passionately telling me about some Bone Lord, the Tribe Unmourned and that he would become a thrice slayer.”

“Godryn... it was you who said all this, the creature only keened in response. There was no “Sevalis”.”

Godryn rolled onto his back and ran his palms over his face, as if trying to remove a veil that prevented him from seeing the world. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a slight reddish-black glow from Anarenen. Was he going crazy again?

Damn it, none of this had a logical explanation. 

Godryn definitely remembered talking to Sevalis on the day of arrival. At least at that time, everything was relatively fine with his travelling companion, except for a few oddities, which he put down to a feature of the Dunmer mentality. Judging by the appearance, apart from the shabby clothes and tangled red hair, nothing suggested that there was someone else in front of him, and definitely not…

He removed his hands from his face and turned his head to Anarenen.

“What color was the hair of this… zombie?”

“Well, he had almost no hair left, as well as no face, save for a few chunks of red hair…”

The thudding sound came either from Godryn's heart dropping, or from the three Dunmers entering the room.

Could it be that all this time, from the very beginning of the Gnaar Mok, he was accompanied by a corprus monster?

“In the name of the Three, we must arrest you.”