Chapter 15

As he came to a sudden halt mere inches from me, the abrupt rush of air from his movement snuffed out the tiny flame flickering in my palm. His unnerving speed once more causing my brows to furrow.

Beneath Skyrim’s muted sky, his crimson eye glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light, casting an unsettling sheen across his face. His lips curled into a grim smile, only to be swiftly concealed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, erasing the trace of blood.

I blinked, trying to make sense of the turbulent emotions that had just surged through me.

Was it relief?

“Sorry,” he said, his smile fading as he noticed my perplexed expression. “Just needed a quick bite. We can move on now.”

His tone was nonchalant, almost practiced, as though he sought to erase the incident as if it had never happened. He brushed past me with deliberate casualness, his shoulder brushing against mine before he made his way to his steed.

“Who did you kill?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a barely restrained fury.

“It doesn’t really matter,” he replied with a dismissive shrug. “If it helps, he was a bad guy.”

He continued to his horse, his shoulder pressing against mine in a gesture that felt oddly intimate as he mounted.

“It matters,” I said softly, my voice wavering with a fragile vulnerability. “Mother’s invitation—we—”

“And we deliver. Yes, yes,” he interrupted, shaking his head as if to brush off the concern. “Soon, we’ll all be gone anyway,” he added, casting a sideways glance from his saddle. “Uninvited.”

His words cut through me, freezing my heart with their chilling certainty.

The reality of dragons rising unpredictably from the earth, with no guarantee of safety, painted a grim picture. Their previous non-aggression offered no assurance against future attacks.

I mounted Shadowmere, guiding her close to Amon’s steed, I asked with a sudden murmur, “Do you think there is a way to stop it?”

For a fleeting moment, his eyes locked with mine, and I thought I detected a glimmer of something—perhaps doubt or realization.

“If you want to cling to tales of heroes saving Tamriel, you’re welcome to.” he said, his voice as cold and unyielding as the night itself. “I don’t see any hero here.” His gaze swept across the forest briefly before returning to mine. “Do you?”

I struggled to maintain my composure, his words shattering the fragile hope I had clung to. The prospect of a war against dragons seemed increasingly inevitable, but if there was any chance of avoiding it, I felt it was worth every effort to pursue.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading,” I said, my words catching him off guard. “Heroes, legends, Daedra…” I allowed a faint, wistful smile to touch my lips. “Tell me more.”

His eyes widened, moving from my smile to my gaze, as if struggling to reconcile the hopeful glimmer in my eyes with the bleakness of our situation.

He nudged his steed forward, and I followed, the distance between us shrinking as his voice took on a somber tone. “Dragonborn. The warrior who will save us all.”

“There have been many,” he continued, his voice heavy with weariness. “Emperors like Septim and traitors like Miraak.”

Tiber Septim—the man who transcended mortality. My heart quickened at the thought. “A mortal soul who can shout with the power of a dragon.” he explained, his tone tinged with a hint of disdain.

His words ignited a flicker of fragile hope within me.

“Anyone too determined can achieve it.” he said dismissively. “Wasting your life just to summon a gust of wind,” he shrugged, a cold mockery in his voice. “I wouldn’t spend a second of my eternity with those ancient relics up there.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

High Hrothgar loomed in my mind, its seven thousand steps a constant reminder of the seekers of enlightenment.

“We don’t have time.” I said firmly, my voice tinged with desperation.

“Well, that brings us back to where we started,” he said, his smirk widening into something almost cruel. “We’re all going to die.”

I pressed forward, struggling to cling to any semblance of hope. “This Dragonborn,” I asked, my voice trembling with intensity, “if anyone can achieve it, what makes this warrior so special?”

He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and concern, as if my questions were both intriguing and troubling. “What sort of libraries do your people have?” he inquired, “The Dragonborn carries the soul of a dragon. Shouting becomes second nature to them.”

Second nature.

“Do you believe such a person exists?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, laden with yearning.

“I don’t.” he said abruptly, his tone cutting through the air like a dagger.

His finality was a crushing weight on my chest. The question lingered, heavy and unresolved.

What if?

Until we reached the fork in the road near Falkreath, my thoughts were consumed by the idea of the Dragonborn. The possibility of such a figure, destined to wield the power of a dragon, filled me with a mix of hope and dread.

My knowledge of dragon lore was steeped in the doctrines of the Thalmor. They had drilled into us the belief that Tiber Septim was no divine being but a mere mortal who ascended through sheer will.

According to their teachings, Septim’s deification was a fabrication, a falsehood designed to legitimize his rule. We were conditioned to view his followers as heretics, to be apprehended and silenced.

Now, the thought of the Dragonborn emerging once more was also troubling one. The Thalmor, with their relentless zeal, would pursue this warrior with an intensity that matched their efforts to eradicate the legacy of the Septims. I shuddered to think of what they might do to someone with the power of a Dragonborn.

As the rhythmic clatter of our steeds’ hooves echoed through the night, a thick shroud of anxiety settled over me. The Black Door loomed ahead, its dark presence a silent reminder of the unknown.

Amon’s gaze shifted to me, his expression a mix of patience and expectation. He tilted his head slightly, breaking the silence with a command as soft as a whisper but carrying an undeniable edge. “The words, please.”

The Black Doors were infamous for their selective nature, their riddles were gatekeepers, requiring the correct incantation to grant entry. While I knew the phrase for the sanctuary in Dawnstar, Amon was expected to know the words for the Falkreath door.

The two sanctuaries, each home to two of the four Speakers, were locked in a perpetual struggle—caught in the storm of enmity between two formidable women.

“Colymna didn’t tell you?” I asked, my voice tinged with both curiosity and frustration.

Amon’s expression hardened as he stepped forward, his eyes revealing a trace of bitterness. “I told you,” he said, his voice laden with resignation. “She sent me to you hoping to be rid of me. She hated me since the day I joined the Brotherhood.”

I crossed my arms, the weight of suspicion settling heavily on my shoulders. “What really happened?”

He sighed deeply, shrugging as if the effort of explaining was too much. “I wanted to be included and she agreed. But she despised me from the very beginning.”

I gave a slight nod, signaling him to continue.

With another weary sigh, he confessed, “Before the dragon incident, she had ordered me to go to the College.”

“The College?” My curiosity was piqued, unable to restrain the question that bubbled to the surface.

Amon took a step closer, a flicker of guilt marring his features. “She wanted me to find the mage who was researching a cure for vampirism. When I encountered the dragons, I-” he sighed, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I saw your men,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I hoped I could talk to one of them, but they were too busy scrambling to their portal.”

As the reality of our situation sank in, I felt a profound sense of revulsion.

“I knew one of you would come back,” he continued, stepping closer and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And you did.”

So, another game? A way for him to avoid returning to Dawnstar? The tinge on my neck made the it all more unbearable than it was by the second.

“Why did you lie to me?” I demanded, stepping back and piercing him with a glare.

“I—” He shifted his gaze, “I heard about you, your reputation. The Snake of the South—”

“Enough with the damn names,” I cut him off sharply, my voice slicing through the air. “Your plan was to escape?”

“Escape?” A silent, cruel laugh escaped his lips, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “And come to yet another Sanctuary?”

“No, no, sister—” He shook his head lightly before stepping closer. “You see, I enjoy killing. That’s why I joined the Brotherhood.”

A smirk curved his lips. “Just like you.”

Nothing like me.

“And you really thought Astrid would accept you just because you came here with me?”

“I hoped so,” he shrugged with a hint of a smile. “Given that I behaved in the second half, I thought I might have earned it.”

His touch on my elbow startled me. I uncrossed my arms, not darning to take another step back. His mismatched eyes showed a fleeting amusement that gradually faded into silence. “Come on,” he whispered, his voice soft. “The words.”

“Silence, my brother.”

Fen’s familiar voice cut through the air, her tone carrying an edge of command. Her eyes locked onto us, a sly smirk curling at the corners of her lips as she deliberately closed the distance between us.

Not now, Fen.

Her gaze lingered on me with a knowing intensity before she asked, “Why deny him the chance?”

To be continued…