Chapter 16

4E, 196

“What is she, Nazir?" The woman's voice tore through the air, sharp and cutting, just like the blades she surely wielded. Her brown hair framed a face twisted in fury, and her deep red armor—a haunting reflection of the blood she had undoubtedly spilled—seemed to pulse with the heat of her rage. Her eyes, wide with a mix of trepidation and something darker, bore into me as if I were a creature from the depths.

Nazir, standing beside me like a shield against her wrath, tried to speak, his voice a calming murmur, “Astrid, please—"

But the woman—Astrid, I learned—would not be swayed so easily. She cut him off with a venomous hiss, "Something is wrong with that girl." There was an edge to her words that I could not understand then. Now, looking back, her tone seemed heavy with the weight of her then new role as the leader of the Falkreath Sanctuary.

Nazir’s plea was softer this time, almost as if he were speaking to himself, “She means no harm... For the Father, Astrid, look at her!” His words wrapped around me like a fragile barrier, but even I could feel the desperation in them.

Astrid’s eyes roved over me, taking in every detail, every scar and bruise, as if she was trying to piece together the puzzle of who, or what, I truly was.

I remember the way the shadows twisted and writhed under the flickering torchlight. The skulls embedded in the walls were the worst of it—those empty, hollow eyes watching my every move, silently judging, as if they knew I didn’t belong.

I stood there in the remnants of my Thalmor uniform from the day of the trial, the fabric burned and torn, still stiff with dried blood. It clung to me like a second skin, a grim reminder of the horrors I had endured. Yet, despite its ragged state, I couldn’t help but think I looked better than the first time Nazir had found me—barely more than a ghost of a girl, hanging on to life by a thread.

Thanks to him and Festus, I had been able to eat, to sleep, to cling to the edges of survival. They had given me a chance, pulled me back from the edge, but the scars of that ordeal were still etched into my flesh. I had managed to clean myself in the cold waters of the nearby lake but the bruises that marred my neck and the side of my face were refusing to fade.

Under the dim light of the hall, they stood out like dark stains on my pale skin, a testament to the violence I had survived. Every time I caught sight of them in a reflective surface, they reminded me of the pain, the fear, the helplessness.

The farm.

I could feel Astrid’s eyes lingering on those bruises, but there was no pity in her gaze, only a cold, calculating assessment, as if she was weighing my worth—or my danger—to the Brotherhood.

"I had no other choice." Nazir pressed, his voice tight, as he opened his hand in a gesture of frustration.

"Well, you had options." Festus's voice cut through the dimly lit hall, emerging from the shadows with a disapproving glare, his arms crossed in a judgmental way. Nazir stiffened at the sanctimony in his tone, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes.

"Shut up, old man." Nazir snapped, his patience fraying. "You know the state we found her in. Have you forsaken all mercy?"

"Mercy?" Astrid's voice was sharp, almost a hiss, as she turned her steely gaze on Nazir, then on me. "We don't do mercy." Her words were cold, cutting through the air like a blade.

"If you can't accept her," Nazir hissed, his voice steady as his gaze swept across the faces of his comrades, finally resting on Astrid, "then I'll leave. This isn’t a family." His words hung in the air like a challenge, daring anyone to oppose him.

With that, he touched my shoulder, a gesture that both reassured and terrified me, and together we turned toward the black door. The murmurs of discontent began to ripple through the crowd, a low rumble of unease.

"You can't leave just like that," Astrid's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Remember the Tenets, Nazir."

"The Tenets!" Nazir’s retort was a fierce, biting declaration that made me flinch at its intensity. "The first one tells us never to disobey the Night Mother, does it not?"

Astrid hesitated, her confidence wavering as his words struck a chord. "How am I disobeying her, when you’re the one who brought an outsider here?" Her tone was defensive, but there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes, a crack in her hardened exterior.

"The Night Mother embraces all who are faithful," Nazir replied, his voice unwavering, every syllable steeped in conviction, “and she is faithful to the Mother.”

No.

The words left my lips with an unwavering certainty, reverberating through the chamber.

"My mother is Y'ffre and her alone."

I felt the weight of every gaze upon me, the assassins' eyes burning with a mix of anger and something else—curiosity, perhaps. But Nazir... Nazir’s eyes were filled with silent sorrow.

"Enough!" Astrid’s voice cut through the air like a blade, the sound of her weapon being drawn sending a chill down my spine. She moved toward me with purpose, her steps heavy with the intent to kill.

She was a killer, and I was just another target—another intruder who had crossed into their world. I could see it in her every move.

"Stop it, Astrid!” Nazir’s voice broke through the tension, and suddenly, he was in front of me, shielding me from the danger I knew too well. There was a desperation in his tone that made my chest tighten, a plea that felt like a lifeline.

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"Move, Nazir. We know nothing of her!” Astrid argued, seeking the crowd's support.

"Astrid is right," a voice rang out from the back. I felt a chill as a man, in strange clothes stepped forward, his eyes locking onto mine with a gaze that seemed to pierce straight through to my soul. "The void stares back.” he murmured, his words laced with an unsettling crypticness.

"Step aside, Cicero.” Nazir’s warning was sharp, but Cicero paid him no mind. His focus was entirely on me, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “Be pragmatic, Astrid,” Nazir pressed, disregarding the jester entirely. “We found her surrounded by the corpses of at least a dozen men.” He turned to Festus, seeking validation.

“True,” Festus confirmed gravely. “She has some disgusting wounds too.” Nazir’s expression twisted in distaste, but he kept his gaze fixed on Astrid.

“We don’t know what she is, but she has potential.” Nazir continued, his words creating a ripple of unease among the gathered assassins.

“Weak, that’s what she is.” Astrid spat, her resolve unshaken as she advanced on me once more.

I had heard enough.

Weak?

It was clear that Astrid wouldn’t be convinced by mere words—she needed proof, something tangible. Without hesitation, I slipped my hand to Nazir’s belt and deftly seized his blade. In a fluid motion, I darted behind him, my steps silent and swift, closing the gap between myself and Astrid. The air shifted around me as I moved, a cold breeze tousling Astrid’s hair as I melded with the shadows.

Astrid swung her blade at me, but I was quicker. I sidestepped, causing her to stumble slightly as I pushed her off balance. Regaining her balance with ease, she turned, fury blazing in her eyes, and swung again—only to slice through empty air. In an instant, I was behind her, the tip of my blade barely touching the delicate skin of her neck.

The room collectively gasped, the tension visible.

"I believe you’ve proven yourself, Elf." a man’s voice cut through the tension, though I could hear the concern laced in his tone. "Put the blade down."

"So your mistress can slay me?" I shot back, my words cutting through the silence like a blade. "I am not naive, werewolf."

The man’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. But I wasn’t finished. "I’ve slain enough dogs to recognize the stench of a dead one."

Gasps of disbelief rippled through the room, the assassins stunned by my audacity. I was, after all, a product of relentless training and ruthless conditioning, engineered to be a perfect war machine.

In the end, I survived the trial.

"My name is Niolenyl. I was trained long and hard enough to end your finest assassin with ease."

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of my declaration settling heavily in the air. The astonishment was palpable, not only from the gravity of my words but also from the precision and confidence that defined my movements. I dropped the blade, releasing Astrid from my grasp.

Nazir appeared particularly unsettled by me, the girl he had just defended. He had spoken of my potential, but witnessing that same potential wielded with such grace as I held Astrid at knifepoint seemed to leave him visibly shaken.

“Astrid, was it?” I asked, my voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. “Perhaps I am an outsider, but weak?”

I turned to the crowd, watching as they recoiled, stepping back from my presence. “I am skilled at killing, if you can’t tell. Isn’t this what you need? Bloodlust?”

“It’s not bloodlust, Niolenyl,” Nazir’s voice emerged from the shadows, steady and calm. Yet his words seemed to linger in the air, as if questioning their own validity.

“For they are faithful,” another voice intoned, low and resonant, carrying a weight that seemed to chill the very air around us. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness as the candles extinguished themselves, their flames snuffed out as if by an unseen hand.

I remember the air turning cold and heavy, pressing in from all sides. It was as though the very walls were breathing, the darkness pulsing with a life of its own. From that impenetrable void, a voice emerged—ancient, unfathomable, and filled with an authority that transcended the mortal realm.

“To me.” it whispered, but the words echoed with the force of a command that could shatter worlds.

The assassins reacted as one, their hands moving instinctively to their hearts, their postures falling into a reverent bow as they recognized the presence that now dominated the room. The atmosphere was suffused with a sense of awe and dread, the kind that one might feel when standing on the precipice of something vast and unknowable.

“Dread Father!” Cicero gasped, his voice trembling, almost breaking under the weight of his devotion.

“Hail Sithis!” they all murmured in unison, their voices barely above a whisper, as if to speak louder would draw the full attention of the void upon them. The name, Sithis, hung in the air, heavy with the weight of eons, a name that carried the promise of death and the inevitable return to the void.

I knew who he was. The Thalmor had taught us the knowledge of all the forbidden deities and their powers, beyond the mortal realm.

He was the void, and the void was him, a vast and endless expanse of nothingness that threatened to consume everything in its path.

“He is not with the void.” the voice whispered, a murmur that seemed to echo from within my very soul, as if no one else in the room could hear it but me. “The boy with the fire hair and the axe.”

At his words, a wave of weakness crashed over me. My legs buckled, refusing to support me any longer. I stumbled back, and suddenly, I felt someone’s hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. The touch was unfamiliar—Astrid, keeping me upright, forcing me to face what she couldn’t perceive, even though she was oblivious to the voice that spoke to me alone.

“He is to be never touched again.” the voice voice whispered once more. I struggled against Astrid’s hold, trying to break free, but she tightened her grip, keeping me in place.

Our eyes met, and to my surprise, her gaze held a warmth I had never seen before. It was as if she wanted me to know that she understood, that she could relate to the turmoil I was experiencing.

But how could she? Could she really understand?

“A soul that I may never envelop in my darkness is a soul worth a thousand.” the voice continued, its words resonating deep within me, filling me with a sense of loss and reverence.

As the voice faded, the sense of loss and reverence lingered, leaving me with an unsettling mourning.

Suddenly, I felt the grip on my shoulders release, and I struggled to regain my composure. Eyes filled with fear, contempt, and anger were fixed on me, reminiscent of the way I was regarded when I first walked through Clamcora’s door.

“He spoke to her! The Father spoke!” Cicero’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension and drawing some of the hostile glares toward him. “A chosen!” He seemed almost certain he had heard the voice that spoke to me.

“Father already has his chosen ones,” Astrid was quick to interrupt, her gaze no longer warm.

“Have it your way, Nazir.” she added, turning to face him before her attention shifted back to me.

Nazir’s gaze lowered to me, a silent smile tugging at his lips—a small, glimmering spark of hope.

“Welcome to the family.”

Family.

The notion of family once caressed my heart with promises of a warm home and a place of safety, filled with love and laughter—much like the first one I had known, before it was swallowed by the encroaching darkness. Before everything was taken from me.

“Welcome!” A sudden voice startled me from behind. I turned to see a striking Nord woman, her dark hair and blue eyes resembling the icy glaciers of Skyrim. Her gaze was steady and inviting.

I nodded softly in response, and a smile curved her lips. “Come, I will show you around.” she said warmly, extending a gesture of hospitality in this new, unfamiliar place.

To be continued…