4E 202, Battlefield outside of Labyrinthian
Nelkir
The only thing he could hear in the dark space were his echoing footsteps.
The noise bounced endlessly through the stone hall, swallowed by the void that crowded every corner.
His torch illuminated only a thin stretch of dabbled stone beneath him, twenty feet at most. Everything beyond that was smothered in darkness.
Yet Nelkir was not afraid.
He walked with the calm certainty of a boy guided by an invisible hand.
"Keep straight my champion, your gift awaits you at the end."
The voice entered his mind as smooth as silk. Even here, far from Dragonsreach and the door, the whispers followed him. Comforted him. Shaped his thoughts before he even registered them.
Why walk blind when someone wiser could lead him instead?
Why choose uncertainty when a divine voice could choose for him?
Strapped across his back was the Ebony Blade, so long it was that the hilt peaked over his back. It felt heavier tonight, like it was pulling him forward. Like it hungered.
His patron had called this place Shalidor's Maze, located deep within the bowels of the city of Labyrinthian. Why he was here was a secret that his patron chose not to divulge, but Nelkir was fine with that.
Whatever she hid, she hid for his own good.
She always had.
A deep rumble shook the chamber as plumes of dust fell from the ceiling. Something massive was happening in the inner crypts.
He had seen the Dragonborn and the Archmage enter. He didn't know why they fought. He didn't need to.
"Their chaos conceals your purpose. Walk quietly, little champion. Let their noise hide your steps."
He obeyed.
When he first entered the maze, he found a note clutched in the hand of a skeleton warrior. Nelkir waited for a few seconds to see if he would rise into a draugr the moment Nelkir approached.
It never did, so Nelkir grabbed the note and read it.
"Enter Twice - Exit Only Once.
Alteration will lead you to Destruction.
Only Illusion shows the way to Restoration.
Conjure not, but be conjured instead."
He had no idea what it meant, but Mephala whispered approval into his heart.
He dropped the note and kept going.
Ten minutes later, he had passed through most of the maze's trials.
There were puzzles that required channeling magic through wooden staves, tricks of light and shadow, illusions that whispered lies and truths in equal measure. Once, he would have panicked in the darkness. Darkness meant fear. Loneliness. The unknown.
Now?
The darkness felt like a friend wrapping him in a cloak.
He sensed a presence coming to him from the side. There was a chittering of bone as steel scraped on stone.
Nelkir did not think.
His body moved, the way a puppet moves when the strings pull taut.
The Ebony Blade was swung with a speed he knew he did not possess, and the draugr's head dropped with a wet thud.
Nelkir continued without a second glance.
The maze twisted endlessly, corridor after corridor of the same rough grey stone. No markings, no variations, no way to distinguish one hall from another. Without guidance, he would have wandered in circles for hours.
Yet his legs walked with confidence. Always straight with no hesitation. Always exactly where his patron needed him to be.
Still… something gnawed faintly at him. A memory out of reach.
He remembered stabbing someone. Someone familiar. Someone who trusted him.
But he could not remember the face.
There was also a voice that continuously echoed at the back of his mind. Calling him a name he should have recognized.
'...son…'
The memory trembled on the edge of recollection. But before it could, the whispers came back to smother it.
"Trust me, my little champion. Trust your lady and everything will turn out for the better."
His chest loosened. The discomfort faded. He continued forward.
Soon, the twisting stone halls opened into the final chamber.
A massive dark-blue portal pulsed at the center of the room like a beating heart.
Nelkir knew what to do, for he drew the Ebony Blade and thrust it straight into the heart of the portal.
A pained scream appeared as the portal shimmered and collapsed into shards of blue light that died mid air. In its place materialized a dremora, dark jagged armor and eyes burning with flames.
He appeared already impaled on the Blade.
The dremora gasped, falling to one knee, perfectly aligned for Nelkir to reach the thing resting atop the demon's horned head.
A dark jeweled diadem.
In one smooth pull, Nelkir tore the Ebony Blade free and swung it down to the dremora's right hand, severing it at the wrist.
"Mephala…" the dremora rasped, its final recognition, before being ripped back to Oblivion in a burst of black flame.
Nelkir picked up the severed hand. There, on the middle finger, was a silver ring with a square-cut amber gemstone.
"The Diadem of the Savant and the Ring of Khajiit. They are yours to keep for the time being, champion. Keep them safe, and be prepared. For the time of reckoning approaches."
Nelkir looked at both artifacts with blank eyes. Without prompting, he put the diadem atop his head and the ring on his finger.
Once he did, his entire body vanished, gone from sight and gone from the world as the Ring of Khajiit camouflaged his presence and hid him from the eyes of gods and mortals alike.
…
4E 202, Army Camp around Labyrinthian
Kiera Fendalyn
Kiera hissed sharply as her mother tightened the bandage around her ribs.
Most of them were superficial, but that didn't mean that they didn't hurt. The linen pressed against a web of bruises that lined her skin.
All purples, blues, and angry reds from nearly being buried under tons of rubble.
Beneath them were a lingering frostbite that still clung to patches of her flesh. Krosis' ice was not one to be underestimated, and the memory of his magic lingered cruelly.
The pain immediately turned into a soft warmth as Carcette applied a restoration spell on the wound.
"These injuries are rough." Carcette stated, worry in her tone. "What did you say you fought again?"
"Just some dragon priests who refused to die like sensible people," Kiera sighed. "That and a couple of Mythic Dawn cultists. Killing them was satisfying."
Carcette let out a smile. "I'm sure it was. Mankar's forces have taken a severe blow. With the loss of his children as well as Calixto in the form of Dagon's Champion, their plans must have been set back by a decade at least."
"Maybe," Kiera conceded, adjusting her posture as the healing light soaked deeper. "But you and I both know that as long as Mankar Camoran is out there, the Mythic Dawn is far from finished."
"Well," Carcette said, gently closing her hands, "it's a good thing Gerron already has something planned."
Kiera raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I spoke with Serana." Carcette's tone carried both respect and curiosity, Gerron had earned plenty of both. "Gerron has plans to use the Thieves' Guild to help track down the Mythic Dawn's hidden headquarters. If anyone can sniff out a cult that lives in the shadows, it's them."
Kiera nodded. "That's good to hear. He's always one step ahead, always has a plan. And backup plans. And backup plans for the backup plans. Honestly, I'm lucky we met him in Whiterun back then." She then exhaled, softer. "I can't imagine this war without him."
"Don't sell yourself short," Carcette said firmly, tapping Kiera's forehead with a finger. "The Dragonborn is always needed for times of strife like these."
"Needed…" Kiera echoed under her breath. "Right…"
In fact, that was exactly what she was worried about. For deep down, she was feeling exhausted.
She wasn't sure when it had started, maybe after High Hrothgar, maybe after seeing the first mass graves in Whiterun, maybe after realizing that every victory came at a cost that never seemed to stop climbing.
She stepped out of the tent into cool night air, where Kiera could hear the sounds of the camp at large.
Fires flickered from bonfires, metal clinked together as blacksmiths were busy repairing weapons and armor. Some neighing of horses from the nearby stables, and plenty of voices murmured from the thousands of conversations happening throughout.
Soldiers were sharing each other stories of the battle, some loud with pride, others quiet with grief.
Kiera's eyes swept across the camp. So many faces. So many losses. So many people who looked to her for strength.
She knew no one escapes from war unscathed, but despite knowing it, seeing it is something else entirely.
Yet she knew she had to steel herself.
She straightened her posture and tried to breathe through the weight pressing down on her chest. 'You can be tired later. Right now, they need the Dragonborn.'
She was the pillar of strength that everyone could lean on, while Gerron was the beacon of hope that everyone looked up to, the people's guide to a better future.
Even now, the man was busy. A thick scent of alchemy and herbs wafted out the open flap as Kiera arrived in the main medical tent in the center of the camp.
Legion centurions stood guard like statues, and inside, Gerron stood over a table of alchemical tools with three legion alchemists working beside him.
He moved between ingredients with the ease of an expert. Mixing, pouring, heating, stabilizing.
Even the trained alchemists struggled to keep up.
High above the tables, the White Phial hung suspended in a magicka cradle, refiltering each finished potion into perfect clarity. The red liquid within glowed like crystallized sunlight.
Kiera felt a genuine smile appear on her face. Despite the peerless strength, despite the title of Jarl of the Rift, despite everything he had become and accomplished, Gerron Ironbreaker truly was a craftsman at heart.
He turned just as she walked in, his face brightening. "Hey, I heard you and Savos almost got buried alive." He crossed the tent in long strides and wrapped her in a warm hug. "How are you?"
"Exhausted," she admitted, chuckling softly. "But surviving."
"Good." Gerron squeezed her shoulder. Then he turned to the lead alchemist, a balding Imperial with a beard that started to gray at the roots. "Servius, keep rotations going on potion production. We need everything we can get."
"Aye, mi'lord," Servius said, already scribbling notes.
Gerron guided Kiera outside into the open air, where the night was clearer and quieter. Soldiers passing by straightened with respect, some nodding, some smiling.
Without breaking stride, Gerron slipped a small vial into her hand.
Kiera blinked. Inside the glass, a shimmering silver liquid swirled like liquid moonlight. "What is it?"
"Your mother's ailment," Gerron said simply. "It took a while to figure it out. But after taking down Calixto, I examined Mehrunes' Razor again and isolated the curse effect. This should neutralize it."
Kiera stopped walking.
Then she looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and relief that stung behind her eyes.
"Gerron… how did you manage this on top of everything else you're doing?"
He shrugged, a soft smile forming. "I made a promise. And I don't break promises."
He nodded toward the camp. "Besides, Carcette is one of our best healers. We need her at full strength. Can't have her slowed down because of some stupid daedric artifact."
Before she even realized she was moving, Kiera stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
He was still wearing armor, so it wasn't that comfortable, but it was the gesture that counts.
"Thank you, Gerron."
He chuckled, patting her back with one big hand. "Anytime."
They turned and continued walking together as the camp erupted in quiet cheers and smiles at the sight of the Dragonborn and the Dragonslayer side by side
Hope and strength walking through the night.
…
AN: Sorry for how late this chapter came out. I've been feeling really sick the past week and couldn't get out of bed without a sharp headache. That, and my throat is so sore that I could barely speak without it sounding like sandpaper.
But I got this one done, so that's good. Hope you and enjoy it.
Anyways, I did say all Champions would be here on the Night of Convergence. Nelkir has a role to play yet.
State of all Champions:
Gerron (Zenithar), Serana (Meridia), Kiera (Akatosh), Isran (Stendarr) - Vibing
Aela (Hircine) - Munching on some good dragon meat
Karliah (Nocturnal) - Feeling good with her choice of following Gerron
Aranea (Azura) - Glad she's finally out of prison
Calixto (Mehrunes Dagon) - Is now in prison
Harkon (Molag Bal) - Sundered by the combined power of Aela and Isran
Nelkir (Mephala) - Sneaking through Shalidor's Maze
A few more chapters of the aftermath before the act ends.
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 96 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers guys and see you next time!