4E 202, Castle Volkihar
Kiera Fendalyn
The sea around Castle Volkihar was quieter now.
Not peaceful—as the strange wailings of the Sea of Ghosts could never be referred to as such—but rather subdued, as if even the waves were wary of what had transpired upon these shores.
Smoke still drifted from the castle's upper spires, thin trails carried away by the coastal wind. Most of the battlements had either melted or shattered, solid stone and earth scorched from Vermithor's Thu'um.
Kiera stood near the waterline, boots damp with sea spray, overseeing the evacuation of the last prisoners and thralls of Clan Volkihar.
Rows of makeshift medical tents had been erected along the shore and atop the anchored ships. Legion healers moved between them, assisted by clerics, alchemists, and even a handful of mages requisitioned from Solitude. The wounded were sorted carefully—those only slightly injured, those drained from fatigue, and those who hovered dangerously close to death.
The worst cases were the blood thralls.
Men and women who had been kept alive only to be fed upon—pale, trembling, barely conscious. Their bodies had forgotten how to make blood of their own. Alchemical tinctures were administered slowly, followed by restorative potions and, when necessary, draughts to purge vampiric taint entirely.
Kiera entered one of the tents and knelt beside one such cot, hands glowing faintly as she channeled restorative magic into a young woman whose breathing came shallow and uneven. She took a damp cloth from a table and dabbed on her forehead, wiping the sweat.
It struck her then—quietly, almost guiltily—that it had been a long time since she had done this.
When was the last time she acted as a proper healer?
Not on a battlefield, not after the many fights and battles where wounded soldiers moaned in tents. But like this—kneeling beside someone helpless, focusing entirely on preserving life rather than ending it.
Since the war began, since the Greybeards named her Dragonborn, since the world forced her to be a weapon.
She had forgotten the simplest lesson the Vigilants had taught her.
'To heal and help others whenever you can.'
They were not Priests of Arkay who made it their mission to be wandering healers, but the Vigilants were not so different when they were off-duty, when they were not out hunting for the nearest Daedra in the wilderness.
The woman's breathing steadied. Color returned faintly to her cheeks.
Kiera leaned back just as a familiar voice called her name.
"Lady Kiera."
She turned to see Legate Adventus approaching, helmet tucked under his arm, his expression serious but measured.
"The General requests your presence," he said. "We've finally managed to open the vault."
Kiera nodded at once. She passed the damp cloth she had been using to a Legion healer, who took her place without question.
As she rose, the woman on the cot weakly reached out and caught Kiera's hand.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."
Kiera smiled, soft and genuine, and squeezed her hand once before stepping away.
The courtyard beyond was busy as Legionnaires were out and about.
Dead vampires were dragged into a single pit, their bodies piled together, oil already being poured in preparation for burning. The fallen Legionnaires were treated with far more care. Their armor cleaned, wounds bound, cloaks folded neatly before they were prepared for transport home.
Legionnaires were around, cleaning the area. The dead vampires were put in a pile into a dug up hole, ready to be burned. The dead legionaries were put to the side, cleaned and prepared to be brought back home.
Of the three thousand who had taken part in the siege, only around seven hundred had fallen.
An astonishing number considering a siege was the bane of most armies, especially a beach landing such as this.
Tullius had expected far worse. A fortress like Volkihar, defended by an army of four hundred thralls and centuries-old vampires, should have cost them over half their number.
It hadn't, and Kiera knew why.
Her securing the prisoners early had freed the Legion to fight without restraint. And Vermithor—
She glanced skyward instinctively.
The great dragon had been many things that day—terror, shield, executioner. Wherever the defenders clustered thickest, his shadow fell, followed by flame and thunder.
This wasn't the first time the Legionnaires fought with a dragon as an ally and they have certainly gotten used to his presence. But every living soul here knew that the reason the siege ended relatively quickly was due to the existence of the Bronze Fury.
Well him, and her.
Legionnaires greeted her as she passed. Some bowed their heads. Others placed fists to breastplates. A few smiled, tired but sincere.
She returned each gesture automatically.
It still felt strange, despite having months now being treated as such.
Her steps brought her into the interior of the castle, echoing through ancient halls until she reached the vault.
General Tullius stood there already, flanked by a contingent of Legionnaires and several Imperial engineers. All eyes were drawn to the door.
It was immense.
An iron-wrought slab nearly forty feet tall, layered with clamps, hinges, and overlapping locking mechanisms that looked more like a puzzle than a barrier. The metal was dark, dense, and faintly luminous in places—enchanted, without a doubt.
"How's it going, General?" Kiera asked as she joined him.
"Lady Kiera," Tullius replied. "The engineers have cracked it. We should have it open any moment now."
She nodded, her gaze never leaving the door.
Whatever lay behind it has to be important. It most likely contained whatever secrets Harkon Volkihar held in his millenia of life.
Her draconic senses prickled.
There was magic there, barely perceptible, smothered beneath layers of runic suppression. She spotted the enchantments etched into the surrounding stone, designed not to empower but to contain.
They didn't have a key and the doors were too heavy and strong for the regular battering rams, despite the visible damages that the door already held.
Kiera knew she could tear it open if asked—but Tullius had insisted on caution, not wanting to risk damaging or disrupting whatever magic was contained within.
It is times like this that Kiera wished Gerron was here. His spellbreaker sword could probably break whatever enchantment etched here rather easily.
"We're ready, General," one of the engineers said. Mylis, she recalled.
"Do it," Tullius ordered.
The mechanisms disengaged with a thunderous click. Chains rattled. The door groaned as six Legionnaires braced themselves up on either side and pulled.
When it finally opened, a cloud of dust billowed outward, thick and choking. Several soldiers coughed and turned away.
Kiera narrowed her eyes as her nose scrunched instinctively.
The air that spilled forth felt stale and ancient. It held that dusty, murky smell of trapped air that had remained stagnant for a very long time.
"This place has been untouched for…centuries perhaps," Tullius murmured, noting the moss creeping along the interior stone. "That makes no sense. If this was Harkon's vault, why didn't he open it?"
The Legionnaires entered first, weapons raised. Kiera and Tullius followed, the engineers trailing behind.
What they saw dearly surprised them, for there were no weapons or magical artifacts of any kind.
Instead, shelves upon shelves of potions, vials, powders, and preserved ingredients, arranged with meticulous care. Alchemy on a scale that spoke of mastery or obsession.
At the center of the vault was a pit, surrounded by pillars with meticulous carvings etched on their surfaces.
The pit itself was perfectly circular, its edges cut cleanly into the stone floor. Steps descended into it, spiraling downward… into darkness so deep it swallowed the light.
Kiera felt it then, a pull. It wasn't violent, nor was it loud.
She stopped walking, Tullius did as well.
They stood side by side, staring into the hollow center of the vault, where the air itself seemed to thin and bend, and something unseen waited beyond the edge of the world.
Neither of them spoke.
…
4E 202, Shor's Stone, Ebony Palace
Serana Volkihar
Serana stirred beneath the weight of heavy blankets, the faint chill of morning brushing against her skin from the open window as her eyes fluttered open.
That was until the memories of last night came unbidden, and a faint flush appeared on her cheeks despite herself.
For a brief, disorienting moment, she did not recognize the ceiling above her.
It was too warm, for one thing. Sunlight filtered faintly through tall windows rather than the small ones she had in her room. Confusion took hold, until the memories of last night rushed back unbidden.
A warmth bloomed in her cheeks before she could stop it.
She turned her head slightly, careful not to disturb the man beside her. Gerron Ironbreaker lay sprawled on his back, one arm slack at his side, the other draped over Serana's shoulders, blonde hair mussed from sleep. His breathing was deep and even, The steady rise and fall of his muscled chest mesmerizing and grounding her in a way she had not expected to find comforting.
She had done it.
Something she had never believed she would want again.
For centuries, the act of intimacy had been poisoned in her mind—twisted and torn away during the ritual that had bound her to Molag Bal. What had been forced upon her then had left scars deeper than any blade could carve. Fear had followed her ever since, a quiet thing that lived beneath her thoughts, whispering that closeness would always lead to pain.
And yet—last night had proven her fears wrong.
Gerron had been gentle.
Even when desire had flared hot and sudden between them, he had slowed the moment he sensed hesitation. He had listened, to her breath, her body, her unspoken boundaries. Every step had been taken at a pace she chose.
It had been… lovely.
The realization startled her most of all.
A soft exhale escaped her as she studied his face. Gerron was not the most striking man she had ever seen, yet he was comely in all the ways that mattered. There was a quiet strength to him, a solidity that had nothing to do with charm.
All of her youth she had lived in a castle where the residents possessed inhuman beauty, yet held hearts filled with cruelty. And now here comes a man, with a heart that bore so much compassion for others.
In sleep, he looked far gentler, more free. The burdens of Jarl and Champion had slipped from his shoulders, leaving behind a man who looked—simply—human.
Still dangerous, though. Even at rest, there was power in him. Strength coiled beneath scarred skin.
Serana reached out, her fingers trailing from his collarbone down across his chest, pausing to trace the lines of old wounds. There were many, some faded with time, others newer, angry reminders of recent battles.
She started putting names to them—this one, a long thin scar from Volsung on his right collar. Another, from the battle he had done against Odahviing atop High Hrothgar.
Her lips curved into a small smile.
Marks of her own were scattered there as well. Bite marks, faint but unmistakable. He had given her permission without hesitation, trusting her completely.
His blood had tasted… divine. She had no other word for it.
The touch stirred him. Gerron's eyes opened slowly, dark blue and warm in the way that made her insides flutter, fixing on her with immediate awareness.
"Good morning," Gerron whispered, voice still sluggish from slumber. He studied her for a moment, then huffed softly. "So… last night happened."
"Indeed it did," Serana replied, unable to keep the smile from her voice.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Want to do it again?"
Serana grinned and, without offering a verbal answer, took his lips with hers as his arms came around her instinctively, pulling her close.
There was no need to label what they had right now. That conversation could wait. For now, all she could think about was this moment.
They did not leave the bed for another hour.
When they finally did, both were bathed, dressed, and far more awake by the time they joined Valerica for breakfast.
The moment they entered the chamber, Valerica's eyes flicked between them. One brow arched slowly.
"Doing it just as we reunite," she remarked dryly. "You've become quite the rebel, Serana."
"Please, Mother," Serana replied coolly as she took her seat beside Gerron. "I am over three thousand years old. I do not require lectures."
Servants entered quietly, setting down plates of buttered bread, roasted horker meat, and vegetables. Delicious, but not exactly her appetite.
Not that she was hungry, considering the feast she had gotten just this morning.
Her mother took out a couple of vials with dark red liquid from her pouch, pouring each into a goblet before taking a sip.
"Whatever you do behind closed doors is not my concern," Valerica said, her gaze shifting to Gerron. It lingered, sharp and assessing, before softening slightly. "While I might not have known you for very long, you seem a capable man. Jarl of a Hold. Champion of the Divines. My daughter could certainly do worse."
"Mother." Serana chastised.
Gerron only chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Serana sighed and shook her head.
"You should," Valerica said with a faint smile. "But while you're both here, there is something we must discuss."
Both Serana and Gerron perked up.
"Serana has told me about your method of creating a portal to the Soul Cairn," Valerica continued. "I have to say, I am rather astonished. Anchoring yourself to a gem that simulates undeath to bypass the soul fracture… ingenious, if a bit reckless."
She folded her hands. "However, I possess none of your peerless ability of craftsmanship. My way was a bit more…mundane."
Serana frowned. "The Augur of Dunlain said you didn't create a new portal, but rather slipped through an existing one."
"I did," Valerica confirmed. "Deep within Castle Volkihar lies the remnants of a rift, which I used to perform the ritual that opened a door large enough for me to pass through. I sealed the vault as best I could, but when I left… there was no one to close the portal behind me."
Gerron's eyes widened slightly. "Are you saying—"
"Yes," Valerica said gravely. "There is an active portal to the Soul Cairn, right now, in Castle Volkihar. It is likely how Harkon followed me there centuries ago."
Serana turned to Gerron. "Wasn't Kiera planning to siege the Castle with the Legions?"
"Yes, with Vermithor." Gerron answered, a glazed look coming over his face. "A portal to the Soul Cairn works like any door," he muttered quietly. "And like every door… they can be opened from either side."
…
AN: Here we go, chapter 100!
Man, I can't believe we've reached the triple digits. It's actually insane. I genuinely didn't think that the fic would ever go this far, but here we are.
EDIT: WE ALSO HIT 1 MILLION VIEWS ON WEBNOVEL HUZZAH! I cannot believe this happened right on Chapter 100, what an incredible milestone. Thank you so much everyone, y'all are the absolute best.
I hope you liked Serana's section of POV. I truly think I did good on that part, tackling Serana's fears and insecurities the right way. It felt right to do it just as we got to chapter hundo as a way to celebrate hitting that benchmark.
Kiera wraps up the siege on Castle Volkihar (I decided to just off screen the entire siege since Kiera and Vermithor's existence make that an easy win. Things will be different with Ulfric, the Mythic Dawn, and Bthardamz), and finds the secret vault that was sealed by Valerica all those years ago when she escaped to the Soul Cairn the first time.
Surprise surprise, the door to the Cairn is still there, and it's still open.
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 110 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers!