Chapter 46: 7,000 steps: Part 2
[With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World]
Uthgerd read aloud from the sixth emblem as we ascended, her voice muffled by the thin air and the heavy roll of fog.
My eyes trailed somewhere else, the fog shifted, curling away like pulled curtains, and finally I could make out High Hrothgar on my map—Its 3D projection shimmering in the light of the system.
"Why do you think they're coming back?" Uthgerd's voice cut in, closer than I expected. She had moved to my side, tugging at my arm.
I closed the map and let the flickering image fade into nothingness. "I don't know," I lied, my breath visible in the freezing air. "Maybe the Greybeards do."
"Or they are coming back because of you?" Uthgerd said.
I turned to her, silent, before shrugging my shoulders,
We pressed on, boots crunching into frost.. For a while, the wind was merciful, steady but not punishing. My shoulders loosened, getting used to the thin air. This is easy.
But I was quickly proven wrong.
The storm came suddenly, like the mountain itself had begun to exhale. A white wall of snow and wind enveloped us, howling in our ears.
Visibility collapsed to a few feet. Our world shrank to one another, three shapes moving in a raging blur. We huddled close, arms brushing, moving step by step.
I opened the map, following the trail shown, while the snow crumbled treacherously beneath our boots, forcing us to feel for each foothold, but it was relatively easy, thanks to the map.
"We're gonna miss some," Uthgerd shouted, her voice thin against the gale. Her eyes flickered toward where the next emblem might've been hidden in the storm.
I squinted snow stinging my lashes. "Are you seriously worried about reading some tablet?"
"Yes!" she barked back, stubborn even here. "I heard if you read all of them, every single emblem. Kyne herself grants a blessing."
A bitter laugh escaped me, torn away instantly by the wind. "Yeah? Well, you're not getting it today."
Still, she kept glancing at the walls, searching for a silhouette through the blizzard.
We pushed on, bodies pressed to the mountainside, away from the deadly drop hidden just beyond the blur of snow. Every gust seemed intent on sweeping us toward the edge. Our fingers were stiff, faces raw from the icy lashes of the storm.
And then, just as abruptly as it came, it broke.
The wind eased. The snow fell in lazy spirals instead of daggers. And ahead, through the thinning veil, the monastery emerged.
High Hrothgar.
It stood vast and ancient, cut from the mountain itself, a fortress of stone and tranquility. Its towers were shadowed by the swirling cloud, its walls blackened with age. A heavy stillness settled in my chest as I looked upon it. The place radiated a feeling I couldn't fully grasp. What is this odd sense of familiarity?
My thoughts suddenly vanished as Uthgerd's boots crunched toward the totem resting at the final landing of the climb.
"This is the ninth one," she announced, lips pursed in mild defeat. "We missed two of them."
Lydia brushed past me and stood beside her, eyes narrowing as she traced the carved words with surprising care. Her voice was steady, almost reverent as she read aloud.
[For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name, Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar. They blessed and named him Dovahkin.
Uthgerd and I blinked at her, then exchanged a quick look. Lydia turned, brows drawn.
"What? I know how to read and write," she said defensively.
I coughed into my fist, feigning ignorance. "Ahem. I don't think that's the strange part."
Uthgerd leaned close to Lydia, her face nearly brushing hers, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Who are you?"
"Huh?" Lydia muttered, utterly bewildered.
I chuckled, stepping past them both. Uthgerd's laugh joined mine as she jogged to catch up, her shoulder brushing lightly against mine.
I heard the brief clink of her shoulder brace tapping against mine; the contact felt deliberate. What's going on with her? I glanced at her from the side.
But before I could think on it longer, her gaze that refused to meet mine, darted again, caught by another totem standing at the edge of the staircase.
Lydia, who was just a step behind, her eyes flickering between us, her expression unreadable like always, but aware of the sudden closeness.
"The Voice is worship," Uthgerd's voice broke both our thoughts as she read aloud, but softer this time. "Follow the Inner path. Speak only in True Need."
The words weighed on the air, but to me they felt hollow, useless.
Boring…
"Boring," she said, reading my mind, and moved back to my side.
We climbed the last set of stairs. They branched in two directions before curling back into separate entrances. Without much thought, we veered left.
A heavy wooden door awaited us, weather-beaten and old.
"Should we?" Lydia asked, her voice low, respectful, and slightly anxious about what awaited inside.
Before I could answer, Uthgerd gripped the iron handle and yanked. To our surprise, the door groaned open without resistance.
A wave of warmth spilled out instantly, washing over us. The cold crust on our faces melted in seconds. It was like stepping into a steaming bath after days in the snow.
The smell of burning pine and cedar filled our noses, thick and comforting. My lungs, strained from the climb, ease with every breath. Without thinking, we moved forward together, drawn like moths to fire.
"This is… nice," Uthgerd murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment as though thawing her very soul.
The corridor stretched short and narrow, its stone walls lined with fire bowls, sat upon thick protruding stone slabs. Shadows danced like spirits, leading us on
And then, suddenly, it opened.
The main hall of High Hrothgar spread before us.
On our left stood a humble stone bench, worn smooth by time. To the right, in the middle of the two entrances, an altar glowed in quiet reverence; its surface crowded with stands of candlelight. Wax dripped in a weak and slow stream, pooling and hardening on the warm floor below.
Before the altar rose a towering pillar, carved with faint patterns now half-lost in soot. At its crown burned a great fire pit, flames coiling upward in slow, steady tongues.
At the very heart of the hall, the floor changed. A section had been carved into a tilted square, then broken further into smaller segments of polished stone.
Thin shafts of sunlight spilled from slits in the ceiling high above, narrow cuts that resembled fierce eye holes in some ancient helmet, glaring down as if the mountain itself was being watched.
"Is anyone here?" Uthgerd's voice rang out suddenly.
The silence here was so complete, her words cracked against the walls and chased themselves into echoes, multiplying, hollow and loud.
Lydia and I both snapped our eyes toward her. The look we gave was sharp, almost chastising.
Uthgerd shrank a little, her bravado faltering. "Sorry," she whispered, eyes lowering, "I didn't know—"
Tap!
Tap!
The sound of footsteps cut across her apology, measured, deliberate.
They came from the stairway, divided by the central fire, not the one perched on the pillar, but across from it, the fire pit carved into the immense stone rectangle which separated the hall from the courtyard and beyond. Flames licked upward, casting flickering shadows across the steps.
From the shadows above, a figure emerged.
He descended with unhurried grace, cloaked in thick grey robes, traced with an intricate design that shimmered faintly in the firelight.
The fabric was simple yet regal, like the vestments of a noble unburdened by gold. His hood shadowed his face, but beneath it a long, streaked with silver beard caught the light, flowing like time and ending in a knot—yes, a knot.
The hall seemed to still further with each of his steps, Lydia and Uthgerd tense on my side, their hands trailing their weapons' hilts
"So…" The man began, his voice low, heavy, "A Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of age. "
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