The clang of steel still echoed in my ears, though I could no longer feel the weight of my sword. My arms trembled, useless at my sides. The ruin seemed to spin around me, bronze pillars warping into shadow as my legs buckled.
Zavir was the last sound of hope beside me, his blade cutting through the dark. Then it ended in a hollow crash. I turned just in time to see him thrown against the far wall, his body crumpling like a ragdoll. He didn't move again.
"Zavir—!" The word tore out of my throat, but it was drowned by the weight of footsteps.
The Unseeing Bandit stepped into the glow of the torches. His steel armor caught the firelight, dull and scarred, yet the thing that froze me were the eyes—greenish-yellow, glowing faintly in the center of his breastplate. They weren't decoration. They looked back at me. Watching. Breathing.
I staggered backward, my sword dragging along the bronze floor. My chest burned. My vision blurred. But those eyes remained sharp, unblinking. I knew them. I had seen their shape before, among the writhing tentacles of a god I dared not name.
Hermaeus Mora.
The man's voice came deep and ragged beneath his helm. "You carry it. The stink of a Prince clings to your soul. I can smell it." His steps rang louder as he drew near. "But not my Prince. Not the one who opened my eyes in the dark."
I swallowed hard, my body trembling. "W–Who are you?"
He stopped, his armored bulk towering before me. His head tilted slightly, as though amused I had to ask. Then the helm lifted just enough for me to see the scarred ruin of his face. The empty sockets where eyes once were.
"I was Ulfr the Blind," he said. His voice cracked on the name, as though it belonged to someone else, long dead. "Left to rot in a cave while men laughed at my weakness. But my god did not laugh. My god saw me. Miraak guided me, showed me the path. And Hermaeus Mora gave me sight beyond sight."
His gauntlet rapped once against the breastplate, where those glowing eyes pulsed like a heartbeat. "Now I see more than any of you."
The words chilled deeper than the ruin's air. My knees threatened to give way, but I forced myself to stand. I remembered him—somewhere in Skyrim, a bandit left to guard the entrance of White River Watch. A blind fool, easily pitied. That was all he was supposed to be. And yet here he stood, twisted into something far worse.
"You…" My voice cracked. "You kill your own men."
He laughed, a broken, scraping sound. "Men? Pathetic scavengers who thought themselves strong. They could not hear the whispers in the dark. They were blind, truly blind. I am the Unseeing. I cast away weak flesh so I might see eternity."
He raised his sword, a brutal slab of steel nicked with battles. The green-yellow light spread across the edges of his armor, veins of sickly glow crawling like roots across his chestplate. "And you, little pawn—you belong to another Prince. Who is it? Who whispers to you when the blood runs?"
My lips parted, but no sound came. My chest heaved, my mind screaming.
I wanted to deny it. To hide it. But the way Ulfr's twisted smile widened beneath his helm told me he already knew.
"Not Hermaeus. Not the One Who Knows." His voice darkened. "A rival. A light that burns against the dark. Hah. Of course." He leaned closer, so close I could feel his breath seep through the steel. "You are a champion too. Just like me."
My knees finally gave way. I fell to the floor, sword slipping from numb fingers. The ruin spun around me, the walls breathing, the glow of his armor stretching into monstrous shapes.
Ulfr lifted his blade high, the torchlight running red across its edge. "Then die, and let your Prince mourn the weakness of His champion."
The world narrowed to that blade. It hung above me, a shadow sharp enough to cut the air itself. My chest seized. My body refused to move. Zavir lay broken somewhere behind me. I was alone.
And then—
"Survive."
The voice cut through the dark like dawn through fog. Clear. Radiant. Merciless.
It was Meridia's voice telling me to survive this fight.
Warmth spread through my chest, a light burning against the cold. My veins glowed faintly beneath the skin, threads of fire racing through limbs that had been stone. The ruin's shadows recoiled from it. Even the greenish-yellow glow of Ulfr's breastplate flickered, dimmed for the briefest instant.
Ulfr's head snapped back, as though struck by the sound he could not hear. His grip tightened around the sword. "Her…" His voice twisted into a snarl. "Meridia."
The light grew stronger, pulsing with each beat of my heart. It did not heal me completely. My wounds still burned, my muscles still ached. But I could move. I could breathe. I could fight.
I reached for the sword, my hand closing around its hilt once more. The steel was heavy, but no longer unbearable.
Ulfr loomed above, his glowing eyes burning hotter, his voice a guttural growl. "So be it, Champion of the Light. Let us see whose god will prevail."
The ruin hummed, louder, deeper, as if the mountain itself leaned closer to witness.
And there, on the bronze floor of Mzinchaleft, two pawns of rival Princes prepared to clash.
But not tonight.
For now, Meridia's blessing was only enough to let me survive.