The snow started falling again when we came out of Mzinchaleft. Thin flakes drifted on the wind, covering the trail behind us. The world was quiet after all the fighting. Too quiet.
Zavir pulled his cloak tighter. He looked down the path leading back toward Thaumkr.
"We should return," he said. His voice was steady, but I could see the weight in his steps. "Thaumkr will want to know the deed is done. The reward will be waiting."
I didn't answer right away. Meridia's words were still stuck in my head. Survive. Come to me. Kilkreath. They rang over and over, heavy as chains.
"I can't," I finally said. The words came out flat, heavier than I meant.
Zavir turned to me. "What do you mean, can't? The work is done."
"I have… something else I need to do. So I won't return." I didn't look him in the eyes. How could I tell him the truth? That I was chosen by a Daedric Prince. That Ulfr's madness was tied to another one. That my life was no longer my own. No. That wasn't something to share.
His brow tightened. "You'd throw away the coin after all this?"
"You can collect it," I said, steadying my tone. "Tell them the bandits are gone. Make sure the blacksmith gets his pay too. I still owe him for repairing my sword."
Zavir looked at me for a while, his eyes sharp, like he was trying to cut the truth out of me. Then he sighed. His shoulders eased a little.
"Then I'll go back alone. Thaumkr will hear of this from me. And the blacksmith—" he smirked faintly, "—I'll see your debt is paid."
I gave a small nod. "Thank you."
He pulled the pack from his shoulder and handed it to me. "Take the rest of the supplies. You'll need them." Inside was dried meat, healing draughts, and folded bandages.
The pack felt heavier than it should. Not just supplies. It felt like trust.
We stood there for a short moment. Snow drifted between us, quiet. Then Zavir turned and walked down the mountain path. His cloak soon vanished into the white. I stayed there, watching until I couldn't see him anymore. Then I was alone, with only the sound of the wind, and Meridia's command burning in my chest.
…
The days blurred as I traveled west. Skyrim stretched out, endless. Mountains stood sharp against the sky. Rivers cut through the snow, cold and merciless. The wind carried howls—sometimes wolves, sometimes something worse.
I kept walking. Zavir's pack kept me alive. The dried meat was tough but gave me strength. The potions stung but healed my aches.
The nights were the hardest. I sat by small fires, staring into the flames. Memories came back whether I wanted them or not—Ulfr laughing as he cut down his own men, the bandit I killed in the ruin, the silence when Zavir walked away. And behind all of it, Meridia's voice, sharp as light cutting through glass.
Sometimes I thought I saw green-yellow eyes in the dark, just beyond the firelight. Watching me. Hermaeus Mora's shadow. My hand would grip the sword, waiting, but nothing ever came. Only the wind. Only the fire.
By the fourth day I passed two hunters skinning a sabre cat. They gave me a look, nodded, and went back to their work. By the fifth, I saw a carriage rolling down the road, the driver bent against the snow. I thought of asking for a ride, but the Beacon pulled me away. Always west. Always toward Kilkreath.
On the seventh day, I reached the sea.
The Temple of Kilkreath stood there on the cliffs, above the crashing waves. Even under Skyrim's gray skies it shone, as if the sun itself lived inside its stones. Spires of bronze and marble reached high, clean and untouched by weather.
The sight stopped me in my tracks. After days of cold and shadow, it looked like a piece of another world forced into this one.
I climbed the steps slowly. Each one echoed under my boots. The Beacon hummed stronger with every step, shaking in my pack, rattling my bones.
When I reached the plateau, the statue of Meridia stood over me. Tall, perfect, untouchable. One hand raised high to the heavens, the other holding an orb of light. Not even time had scarred her face.
At the base stood the pedestal, carved with runes, glowing faintly. Waiting.
The Beacon burned in my pack. My hands shook as I pulled it free. Its glow had grown stronger with every mile, and now it burned like a piece of the sun.
I set it on the pedestal.
The world exploded in light.
A pillar of radiance tore into the sky. The ground shook under me. The air roared, chasing shadows from every corner. I staggered back, but there was no escaping it.
Then her voice came, vast and merciless. It filled the air, the ground, my very bones.
"You have brought me home."
The light swallowed me whole.
And I knew there was no turning back.