The silence in the temple was worse than the fight.
Every step I took echoed too loud. The walls threw my footsteps back at me like whispers, and each sound carried weight, like something else was following.
The torches were gone, snuffed out during the battle, leaving only the faint spill of daylight sneaking through cracks in the ceiling. Everything looked gray—stone, dust, even my own hands when I lifted them.
I gripped the satchel against my side where the Beacon rested. The glow pulsed faint through the fabric, a stubborn reminder I couldn't shake. The light felt heavy now, not guiding me, not proud—it felt like a leash.
Meridia's words still scraped at my ears. Her fury, her demand, her warning. She was gone, but she lingered in the silence, a presence I couldn't scrub away.
I kept moving. Slowly. My legs wanted to buckle under me, but I refused. One foot, then the other.
The halls of Kilkreath stretched out forever. Collapsed doors, scattered bones, old blood dried black. A place of worship turned to rot. The further I went, the more I realized how little of this temple had survived. And part of me wondered if that was always the point.
I passed a row of shrines, broken and half-collapsed. Faces of stone gods shattered, arms missing, wings snapped. My eyes caught on one fragment of a face, staring back at me from the rubble. Cold, blind, unseeing.
It made my stomach twist.
I wasn't alone here. Not really.
The air carried something with it, heavy and wet, like the walls themselves were breathing slow.
I didn't need Meridia to tell me whose eyes were on me.
Hermaeus Mora.
The thought made the skin at the back of my neck crawl.
I pushed faster, forcing myself through the last stretch of the temple. Every corner I turned, I half-expected to see the shadows split open, Miraak standing there, waiting. His mask. His staff. That stillness that had burned itself into my vision when I closed my eyes earlier.
But it wasn't him. Not yet. Just the empty ruin.
The stairs at last. They rose before me, crumbling but steady, leading up toward faint daylight bleeding in at the top. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
I dragged myself up one step at a time, my hand scraping the wall for balance. My body wanted to quit, but my mind kept forcing me upward.
When I finally pushed open the heavy door, the sunlight hit me so hard it felt like a blade. My eyes watered, my skin burned, and for a moment I thought it would shove me right back into the dark.
But I stood.
The world outside was quiet. The mountain air sharp and cold against my sweat-soaked skin. The sky was clear, bright, uncaring.
And I almost laughed. After everything—blood, shadow, fire—it was just another day out here. The birds didn't care. The wind didn't care. The world kept turning while I was drowning.
I staggered out a few steps and collapsed to my knees on the stone path. My chest heaved, and I pressed my palms against the ground just to remind myself it was real.
But even here, in the open air, I still felt them.
Miraak. Watching from somewhere beyond sight.
Mora. Lurking in every shadow, every whisper of thought I didn't want to think.
And then it hit me, sharp and cold: maybe it wasn't just the Beacon, or Meridia, or this body. Maybe it was me.
I knew things I shouldn't. About this world. About its gods, its heroes, its monsters. Knowledge that didn't belong to Chad Michael, the man standing here, broken and bleeding.
Knowledge that belonged to someone who had played this all before.
I sucked in a sharp breath. That's why Mora was watching me. That's why Miraak's shadow clung to me. Not because of Meridia's war, not because of the Beacon.
Because I knew.
Because I remembered.
And in this world, knowledge wasn't just power. It was a chain.
I leaned back on my heels, staring out at the horizon. The mountains stretched far, their peaks lost in clouds. Somewhere out there, the world kept waiting. Somewhere out there, Miraak was real. And Mora was waiting to see if I'd break the same way he had.
I clenched my fists until my nails bit skin.
"I won't," I whispered. My voice cracked, weak, but it was all I had. "I'm not yours. Not either of yours."
The wind carried the words away, scattering them like ash.
But in the back of my skull, faint, came the answer I didn't want.
A whisper. A chuckle.
And silence.