The weather had turned mean by the time I reached the low hills. Clouds hung heavy, dragging the sky down like a lid. The air smelled of wet stone, and every gust carried the promise of rain. My boots sank into the mud of the road, each step louder than I wanted it to be.
I was planning to push on until I found shelter—a cave, a hunter's shack, even a tree thick enough to break the wind—when I heard it.
A scream.
High, sharp, and desperate.
My hand went straight to my sword. I froze, listening. Another scream, this one lower, cut off quick like someone's throat had been grabbed.
I moved without thinking.
The road bent to the left, and beyond it, in a clearing half-hidden by birches, I saw them.
A wagon was tipped on its side, one wheel splintered. A horse lay dead in the mud, arrow in its neck. Around the wreck, three bandits circled a family—two adults and a boy, no older than twelve. The man had a woodcutter's axe, swinging it clumsy. The woman clutched the boy close, eyes wide with terror.
The bandits were laughing.
One shoved the man back with a shield. Another dragged a sack from the wagon. The third, the one who'd fired the arrow, pulled his blade and pressed it toward the boy.
My body moved before my mind could catch up.
"HEY!" I shouted, charging from the treeline.
All three snapped their heads toward me. The archer barely had time to raise his bow before I slammed into him, blade cutting across his arm. He screamed, dropped the bow, and staggered back.
The one with the shield came at me next. Steel met steel, the clang rattling up my arm. He was strong, heavier than me, but he left his side open. I twisted, slammed my pommel into his jaw, and shoved him down into the mud.
The last one lunged at me with a dagger. I caught his wrist, twisted, and drove my knee into his gut. He crumpled, gasping.
I stood over them, chest heaving. My sword pointed down, ready to finish it.
But something stopped me.
The woman's voice. "Please… no more blood."
I looked at her. She was still holding her son, eyes wide and wet. The man had dropped his axe, hands shaking.
I glanced at the bandits. One groaning, clutching his arm. Another spitting blood, trying to stand. The last wheezing in the mud.
I could've ended them. Skyrim's rules said I probably should've. No witnesses, no mercy for bandits who preyed on the weak.
But my rules weren't Skyrim's.
"Get out," I snarled. "Now."
They didn't hesitate. They scrambled to their feet, limping into the trees, vanishing into the gray.
I let out a long breath and lowered my blade.
The family was still staring at me like I was something out of a nightmare. Slowly, the boy stepped forward. He was clutching a wooden toy—half of it broken, dirt smeared across the painted surface.
"Thank you," he whispered.
I crouched down, meeting his eyes. "You okay?"
He nodded, though his lip trembled. His mother pulled him back, but not before he reached out and touched the edge of my gauntlet, like he wanted to make sure I was real.
The father finally found his voice. "I… I don't know how to repay you. We were heading to Windhelm. To family. But the wagon…" He looked at the broken mess, despair etched deep on his face.
"You'll make it," I said. "Take the road slow. Stay together."
I dug into my pouch and handed him a few of the coins I'd earned at Radiant Raiment. "This should cover food and an inn along the way."
He shook his head. "I can't—"
"You can," I cut in. "Take it."
His hand closed around the septims like a drowning man grabbing rope. He bowed his head. "Divines bless you, stranger."
I wasn't sure the Divines had much to do with it. But I nodded anyway.
By the time I left them behind, the rain had started. Cold drops streaked my armor, plastered my hair to my forehead.
Each step squelched in the mud, heavier than before. Not from the water, but from the weight of what had just happened.
I could've kept walking. Could've let that family be another tragedy in a land already drowning in them. That would've been safer. Quicker. Cleaner.
But then I thought of Taarie's smile, Endarie's sharp tongue, Daric's hollow eyes, Aldia barking orders while his men fell around him.
And I knew.
If I stopped helping, even in small ways, then Miraak had already won. Mora had already claimed me.
The rain came harder. I pulled my hood up, tightened my grip on the reins, and pressed east.
One step closer to Windhelm. One step closer to Solstheim. One step closer to the fight I couldn't escape.