4E 201, The Skies of Skyrim
Kiera Fendalyn
"Hey Vermithor, I've been meaning to ask. Are you a Kruziik?" She asked the dragon beneath her, the wind tearing past in fierce, howling currents.
They were currently high in the sky. A brilliant, endless blue that stretched over the frozen peaks and sprawling forests of Skyrim.
Kiera leaned forward, gripping the smooth scales of Vermithor's neck, the powerful updraft from his wings lifting them higher into the clouds. Even after all these months of flying with him, the sensation never lost its edge. It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying—the raw, ancient strength beneath her, the knowledge that with a twitch of his muscles they could dive like an arrow or climb beyond the reach of mortal eyes.
There was a low, rumbling laugh, like distant thunder rolling across the mountains.
"Nid. No." Vermithor's voice was deep and guttural. "Kruziik are titles that not just any dragon could take."
Kiera's brows furrowed. "How many of them are there?"
"Five," Vermithor replied, his wings shifting slightly as they caught another current of air. "But only three whose names are known. Paarthurnax, the Kruuzik of flame. Odahviing, the Kruuzik of wind. Alduin, the Kruuzik of life."
"Alduin is one of them?" Kiera asked, already expecting it.
"Yes, Kiera." Vermithor confirmed. "There is a reason why he stands at the pinnacle of all dov. His title was given for his ability to bring our dead kin back to life. At the peak of his strength, many consider Alduin to be greater than some gods themselves."
"I see." Kiera exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the jagged horizon ahead. The old fear tried to creep in. The weight of prophecy, the knowledge of her inevitable confrontation with the World-Eater. But she shoved it aside.
She has long passed the point of feeling dread or apprehension in regards to her destined foe. In the end, she knew she wouldn't be facing it alone.
Besides, Paarthurnax had made it clear. If she was to truly rise to the role destiny demanded of her, she needed to earn it. Hence, her final test.
Valthume.
A crypt lost to time, nestled in the southern slopes of the Reach. According to the Dragonstone she'd recovered from Bleak Falls Barrow, it held one of the entombed Dragon Priests—warlocks from the Merethic Era, bound to the dragons and wielding power far beyond mortal comprehension.
The Dragon Priests were regarded as some of Alduin's greatest supporters, some possessing power even greater than the Dragons they served.
The final test Paarthurnax gave her—to deem her ready—was to slay one of these Dragon Priests by herself, her target being Hevnoraak.
As if reading her thoughts, Vermithor rumbled again. "Hevnoraak was among the greatest of the Dragon Priests. One of the Nine. His mask was not merely a symbol of his status—it was an artifact of incredible power. Only those who earned the dragons' utmost favor received them."
Kiera frowned, tightening her grip as they soared past the pine forests of Falkreath. "How did he earn it?"
"The Dragon Priests were a mix of peerless warriors and capable mages." Vermithor answered, "Hevnoraak was among the latter, and powerful at that."
"What was his magic?"
"Mind control." Vermithor's voice held no small amount of disdain. "A master of Illusion magic through forced subjugation of will, which he used to build up an army of enthralled followers. Entire villages were enslaved—men, women, even children. It was his thralls that built the dragon-worshipping tombs you now find scattered across Skyrim, driven by his magic until their bodies withered. "
"Mind-controlling magic?" Kiera asked. "But that has been banned by the Mage Guild for centuries."
"It is because of Hevnoraak's actions that a ban was imposed, Kiera." The bronze Dragon explained as his wings dipped slightly as they banked toward the towering cliffs of the Reach. "Hevnoraak's atrocities carved that fear into history."
Kiera nodded as an image began to form of her newest enemy. At the very least, she'd have to get past a small army to get to Hevnoraak himself. But she was ready. Paarthurnax had made sure of that.
The landscape changed beneath them—snow giving way to rocky outcrops and patches of forest clinging to jagged ridges. Craggy cliffs split the land like scars, while ancient stone pillars jutted from the earth, remnants of lost eras.
Then she saw it.
Valthume.
An unassuming entrance set into the mountain, surrounded by weathered statues and crumbled stonework half-swallowed by moss. It looked like any other Nordic ruin—but they both knew appearances deceived.
Vermithor descended gracefully, the force of his landing sending loose snow and pebbles tumbling down the slope. Kiera slid off his back, her boots crunching onto the cold earth.
"Kul faraan…Happy hunting, Kiera." Vermithor said. "I shall await for you in the nearby mountains."
She turned, giving him a steady nod. "I'll see you soon."
With a mighty beat of his wings, Vermithor lifted into the sky, the snow kicking up in swirling flurries around her. His massive form cast a long shadow over the crypt entrance before he soared into the distance, scales glinting like molten bronze beneath the fading sun.
…
Valthume's catacombs were filled to the brim with Draugr, probably the remnants of whatever thralls Hevnoraak had at the time of his death.
As Kiera buried Dawnbite deep into the chest of a Draugr Deathlord, she spun and quickly beheaded the undead in a swift motion.
Kiera sheathed her blade as the head fell with a soft plop a distance away, the ground littered with the bodies of fallen Draugr.
The air inside felt old and dusty, a stench of decay clinging to the mossy walls. The interior was lit up by the magelight that flew above her head, illuminating everything in her immediate surroundings.
Kiera's sword danced in her grip, the edges sharpened by Ebonyflesh, each strike severing limbs or cleaving through desiccated ribs with ease. Sunlight flickered from her fingertips when necessary. Though wielding Stendarr's light was never her expertise, any respectable Vigilant was capable of using them to smite down undead or Daedra.
Deeper she went, weaving through twisting catacombs, stepping over weathered bones and ancient burial urns. Reaching the puzzle door, she quickly put the correct sequence—Eagle. Snake. Whale.
She spun the pillars, the grinding stone reverberating through the tomb. The ancient mechanism clicked, the iron door sliding downward, revealing the heart of Valthume.
The burial chamber was vast, an imposing vault with towering stone columns, walls adorned in faded draconic carvings. At the center, atop a raised dais, sat a massive, sealed sarcophagus.
The Word Wall was located at the far end of the room. Kiera could already hear the muted whispers that she knew would grow louder the closer she approached it.
The moment she took a step forward, the sarcophagus exploded outwards, stone shards ricocheting through the air as a figure emerged, cloaked in robes of decayed grandeur, and an ugly, snarling iron mask affixed to its face. A strange eerie glow came from whatever enchantments were etched onto the mask. Behind the eye slits burned the unmistakable blue fires of undeath.
In one skeletal hand, the priest held a long golden staff, its draconic head twisted into a perpetual snarl. The Staff of Hevnoraak.
Kiera's stance remained steady, hand tightening on her sword hilt. "Hevnoraak, I presume?"
The Dragon Priest remained silent, giving her an even stare as he lifted the staff. A bolt of lightning surged forth with a hiss, arcing through the air like a living serpent.
Kiera rolled, the bolt smashing into the wall with explosive force, stone shattering from the impact. She rose to her feet, her body shimmering as scales rippled across her skin—Dragonflesh, a spell Vermithor had taught her. Bronze-tinted, resilient as true dragonhide.
She spoke one word that halted the very world. "TIID!"
Time fractured.
The room around her slowed to a crawl—the falling dust, the crackle of lightning, even the faint whispers of the Word Wall stretching into eternity. Moving like a phantom, she surged forward, blade poised, striking at Hevnoraak's midsection.
To her surprise, Hevnoraak reacted unnaturally swiftly. The staff was interposed between them as he parried Kiera's blade away. He held the head of the staff to Kiera's face, magicka coiling in the gaping maw before she ducked as another lightning bolt flew where her head had just been.
She cancelled the Thu'um as time snapped back to normal. She wondered why Hevnoraak proved immune to that particular shout before putting the thought away from her mind. She couldn't afford to get distracted.
Sword met staff as Hevnoraak proved to be a decent close combatant. Kiera spun low as she swung Dawnbite at the legs, catching against the bone and getting a hiss from the Dragon Priest.
Hevnoraak retaliated, spinning his staff that crackled with arcs of lightning that leapt toward her. She darted aside, boots skidding across the stone floor, before looking back up.
"KRII!"
The Marked for Death shout sent spectral energy streaking toward the priest, sapping his strength. He staggered but held firm, mask glaring like a sentinel of undeath.
That was when she felt a piercing pain in her mind. Her head started to spin as her vision blurred. Putting a hand to the wall to balance herself, she met Hevnoraak's gaze, whose eyes burned in an intensifying blue light.
That was when she realized what happened. The damned skeleton was trying to take over her mind.
Feeling a type of rage she had never felt before, she brushed away the effects now that she knew what it was.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The massive wave of force emerged from her throat that sent Hevnoraak flying across the chambers. The entire cavern rumbled as the sarcophagus that he raised himself from exploded into pieces at the power of her Thu'um.
Dazed, Hevnoraak thrust an arm outward as the walls of the crypt groaned. Draugr burst from stone tombs, their rotting forms shuffling toward her with weapons raised.
Kiera met them instantly, not even bothering with defense. Their swords bounced harmlessly from the Dragonflesh as Kiera cut a swath through the undead, slashing and cutting to Hevnoraak's position.
She raised her free arm, creating a clear, translucent ward that blocked the bolt of lightning that came from the staff. She lunged the last distance, sword enhanced by Ebonyflesh, and slashed toward Hevnoraak's mask with all her might.
The blade rang out as sparks flew, but the mask remained unmarred, not even a scratch left from the impact.
She quickly pivoted, slashing upwards and cutting Hevnoraak's right arm right at the elbow, the staff dropping with a clang. He retaliated quickly however, his left hand unleashing a shockwave that pushed her away.
Her feet skidded backwards as she looked back up. She inhaled deeply, her chest alight with searing energy, and roared.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
The Fire Breath shout that belonged to the Kruuzik of flame burst forth in an inferno of incandescent flame. The air warped, stone walls blackened, the heat so intense the stone dais beneath Hevnoraak melted, molten rock oozing like honey.
The Dragon Priest raised a ward in defense, but with only one arm to channel, it didn't stand a chance against her Voice. The flames consumed him utterly—robe, mask, staff, all swallowed in roaring dragonfire. The very stone underfoot hissed and cracked, the chamber alight with searing heat.
When the fire died, all that was left was the mask and staff, untouched and unmarred even to the hottest of flames.
The remaining Draugr instantly collapsed like puppets with severed strings, their bodies crumbling to ash.
Kiera exhaled heavily, the last flickers of flame dimming in her throat. She sheathed her sword, stepping carefully across the scorched ground, retrieving the Staff of Hevnoraak and the ominous mask, its crimson glow pulsating faintly.
The Word Wall whispered louder now, the ancient language calling to her. A single word glowed brighter.
She approached, palm brushing across the stone. The word seared itself into her mind:
"YAH."
Seek.
The second word of the Aura Whisper shout—the power to unveil all hidden things, to pierce veil and shadow alike.
Her eyes gleamed as the knowledge settled within her.
…
4E 201, Mythic Dawn Headquarters
Calixto
The winter winds howled outside the jagged stone keep, snow swirling across the mountainous cliffs of the Reach, blanketing the sharp rocks in white. From the window of the Mythic Dawn headquarters, Calixto watched the endless descent of snowflakes, each one a silent reminder of failure.
The attack on the Hall of the Vigilants had been a disaster.
They had struck with precision, catching the Vigilants with surprise. The Dremora army had surged forward, proving their superiority in the initial clash. But in the end, they faltered. The Vigilants proved much too capable, Calixto didn't even catch a glimpse of the Elder Scroll.
But the worst part? The worst part was the utter humiliation he had felt. Isran. That name burned in Calixto's mind like acid on raw flesh.
Despite the training, despite having Mehrunes Razor, despite being Champion of Dagon, none of it mattered. Never had he felt as powerless as that day.
A faint surge of anger pulsed in his veins, his knuckles whitening as they clenched against the window frame. But Calixto forcibly exhaled, channeling the rising fury into cold discipline. Rage was a weapon, but only when wielded with care.
The only consolation was the fact that he managed a small cut to the Keeper of the Vigilants. No doubt she had died in agony after the Razor dealt its curse.
"Calixto," Ruma appeared, a steely look in her eye. "Father calls. He has news."
She turned without waiting for a response, her crimson robes trailing as she walked off, the faintest hitch in her step betraying the weight of recent events.
Calixto nodded as he watched the Altmer walk off. Ruma had turned quiet and taciturn ever since that fight, her own loss against the Vigilant's Keeper curbing much of her initial arrogance.
Calixto watched her go, eyes narrowing. He knew well enough the guilt gnawing at her. Raven, her twin, still lingered in bed, barely breathing, comatose after the botched ritual.
What had happened was the forced cancelling of a ritual as powerful as the summoning of the Oblivion Gate had caused a rupture.
A delicate balance was needed to create them. Mankar is capable of creating that balance by himself, but both Raven and Ruma needed to work together for it to happen. When Ruma pulled back her magic to defend herself, the magic rebelled, going through the only conduit that was still connected. Raven.
Ruma was forced to do so by Keeper Carcette, and Mankar didn't blame her. But she blamed herself.
She led him to the same room that Mankar had told him about the Elder Scrolls months ago. The Altmer stood by the window gazing out at the sprawling mountain and cliff sides of the Reach.
"Calixto." Mankar greeted. "I have a new task for you."
Calixto arched a brow. "Already? We've barely recovered from the last attack. Our numbers are fractured—we lost dozens at the Hall of Vigilants."
"Some of our brothers in hiding have returned, though that wouldn't replace our previous numbers." Mankar said, shaking his head. "Even so, this is more of a solo mission that only you can accomplish."
Calixto straightened, intrigue sparking in his chest. "What do you want me to do?"
"Azura, the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn. A rival, of sorts, to our cause—yet her gifts are undeniable. She bestows visions of what is to come upon her most devoted."
Calixto's eyes widened slightly. "True prophecy? The future?"
"Indeed," Mankar confirmed, stopping before him. "Our plans have been… hindered. We need an edge, insight beyond mortal reach. Her sight, wielded for our benefit, would be… invaluable."
A faint smirk curled Calixto's lips, the sting of his failure beginning to ebb, replaced by the hunger for redemption. "And where does one find this… seer?"
"Aranea Ienith," Mankar supplied, eyes gleaming with hidden knowledge. "The last of Azura's priesthood here in Skyrim. A Dunmer woman, isolated atop the Shrine of Azura, near Winterhold."
Calixto's mind raced. He'd heard of the place—an enormous statue carved into the mountainside, towering, forgotten by most. The last remnant of an old god's influence in the north.
"You want me to bring her here?" he asked, already making plans in his head.
"Alive," Mankar emphasized. "Her mind, her gift, intact. Persuade her if you can, but use force if you must."
Calixto's grin sharpened, his confidence returning like a blade honed anew. "It will be done."
…
AN: Kiera slays her first Dragon Priest. The whole sequence between her and Hevnoraak was fun to write. The Thu'um is so good.
Aftermath of the Vigilant's attack finally a bit touched upon. We'll see Isran's POV soon after this to see what happened on the Vigilants side of things.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 49 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!