4E 202, Shor's Stone, a week later
Serana Volkihar
"Lady Serana! Lady Serana!"
The shout cut through the hum of morning chatter. Serana turned from the market square just in time to see a courier hurrying toward her, half out of breath, clutching a sealed parchment like it was made of glass.
"I've a letter here I'm meant to deliver to the Jarl," the courier managed between gasps, "from the College of Winterhold."
Serana accepted it with a nod. "I can take it from here."
The seal was unmistakable, a sigil of frost-blue wax impressed with the symbol of the College, which meant it came from Savos directly.
She gave a faint wave of her hand, summoning a ripple of azure mist beside her. From the smoke coalesced a spectral bat. "Take this to Gerron, would you? He should be in the workshop at this time of day."
The bat chirped once, took the letter in its claws, and vanished into the air with a sound like fluttering glass.
Two weeks had passed since their return to Shor's Stone, two weeks that had somehow felt longer than the war itself. Serana had never been busier.
She had always thought of herself as adaptable. Having to wake into a world centuries into the future demanded it. Yet she truly underestimated the duties of a Court Wizard, especially to a hold as sprawling and unruly as the Rift.
The first problem came swiftly, in the form of dragons.
Their attacks were no longer isolated events but coordinated strikes, fire and frost descending on every corner of Skyrim.
In just a handful of days, she and Gerron had ridden out half a dozen times. To Pinepeak Cavern, to the shores of Lake Geir, even as far north as Mzulft, to slay those that prowled too close.
She could still feel the ache in her hands from channeling so much magic in so little time, could still hear Gerron's hammer striking scales hard as steel. She knew they were coming, but living with the constant threat of it had worn even her patience thin.
The second problem was more… mundane, though no less demanding. Her students, ones she had back when she first arrived in Shor's Stone with Gerron.
When she first agreed to teach the magically gifted in Shor's Stone, she hadn't expected much. A few enthusiastic miners' children dabbling in Candlelight, perhaps. But they surprised her.
Under Filnjar's quiet oversight, the students had begun to use their talents around the town. One adept in Alteration now worked with the builders, her telekinesis lightening the load of timber and stone. A conjuration student lent their familiars to the orphanage, where spectral wolves had become the children's favorite playmates.
And one particularly daring apprentice had opened a shop called Cures and Curses, an alchemy store whose name made Serana laugh aloud the first time she heard it.
Then there were the politics. Always the politics. When Serana volunteered to speak with Maven Black-Briar, she did it deliberately to see what the woman was actually capable of.
Yet her most recent audience with Maven had been… entertaining. The woman was clever, venomous, and perfectly aware of it.
Every smile a threat, every compliment a weapon. But Serana had been raised by Valerica Volkihar, wife of Harkon, and matriarch of a vampire court where a single misplaced word could mean death.
Even so, Serana played along. Diplomacy required performance
By comparison, Maven was a rabbit pretending to be a predator.
The only matter still unresolved was the Thieves Guild.
Grogmar had handled their supposed "purging" personally. While he managed to find some bodies and bury them, Serana doubted that they were truly gone. The Guild had survived wars, purges, and civil unrest. It wasn't in their nature to die quietly. More likely, they had slunk back underground, waiting for the right shadow to reemerge.
'Speaking of shadows…'
She paused mid-stride. Someone was following her. Two someones actually, and they were very good at it. She hadn't noticed them until just now, which was… unsettling.
Serana turned into a narrow alley between two stone buildings. Open enough for an easy escape if needed, but also secluded enough so no bystanders would get caught up in a fight if it comes to it.
"Well," she said lightly, her tone more amused than concerned. "Now that we're alone, why don't the two of you come out? I promise I won't bite."
There was a ripple in the air, a shimmer of shadow, and then two figures appeared behind her.
Sleek, dark silver armor etched with strange runes covered their bodies. A black sash draped across each shoulder, falling behind them like half-formed wings.
Their faces were hidden beneath hoods, but their presence… she recognized it.
"Nightingales?" Serana's brow arched slightly. She remembered seeing them centuries ago, back when her mother used to take her all across Skyrim to see the shrines of the Princes.
She met the followers of Nocturnal back then, though it seems their garb had not changed even after those centuries.
"So you know of us." A clear feminine voice spoke, "That helps things."
"How though?" the man beside her added, his tone low and edged with curiosity. "We're meant to be an existence of secrecy."
Serana crossed her arms. "Let's just say I knew of your predecessors and leave it at that. Now—" she tilted her head, eyes sharp, "—what do the guardians of Nocturnal want with me?"
The female Nightingale hesitated, then reached up and lowered her hood. Midnight skin, scarred cheeks, and eyes like burning rubies met Serana's gaze. "My name is Karliah, Lady Serana. This is Brynjolf. We are here to help you."
"Help me?" Serana repeated, her tone soft but skeptical. "With what?"
"With everything," Karliah stated. "You, the Dragonborn, and the Dragonslayer. You've been fighting the forces that plague Skyrim's Soil. Nocturnal has spoken to me. A prophecy has been shared by the Lady of Dusk and Dawn. One that led us here."
Serana's crimson eyes narrowed. "And what prophecy would that be?"
It was Brynjolf who answered, his Nord accent thick as mead. "A great conflict is coming, lass, one that'll swallow the whole of Skyrim. Champions of both Aedra and Daedra are rising, each drawn to the same storm."
"Let me guess," Serana said coolly, gaze boring at the Dunmer woman. "You're one of them?"
"Yes," Karlian inclined her head. "And so are you."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Then Serana smiled. A slow, deliberate one that edged with something like amusement.
"Well," she murmured, "that is unexpected."
Her mind raced. Another Champion. Another thread in the web the Divines and Princes alike seemed to be weaving. Gaining allies among the shadows of Nocturnal was no small thing.
"And this prophecy," she asked at last, "led you here of all places?"
"That's right, lass." Brynjolf nodded. "The Dragonborn and the Dragonslayer, or should I say the Jarl of the Rift now, they're at the center of all this. Among the Champions, they're the keystones. The Lady Nocturnal bid us aid them in every way we can."
Serana studied the two of them. Their stillness, their poise, the way neither's heartbeat betrayed deceit. Whatever they were, they were telling the truth.
She let out a breath and smiled faintly. "Very well, then."
Her tone softened, the faintest trace of warmth threading through it. "Welcome to Shor's Stone, Nightingales. I'll make sure Gerron and Kiera hear of this."
…
4E 202, Dawnstar, Nightcaller Temple
Kiera Fendalyn, the Dragonborn
Vermithor descended upon the northern hills with a thunderous gust of wind, his bronze wings cutting through the snowstorm like sharpened blades. The force of his landing sent ripples of frost and ash scattering across the ridge that overlooked the sleeping city of Dawnstar.
Below them, the city was unnaturally still. No lights, no shouts, no barking dogs. Only silence and the faint, sickly shimmer of purple fog that coiled above the rooftops like a shroud.
At the peak of the hill stood a tower of blackened stone, stretching all the way into the sky. Nightcaller Temple, they called it, though Kiera could feel the darkness roiling off of it.
She dismounted, boots sinking into the snow with a soft crunch. Vermithor's slitted eyes followed her, gazing at the space with curiosity and wariness.
Kiera's thoughts drifted briefly to the Vigilant encampment she had left behind days ago.
Vigilant Marek had greeted her at the camp, along with Captain Aldis, who had accompanied him from the Hall of Vigilants to oversee the operation. He had remained steadfast and loyal ever since she was ordered to aid the Vigilants by Jarl Elisif, and for that Kiera was grateful.
According to them, the entire city had been put into a sleep so deep it might as well have been death. Whatever scrying spells they used all bore the same answers. There were no wounds, no struggles. Just…dreams without any ending.
There was an invisible dome that surrounded the city, stretching at least a mile in every direction. Whatever person or animal that unknowingly enters the dome was immediately put into permanent slumber, mind and body consumed by Vaermina's will.
However, Kiera had found out that both she and Vermithor possessed a modicum of resistance to the magical effect. Dragons were creatures of power, and both had mastery of the Thu'um enough to even harm Alduin.
Even then, she could feel the sluggishness clawing at her thoughts, the weight of drowsiness dragging her limbs. It took constant focus to keep her eyes open, her breath steady.
Who or whatever did this was powerful. Perhaps another Champion or even an artifact. Still, she pressed on.
The source revealed itself soon enough. A purplish miasma coiled around the outskirts of Dawnstar, trailing up the slope like a serpent toward the tower above.
Nightcaller Temple.
The temple itself wasn't that large, probably about a fifth the size of High Hrothgar. She looked back up to Vermithor. "I'll go inside and find the source of the slumber. When I give the word, torch the place."
Vermithor dipped his head. His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Yes, Kiera."
She pushed open the ancient doors. They groaned under her touch, and as they did, the miasma rushed outward like a living thing, a cloud of purple vapor that clawed at her senses.
She instantly raised her hand. Ebony light wrapped around her form, the Ebonyflesh spell shimmering across her skin. It hardened against the gas, forming a glimmering barrier between her lungs and the corruption in the air.
The interior was worse than she expected, a long, winding descent into darkness. She moved quietly, her boots echoing faintly on cold stone. And everywhere she looked… there were sleepers.
Dozens of them.
Men and women clad in the crimson robes of Vaermina's cult, sprawled across the floors and pews. Their faces twisted in silent nightmares. Intermingled with them were Orcs clad in furs and Orsinium plate, slumped over in dreamless repose.
As she descended deeper, the air grew heavy with whispers. Faint at first, like wind through reeds, then stronger, pressing against her mind with murmurs of temptation, of despair, of eternity.
She followed the sound until she reached a vast chamber at the base of the temple.
There, carved deep into the mountain itself, was a pit. A perfect circle descending into blackness. At its heart floated a crystalline barrier, glowing violet. And within that barrier… the source.
The Skull of Corruption.
A Daedric relic of Vaermina, infamous even among her kind. A staff shaped like bone and nightmare, its surface alive with crawling shadows. It pulsed faintly, drinking from the dreams it had devoured.
The barrier around it was no less powerful. Most likely a spell woven by the most faithful of Vaermina's followers.
Well, Kiera never was one to back down from a challenge.
Brandishing Dawnbreaker, the blade ignited in her hand, radiant light chasing away the shadows in the room.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!"
The words tore from her throat like a battle cry. A conflagration surged forth, not just from her voice, but from Dawnbreaker itself, as golden and crimson flames intertwined. The explosion of light and heat was blinding, the combined might of Aedra and Dovah burning through the barrier like parchment.
The black stone of the tower melted as the slumbering bodies of cultists dissolved into ash. When the fire dimmed, the pit lay open and raw, the Skull pulsing faintly at its heart.
Kiera leapt down, landing hard enough to crack the stone floor beneath her. She reached for the artifact, her gauntleted hand closing around its cold surface.
Immediately, the whispers became screams. The staff glowed as Vaermina's voice echoed through the chamber.
"Ah, if it isn't Akatosh's favorite… Dovakiin, you call yourself, yes? How fares the mortal realm?'
"It's doing good." Kiera replied cooly, as if she wasn't talking with one of the Daedric Princes herself. "How about you? Was all this just from the Skull or is there another Champion running around?"
A dark chuckle came from the Lady of Corruption. "Champions are so…overrated. Don't get me wrong, my peers have done such a wonderful job in involving themselves in this…conflict. The Mad One has been enjoying the show oh so frivolously. And among them…you and the one they call Gerron Ironbreaker…you two make for an interesting duo."
Kiera frowned. "What do you want with Gerron?"
"He who bears the Forge Eternal. While you may be fated to kill Alduin, Dovakiin—he is fated for something else. A choice that could change the course of Nirn for eons to come."
Her brow furrowed at that news. "Then what was your purpose here? Why put an entire city of people into sleep?"
" A favour of course." another chuckle. "Sheo dearly wanted an extra bump in this race of Champions. I obliged."
A twitch formed on the side of her brow at that. "Is that right?"
So this incident, one that stole perhaps months of life from the thousands of souls in Dawnstar, was all done on a mere whim of the Prince of Madness?
Power surged through her veins as her eyes lit up with magic. Her hand holding the staff tightened.
The Skull shuddered. The violet light flickered as cracks appeared on the shaft.
The last thing she heard before it snapped was the amused chuckles of Vaermina before they disappeared into the winds.
Kiera just shook her head as she turned, ascending the broken stairwell until she reached the surface once more.
The night air hit her face like ice. She didn't speak, didn't call, she simply sent the signal through the ancient bond that tied her soul to her dragon's.
Above, Vermithor stirred. The sky flashed white.
Lightning, pure and divine, poured from the Bronze Fury's maw. It struck the Nightcaller Temple with cataclysmic force.
When it ended, the temple was gone, nothing remained but molten ruins and drifting ash, the miasma dispelled into the clear, cold night.
…
AN: There we go! A chapter dedicated to Serana and Kiera since there's been precious little of them recently.
Anyways, bet some of you thought I forgot about Karliah and Brynjolf. Well I didn't, and it's time for them to take the stage.
The problem of Dawnstar is solved and Kiera talks to another Daedric Prince. I hope you guys enjoyed the small tidbits of cosmic lore I included in this fic.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 78 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Cheers guys and see you next time!