It had been a day since they left Whiterun. By mid-morning, the party reached what remained of Helgen.The town gates stood closed, unmanned. Beyond them loomed the wreckage—charred timbers, collapsed roofs, stone walls blackened by fire. No voices stirred. No movement, save for the restless sway of weeds growing through cracks in the cobbles.
Eradros slowed the carriage to a halt, his eyes narrowing. He hopped down, boots crunching on gravel, and studied the ruined walls. If they wanted to pass through, the gates would need to be opened. Leaving the carriage behind wasn't an option.
Gavhelus climbed down after him, gnawing the last of a bone. "What's the matter? Can't find the door handle?"
"That's not it," Eradros muttered, pacing toward the heavy wooden doors. "We can get it open. My worry is what's inside."
Gavhelus frowned. "What do you mean? There's no one here, mate."
"This is where the dragon attacked," Eradros reminded him, voice low. "For all we know, it's still in there, using the ruins as a nest."
Minevi leaned out from the driver's seat, reins in hand. "Do you really think that's possible?"
"I don't know," Eradros admitted. "I'm just considering every possibility."
"So what do we do now?" Kinetrius asked from the back of the carriage, his voice betraying unease.
"We open the gates," Eradros said, squaring his shoulders. "And hope for the best."
Together, he and Gavhelus pressed their shoulders to the massive timbers. The gates groaned and resisted, but there was no locking mechanism. Inch by inch, the doors yielded. Dust shook loose from their iron braces, spilling into the sunlight as the gates creaked wide.
Inside, silence reigned. No townsfolk. No guards. Just the quiet scurry of stray animals—dogs, rats, even a few deer—that had claimed the ruins.
Eradros moved ahead cautiously, scanning the empty streets. His eyes caught a flicker of movement: a fox perched atop an old well, its amber gaze locked on him without fear. He frowned, uneasy.
Minevi urged the horses forward, guiding the carriage slowly into the abandoned town while Eradros scouted. The road was cracked, littered with broken carts and scattered bones. He paused at the sight of a fire pit still blackened with ash. Kneeling, he brushed his fingers across the charred wood.
"See something?" Minevi asked, her tone edged with tension.
"This fire pit's been used recently," Eradros said.
Kinetrius shifted in the back of the carriage. "What does that mean?"
"It means this place isn't as abandoned as it looks."
"Who do you think is here?" Minevi pressed.
"Whoever it is," Eradros said, rising, "they weren't planning on having company. Doesn't matter. All we need to do is reach the other side. Keep moving."
The carriage rolled forward again, its wheels crunching through rubble. The party moved like ghosts through the wreckage, every step measured. Kinetrius sat rigid in the back, eyes darting across the collapsed rooftops and ruined towers. His stomach churned at the thought of the dragon returning.
The silence thickened as they neared the far gate.
Then—suddenly—a man stepped into the road ahead of them.
"Oy!" the man called, swaggering into the road. "You lot travelers or something?"
Eradros eyed him with a sour expression, then lifted a hand to signal Minevi to halt the carriage. The horses snorted nervously as the wheels ground to a stop.
"And what's it to you?" Eradros asked flatly.
"Well, it might be everything," the man replied with a smirk. "Depends on what you've got in that carriage."
Gavhelus stood with his head bowed, fingers stroking his beard. His lips moved faintly, as though in quiet conversation with someone unseen. There was no shortage of restless spirits here. Finally, he muttered, "…mmhm. Mmhm. Yeah—he's a bandit. And we're surrounded."
"Seriously?" Eradros muttered. "Of all things."
The man raised his voice, adopting a mock-friendly tone. "Now, now. This doesn't have to get bloody. All we ask is a looksy in that carriage of yours. Call it a toll—for safe passage through this lovely city of ours."
"And if we refuse?" Minevi asked coolly.
The man's grin widened. "Then my friends and I finally get to have us a little fun."
Almost on cue, figures appeared. From the ruins, from rooftops, from broken doorways—they emerged, weapons gleaming. A dozen eyes glinted hungrily in the morning light.
"Shit," Eradros hissed. "This is bad."
"Eight of 'em," Gavhelus reported calmly. "That's what me friends tell me."
"We can take eight men, can't we?" Minevi said, hopping down from the carriage with shield and mace in hand.
Kinetrius stood, nerves pulling tight in his chest as he scanned the shapes forming around them. He began climbing down to join her.
"We're outnumbered," he said, his voice low. "You're really going to fight them?"
"In bodies, maybe," Minevi answered, her stance firm. "But I doubt they're half as skilled as we are."
Eradros turned sharply. "Lad—I need you to sit this one out. You're not fully recovered yet. I don't want you thrown back into the mix until you're at a hundred percent."
"But I want to help."
"Being useful means knowing when not to fight," Eradros said firmly. "It's not just you and me anymore. We can handle this ourselves."
"But your bow—it's still broken."
"Don't worry about that. It's not the only weapon I profess—just my preferred."
A new voice rang out, dripping with mockery. "Well, what do we 'ave here?"
Eradros stiffened. He knew that voice.
From the shadow of a dilapidated building, an Argonian stepped forward. His scales were dark and mottled, his grin wide with predatory glee.
"Well, if it isn't the man who was too good for the Thieves Guild," the Argonian sneered.
Eradros's mouth curved into a bitter smile. "Says the man who wasn't good enough. Hence why you're pulling stick-ups in abandoned villages."
The Argonian's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I thought that mouth of yours might piss me off. Gonna make this a whole lot more enjoyable, y'know."
"And here I was thinking you just came out to say hi," Eradros said. His tone darkened. "Tell me, Rashish—never did get over Brynjolf picking me instead of you, did you?"
"Ha. I'll admit it stung a bit," Rashish said, his tail flicking lazily. "But then I got into the bandit life. Less rules, y'know. And the best part? We get to spill a bit of blood every now and then."
"That," Eradros said sharply, pointing at him, "is exactly why you didn't get picked. You're too obsessed with murder to keep your eye on the prize. You'd have been better off with the Dark Brotherhood. At least they follow rules."
Rashish chuckled low. "How about this then? I've got my eye on a prize right now. Let's see how quickly I get distracted this time."
He put two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle.
The ruins erupted with movement. Bandits poured forward from every side, charging with blades, axes, and wild shouts.
"Minevi!" Eradros barked, never taking his eyes from the circling bandits. "Take the carriage—get it to the other gate. Gavhelus and I will find a way to open it."
"Won't you need my help?" she shot back.
"Go!"
Without another word, Minevi vaulted back onto the driver's bench and snapped the reins. The horses lurched forward, hooves clattering against the cobblestones.
From the rear of the wagon, Kinetrius clung to the side rail, eyes wide as the chaos unfolded. He watched as Eradros drew a weapon he had never seen unsheathed before—a sword of ebony, black as midnight, its hilt marked with a winged insignia. Even in the heat of danger, Kinetrius knew the blade carried a story.
The carriage barreled down the road—until a bandit sprang out to block their path. A hulking brute, axe raised high, ready to cleave the horses down as they passed.
"Not today, love," the bandit snarled.
But before the axe could fall, a massive grey hand closed around it.
The bandit blinked in shock. Gavhelus stood there, grim and towering, his grip like iron.
"Where did you—"
The words choked off as Gavhelus wrenched the axe from his hands and, with his other, seized the man by the throat. The bandit's feet dangled helplessly above the ground as he struggled for air.
"They a friend of yours?" Gavhelus asked, voice low and dangerous.
"Wh… who?" the man croaked.
"The one sneaking around the building to ambush me," Gavhelus said.
"I… I don't know what… you're talking about—"
"Right."
Gavhelus dropped him suddenly, only to swing the stolen axe in a blur. A second bandit, rushing from cover, was caught mid-stride—the blade opening his throat in one clean arc. He collapsed instantly, knees buckling as blood fanned across the dirt.
"Vioh! No!" the first bandit screamed. Grief twisted his face, raw and desperate.
Gavhelus knelt before him, tilting his chin upward with a cold finger. "Now, now. You can't look away just yet. You're going to miss the best part."
He lifted his other hand toward the corpse. A sickly purple glow flared, rippling from his palm. Blue mist rose from the body, coiling like smoke, until the dead bandit lurched upright once more. His eyes were vacant, limbs stiff, but he gripped his sword and awaited command.
"What are you doing to him?!" the bandit cried, horror cracking his voice. "Please, don't do this!"
Gavhelus tilted his head, his crimson eyes gleaming. "I harbor no pity for the likes of you. Cowards who think murdering in groups makes them strong. Now… you're going to watch as your friend tries to murder you."
He snapped his fingers.
The corpse staggered forward, blade swinging in clumsy, sweeping arcs. The living bandit shrieked and scrambled backward, throwing up his arm to shield himself. Steel bit through flesh, severing the limb in one blow.
"Ahh! My arm! Please, stop this—please!"
He kicked frantically at the reanimated husk, striking its leg and knocking it off balance. But the stumble only drove the corpse down on top of him, its sword plunging into his chest. His scream ended in a wet gurgle as blood spread beneath him.
By then, Minevi had steered the carriage to the far gate. Kinetrius remained inside, clutching his book but unable to focus, the din of battle pressing down around him. The clash of steel, the roar of voices, the cries of the dying—they echoed across the ruined town.
On the other side of the square, Eradros fought alone.
Bandits swarmed him from all sides, blades flashing, arrows hissing through the air—but none found their mark. He wove between them with deadly precision, his ebony sword carving swift arcs. Every swing ended a life, every counter left another foe broken on the ground.
At last, only two remained standing—and their leader.
The leader, Rashish, hung back, watching with reptilian calm. But the burliest of his men, a greatsword balanced easily on his shoulder, finally stepped forward. He had lingered long enough. Now he was ready to join the fray.
"Wow!" Rashish called out, laughter bubbling in his throat. "You've still got it, my old friend."
Eradros leveled his blade at him, eyes cold. "Call this off, Rashish. It isn't worth it anymore—not after the men you've lost already."
"I don't recall asking for your sympathy," Rashish sneered. "Only what's in the carriage. You don't think I know what you do for a living? I'm sure whatever you've got in there will more than compensate for the men I've lost. And with less mouths to share it with—well, that's a win-win if I ever saw one."
"You never learn, do you?" Eradros spat.
"Like most in our line of work," Rashish said with a toothy grin, "education's wasted on me. All that really matters is filling purses with coin—and killing anyone that gets in the way of that."
"Son of a bitch!"
Eradros's fury boiled over. He charged the Argonian—but the burly man with the greatsword stepped forward and intercepted him. The clash sent Eradros flung back, boots scraping as he barely landed upright.
His anger burned hotter now—not just at Rashish, but at the sheer lack of humanity in the man's words.
"I don't get it," Eradros snapped. "He doesn't care about you, or whether you get paid. Why risk your life for him?"
The burly bandit rolled his shoulders, unimpressed. "You're assuming yourself a threat to me. This'll be nothing more than a day's work."
He strode forward with deadly calm, greatsword raised. The man radiated neither fear nor doubt, only the certainty of his own strength.
"So that's how it's going to be, aye?" Eradros muttered, setting his stance.
He braced himself as the bandit closed the distance, blade arcing back for a killing strike—
Then came the sound of steel tearing through flesh.
The burly bandit froze mid-step, eyes wide. He looked down. Two blades jutted from his chest—one from the front, the other driven through his back.
"V… Vioh? Nimalt…?" His voice rasped in disbelief. "What… is this?"
He turned his head, seeing the familiar faces of his comrades—but their eyes were blank, lifeless. Their bodies shuddered unnaturally, puppets held aloft by some unseen will.
And then, looming behind him, came the towering shape of Gavhelus, grey muscles coiled tight, the stolen battleaxe gleaming in his hands. He leaned in, his voice a low growl in the man's ear.
"You may not consider him a threat," Gavhelus whispered. "But you should definitely… be afraid of me."
With a snap of his fingers, the reanimated corpses wrenched their swords free. The burly bandit dropped his greatsword, his arms limp at his sides, knees buckling as blood poured from him.
The puppets raised their blades in unison—then struck, twin arcs cleaving his neck clean. His head tumbled into the dirt, his body collapsing in a heap. The corpses shuffled back, returning to Gavhelus's side like loyal hounds.
Rashish staggered a step, scales paling. "What… what is this? A necromancer?"
Gavhelus smirked. "What, didn't expect magic to come with these muscles?"
"Are they… dead already?" Rashish demanded, his voice shaking.
"Well," Gavhelus said casually, "I killed one. And then I thought—might as well get the matching pair, right?"
"You lecture me about morality," Rashish spat, eyes flicking to Eradros, "and this is the company you keep?"
"What's the matter?" Gavhelus taunted, grin widening. "Murder not exciting to you anymore? I thought you'd love this part."
"Killing a man's one thing," Rashish hissed. "But what you do… that's unnatural."
Even as he spoke, the corpses shuddered and collapsed. Their flesh crumbled into glittering dust, scattering across the ground. Gavhelus glanced at the remains with mild irritation.
"They just don't make bandit corpses like they used to," he sighed. "Eradros—leave this last one to me. Take care of your business with him, and let's be done with this place. It reeks of cowards."
"Very well," Eradros said, leveling his sword. "So, Rashish—still want to see what's in my carriage? You've lost an awful lot of manpower in the last ten minutes."
"Not anymore," the Argonian hissed.
Twin elven daggers flashed as he drew them from his waistband, their edges glinting in the half-light.
"I'll just settle for killing you," Rashish snarled. "You've had this coming for a long time. And it'll be my pleasure to put you in the dirt once and for all."
"Your optimism is legendary," Eradros said coolly. "I'll give you that."
He stepped forward, sword flourishing in a deadly arc. Gavhelus, having dispatched the last bandit, left Rashish to him.
Rashish darted low, weaving side to side in a blur, daggers flashing. Each lunge came quick, vicious, almost too fast to follow. The clash of steel rang out again and again as Eradros parried, his blade always there, always deflecting—but never striking back except to keep Rashish at bay.
The Argonian pressed harder, relentless, slashing in quick succession. The speed left little room for thought, forcing Eradros onto the defensive. Finally, Rashish broke away, chest heaving. His lips curled back in frustration at Eradros's maddening calm.
Eradros spun his sword again, deliberately, the flourish taunting him.
Rashish gritted his teeth. With a growl, he charged again—but this time scooped up a fistful of dirt as he came. He flung it straight into Eradros's face.
Grit stung his eyes, and Eradros staggered. Blind for a heartbeat, he raised his arm to shield himself—too late. Rashish slashed wildly from every angle, his daggers cutting shallow lines across Eradros's arms and chest. The wounds weren't deep, but something felt wrong. His limbs began to slow. His strikes grew sluggish.
He swung wide, forcing Rashish back with a poorly aimed slash. It bought him only a moment—but a moment was enough to realize what was happening.
"I should've seen this coming," Eradros spat, chest rising and falling. "Of course you wouldn't fight me head up."
Rashish grinned wickedly. "I know poison wouldn't do much against a Bosmer. But sapping your stamina? That works just as well. Good thing I had these daggers today. Who knew I'd be running into you of all people?"
Eradros dropped to one knee, his breath ragged, his vision swimming. His hands trembled violently as he tried to steady his sword.
Meanwhile, Gavhelus had returned to the carriage, wiping blood from his axe.
"Gavhelus!" Kinetrius called from the wagon, panic rising. "What's going on? Where's Eradros?"
He waved dismissively. "He and his old pal are having a final heart-to-heart. Shouldn't be much longer. That one doesn't look like the type who could beat Eradros on his worst day."
"Are you sure he's alright?" Minevi pressed, her voice sharp with worry.
Gavhelus paused, tilting his head as though listening to whispers only he could hear. The spirits.
"Oh really…? Oh my, that is something. Thanks for the info, mate."
"Well?" Minevi demanded.
Gavhelus sighed. "I withdraw my previous statement. Seems our boy's in grave danger."
"Damn it all!" Kinetrius cursed.
Before anyone could stop him, he leapt from the carriage and sprinted into the ruins. Minevi opened her mouth to call after him, but he was already gone—a figure vanishing into the broken streets.
"Kids, am I right?" Gavhelus muttered.
"You left him out there," Minevi snapped.
"I know you think you're here to keep both of them safe," Gavhelus said evenly. "But Eradros isn't so easy to chew on—even for a slimy lizard like him."
"You don't understand." Minevi shook her head, her knuckles white on the reins. "Eradros is a skilled fighter, yes. But he is no killer. All someone would need to beat him is to play dirty."
"That's what weaklings do to survive, love," Gavhelus replied. "Makes sense if you think about it. I don't know his past, and he's not about to tell it. But I know this much—he's not one of them."
Kinetrius tore through the ruins, lungs burning, weaving between shattered buildings until he found them.
And there he was.
Eradros, kneeling, his sword wavering in his trembling hands. Rashish stood over him, daggers glinting, savoring the moment.
"It's been good seeing you again, really," the Argonian sneered. "But I think you and I have had our fun. Time to end this, y'know."
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Eradros growled, breath ragged. "Pausing for dramatic effect or something?"
"Like I said before… that mouth of yours makes this a whole lot easier."
"Eradros!"
They both turned.
Kinetrius froze at the corner of the ruined house, eyes wide. Bodies lay scattered down the street, blood cooling dark in the dirt. His stomach clenched. Had Eradros done all this?
"That your brat? No matter. He'll just have to watch then," Rashish sneered, raising his arm to finish Eradros.
"NO!!!" Kinetrius shouted.
A patter of paws answered. The fox that had watched them from the well earlier sprang into the clearing and leapt at Rashish, teeth sinking into the Argonian's arm.
"ARGH!! Damn it. Let go of me, beast!" Rashish howled, swinging wildly.
Eradros rose slowly as the fox bit and snarled. Rashish flailed to free himself, but the animal was relentless. Finally Rashish managed to throw the fox off; it landed clean and raced back to Eradros's side.
"So this is your mutt then?" Rashish spat, backing away and brandishing his dagger.
"Not quite," Eradros replied, voice calm. "It's actually kind of funny. You knew about our resistance to poison, but not about our ability to control wildlife. Sucks for you."
Rashish's eyes widened as he noticed something—Eradros's look had shifted. Both Eradros's eyes and the fox's glowed a fierce emerald green. The fox sank low, baring teeth. Eradros reached down and patted it.
"Easy now. You did good, my friend. That is all I will need for now."
The glow faded from both their eyes and the fox went still, then turned and bounded off into the ruins. Kinetrius stood rooted, shaken; for a breath he had truly thought Eradros done for. But Rashish still crouched before him, blade raised.
"You think you've won with that little trick? Nothing's changed—I'm still going to kill you," Rashish snarled.
"Oh, don't be like that, old friend," Eradros said. "You played a dirty trick—I employed a counter dirty trick. Just like old times."
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut… UP!" Rashish roared and lunged.
He came at Eradros in a frenzy, daggers slashing in wild arcs. Eradros flowed around the attacks—smooth, economical, as if moving through water. He baited Rashish into mistakes, turning each frantic rush into a stumble, a run-into-a-corner, a misstep. The Argonian grew more exhausted, more unsteady. Each dodge from Eradros punished him; each overreach sent him tumbling.
"This would normally be the part where I give you a chance to save yourself—on account of us once being friends," Eradros said when Rashish paused, breathless. "I'm not going to do that. You never learned. When Brynjolf turned you away for being bloodthirsty, you never learned. I'll end this here, so no one else is victimized by you and your henchmen again."
"You've always been a good thief, Eradros," Rashish rasped, fury and defiance mingling. "But you're no murderer."
"Tell that to your dead comrades behind me," Eradros replied quietly.
Rashish laughed, shaking with anger. "Oh, you're serious, aren't you? Well alright then—killer. Get on with it!"
Silently, Eradros lifted his ebony sword in a smooth flourish. Stepping like a shadow, he slipped past Rashish's blind lunge. For a heartbeat everything held—then the Argonian's head rolled free and thudded onto the ground.
Kinetrius watched as the body crumpled. He had never seen this side of Eradros; a cold, resolute skill that frightened him. Eradros said nothing. He stood a moment in the hush, eyes on the corpse, then reached down and fished a small flask from Rashish's pocket. He grinned at it—a private echo of memory—then tipped it and took a long swig while staring into the nearby fire pit.
A voice called out behind him. "Eradros—are you all finished here? I'd love to be done with this godforsaken place."
Minevi's tone carried impatience and relief both.
Eradros poured the last of the flask into the fire, snuffing out the flames with a hiss. He tugged his hood low over his head and turned away from Rashish's corpse. Without a word, he walked back toward Kinetrius and Minevi.
Gavhelus had already forced the far gate open, the heavy wood groaning on rusted hinges. Once they regrouped, the four of them loaded the carriage and pressed on.
The road stretched quiet beneath the stars. None of them spoke. Minevi held the reins while Eradros sat beside her, silent as stone. In the back, Kinetrius kept sneaking glances at him, unease clear in his eyes.
Eradros finally turned, voice cutting the hush.
"Something wrong, lad? Why do you look at me so?"
Kinetrius hesitated. "It's nothing. I just… I just saw you kill someone. And—"
"Does that bother you?"
"I know you did it to save us. To save others. I just can't shake the sight of it."
Eradros shifted, meeting the boy's eyes. His gaze was sharp, almost frightening in its weight.
"Then hear this, and I hope it doesn't break the trust between us. I am not a good man. I've hurt, and I've killed, more than I'd ever admit. I take no pleasure in slaying an old friend, but I've no regrets either. Some things must be done. Understood?"
Kinetrius swallowed hard. "I get it. He was a threat… so you removed it."
"Good," Eradros said, turning back to the road. "Glad we're on the same page."
Silence reclaimed the carriage. Kinetrius sank back against the bench, the weight of those words pressing on him. He turned them over in his mind again and again.
By the time they reached Ivarstead, the boy was still lost in thought—about the way Eradros's eyes had looked when he killed Rashish. Cold. Lifeless. Like the eyes of a man who had long since learned what blood on his hands felt like.
That night, lying awake in the inn, Kinetrius realized something that chilled him deeper than the memory of the bandit's death: to kill a man was also to kill a part of yourself.
Tomorrow, he would finally climb the Seven Thousand Steps and seek answers about what he was. But tonight, he carried only questions—and the memory of Eradros's eyes.
Chapter End—