It was a cold, desolate rainy night.
The torrential rain had been pouring for two days and three nights, with no sign of stopping.
Even the daytime was gloomy, but the sun was, after all, going to rise little by little from behind the clouds, unstoppable, just as Jonas's recognized logic of the world's operation dictated. The sun came, bringing light, hope, warmth, and new life. Even if obscured by rain clouds, there would still be an unyielding light shining down upon the earth, silently enduring the shadows.
Jonas gently pushed aside the thin soil of the grave, emerging from underground. There was no one around. He stood up straight, bathed in the icy rain, the mud on his body gradually washing away.
An Argonian slave from the Black Marsh, in the southeastern corner of Tamriel, had taught Jonas some tricks for making simple paralyzing poison.
Five hours earlier, the unbearable slaves had collectively revolted. They were quickly suppressed, the living returned to their cages, and the bodies of the dead were buried in the wasteland outside the winery. Jonas drank the paralyzing poison, cut himself a few times, and lay among the pile of corpses, dying with them.
The sun rose, and he was reborn.
The rain washed away some soil, revealing some pale bodies, without even a single piece of clothing to cover them. As they came into this world, so they returned to nature.
Jonas blessed their departed souls, just as that kind Argonian had blessed his life. He was a man endowed with hope, and so he survived.
"You see, for lowly beings like us, how precious life is. We are even willing to gamble with death for it."
He scoffed, "Weak!"
"Don't you know what death is like?"
"On the contrary, I have seen many humble creatures die beneath my claws."
"What was your past like?"
"You are not worthy to know."
"You still refuse to let me understand you?"
"…" He was silent for a long time, then suddenly sighed in irritation, "Hurry, there isn't much time left."
Jonas went to the capital city, a city he remembered: Markarth.
Before going there, he had two wishes: one was to ask the Guards to rescue the slaves in the winery, and the other was to find his lost mother.
He accomplished neither.
It was a cold, stone city, and the people within it were also cold, devoid of kindness.
When he sought help from the Guards, he was warned not to meddle. When he inquired among the residents, they simply gave him lazy, perfunctory answers.
Jonas had never felt such immense frustration. It was ironic that when he trekked alone through the wilderness, his boundless hope gave him infinite strength, but upon entering a human settlement, all his energy was slowly drained away.
He roared, "Disgraceful! No honor!" This was a rebuke to the Guards.
"I remember very clearly, I died once to live, and risked my life for more people to live, yet I found that everything was merely my wishful thinking."
He stopped speaking, only an angry emotion secretly surging within him.
Jonas fled Markarth because he saw the slave merchant. He didn't know when he would be able to return, but he knew that this matter would never leave his heart; this was his revenge alone.
He asked, "You want revenge."
"Of course."
"I do too. You see, this is our common ground. As long as you entrust your body to me, I can go kill that slave merchant and find your female elder."
"That is my mother."
"To me, your social relations are meaningless. How about it? You just need to nod and agree…"
"This is my revenge, do you understand? Mine."
"Heh heh heh, is there still a distinction between us?"
"Yes. And it's a big one."
"I thought after all this time of sharing joys and sorrows, we had become inseparable."
"Sharing joys and sorrows? Not at all. As you said, you are a Dragon, I am a man. My life is like a blade of grass on the ground, while your life is more precious than gold. When you deliver your long speeches, I have no interest in them, and when I speak of my insights, you dismiss them with disdain. Yes, our differences are vast."
"So, are you going to submit, mortal?"
He chuckled twice, while He roared in anger to vent, and then both fell silent.
…
Simon held the lexicon, studying how to read the information inside.
After he had moved the entire Tower of Mzark, he also took the time to glimpse the elder scrolls. The method for reading the lexicon was still unknown, and Septimus Signus was still unconscious. Simon had no choice but to research it himself, as if playing with a Rubik's Cube.
The lexicon had special patterns on its surface. By focusing his attention, he could inject his spiritual power along the patterns into the lexicon's interior, but it required a specific sequence. Otherwise, the perceived information would all be meaningless garbled images.
He sat in the darkness by the bed, repeatedly trying to decipher it, and as expected, failed again and again.
Dilo was sleeping on the stone bed behind Simon. He wasn't sleeping well, having talked a lot in his sleep during the first half of the night. He woke up once in the middle and even tried to go to the courtyard to visit Jonas in his sleep, but Simon stopped him.
It was the latter half of the night.
Dilo opened his eyes, looking at Simon's blurry back, "Is Jona really okay?"
"He's fine. If you don't go back to sleep, you won't be… I'll go check on him, you sleep."
The courtyard was extremely cold. Simon came to where the Dragon soul Jonas was. He had been looking down, but upon hearing footsteps, he slowly raised his head. In the night, his gaze was like burning fire.
"Mmm…" He mumbled something indistinctly.
The Breton boy's body was trembling, his face turning blue. Seeing the boy's current state, Simon couldn't help but feel guilty.
"Are you not afraid of death?"
The Dragon soul Jonas narrowed his eyes slightly, with immense sarcasm.
Simon felt a great sense of defeat. Yes, sometimes misfortunes came in quick succession.
The Dragon soul Jonas was afraid of death, but He also clearly knew that Simon was the passive party.
Golden life-force magic continuously flowed into Jonas's body. His complexion immediately improved, and the mocking glint in his eyes became even clearer.
The Troll did not stop casting the Healing Spell, calmly meeting his gaze.
Jonas, don't disappoint me.
…
Four Greybeards quietly climbed the mountain path in the night.
They couldn't persuade Simon to change his mind, but they had their own methods.
The mountain path was rugged and the wind relentless. Several goats leaped on the almost vertical rock face, like spirits of the mountain, but they were not. One old goat lost its footing and fell into the sea of clouds, its frantic cries slowly fading away, the wind still roaring.
The masters reached the summit of High Hrothgar.
At the Throat of the World, beneath the dome of the sky, the stars and moon shone brilliantly. A massive dark shadow soared among the Milky Way, then swooped down, landing on the wide flat ground.
An aged, ash-gray body, battle scars rugged like an engraved record of achievements, brilliant light diffused across his scales. He tilted his head, raised his snout, his posture unrestrained.
The ancient Dragon—Paarthurnax.
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