The sun had begun its slow descent behind the pine-choked hills, casting long, gold-streaked shadows across the uneven trail. The light bled between the trees in narrow slits, like the world itself was trying to close its eyes and pretend it didn't see what was coming.
I tightened my grip on the ironwood staff I'd carved back in Falkreath. A light wind stirred the leaves and danced across the worn trail, but something else rode with it—something I could feel, but not name. Erik walked beside me, quiet as always, his boots crunching softly over the brittle underbrush. He hadn't spoken much since we passed Nikolai's group. Not that I minded. The silence between us had become its own kind of language.
But then I heard them—rustling. Mismatched footfalls. Leather scraping against steel. A forced cough.
And then a voice, cracked and lazy: "Hello… uh… citizens. We came here to collect, uh… taxes."
I turned slowly, and there they were—six of them stepping out from behind the birches. They wore Imperial armor, or at least pieces of it. The armor was blood-rusted, too large or too small on some of them, held together with frayed straps and patches of fur. One of them wore the helmet backwards.
A bad copy of a bad lie.
Erik didn't move, but I felt him shift ever so slightly beside me. He looked at me.
I looked back.
And in that breath of a moment, we nodded.
The one in front—who I guessed was their leader only because he spoke first—tilted his head. "So what's it gonna be? You pay us the gold, or we'll be forced to consider you… uncooperative citizens."
I smiled. "And what's the tax rate in this part of Skyrim?"
The others chuckled behind him, like children imitating wolves.
He took a step closer, his fingers twitching near the hilt of a chipped steel sword. "Everything you've got. For, uh… security reasons."
Erik's hand was already resting on the hilt of his dagger. "You killed real Legionnaires for that armor."
"Prove it," the leader snapped.
Erik did.
Before the last syllable had left his mouth, Erik was in motion—a blur of black cloak and flickering steel. His dagger flashed once, opening the man's throat like a scroll. Blood sprayed the trees behind him, bright and steaming in the cooling dusk.
That was the signal.
I ducked the swing of another bandit's axe, the wind of it hissing past my ear. I rolled forward, the scent of dirt and iron flooding my nose, then sprang up behind him and smashed the end of my staff against the back of his knee. He howled, fell, and I brought the staff down again—once, twice—until his helmet crumpled inward like a crushed shell.
Another charged me, roaring with the blind courage of idiots. I saw Erik behind him, already dispatching his second opponent with a clean, elegant thrust through the ribs.
This one swung at me in wide, wild arcs—no form, no training, just anger and panic. I waited. Then, like Hadvar had taught me, I stepped inside his swing and drove my claws into his eyes.
He screamed. Gods, he screamed.
"Don't impersonate soldiers," I growled, pulling my claws free as he crumpled.
A fourth man tried to run. Erik threw a dagger. It found the base of his neck. He twitched once, then was still.
When it was over, the woods were silent again.
No birds.
No breeze.
Only the soft ticking of blood dripping onto dead leaves.
Erik wiped his blade on the tunic of one of the corpses and turned to me. "That was sloppy."
"They were sloppy," I replied. I flicked blood from my claws and looked around. "You think any of them were telling the truth?"
"They wore the truth like they wore that armor—badly." Erik knelt and began rifling through their packs. "This one still had a Stormcloak badge on him. Guess they figured two enemies make a better disguise."
I said nothing. Just watched the sun finish sinking behind the trees. The golden light faded into something colder—blue, silver, shadowed.
Erik stood, tossed a small coin purse my way. "Your half. Bandits pay better than some merchants these days."
I caught it, weighing the coins with a soft clink. "They should've stuck to robbing chickens."
He smirked, just barely. "Or learned the proper tax rate."
We made camp shortly after, setting up near a half-frozen stream that whispered between mossy rocks. Erik built the fire with practiced care. I stared into it, letting the warmth bleed into my fur and bones, letting the light drive away what little darkness clung to my thoughts.
We didn't speak for a while.
But eventually, Erik broke the silence.
"You didn't hesitate back there, where did you learn to fight?" he said, not looking up from the flames.
"They didn't deserve it," I answered, flatly.
He nodded. "No. But not everyone gets justice."
I tilted my head. "Are you talking about them? Or you?"
He didn't answer.
The fire crackled.
The morning fog curled around the treetops like sleeping dragons as we sat beneath the crooked spine of a pine tree, a small campfire flickering between us. Erik sat across from me, still silent with his hands outstretched toward the flame. He hadn't said much since we left Falkreath. He just listened. That suited me just fine. The road to Riften was long, and I had stories to fill the silence.
"You asked where I learned to fight like that," I said, breaking the hush. "Oh, you mean how you easily defeated those asshole bandits?" I pulled my cloak tighter around me. "Truth is... I didn't even know my name when this all started."
Erik looked up, one eyebrow lifting. The firelight danced across his face, throwing soft shadows that flickered with the wind.
"It started at Darkwater Crossing. I woke up in the mud, cold and shivering, just outside a burned-down shack. No memories. No name. Just the sound of shouting, blades clashing, and... a roar. Gods, that roar."
I stared into the fire. It flickered, and for a second I saw it—the dragon above Helgen, black as night, its wings cutting through the sky like razors.
"There was a carriage," I said, closing my eyes. "I wasn't meant to be there, but I got caught in the middle of it. The Imperials were transporting Ulfric Stormcloak and some others. I was just... there. Wrong place, wrong time."
"And then?" Erik prompted.
"Then came the fire. And him. Jayson."
The name left my lips like a prayer. "He came out of nowhere. When the dragon attacked, he pulled me out of the wreckage. Helped me run. Helped me live."
Erik shifted slightly, but said nothing.
"Hadvar brought us to Riverwood," I continued. "We stayed with his uncle Alvor. I worked the forge for weeks. Learned how to hammer, shape, and temper. It grounded me, gave me something to do while my memories refused to return."
I reached into my pack and pulled out the half-finished dagger I'd been working on in Falkreath. Erik glanced at it, then returned his gaze to the fire.
"One day, Lucan Valerius came to us," I said. "His shop had been robbed. Jayson and I agreed to retrieve his Golden Claw. Led us straight to Bleak Falls Barrow."
I chuckled, bitter and fond. "Draugr, traps, frostbite spiders the size of a cart... and then, at the end, there was this wall. Covered in writing that glowed. And right at its base was a stone, black and jagged, with words carved into it. 'Here lies our fallen lords, until Alduin's power is restored.'"
Erik finally looked at me. "Alduin?"
I nodded. "I didn't understand it then. But I felt it—deep in my bones. Like the stone was whispering something I couldn't hear yet."
The fire crackled. A pinecone popped loudly in the coals.
"After we returned the claw, we stayed another night at Alvor's. Hadvar said goodbye, saying he was returning to Solitude. Jayson decided to take me with him to Whiterun to report the dragon attack."
I smiled faintly. "I didn't know who Jayson was until we reached Dragonsreach. Everyone bowed when he entered. Jarl Balgruf called him the 'Warlord of Solitude.' It scared me, honestly. I thought... what am I doing next to someone like him?"
"What did he say?" Erik asked quietly.
I let the memory warm me. "He said, 'We are all equals here. Especially you, Olly. You're my friend.'"
Erik looked at me for a long moment. "That doesn't sound like most warlords."
"He wasn't. He isn't."
I leaned forward, stoking the fire. "Anyway, they sent us to help defend the Western Watchtower. Another dragon came. Same black scales, same fire. But this time, I wasn't afraid. I stood my ground. When it lunged, I shouted... and something ancient tore out of me."
I looked up at Erik. "Gol. Hah. Dov. The words weren't mine, but they were... right."
"Earth. Mind. Dragon," Erik translated slowly.
I blinked. "You understand the language?"
"Enough to know what those words mean. And what they imply."
"Jayson knew too. He stared at me, more proud than shocked. Irileth was stunned. Even the Jarl couldn't speak for a moment."
I sat back. "He said I had to go to High Hrothgar. The Greybeards had summoned me. But I... I didn't want to. I didn't ask for any of this. I don't even know who I am. How can I take on a destiny when I don't even have a past?"
Erik didn't answer immediately. He leaned forward, feeding another log into the fire. The flames sparked upward, golden and defiant.
"Maybe that's the point," he said finally. "You forge who you are now. Like steel in the fire."
We sat in silence. The wind stirred through the branches above us, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
Erik's voice was softer now. "So that's why you're heading to Riften?"
"To keep learning," I nodded. "To find who I was. Or who I'm meant to be."
Erik watched the fire for a moment longer, then nodded. "Then let's get some rest. Morning will come fast."
I curled beneath my cloak, the fire's warmth seeping into my fur. My past may have been a mystery, but tonight, under the stars and beside a stranger who felt more than he seemed, I felt... anchored.
The cold bit at my cheeks as I crouched by the edge of the pond, cupping a handful of water and splashing it over my face. The sting jolted my senses awake. A shallow mist floated just above the surface, clinging to the reeds like whispered secrets not ready to rise.
Across the camp, Olly was humming something under his breath while tightening the straps on his pack. I could see his silhouette through the lazy morning fog—focused, present, innocent.
I envied him for that.
I leaned forward, staring into the water.
The reflection that stared back wasn't someone I fully recognized. Darker eyes than I remembered. Lines in places that hadn't been there before. And something else… beneath the surface. Like there was a second face lurking just behind the first.
Then the world shifted.
The ripples stopped moving.
The wind fell silent.
Time held its breath.
And I heard him.
"My little wanderer…"
His voice crawled across the inside of my skull—oily, deliberate, each syllable echoing like a whisper shouted through a thousand library halls.
"Did you think I forgot you?"
My hands gripped the earth beside the pond. The damp moss bled through my fingers.
"Not now," I muttered under my breath. "He's nearby."
"So is your deadline."
The reflection in the pond twitched. My pupils… they dilated unnaturally. Black filled the irises. I flinched and closed my eyes, but I could still see him. Hear the squirming of pages turning in places that had no books. The flapping of wet wings made of ink.
"You made a bargain, Erik… or should I call you by your true name?" He laughed, and it was not a sound. It was a feeling—of pages tearing, of ink bleeding, of memory unraveling.
"I know what I asked for," I said through clenched teeth. "I haven't forgotten."
"Good… because your soul is ever so close to slipping. Corruption is patient, but ambitious." His voice sharpened, like a quill against glass.
"You've seen the signs. The way your hand shakes when you touch the void. The silence growing louder when you sleep. You cannot delay, not much longer."
I looked down. My hands weren't shaking… but the veins had darkened. A slow poison crawling beneath the skin. I clenched my fist, willing it to stop.
"You promised me clarity," I said. "You said I'd know what to do."
"And you do. You simply lack the stomach for what must be done. But that's the beauty of knowledge, isn't it?" His voice curled like smoke.
"It doesn't ask for your feelings. It demands your obedience."
I opened my eyes.
The reflection was mine again. But it stared back too calmly. Too knowingly.
Behind me, Olly called out, "Hey, Erik! Ready?"
I stood, brushing mud from my hands. "Yeah. Let's move."
I didn't look back at the water.
Couldn't.
I tightened the straps on my cloak, adjusted the hidden dagger sheathed against my ribs, and walked back toward Olly with the sun rising at my back.
He still didn't know.
About who I was.
And worst of all…
About what I was becoming.