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Chapter Text

As Ulveth settled in for the voyage, the gentle waves hitting the Bitter Coast rocked the boat beneath him. To the east, the swamps lay deceptively still in the afternoon light, but he kept his eyes peeled for cliff racers nonetheless. So too did he keep a watchful eye on the quivering Khajiit sitting opposite him.

She was a pathetic-looking creature. Gaunt beneath her orange fur, she was dressed in a ragged shirt, battered pair of pants and obligatory metal slave bracers. Her green eyes were as wide as saucers as she stared at him, while her black ears were drawn back in fear. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chin, arms wrapped around them. Part of him pitied her. But he’d heard enough horror stories of seemingly docile Khajiit slaves shredding their masters with razor-sharp claws, and he refused to let his guard down for a moment. Not even as doubts raced about his mind.

The job was easy enough – her owner Relam wanted her delivered to his associate Vorar as payment over some past deal. Normally, Ulveth couldn’t care less for the practice of slavery. He rolled his eyes at protests that it was an essential Dunmer tradition, and had no qualms about freeing those held in chains by outlaws, but even he wasn’t fool enough to risk the ire of the authorities by freeing a legally-held slave. Besides, he needed the money – he was alone in an unfamiliar land, entangled in some strange Imperial scheme. His handler Caius had urged him to get some experience as an adventurer, and Ulveth had no doubt that meant he’d be put into danger sooner or later. He’d need equipment, supplies and training, none of which would come without coin. If anything, he wasn’t in a position to turn the job down.

It was only once the captain began to steer the boat around Vvardenfell’s south-eastern point, taking them well past the swamps, that Ulveth afforded himself a moment to relax. He reached into his pack and drew out a loaf of bread, breaking it in half. Munching one half, he offered the other to the Khajiit. She didn’t take it.

“Go on,” he said, nodding to the bread. “Once we reach Vivec, we’ve got a silt strider ride to Balmora ahead of us. You need your energy.”

The Khajiit didn’t move, instead continuing to stare. Ulveth sighed at her inaction.

“I’m not trying to poison you,” he added. “I promised I’d deliver you safe and sound, and that’s what I’ll do.”

Slowly, the Khajiit reached out and took the bread from him. But she only held it close to her chest, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You really do not know, do you, Dunmer?” she said quietly, her Khajiiti accent heavy and alien to his ears.

“Know what?” Ulveth asked, taking another bite of his bread.

“That Rabinna is only part of the payment.”

Ulveth stopped eating, staring at her questioningly. It was starting to sound like he hadn’t been told everything he needed to know about the job. Just his luck to get embroiled in more skulduggery.

“What’s the other part?”

Rabinna lowered her eyes to the bread he’d given her. It was only then that he saw her hands shaking.

“Rabinna… Rabinna was made to swallow many bags of wrapped moonsugar. That is the true payment.” She closed her eyes. “Once she is in the possession of Vorar Helas, he will likely slaughter her for the drugs in her belly. There is no hope of escape.”

A deathly chill settled over Ulveth. He could see the scene play out in his head – Helas plunging a dagger into the Khajiit’s chest as she screamed in terror, before moving to gut her like a fish. Stomach turning at the thought, he exhaled deeply and shook his head.

“I won’t allow it,” he said. “I will not lead an innocent woman to her death.”

Rabinna raised her eyes to him, huffing in disbelief. “You would spare Rabinna? You have her thanks, five-claw! Surely, you are blessed by the gods!”

“I wouldn’t say that, necessarily,” he muttered. “But that still leaves me skipping out on the job with an escaped slave. I’m not sure what more I can do for you.”

“Rabinna has a plan! There are those, such as Im-Kilaya in Ebonheart, who are willing to help those like Rabinna return to our homes. If you were to take Rabinna to him at the Argonian Mission, she is sure he would help.”

Ulveth couldn’t help but smirk. For the Argonians to run an illicit abolitionist movement out of their Mission was a bold move on their behalf. Still, he wasn’t about to turn down their help. Nor did he have any better ideas. He’d be forgoing his payment and likely making enemies in the process, but he couldn’t possibly go through with the deal now.

“No harm in asking,” he said, turning to call out towards the stern of the ship. “Baleni? Is it too late to detour to Ebonheart?”

The Dunmer woman at the rudder looked up from her thoughts and shook her head. “We’ll have to loop around a bit, but it’s doable. It’ll cost extra, though.”

“That’s fine,” Ulveth replied, looking back to Rabinna. She had begun eating her bread. “We’ve just had a change of plans.”

Anxiety gnawed Ulveth’s gut as he and Rabinna trudged through the darkening streets of Ebonheart. The stares were the worst – the inevitable result of escorting a slave through an Imperial settlement. The locals were outlanders almost to a man, and made no attempt to hide their disdain. His only consolation was Rabinna, who now carried herself much more confidently than she had in Hla Oad.

Fortunately, the Argonian Mission wasn’t too far from the docks. No sooner had the pair stepped through its doors, they were greeted by the most well-dressed Argonian Ulveth had ever seen. The man was clad in flowing yellow and orange robes, standing with his hands clasped respectfully before him. He smiled amicably, though the glint in his eyes made it clear he expected an explanation.

“Greetings, honoured guests,” he said. “What brings you to the Mission this evening?”

“We are looking for Im-Kilaya, sera,” Ulveth replied, gesturing towards Rabinna. “Rabinna here is in need of assistance.”

“I am Im-Kilaya. Does Miss Rabinna belong to you, Ser…?”

“Ulveth. No, I was hired to escort her to her new owner. But I can no longer do that.” Ulveth glanced around – they were alone, save for a couple of Argonians. Nevertheless, he leaned in to speak quietly to Im-Kilaya. “She is being forced to carry moon sugar in her stomach. She will likely be murdered upon arrival to retrieve it.”

The Argonian’s eyes widened, but Ulveth got the impression that his surprise was dulled by grim familiarity.

"It is good that you brought her here. We have heard tales of drugs being smuggled inside these poor people. There seems to be no low the smugglers and slavers won't stoop to for profit.” Im-Kilaya turned to Rabinna, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We will give you the help you need. This, I swear.”

Rabinna gave him a nervous smile. “Thank you,” she said, looking to Ulveth. “And thank you, five-claw.”

Confused by the phrase, Ulveth silently watched as one of Im-Kilaya’s aids escorted Rabinna deeper into the Mission’s halls. She spared Ulveth one last glance, and he gave her a reassuring smile in response. She returned it as she departed, leaving Ulveth to focus his attention on Im-Kilaya. The Argonian beckoned him over to a desk, where he counted out drakes into a coinpurse. It clinked solidly as Im-Kilaya placed it down before Ulveth, and relief washed over him as it became clear he wouldn’t be walking away empty-handed.

“Thank you for your aid, muthsera,” Im-Kilaya said. “I fear that few in your position would have shown such kindness. Please take this in return. Perhaps it will help you in funding other missions of goodwill.”

Ulveth took his reward without hesitation. Glad as he was that Rabinna was safe, his own survival – and his means of funding it – was still in doubt. “I’ll be sure to put it to good use, sera.”

“I hope so, muthsera. Take care.”

The coinpurse barely lightened after Ulveth bought himself a room and some dinner for the night, even treating himself to a bottle of flin to help him calm down. With a full stomach and eased nerves, he sat crosslegged on his bed and counted out what remained of his reward. Just under 400 gold, by his reckoning. He had to wonder how much gold he could have made delivering Rabinna to Helas, but the thought of what would have come next sickened him. No doubt Vorar or Relam would be displeased, and quite likely to retaliate if they found out what he’d done. Just more reason to gear up.

Still, as he lay in bed that night, it occurred to him that he may never see Rabinna again. Soon she would be safely in Elsweyr, and her time with him would fade into being the pleasant end of a terrible memory. It would be for the best, he figured. But as he closed his eyes and let sleep take a hold of him, he doubted he’d ever forget the experience.

Chapter Text

It was weeks before Ulveth set foot in Ebonheart again. At Caius’ suggestion, he became a card-carrying member of the Imperial Cult. While he was hardly any more pious of the Nine than he was the Three or any other number of gods, he wasn’t about to turn down discounted services. He’d already risked life and limb plumbing an ancient Dwemer ruin and a haunted ancestral tomb in the pursuit of paying off some of Caius’ informants. His new bonemold armour had saved his life, but he might have been in serious trouble if he hadn’t been able to afford the healing tithe at Fort Pelagiad’s altar. An experience like that was enough to make a praying man of anyone, but with Caius now talking of a trek north to visit the Urshilaku Ashlanders he figured he’d need more than just prayers.

Ulveth’s career as a Cult Layman was off to a solid start. With the help of some Telvanni Bug Musk snatched from a smuggler’s hideout, he’d sweettalked the staff of the Skyrim Mission to making a sizeable donation to the Cult. But his next task would take him somewhere very familiar – the Argonian Mission. And he was surprised to find that Im-Kilaya needed little convincing to offer support.

"The Imperial Cult has our respect,” the Argonian said as he counted out his donation. “We are disappointed that the Imperial Cult does not speak out against the inhumane practices of slavery in Morrowind. But perhaps you are right. It is by demonstrating our superior commitment to civilization and humanity that we best disprove the Dunmer's barbaric insistence that we are no more than animals."

Ulveth found himself nodding along. He was pleased with himself about knowing what to say, and simultaneously surprised that he’d meant it. Perhaps his experience with Rabinna had rubbed off on him.

“Please accept this donation to the Imperial Cult on behalf of the province of Argonia, with our thanks,” Im-Kilaya said, handing over the coinpurse. “Now, perhaps you would be able to do me a small favour?”

“Certainly, sera. What do you need?”

“Could you spare a few moments for Rabinna? She’s recovering well from her ordeal, but she’s still in hiding in an unfamiliar environment. After all she’s been through, seeing you again would lift her spirits.”

Ulveth blinked. He hadn’t even considered that she might still be in the Mission. “I’d be happy to talk to her.”

Rabinna’s room was hardly luxurious – she had a basic bed, table and stool to herself, but little else. But she looked like she’d bathed sometime recently, and was now clad in simple but clean clothing. She seemed happy enough, too, sitting on her bed and reading a copy of ABCs for Barbarians. She looked up with curiosity as he stopped at her open door, and her expression quickly shifted to excitement as she recognized her visitor.

“Ulveth!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “What are you doing here, five-claw? Rabinna didn’t expect to see you again!”

Ulveth shrugged, giving a small smile. “I was in the area, and thought I’d check in on you. Make sure the Argonians are treating you well.”

“They have been good to Rabinna. Their healer’s been keeping an eye on her now that the moon sugar is… no longer an issue. The bags didn’t leak, so now they want to make sure she builds up some strength for the journey to Elsweyr.”

“Must be exciting. I’ve heard stories of the place.”

“So has Rabinna. Her mother told her many stories of it when she was a cub. The plains of Annequina. The jungles of Pellitine. Rabinna is sad her mother did not live to see it, but she will honour her mother’s memory by building a new life there.”

“Any particular plans?” Ulveth asked, taking a seat on the stool.

Rabinna shrugged, sitting back down on the bed. “Rabinna is not sure. The life of a slave is the only one she has ever known. She was born in chains, and she was sure she would die in them. She knows nothing of the wider world.”

“You must have picked up some skills.”

“A few. Rabinna helped out in the plantation kitchen when she was little. That kind of work wouldn’t be so bad. She’s worked the fields too, but… she doesn’t want to do that again.”

Ulveth rubbed his hands absently, trying to think of some way he could help. “Well… the Imperial Cult here in Ebonheart has some teachers. I’m sure they could teach you some things, if you need it.”

Rabinna cocked her head. “They would do that?”

“Their gods call them to help those in need. If that’s not enough, I can offer them payment on your behalf.”

“Rabinna could not ask that of you, Ulveth.”

“You’re my friend, Rabinna. I want to help you out. A little gold’s a small price to pay to make sure you land on your feet.”

Rabinna sniggered. “Khajiit always land on their feet,” she said, reaching out to grip Ulveth’s hand. “Thank you, Ulveth. You are the truest friend Rabinna has known.”

Ulveth was blindsided by the gesture. Her grip was strong, her claws lightly digging into his hand as her fur brushed against his skin. She withdrew her hand after a few seconds, but that left her smiling at him broadly. And as the realisation dawned on him that he too had made a true friend in this strange land, he smiled right back at her.

Ebonheart became a regular stop for Ulveth, and not just for his duties to the Imperial Cult.

He spent plenty of time in the Imperial Chapels, of course. With the Blight spreading and the quarantine taking its toll economically, the Cult’s services to the sick and the poor were in more demand than ever. When he wasn’t collecting alms, he was out gathering potion ingredients or pulling duty as a shrine sergeant. It was at the point where he didn’t even consider it part of his cover – he felt genuine fulfilment from his work, and was coming to consider the faithful at the Imperial Chapels his friends. Especially in the case of one new member in particular.

Rabinna was flavour of the month at the Chapels. Her brush with death and fortunate escape earned her great sympathy, and certainly did Ulveth’s own reputation no ill. Synnolian had taken her under his wing, allowing her to help him brew his healing and curative potions. Iulus had also begun tutoring her, be it in literacy, numeracy or basic history. Whenever Ulveth returned from his travels, she would gleefully share some new knowledge she’d read with him, or slip him an extra potion or two she’d put aside for his use.

And happy as he was to see her, he grimly knew he’d need all the potions he could get.

Caius had finally come clean with him. The only reason Ulveth had even been brought to Morrowind was his fortuitous alignment with a local superstition about Indoril Nerevar’s reincarnation, which the Emperor himself hoped to use to the Empire’s advantage. Ulveth was initially incensed at the cynicism of it, but a long talk with an Ashlander wise woman named Sul-Matuul had left him feeling unusually shaken as he left her yurt. There was a lot more to the Nerevarine prophecy than he realised, not least of all in the threat that Dagoth Ur posed. Already, he’d been having nightmares about his encounters with Dagoth’s deranged Sixth House cult, having freed the son of one of his contacts from their clutches. Dark, deranged magic was at play in Vvardenfell, and he was squarely in the middle of it.

Spending time with Rabinna was one of the few things he found himself looking forward to. That particular evening, he took his Khajiit friend out for a picnic dinner down by the shore. They dined well on fried mudcrab meat and bread smeared with scuttle, but it was Rabinna’s glazed ash yams that truly stood out. As far as Ulveth was concerned, she had a career as a chef ahead of her.

“This is fantastic!” Ulveth said, licking the sauce from his fingers. “What’s your secret, Rabinna?”

She shook her head, grinning widely. “Not telling. Otherwise, it would no longer be a secret.”

“It’s not moon sugar is it?”

Rabinna gasped in mock indignation. “So, you think that just because Rabinna is a Khajiit, she would use moon sugar in her cooking?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! She would if she could. Alas, she was forced to make do with regular sugar.”

“Your cooking’s addictive enough already,” Ulveth said, taking a bite from another yam. “Don’t suppose I could get some more of these yams for a future trip? I’ve got a big one ahead in the near future.”

“Gladly, friend. Another shrine sergeant mission?”

“No. No, it’s… different.” Sighing, he glanced around the shore, making sure they were alone. “Rabinna, you know that old prophecy I told you about?”

Rabinna nodded. “The Nerevarine? An interesting tale. Iulus says that the Tribunal Temple looks down on it, but still takes it very seriously when people come along claiming to be Nerevarine.”

“That’s right. The reason I visited those Ashlanders was to investigate the legend. Now… I think there may be something to it.”

Rabinna cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“The prophecy is heavily intertwined with House Dagoth, the Sixth House. They’ve been behind attacks on some important Imperial authorities, and they’ve given me a job to investigate a Sixth House base.”
Beside him, Rabinna sat still and attentive, eyes wide. “Ulveth, that sounds like more than a single adventurer can handle.”

“I’ve already cleared out one of their bases. It’s not impossible. But… the things I saw there were unlike anything I’ve seen before. Men and women out of their minds, their bodies twisted by Corprus…” Ulveth sighed deeply. “Something’s terribly wrong in Vvardenfell, Rabinna. It’s clear to me that Dagoth Ur’s behind it, and he’s only getting stronger. His followers grow brazen, and the Blight’s getting worse. I doubt I can stop it on my own, but… I have to do something.”

Silence hung over the pair for a long time, broken only by the waves crashing against the shore. Rabinna stared at him for a long time before she spoke again. When she did, she placed a hand on his wrist.
“Rabinna wishes she could say she was surprised. She knows you have a good heart. But promise her you will be safe. Take a scroll of Divine Intervention or two, just in case.”

“I will. But it might be time that you ask Im-Kilaya for help leaving Vvardenfell. It might not be safe here for much longer.”

“No,” Rabinna replied firmly. “You did not abandon Rabinna to her fate, and she will not do the same of you. If you are going to join this fight against Dagoth Ur, she will have your back.”

There was such an edge in her voice that Ulveth knew there was no point in arguing. “You’re one to claim I have a good heart. Just… maybe ask Sarmosia to show you a thing or two about fighting. Just in case.”

Rabinna smirked. “What makes you think Rabinna hasn’t already? She doubts that her former owners will track her down, but she is making sure she is ready just in case. There is much to learn, but Khajiit are quick learners.” She chuckled, though it trailed off into a sigh. “You, on the other hand… storming a cultist hideout head-on is a great way to get killed.”

“I’ll do some more training. Thinking of joining up with House Redoran, in fact. If there’s any House that can stand against Dagoth Ur, it’s them.”

“If you’re sure,” Rabinna said. “Rabinna hears they are traditionalists. She hopes that doesn’t include slavery.”

“They’re not big on it. And I swear to you, I won’t let the slaves be ignored in the fight against Dagoth.”

At that, Rabinna beamed. “Very heroic of you, five-claw. Perhaps you should try your hand at being Nerevarine.”

Ulveth smiled, but there was no joy behind it. “Perhaps.”

Chapter Text

The twin moons shone bright over Vvardenfell, as Ulveth led the slow procession of slaves across the West Gash and into the swamps of the Bitter Coast.

The Redoran half of his mission was completed. The Caldera Mine had been shut down just as Councilman Llethri had asked, though Ulveth had taken some initiative in his methodology. The mine couldn’t operate without its slaves, and his initial visit to scout out the mine had only confirmed his fears about the conditions there. A combination of carefully-timed distractions, precisely-applied illusion magic and some good old-fashioned violence had brought freedom to the long-suffering miners, who were now looking much more cheerful as they followed after him.

They reminded Ulveth of Rabinna. Not when he’d first laid eyes on her, quiet and fearful, but when she had so quickly blossomed after she realized that he was going to help her. The slaves – a mixture of Khajiit and Argonians – seemingly had little to celebrate. Most looked gaunt and battered, with young Kiseena missing a large patch of fur on her back thanks to one of the mages guarding the mine. But after passing around some bread, water and restorative potions, they had all received a second wind. Some whispered among themselves excitedly, while others looked to the sky in wonder and savoured the smell of fresh air. Ulveth allowed himself no such luxury, keeping his eyes peeled for any pursuers or hostile wildlife.

Dahleena – something of a leader among the slaves – walked beside him, supporting Kiseena as she hobbled along. After whispering a soft reassurance to the younger Khajiit in Ta’agra, Dahleena glanced over to him. “How much further, sera? Kiseena’s burns make it hard for her to walk far.”

“Not far, five-claw,” Ulveth assured her. “I have a boat waiting just southeast of Gnaar Mok, beyond the mountain. Won’t take us long, but we have to keep moving.”

Dahleena didn’t respond, and Ulveth looked over to make sure she’d heard him. He instead found her grinning at him in amusement.

“What?” he asked.

“You call Dahleena five-claw. She did not expect such a compliment from a Dunmer.”

Ulveth shrugged. “A Khajiiti friend of mine calls me that. I assumed it was slang.”

“It is a compliment of one’s skills. Your friend must have good reason to call you that.”

It was Ulveth’s turn to smile. “We’ve helped each other out.”

Ulveth’s fears eased a little as he spotted the boat out in the gloom, dimly illuminated by a pair of hooded lamps. Several figures milled about it – a motley group of men, mer and betmer, all members of the Twin Lamps. There was a single Khajiit among the crew, kneeling on the shore beside a kwama forager as she harvested its cuttle. She looked up at the approaching group with glowing eyes, quickly packing away the cuttle and rising to her feet.

“Have you seen the Twin Lamps?” Rabinna asked, her voice drifting along the night air like a gentle breeze.

“They light the way to freedom,” Ulveth replied, grinning. The code phrases weren’t strictly necessary, but it didn’t hurt to put on a little show for the escapees. There wasn’t a slave on the island who hadn’t heard of the Twin Lamps, and they’d rejoice in knowing they were in safe hands.

Rabinna certainly didn’t hesitate, stepping forward to help Dahleena with Kiseena. “Come, friends,” Rabinna said. “We have food and medicine, and will be meeting another boat out at sea to take you home. We must be well underway before first light.”

The slaves wasted no time. Soon enough, they were all aboard, chatting among themselves and the Twin Lamps agents in merry but quietened voices. The food was passed around, along with a bottle of mazte. All the while, Rabinna tended to Kiseena, weaving a healing spell across the other Khajiit’s back.

“How does that feel?” Rabinna asked.

Kiseena sighed in relief. “Like a warm bath after a hard day. Thank you, friend.”

“You are welcome. Rabinna thinks we have some burn salve on hand. She will check.” It was only then she noticed Ulveth lingering by the shore, and her smile faded. “You are not coming?”
Ulveth shook his head, nodding north. “The Sixth House base is close by. I’ve waited long enough to face it.”

Crossing the deck, Rabinna gracefully hopped off onto the shore before him. “There’s no way Rabinna can talk you out of this?”

“Rabinna, if someone doesn’t put a stop to Dagoth Ur, everyone in Morrowind is at risk. Perhaps even in all of Tamriel. I… I’ve never seen myself as much of a hero, but I’m in a position where I can do something. I can’t stand the thought of my friends in danger.”

Rabinna nodded slowly, taking a few items from her satchel. “Take these, at least. Potions. Scrolls. You’ll need them.”

“Thank you, dear friend,” Ulveth said, putting her gifts away. “Be safe.”

“And you, five-claw.”

She waited only to wrap her arms around him for a moment, holding him close and tight, before hopping back onto the ship. Ulveth didn’t wait to see them off, instead beginning his cold and lonely march north towards his next target. A successful mission should have brought some confidence, but he was left only with a gnawing dread.

In his foolishness, Ulveth thought he had succeeded. But as Dagoth Gares uttered his dying curse, Ulveth realized something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

He knew he was ill long before his boat made it to Ebonheart. Something he’d picked up in the swamp, he’d hoped against hoped. But the curative potions didn’t work. Not the ones for common diseases. Not the ones for blight diseases. Not even the ones for dispelling magical effects. His legs were shaking as he stepped off the boat, and he would never have made it as far as the Imperial Chapels if Rabinna hadn’t been waiting at the docks and helped him stagger the rest of the way.

Sitting hunched over in the Imperial Chapel’s front pew, he sat as still and calmly as he could as Synnolian examined him. The shaking was getting worse, even without his head feeling like it was about to fold in on itself. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at the others – they all stood well back watching in horror and sympathy, with Sarmosia gently comforting a distraught Rabinna. Her worry tore his heart out, but it was Caius who had his attention.

“Well?” Caius asked, having dropped his skooma addict act as soon as he’d entered the Chapels. “What’s his condition?”

Synnolian took a step back, wiping his hands on an alcohol-dampened cloth. “Not good. His symptoms match that of corprus. The Divine Disease.”

It was the diagnosis Ulveth had been dreading, but it didn’t bring the crushing terror he’d expected. More a sense of bitter resignation. He had so much more he wanted to do. To see the fight against Dagoth Ur to its end. To continue his work with the Imperial Cult and the Twin Lamps. Perhaps even join Rabinna in seeing Elsweyr, one day. But it was not to be. He was going to be reduced to a mindless beast like all the other corprus victims, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

“No!” Rabinna whimpered. “No, that can’t be!”

Lalatia put a comforting hand on her arm and whispered some small assurance, before looking to Synnolian. “Are we in danger?”

“Not from the amount of contact we’ve had since his return to Ebonheart. But he cannot stay here.” Sighing deeply, Synnolian looked Ulveth in the eye. “I’m so sorry, my friend. But for your safety, and that of others, you’ll have to go to the Corprusarium at Tel Fyr.”

“Good,” Caius said. “I have a plan.”

All eyes turned to the Imperial, who crossed the chapel to sit beside Ulveth.

“I canvassed my… associates for possible treatments, just in case you contracted the disease during your adventures,” Caius explained. “I learned from that your best chance of getting cured is Divayth Fyr, an ancient Telvanni wizard who runs the Corprusarium.”

It was a slim hope, but Ulveth saw no better options. “Guess I’m going to Tel Fyr one way or another…”

“Not alone, you aren’t,” Rabinna said, wiping her eyes. “Rabinna will make sure you get there safety, and stay by your side as you are treated.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” Ulveth warned – he knew better than to try and outright turn her down. “Even if I don’t accidentally infect you, it’s right in the heart of Telvanni territory.”

“Rabinna knows. But she can’t let you face this alone.”

Concerned as he was for her safety, Ulveth couldn’t help but feel touched by the gesture. His life hung in the balance, and Rabinna remained steadfast. “We shouldn’t wait around, then. I’ve seen what corprus does to its victims. I don’t want to end up like that.”

“And you won’t. Not if Rabinna can help it.”

Saying goodbye to the denizens of the Imperial Chapels was like attending Ulveth’s own funeral. Every farewell had the hint of a eulogy, steeped in the knowledge that his chances of return were exceedingly slim. Wrapping his mouth with a cloth to avoid breathing on people certainly didn’t make him feel any less like a mummified corpse. But between Caius and Rabinna, there was some semblance of hope. Rabinna hurriedly prepared a collection of potions and scrolls, just as she would for any other outing, her initial worry subsumed by determination. Caius also walked the pair down to the docks, stopping in a quiet corner away from earshot. There, he handed Ulveth a surprisingly heavy satchel.

“Here. Take this Dwemer artifact and 1000 drakes. Divayth Fyr will like the Dwemer artifact. A gift may sweeten his disposition. The gold is for expenses. And here're a couple of levitation potions. I hear you'll need them in Telvanni towers, because wizards don't use stairs. So get moving, and get that corprus disease cured. Then hurry back.”

“A Dwemer artifact?” Rabinna asked in astonishment, peering into the satchel. “Are they not… illegal?”

Caius shrugged indifferently. “Yes, it's treason to trade in Dwemer artifacts, but don't worry about it. And, yes, it's worth a fortune. But Ulveth here is worth it.” The old Imperial paused, clapping Ulveth on the shoulder. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

Getting to Tel Fyr was not going to be easy, not least of all in getting a ship captain to carry a corprus victim. Ulveth finally got a taker, who charged thrice his usual rate and demanded Ulveth isolate himself up on the deck. Rabinna was under no such restriction, but she settled in opposite him – far enough away to avoid infection, but close enough to keep him company.

“How are you feeling?” Rabinna asked, once they were underway.

Ulveth shrugged. “Can’t focus. Can barely think straight. Shakes are getting worse. Kinda like I had a party last night, only not as bad.”

Rabinna barely smiled. “At least you’re still… you. Rabinna is not about to give up on you yet.”

“Let’s wait and see what this Fyr fellow has to say. But… you have to be ready for every possible outcome.”

“That you succumb to the Divine Disease?”

Ulveth nodded. “I wouldn’t be the first, and I won’t be the last.”

Rabinna drew her legs up, hugging them close. “Rabinna doesn’t know what she’d do without you.”

The immediate temptation was to shuffle over beside her. Perhaps even draw her close, reassuringly. But Ulveth kept his distance – he couldn’t live with himself if she also got sick. “Rabinna, you’ve come a long way since we first met. You’ve proven yourself smarter and more dedicated to learning than I ever was. You’ll be fine.”

“Rabinna does not want to be fine! She wants her friend!” She paused, lowering her eyes. “You saved Rabinna’s life, Ulveth. You helped her build a new one, and find more purpose than she ever thought she would ever feel. You mean the world to her.”

Ulveth stared at her a few moments, before tentatively reaching out. Synnolian had also wrapped his hands in cloth, but advised him to avoid touching others. Even so, Rabinna showed no hesitation in reaching out to hold his hand.

“I feel the same way,” Ulveth said. “Whatever Fyr comes up with, if there’s a chance for me to overcome this, I’ll fight for it. For you.”

Rabinna’s grip tightened. “Thank you, five-claw. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

For what felt like an age after he took Fyr’s potion, Ulveth let the wizard poke, prod and scry him. Both of them were in utter disbelief at the results.

Divayth Fyr had been upfront. He offered no guarantees, no miracles, and no denial of what might await if treatment failed. Having walked among the unfortunates of the Corprusarium, Ulveth had decided that death during treatment was a better fate than being reduced to a mindless beast. Even becoming immobilised and cloistered like Yagrum Bagarn was not something Ulveth could see himself withstanding. He had taken the potion with little hesitation, only pausing to make what was perhaps his first genuine prayer to the Nine. Divayth had found it amusing, but that faded quickly.

“Amazing,” Fyr muttered. “I think it worked. No sign of the disease at all.”

“Does that mean I’m cured?” Ulveth asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“In a sense. You still have corprus disease, just like I planned. But all your symptoms are gone. Marvelous. I'll go try it out on some of the more desperate inmates…"

“Wait, what about infection? Can I spread it?”

Fyr turned away from him, scribbling down some notes. “No, no. Not at all. In fact, you need not worry about spreading anything. Did you know that corprus makes you immune to disease?”

Ulveth tilted his head. “No. I didn’t.”

“Now you do. And have you ever heard of the prophecies of the Nerevarine? Ashlanders say the Nerevarine will be immune to disease. I've always thought, ‘Maybe I have the Nerevarine down in my Corprusarium, and I don't even know it.’” Fyr chuckled to himself. “The Nerevarine is a fat, disgusting corprus monster, and mad as a marsh rat. Wouldn't that be funny?"

“Indeed. But… you know of the other requirements for the Nerevarine?”

“I do. Just Ashlander superstitions. Or maybe not. Never can tell where prophecy and Azura are concerned.” Fyr paused, glancing back at Ulveth. “Where were you born?”

“Cyrodiil.”

“To whom?”

“I don’t know. I was an orphan.”

“Under which star?”

“The Lady, they think.”

Fyr frowned thoughtfully. “An outlander born on a certain day to uncertain parents. That's a fascinating story you tell. So, you might be the Nerevarine. Time will tell.”

“I suppose it will. Thank you, Divayth.”

“And you, Ulveth. You’ve been a most enlightening test subject.”

Ulveth found Rabinna downstairs, helping Beyte Fyr prepare a meal. The young Dunmer woman listened on intently as Rabinna spoke, utterly enraptured by the Khajiit’s words. Unsure as he was about Divayth creating daughter-clones, Ulveth wouldn’t dare to doubt their hospitality.

“Rabinna thought she was going to die,” she said, not looking up from the meat she was cutting. “But then Ulveth gave her some food. He spoke to her like he cared what became of her. And so she told him the truth, and he took her to Ebonheart to be freed. Rabinna now lives, all thanks to him.”

“He sounds like a kind soul,” Beyte said.

“Truly. He could have stopped there. But once Rabinna was safe with the Twin Lamps, he still came by to check up on her. He introduced her to some teachers. He has even worked with her to help free more slaves. But now… now she might lose him.”

Beyte glanced over her shoulder to the doorway, spotting Ulveth listening in. “Perhaps not.”

Rabinna spun around, raising a hand to her mouth as she saw him. “Ulveth! Are you…?”

“Cured,” he said, smiling. “More or less. Technically, Divayth only-”

He didn’t get to finish, as Rabinna practically threw herself onto him. He caught her easily, holding her close as she embraced him.

“Thank the Nine!” she cried. “Oh, Ulveth, Rabinna was so worried…”

“Me too. But here I am. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Neither of them were that night, with Divayth’s daughters insisting that they stay for dinner. It proved a good decision, too, as Tel Fyr was soon wracked a blight storm blowing down from Red Mountain. Howling winds surrounded the tower, muffled by its fungal walls. Dinner proceeded with no regard for the weather, with the girls serving up a tasty helping of fried fish on a saltrice base. For most of the evening, Divayth’s daughters monopolized the conversation, eager to learn of Rabinna’s background and experiences. But as that recounting caught up with the present, Ulveth quickly found the focus of conversation landing on him.

“And what of you, Ulveth?” Uupse asked. “What’s your story? An adventurer, perhaps?”

“Me?” Ulveth asked, genuinely surprised by the attention. “Oh, I’m nobody. Just a lay servant of the Imperial Cult.”

“You are an outlander, though,” Alfe noted. “Were you born in Cyrodiil? Skyrim?”

“Cyrodiil, yes. I was raised in an orphanage there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Beyte said. “Were you adopted?”

Ulveth looked down at his food, bittersweet memories stirring from long dormancy. “Yes. Just before I was old enough to leave on my own, I was adopted by an Imperial veteran. A widower. His wife and son died in one of the conflicts during the Simulacrum. Guess he wanted a replacement.”

“Was he a good father?”

“Better than I deserved. I was the only Dunmer in the orphanage, and the other orphans never let me forget it. I wasn’t the most appealing choice to prospective parents. Might be why old Arrilius saw something in me. Someone who needed some good old-fashioned Legion discipline. He was a hard man, but never unfair.” Ulveth poked at his fish absently. “I miss him.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Uupse said.

Ulveth gave her a small smile. “Thank you. He led a long and hard life, and he died in his sleep an old man. Of course, Dunmer live a long time, so outliving him was inevitable. Still… I mourned for him. Thought about joining the Legion, and using the fighting skills he taught me. But… I wanted to live for myself.”

“And so you wound up here,” Alfe said.

“Eventually,” Ulveth replied. “For many years I was a sellsword, pursuing gold and fame and women. Took a shady contract that was too good to be true, and… paid the price. Did time, got sent here, and have been trying to make up for it since.”

Beneath the table, Ulveth felt a tight, fuzzy grip on his hand. He glanced over to Rabinna, who stared at him with a quiet intensity in her yellow eyes. She’d spoken of her mother and the pain of losing her before, but hadn’t inquired much about Ulveth’s own family. He’d figured she didn’t want to pry, or had at least assumed he’d speak of them when he felt ready. Normally, it was something he spoke of to nobody. But something was different that night. It may have been his brush with death, or the curiosity of the Fyr sisters. Or it may well have been that he finally found someone he trusted deeply enough to freely speak of his past.

The winds were still howling outside by the time Ulveth and Rabinna retired to the guest room. After stripping off his armour, Ulveth settled into one of the beds between the racer plume mattress and blight moth sheets. Days of stress and illness had taken its toll, and he felt ready to doze off there and then. But there was no missing the feeling of someone lifting the blanket on the opposite side of the bed. He glanced over to find Rabinna – having shed her robe down to her regular clothing – halfway into climbing in beside him, pausing as their eyes met.

“Oh… you don’t mind, do you?” Rabinna asked.

“No, feel free.”

Rabinna settled in beside him on her side. He rolled over to face her, watching her get comfortable. The contentment in her expression – coupled with the gentle purring that came with it – soon had him smiling too.

“How are you feeling, dear friend?” Rabinna whispered.

“Much better. Still… different, but at least my mind is still my own.”

“Different?”

“Stronger, I think. Like my body had already begun to change. And then there’s the whole aging thing…”

“You’re going to live forever.”

“Well, I won’t age, apparently. Perfectly mortal otherwise. Still… hard to wrap my head around.”

Rabinna lifted a hand to his cheek. “You will find a way to live with it. Many would kill for that kind of chance.”

“I don’t know. I outlived Arrilius. I don’t want to keep doing that to people I care about.”

“You’re afraid that you will outlive Rabinna?”

Ulveth felt a knot in his stomach. “I am. Not just of old age, but… with all that’s going on in Vvardenfell, if something were to happen to you…”

“Rabinna is not going anywhere,” she assured him. “She is careful. She is swift. But most importantly, she does not plan on leaving her dear Ulveth to fend for himself.”

“I don’t think I could have done this without you, Rabinna. You helped me become a better person than I was. Better than I might have been.”

“You always had it in you, Ulveth. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but you found the will to keep going and do better. Arrilius would be proud of the man you’ve grown into.”

Ulveth brushed a hand against her cheek, her fur soft and velvety to the touch. She shifted position, wrapping her arms around him and moving right up against him, nose pressed to his. The feel of her body against his was enough to make his heart flutter, but he did his best to get a hold of himself. He’d shared a bed with plenty of women before, and there he was as flustered as a novice. Then again, his past intimacy had always been bought with gold. For once, he found himself beside a woman who he truly cared for.

“Rabinna…” he whispered.

Words couldn’t describe how he felt. Not when he wasn’t all too sure of his feelings himself. But Rabinna only smiled in response, and made herself very clear as she moved in. Their kiss was long, deep and electrifying, leaving him feeling as though Nirn itself had shifted beneath him. Even as they parted, he could only stare dumbfounded at her bright eyes and wide grin.

“Rabinna loves you, Ulveth,” she whispered. “She doesn’t care that you will outlive her. She doesn’t care that you are Dunmer. She loves you, and she wants to walk the sands of life beside you.”

Ulveth gave a relieved sigh. “And I love you, Rabinna. Nothing would honour me more than to walk with you… serush.”

Rabbina laughed, delighted to be called beautiful in her native tongue. “So you did read that book on Ta’agra that Rabbina lent you! Kha'jay krimir iso jer!”

“Wait… that’s… ‘moons smile upon me’?”

Rabinna nodded. “Upon you, but yes. Now, did the book tell you what zuub-zuub means?”

Ulveth frowned. “Zuub-zuub? I don’t know that one. Sounds silly.”

“Oh, it is very serious, five-claw!” Rabinna said, climbing over to straddle him. “Perhaps a practical demonstration would be best.”

The wind outside didn’t die down until the earliest hours of the morning, but the pair hardly noticed. By then they had long drifted into an exhausted but satisfied slumber, still nestled in each other’s arms.

On a clear day, it was easy to see Red Mountain from Bal Isra. Granted, there were few places on the island where the looming volcano wasn’t visible, and it was said even mainlanders could spy its peak from hundreds of miles inland. But it was the Ashlands that offered the starkest view, granting the true awe of the mountain’s size and the power of its bellowing plumes. But with the blight storms worsening by the day, the times when Red Mountain was visible grew fewer and fewer.

From the Indarys Manor watchtower, Ulveth surveyed the oncoming storm looming high across the Ashlands like a solid wall of dust. He was getting used to gauging the storms’ time to arrival. Normally from that distance he’d have estimated half an hour, but his predictions had very nearly proven wrong on several recent occasions. He couldn’t afford the consequences if he was; not when more lives than ever counted on him.

Indarys Manor was quite an average holding as far as the properties of Redoran Kinsmen went – a small collection of buildings huddled behind a protective wall, situated strategically on a key road from Ald’ruhn to Maar Gan. A standard rest stop and trading post. But to Ulveth, it was the first time since Arrilius’ death that he had a proper place to call home. He was proud of how far he’d managed to rise through the ranks of House Redoran, though he refused to allow himself complacency. Not when the blight storms worsened, and the influence of Dagoth Ur loomed ever higher.

“It’s going to be a bad one,” he said to the Dunmer beside him, if only to break the silence. “I’ll warn the people in the main building, if you want to take care of the others.”

Uvele Berendas nodded, but made no move to obey. He instead kept his eyes firmly on the horizon, his expression hard and his scarlet eyes unblinking. “This can’t keep getting worse. Something has to give.”

Ulveth nodded, but held off on answering to pick his next words carefully. The rumours of his place in the Nerevarine prophecy were already spreading, flowing from his miracle survival of the Divine Disease like ripples in a lake. Not even House Redoran was immune to such gossip – if anything, its traditionalism made it a tinderbox of religious tensions. False Incarnates would find no love among its ranks, and Ulveth dreaded to think what might happen if the prophecies kept coming true. He couldn’t shake the feeling he would soon find out.

“I shall pray to the Three for guidance,” Ulveth said. It was true enough, though he had higher hopes that the Nine might offer more. “Until then, I’ll check on our stockpile. Rabinna thinks we have enough provisions for a few days, should the storm linger.”

It was at mention of Rabinna that Berendas turned his focus to Ulveth. “It was very wise of her to make such preparations. But we must speak some time of your Khajiit friend’s less… agreeable plans.”
Ulveth tilted his head.

“She asked me if I would be prepared to accommodate a small shrine to the Nine Divines,” Berendas continued, disdain clear in his scowl. “I held my tongue out of respect for you, but I must protest, muthsera. This is a Redoran outpost, not an Imperial fort. There is no place for foreign gods here.”

“I understand, sera,” Ulveth replied. “You serve us well as our outpost’s priest, and I would not ask you to maintain a shrine to another faith. But I would ask you to make the arrangements for such a shrine to be established on the grounds. I will foot the bill, and ask Rabinna to maintain it herself. But we cannot deny her – or any who might seek solace here – the chance to practice faith as you do.”
Berendas regarded him reservedly. “A very egalitarian view of theology.”

“I merely seek to accommodate the residents of my stronghold. I know that Heniele often prays with Rabinna; I’m sure she would be similarly grateful.”

Ulveth had seen enough of Berendas’ interactions with Heniele to know the priest had a soft spot for her. Heniele was an escaped slave rescued by the Twin Lamps, and had taken up an offer to settle at the Manor in exchange for keeping an open mind about its multitude of single men. Berendas was the last person Ulveth had expected to take to the young Breton, but was hardly in a position to judge. His own relationship with Rabinna was far from secret.

“As you wish, muthsera,” Berendas replied, turning for the watchtower’s ladder. “I will write to the priest at Fort Buckmoth and see what I can arrange.”

Ulveth didn’t hang around either, crossing the compound to the manor proper. Descending to its lower level brought the usual tinge of safety and relief, soon shifting to belonging as he saw the handful of oathmen gathered in the communal dining area. They spoke merrily over a bottle of flin, glancing hopefully to where Heniele and Rabinna were preparing dinner. Rabinna’s Elsweyr-styled meals based on local game and produce had proven popular, and Heniele was eager to learn how to replicate it. The rest of the Manor’s residents were simply eager to eat it, and the growling in Ulveth’s stomach left him inclined to agree.

“Here you are,” Heniele said, putting down a steaming platter before the oathmen. “Khajiiti sweet-stuffed cliff racer, served with Pellitine tomato saltrice.”

“Oh, you spoil us, Heniele!” Mavis Nadram exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “You too, Rabinna. I didn’t even know they had cliff racers in Elsweyr!”

“Rabinna doesn’t think we do,” Rabinna replied, readying another platter. “Thankfully.”

Ulveth smiled, walking over to take the platter from her to serve. As he did, she deliberately brushed her hands against his, smiling up at him fondly. “Everything okay, five-claw?”

“Big blight storm on the way,” Ulveth said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’ll be here in less than half an hour.”

“Let it come!” Garila Vedas said around a mouthful of her dinner. “We’ve got good food, good drink and good company. We can wait it out.”

“The blight storms have been getting worse,” Nadram pointed out. “We won’t be partying when the corprus stalkers are swarming the walls. I tell you, if enough people catch the divine disease…”

Vedas shrugged. “Take it up with Dagoth Ur. Or better yet, petition the Tribunal to put him in his place.”

“They would have already if they could,” Nadram replied. “No, something’s not right. If the Ghostfence is failing, that means the Tribunal is weakening. And Dagoth Ur’s power is growing…”

“You’re treading on blasphemous ground,” Vedas said, though her tone was more that of a warning than an admonition.

“I don’t care,” Nadram said. “You heard what Ulveth said about the tunnels underneath Kogoruhn. The Ghostfence isn’t enough to keep the Sixth House contained.”

Ulveth cleared his throat lightly, putting the platter down before Nadram. “There is much we don’t yet know. But rather than catastrophise, we must instead ready ourselves. Once the storm clears, I intend to travel around the Ghostfence to survey any other points of Sixth House activity.”

“And the rest of us?” Vedas asked. “You can’t expect the rest of us to sit on our hands.”

“Last I checked, I was the only one here immune to the Blight,” Ulveth replied. “You’re all safer here for the moment. Though if you could sweep up a bit once the storm clears, I’d appreciate it.”

The storm was well underway by the time Ulveth and Rabinna retired to their room, preparing for Ulveth’s expedition. Since settling at Indarys Manor, such preparations had become second habit. Rabinna had a veritable laboratory set up to prepare potions, while Ulveth had a small armory’s worth of equipment and the tools to maintain them. He lay his armor and weapons down beside Rabinna’s latest batch of potions, turning to exchange a satisfied smile with her. And soon, they were nestled up together in bed.

“So, you’re going around the Ghostfence?” Rabinna asked, stroking his cheek.

“Mhmm. But there’s one other place I wanted to visit, that I didn’t want to tell the others about. The Cavern of the Incarnate.”

Rabinna stared at him for a moment. They’d both pored over the Nerevarine prophecies, and they both knew full well what lay ahead for him there. “The third trial.”

Ulveth nodded. “If anything’s going to prove that I’m the Nerevarine, it’ll be whatever faces me in that cavern.”

“Will it be dangerous?”

“I don’t think so. But getting there will be, especially so close to the Ghost Fence. The best approach is across the Ashlands towards the Grazelands.”

“Not an easy journey after an ash storm,” Rabinna pointed out.

“No,” Ulveth replied. “Perhaps you’d like to come along? You were a great help at Kogoruhn.”

Rabinna smirked. “This one just helped set up camp at the top of the stronghold. She swatted away a few cliffracers that tried to steal our supplies.”

“That’s still no small feat. But you said you wanted some experience in the field, and I’d be happy to take you along. Especially since I could use some company.”

“Of course, Ulveth,” Rabinna said, drawing him closer for a kiss. “Can’t have you facing an ancient prophecy on your own, can we?”

Chapter Text

The roads outside Ald-run were almost completely covered in ash. Long-dead trees had been uprooted, and the shrubs that clung to life in the ash had been left shredded and dishevelled. The wind had died down, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. The pair strode through the ash all the same, though the devastation around them silenced the usual banter of their walks.

Ulveth kept his spear at the ready for any dangers – safe as he felt in his bonemold armor, Rabinna preferred a much lighter chitin set that he doubted would hold up well in a real fight. Then again, she’d shown some remarkable agility before while wearing it, having taken down a charging kagouti without taking a scratch on their last outing. He tried to reassure himself that she was perfectly capable of protecting herself, but it was hard when he cared so deeply for her.

He glanced over to Rabinna, watching her walk confident yet alert. She had a silver staff in hand, using it as a walking stick. Her face was hidden behind a custom-made helmet he’d had commissioned for her, seeing as most Dunmer-designed chitin helmets didn’t account for betmer muzzles. Accordingly, her helmet was extended to cover her nose, leaving her mouth covered by thick cloth to protect against ash. The triangular ear-protectors on top were a tad much, but Rabinna had found them adorable. Even thinking back to her joy left Ulveth smiling, though it faded as she stopped in her tracks.

“There’s something up ahead,” Rabinna said, nodding down the road. “Dead animal, Rabinna thinks.”

Ulveth trudged forward, spear at the ready. She’d been right – a guar lay half-buried in the ash not far ahead of it, the contents of its saddlebags strewn across the ground.

“Merchant’s pack guar, by the looks of it,” Ulveth said, kneeling down to examine the wares. “Poor fetchers must have been caught in the storm.”

“There’s a cart down there!” Rabinna said, peering over an embankment beside the road. “It must have rolled down!”

Ulveth skidded down the incline, coming to a rest beside the wreck. Several guards in chitin armour lay dead beside the cart, which had come to a rest upside down and crushed its covering. An arm was splayed out from beneath it, unmoving.

A scaly arm bearing a slave bracer.

Disgust and despair roiled in Ulveth’s stomach, but he knelt down to check for a pulse. He found a sign of life alright – the hand suddenly grasped his arm as soon as his fingers brushed against it.

“Help…” came a weak voice underneath the cart.

“By the Nine!” Ulveth uttered, before catching himself. It was an exclamation he’d been trying to avoid since joining the Redoran. “Hold on! I’ll get you out! Rabinna, I’ll need your help!”

Between the two of them, they managed to lift the cart enough for the surviving occupant to crawl out. Then another, who helped him pull out another two along. Hope swelled in Ulveth’s chest until they pulled out a body – a young Khajiit man, whose neck had been broken during the crash. An old Argonian woman cradled his body close, stroking his forehead, while Ulveth and Rabinna checked over the others. Steeling himself against despair, Ulveth focused on casting Rilm’s Gift to ensure that they caught no blight from their exposure to the storm. Rabinna could do a better job of it than he, but she needed to save her magicka for their gashes and broken bones.

“Do you want me to get help?” Ulveth asked, as she began to slow down on her last patient. “I can Intervention to Ald-ruhn, if need be.”

“No!” hissed one of the surviving slaves, a one-eyed man nursing his newly-unbroken arm. Ulveth had originally thought he was a Bosmer, but his accent made it clear he was actually an Ohmes Khajiit. “No guards! This is our chance to escape, and we won’t let you take it from us!”

Ulveth raised his hands. “I have seen the Twin Lamps. They light the way to freedom.”

The man glared at him a moment, before turning to Rabinna. She cast Balyna's Balm onto the elderly Argonian, but her attention was firmly on the other Khajiit. Ulveth couldn’t see her eyes beneath her helmet, but he could hear the sternness of her voice.

“Ulveth saved this one from slavery,” she said. “You can trust him.”

“And you have our thanks,” said the Argonian woman Rabinna was tending to. “I am Sees-Through-Mist. This is J’Nahara, Dances-Close-To-Fire, and One-Eyed Omrassa.”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Ulveth said. “I am Ulveth, and this is my partner, Rabinna.”

Sees-Through-Mist dipped her head to them both, before turning her gaze to the young man lying dead in her lap. “This was J’Amtaba. A shame you never got to meet him. A troublemaker at times, but such a passionate young man. At least he is now free, in his own way.”

“Arkay shall guide him to the Sands Behind the Stars,” Ulveth said. “My stronghold is not far. If you would permit it, we can ready him for a proper burial there.”

Omrassa shook his head. “No. We can’t risk a Dunmer settlement. We have to move in case Barhren returns.”

“Who?”

“Our master,” Sees-Through-Mist explained. “The old knife-ear’s probably long dead, though.”

“He staggered off after the crash, once the winds died down,” Omrassa added. “He took the keys to our braces.”

“Then I’d better go see what became of him,” Ulveth said.

There was enough of a trail for him to follow, and fortunately the man hadn’t been able to get far. He was curled up behind a rock that had offered some protection from the wind, sparing him from being buried alive. That left his plump form easy to spot, especially with his ostentatious blue robe. But his fortune had barely held beyond survival; he was weak and incoherent as Ulveth examined him, only coming to his senses as Ulveth spent the last of his magicka to heal and cure him. Once he had, the man practically clung to his arm.

“Almsivi bless you, muthsera!” Barhren cried. “I thought I was doomed! I cannot begin to repay you.”

Ulveth raised his hand. “There’s really no need. I only want-”

“Ah, but that is to say I cannot try! Name your price, muthsera. I can give you gold enough that you will never have to work again! I have clout to ingratiate you to some very powerful people! By the Three, I can give you my daughter’s hand in marriage! A place in the nobility!”

“I just want your slaves.”

Barhren stared at him in utter confusion. “Those wretches in the cart? You cannot be serious. They were troublemakers I was giving away as a gift to a rival. Even if they all survived, they’re not worth a fraction of-”

“I’ve named my price.”

For a time, Barhren continued to stare, his brow suddenly furrowing. “You’re an outlander.”

“Very astute.”

“You reek of Imperial self-righteousness. But fine. They key is yours, and I have their papers here in my cloak. I will sign them over to you to do as you please.”

Ulveth bowed his head. Minutes later, he accepted the key and a sheathe of dusty papers roughly signed with a travelling pen. “Thank you, muthsera. Take this scroll. It will transport you to Ald-ruhn.”
“Good. You’d have made a terrible son-in-law anyway…”

By the time Ulveth trudged back to the cart, the others looked ready for their trek back to Indarys Manor. Omrassa held J’Amtaba’s now-wrapped body in his arms, accepting the role of pallbearer with a grim determination etched into his features. J’Nahara and Dances-Close-To-Fire were burying the dead guards, having taken the deceased’s armour for themselves. Sees-Through-Mist helped Rabinna gather up what few supplies they’d managed to salvage, ready for departure.

“We are ready to go, five-claw,” Rabinna said. “Rabinna can lead them back to the stronghold. You go on ahead with your journey.”

“Are you sure?” Ulveth asked. “I don’t mind escorting you and doubling back.”

“Rabinna can handle herself. Besides, it is not so far from here.”

“Alright. Just don’t let Berendas give you trouble. If he takes issue with our guests, tell him he can take it up with me.”

Rabinna slipped off her helmet, and gently helped Ulveth do the same before planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Be careful, five-claw,” she said.

Ulveth smiled. “I will, ahziss arina.”

He caught a glimpse of shock crossing Omrassa’s expression as he turned, and heard a small chuckle from Sees-Through-Mist. It was hardly surprising that their relationship would attract such mixed feelings, but he did his best not to worry about what others might think. Just as with every other outing he’d made in the previous weeks, the thought of returning home to her warmed his heart to no end, and drove him forward with purpose greater than anything else he’d known.

Though depending on what lay ahead in the Cavern of the Incarnate, his purpose could very well change forever.

Ulveth could never get the hang of teleportation spells. Too disorientating, not least of all when cast under duress. But that day marked the first time Ulveth ever collapsed afterwards. The moment he cast his Recall spell back to Indarys Manor, a mixture of fatigue and shock overtook him, and he let his knees give way to deposit him in the ash.

Lying there, he raised his hand against the darkening sky, examining the ring on his finger. It looked so gaudy and ornate, he could scarcely believe its true nature. But the great ring Moon-and-Star now sat upon his finger, and he wasn’t dead from its magic. That spelled only one possibility, as if the visage of Azura hadn’t already confirmed it.

He was the Nerevarine.

Not Peakstar. Not Conoon Chodala. Not one of the spirits who had offered their guidance and boons. He mourned for their deaths, and had sworn that they would not be in vain. But there was now no escaping his fate – it was to be him and him alone to slay Dagoth Ur, or die trying. Or at least that was how it seemed.

As he picked himself up and descended into the manor’s main building, he found the main room deserted save for Rabinna and Dances-Close-To-Fire. The pair sat in the candlelight sharing a bottle of mazte, which Dances was clearly in need of. She sat with her head in her hands, while Rabinna kept a comforting arm around her. For a moment, Ulveth stood still, unsure whether to approach or leave Dances to her grief. But Rabinna gave him a small smile, nodding an invitation to sit.

“We are going to hold a funeral for J’Amtaba tomorrow,” Rabinna said. “J’Nahara has asked to take his remains to Elsweyr. He didn’t want his friend put to rest in the land where they were enslaved.”

Ulveth nodded, taking a seat opposite the pair and removing his helmet. “That’s fair. I’m happy to assist with any necessary preparations.”

“You’ve done more than we could have asked for, sera,” Dances said, wiping her eyes. “You have our thanks.”

“Think nothing of it. Will you be returning to Black Marsh?”

“No, I think I might join J’Nahara. I have no family waiting for me in Black Marsh. I’d much rather face the world as a free woman alongside my friend.”

“Then I wish you all the best. If you need anything for your trip, you need only ask.”

“Thank you,” Dances said. With a sigh, she rose to her feet. “I should get some sleep. Good night to you both.”

“Good night,” Ulveth and Rabinna replied, and the pair were soon left entirely on their own as Dances retired to the shared bedroom.

Rabinna reached across the table, taking Ulveth’s hand in hers. She paused, running a thumb over the ornate star on his ring. Looking up into his eyes, recognition clear in her surprised expression, she received all the answer she needed.

“It’s true, then,” she whispered.

Ulveth shrugged. “So it would seem.”

“Does this mean Rabinna needs to start calling you Nerevar, now?” she asked, smiling coyly.

“Ulveth is fine,” he replied, trying his best to smile back despite his unease. “I’m still me, aren’t I? My own person, not just a vehicle for Nerevar? If my entire life was just… just some lie…”

“Rabinna doubts that the great Dunmer hero Nerevar would zuub-zuub with a Khajiit, Ulveth.”

Ulveth chuckled, feeling the malaise hanging over him loosen. “Probably not.”

Rabinna’s grip on his hand tightened. “You are your own person. Rabinna knows it. And she knows you have what it takes to bring down Dagoth Ur.”

There was no denying that was where his fate lay now. Even so, the very memory of the Sixth House cultists and abominations he’d faced was enough to send a chill down Ulveth’s spine. One way or another, he would have to face them again. Them, and so much more.

“So the prophecy goes. But there’s the whole matter of uniting the Ashlander tribes, and the Great Houses…” Ulveth sighed. “I met the spirits of the failed Incarnates. I heard their stories. This is the stage of the prophecy where so many of them failed.”

Rabinna tilted their head. “What became of them?”

“It varies. Peakstar was the most recent, surviving the Blight only to fail to sway the Great Houses or master the art of battle. A few others were great warriors, but did not heed the politics or counsel they needed. Others were very wise or skilled, but not fighters.”

“You do both well, five-claw.”

Ulveth knew better than to voice his doubt to Rabinna, but she must have still read it in his face.

“You’ve climbed the ranks of the Redoran,” she continued. “You are a respected member of the Imperial Cult. And of course, any warrior who can take on a Sixth House stronghold by himself is truly talented.” Rabinna raised a hand to his cheek, stroking it gently. “Rabinna stands by what she said, Ulveth. You can do this.”

The fire in her eyes was enough to burn away his doubts.

They held J’Amtaba’s funeral at dawn the following day. As the warm glow of the sun touched the Ashlands, the residents of Indarys Manor gathered around the pyre as Ulveth and J’Nahara readied J’Amtaba’s body. Heniele had stayed up late shaping a clay urn for his remains, as well as a handful of his meagre belongings he was to be interred with as per Khajiiti custom – a necklace made by his mother, a polished stone he claimed brought him luck, and the keys to his slave bracers. Apparently there was little else to Khajiiti funeral rites, but J’Amtaba’s friends had not objected to Rabinna reading a prayer to Arkay as his body burned.

Ulveth stood still and silent in respect, even as his mind drifted far beyond the Ashlands. He’d barely slept the night before, in spite of his fatigue, instead lying awake lost in thought in Rabinna’s arms. There was so much to do, and so much risk involved. Even if he managed to secure the support of the Redoran councillors, he’d need to confront Archmaster Venin – there was no way he’d allow an outlander to be named Hortator. House Hlaalu would be a difficult undertaking as well, with rumours of Cammona Tong influences running as high as its own councillors. And as for the Telvanni… if they so much as suspected the extent of his abolitionist sympathies, his options for gaining their support would evaporate.

Rabinna’s hand clasped his, pulling him from his thoughts. Sorrow filled her eyes, whether it was from J’Amtaba’s funeral or his own troubles. The other attendees were similarly morose. Dances sobbing against Sees-Through-Mist’s shoulder. J’Nahara sat hugging his knees, staring into the pyre. Omrassa stood motionless with folded arms, his brow furrowed deeply. Even the Dunmer residents of the Manor looked solemn, mourning the life cut short on the brink of freedom.

Ulveth put a comforting arm around Rabinna, turning his gaze to the crackling pyre. Heavy as his heart was, he knew J’Amtaba’s death would be far from the only one caused by the growing ash storms. How long would it be until settlements like Ald’ruhn would be devastated? Or until Balmora or even Vivec were threatened? He dreaded the thought of things getting that bad, not least of all when it meant the likelihood of Dagoth Ur putting his enigmatic plans into action. There was little doubt in Ulveth’s mind that he had bigger designs for Morrowind that drowning it in ash, but he couldn’t possibly say what the Mad God had in mind.

But looking around at the people around him, Ulveth knew one thing for sure – Nerevarine or no, he would stop at nothing to keep them safe.