The fog had thinned by the time we stopped, settling into low drifting sheets that clung to the ground like something unwilling to leave. We found a fallen log beside the road and made a brief rest there, the damp wood cold even through the layers of my cloak. Olly sat across from me, quieter than usual, his earlier questions still hanging in the air between us, waiting to be answered.
I didn't look at him right away. Instead, I watched the slow movement of the mist curling between the trees, gathering my thoughts like I was preparing for something heavier than a simple conversation.
"You wanted to know," I said finally, my voice low, steady. "Why I'm a wanted man."
Olly didn't interrupt this time. He just nodded, his eyes fixed on me, attentive in a way that told me he wasn't going to let this go.
"I was heading to Windhelm," I continued, resting my forearms on my knees. "Just passing through. I stopped at Whiterun for a night—Malik offered his place. Said I looked like I hadn't slept properly in days." A faint breath escaped me, something between a laugh and something else. "He wasn't wrong."
The memory settled in slowly, pulling me back whether I wanted it or not.
"I was leaving the next morning when I heard them arguing. Fralia Gray-Mane and Idolaf Battle-Born. Loud enough that half the street could hear it." I glanced up briefly, meeting Olly's gaze. "Thorald Gray-Mane. Missing. Taken. And not by bandits."
Olly leaned forward slightly. "Thalmor."
I nodded once.
"Northwatch Keep," I said, letting the name settle between us as my eyes drifted past Olly and into the distance. "They didn't even bother hiding it. Just took him. No trial. No explanation. Like they had the right."
The memory didn't come back gently. It came like cold water—sharp, immediate, unavoidable. I could feel it again, the bite of the sea wind cutting through my armor as I stood on the ridge overlooking the keep. The cliffs dropped straight into dark, restless waves below, and the entire place stood like it had been carved to defy the world itself. Dominion banners hung from its walls, unmoving, like even the wind refused to touch them.
Olly shifted closer, brows drawn together. "You just went in there? Alone?"
"I tried not to," I said quietly, a faint exhale slipping through my nose. "I told myself I'd just confirm it first. That I'd come back with a plan. With people. Something smarter."
I shook my head slightly.
"I didn't."
From where I stood, I had watched them. Two guards at the gate, rotating in perfect intervals. Archers along the walls, spaced evenly, eyes sharp. No gaps. No carelessness. This wasn't a bandit camp. It was discipline. Structure.
"It wasn't just Thorald," I continued, my voice tightening slightly. "There were others. Nords. Civilians. Some barely able to stand. They weren't prisoners of war… they were being held."
Olly's expression darkened. "Interrogation?"
I nodded once.
"That was the word they used," I said. "Didn't change what it looked like."
The wind had been loud that night, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of someone screaming inside stone walls.
"I approached the gate just before dusk," I continued, my focus narrowing as the memory took hold. "No stealth. No tricks. I walked straight up to them."
Olly blinked. "You're kidding."
"I wasn't hiding who I was," I said. "Not then."
I could still see it clearly—the moment the guards noticed me, the shift in their posture, the way their hands moved toward their weapons without hesitation. One of them stepped forward, chin raised, voice already edged with authority.
"Halt. State your—"
"I'm Jayson," I told them. "Thane of Solitude."
That made Olly lean back slightly. "You actually tried to pull rank on them?"
"I did," I said.
I remembered the way the guard's expression didn't change. No hesitation. No recognition. Just… indifference.
"I told them to release Thorald Gray-Mane," I continued. "Told them they had no authority to hold prisoners like that without Legion oversight. That whatever they were doing—ended now."
Olly watched me closely. "And?"
I let out a quiet breath.
"And they smiled."
Not with humor. Not with respect.
With certainty.
"They didn't care," I said. "Not about Solitude. Not about the Legion. Not about me. To them, I was just… in the way."
The first arrow came before I could say anything else.
It cut through the air with a sharp hiss, forcing me to turn just enough for it to pass my shoulder instead of my throat. That was their answer. Not words. Not warning.
Violence.
"They didn't ask questions," I said, my tone steady but harder now. "Didn't give me a chance to leave. Just decided I was a problem."
Olly's jaw tightened. "So you—"
"So I answered," I said.
The gates opened just enough for three of them to rush out, blades drawn, movements precise and controlled. At the same time, arrows began falling from above—measured, coordinated. No wasted shots.
"I moved before they could surround me," I continued, my grip tightening slightly as if I still held the weapon. "First one came in low, trying to force me back. I stepped inside the swing and broke his wrist before he could recover. He dropped his sword, and I didn't give him time to pick it up again."
The memory of the impact lingered—bone giving way, breath leaving his body as I struck.
"The second adjusted faster," I added. "Aimed higher. Cleaner technique."
Olly leaned forward slightly. "And?"
"I let him think I misread it," I said. "Then turned it on him."
A shift in footing. A twist of the body. Steel meeting flesh in the narrow space between movement and realization.
"He didn't see it coming," I finished.
The third hesitated.
"That was enough."
I didn't need to say more.
"The archers kept firing," I continued, my voice steady, controlled. "So I stopped playing their game."
"You climbed the wall," Olly said, already knowing.
"I did," I replied. "Took an arrow in the shoulder on the way up. Didn't have time to pull it out."
The stone had been slick with frost, the climb uneven, each movement calculated under pressure. Arrows struck the wall beside me, splintering stone, forcing me to move faster than I should have.
"I reached the top before they could reposition," I said. "One panicked. The other didn't."
"And?"
"The one who didn't almost killed me," I admitted.
That got a reaction.
Olly blinked. "Almost?"
I gave a slight shrug.
"He didn't finish it."
Steel rang in that narrow space, every movement tight, controlled, one mistake away from falling into the sea below. When it ended, it ended quickly.
"After that… I went inside."
The tone shifted.
Lower.
Heavier.
"There were more," I said. "Mages. Guards. Interrogators. Some of them didn't even look surprised to see me. Just… annoyed."
The corridors had been tight, echoing with every step, every clash, every spell that lit the stone walls with brief flashes of fire and light. There was no clean way through it. No quick resolution.
"I didn't stop," I said.
And I hadn't.
Room by room. Door by door. Every step forward bought with resistance. Every turn another decision.
"I found the cells below," I continued. "Locked. Guarded. Full."
Olly's voice dropped. "Full?"
I nodded.
"Not just Thorald," I said. "Farmers. Workers. People who had no business being there. Some couldn't even stand when I opened the doors."
The sound of chains falling, of doors opening, of people too weak to believe it was real—it all came back with uncomfortable clarity.
"I got them out," I said. "All of them that could walk. Carried the ones who couldn't."
Olly stared at me. "And the Thalmor?"
I met his gaze.
"They didn't follow."
A pause.
Then I added, more firmly:
"I made sure of that."
Silence settled between us, heavier now, filled with everything I didn't need to describe in detail.
"They say I massacred innocents," I said after a moment, my voice quieter now, but sharper. "That I killed without reason. That I turned on people who didn't deserve it."
Olly frowned. "That's not what happened."
"No," I said. "It isn't."
I held his gaze.
"I pulled people out of that place," I continued. "People they would've broken. People no one was going to save."
The wind shifted slightly through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine back into the present.
"And now they write it like I'm the villain," I added, almost to myself.
Olly's expression tightened. "So you're against the Legion now?"
I shook my head immediately.
"No," I said. "That's not it."
I leaned back slightly, letting the memory loosen its grip just enough to breathe again.
"The Legion is the only reason Skyrim hasn't torn itself apart completely," I continued. "Without it, this place would've collapsed a long time ago."
I looked at him directly.
"But they shouldn't be bowing to the Thalmor," I said, my voice steady, grounded in something deeper than anger.
"Not like this."
Silence followed. Not uncomfortable—just heavy with everything that didn't need to be said out loud.
After a moment, I reached into my cloak and pulled out a folded letter, the edges worn slightly from being handled too many times. I held it out toward him.
"Olly," I said, my tone shifting—firmer now, more deliberate. "I need you to take this to someone."
He took the letter slowly, turning it over in his hands as if it might explain itself.
"Pyeath Shadowthorn of the Thieves Guild."
His brows drew together. "The Thieves Guild?"
I nodded.
"There's more going on than what we see," I said. "And he's already part of it, whether he realizes it or not."
Olly looked back up at me. "What's in the letter?"
"Everything I couldn't say out loud," I answered. "Who I am. What I'm about to do. What needs to happen next."
That made him still.
"You're not Erik," he said quietly.
I didn't respond.
I didn't need to.
The answer was already in his hands.
He tightened his grip on the letter slightly, then looked back at me. "Why him?"
I let out a slow breath, glancing toward the treeline before answering.
"Because he's already touched the same path you were going," I said. "He's spoken to Paarthurnax before. He understands things most people don't. And you…" I paused, studying him. "You're going to need someone like that."
Olly blinked. "Need—for what?"
"Your need to find your way of the voice," I said simply.
The words lingered.
He frowned slightly, still trying to piece it together. "Then come with me."
There it was.
I shook my head.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Because if you see what I'm about to become, you won't look at me the same way again.
I didn't say that.
"What I'm about to do…" I began, my voice quieter now, more controlled. "It's dangerous. Not the kind you can fight head-on."
Olly stepped closer, frustration creeping back into his expression. "We've handled worse."
"No," I said, cutting him off—not harshly, but firmly. "We haven't."
That stopped him.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then I stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, the gesture steady, familiar.
"We'll meet again," I said. "At the place where you'll learn your way of the voice."
His eyes searched mine, looking for doubt.
He didn't find any.
"I promise."
The word lingered between us, fragile but solid.
"Give Hadvar my regards," I added quietly. "If you see him."
Olly let out a breath, long and slow, like he was forcing himself to accept something he didn't fully agree with. Then, finally, he nodded.
"…Alright."
We reached Riften not long after, the city rising from the mist like something carved out of shadow and wood. The canals were still, the air damp, carrying the faint scent of rot beneath the surface. People moved along the walkways with purpose, but no one lingered long enough to notice anyone else.
At the edge of the city, we stopped.
No dramatic farewell. No drawn-out words.
Just a look.
Then we turned away from each other.
I watched him go for a moment longer than I should have.
Then, quietly, I raised my hand and traced a small sigil in the air, weaving a thin layer of protection around him. Subtle. Hidden. Enough to matter when it needed to.
"You'll be fine," I murmured under my breath.
Then I turned.
The streets of Riften swallowed me quickly, the noise, the movement, the shadows—all of it familiar in a way that made my steps lighter, more certain.
There was only one reason I came here.
One name.
One task.
As I made my way deeper into the city, past flickering lanterns and watchful eyes, the thought settled into place with quiet clarity.
"Grelod the Kind."
The name lingered like something bitter on the tongue.
And I intended to end it.