The road stretched out ahead of us, muddy and quiet. Skyrim had a way of making even silence feel heavy—like the air was holding its breath, waiting for something to crawl out of the dark.
And now, instead of that Beacon clanking in my pack, I had an actual Daedric Prince sitting behind me on my horse.
Her arms rested lightly at my sides. I could feel her breath against my back every now and then, steady, calm—like she didn't even notice the horse swaying under us. Me? I couldn't stop noticing every little thing.
Especially the way her chest pressed into my back when the horse stumbled over a rock.
I stiffened instinctively, pulling the reins a little too tight. The horse snorted, annoyed, and I muttered an apology under my breath.
Of course, Meridia noticed. "Why are you tensing? Do you fear the ride will throw you?"
"No," I muttered, staring hard at the road. "Just… concentrating."
Her voice dipped lower, curious in that way that wasn't really curious, more like she already knew the answer and wanted to hear me squirm. "You mortals are strange. Your body betrays you even when your mind wills otherwise."
I clenched my jaw. "Pretty sure you're enjoying this."
"Enjoyment has nothing to do with it," she replied coolly, but I could hear the faintest edge of amusement behind the words. "I simply observe. You, however, are far too easily unsettled."
She leaned in just slightly closer when she said that, and I felt it—warmth through my armor, a reminder that she was here, real, and not just some voice in the back of my head.
I kept my eyes on the path, trying not to think about it.
The ride dragged on, miles of forest and stone. Sometimes we passed travelers on the road—merchants with wagons, hunters dragging carcasses, soldiers marching under the Imperial banner. Each time, they'd stare a little too long at Meridia. Couldn't blame them. She looked human enough, but there was something about her presence that pulled eyes like a flame drew moths.
And every time someone looked too long, her hand would tighten against my side, as if daring them to take another glance.
We rode without much talking, just the sound of hooves on dirt and the occasional rustle of birds overhead. My mind wandered back to the game—Skyrim, the way I used to know it. I remembered Morthal from my playthroughs. Small. Foggy. Weird. A place you passed through only because quests dragged you there.
But now, riding toward it in real life, I felt a gnawing unease in my gut. The stories from the carriage passengers kept replaying in my head—rumors about people going missing, fires that swallowed whole families, strange happenings nobody wanted to name out loud.
This wasn't just some side-quest marker anymore. This was real.
And we were heading straight into it.
It was nearly sundown when the swamps appeared. The air turned damp, heavy, the kind that clung to your throat and made every breath taste like rot. Mist curled low over the ground, seeping out from the marshes like smoke.
"Lovely," I muttered. "Exactly how I pictured it. Creepy as hell."
Meridia finally stirred behind me, her chin lifting as if she was judging the whole town already. "This place is… fouled. The air reeks of stagnation. Mortal settlements should not cling to such ground. It invites ruin."
"Guess they didn't get your memo."
Her hand brushed against my side again, a little firmer this time, as if to silence me. "Do not mock. Darkness festers here. I can feel it."
I swallowed, eyes scanning the treeline. She didn't need to tell me. I could feel it too. That crawling sensation, like eyes watching from the mist.
The horse shifted uneasily beneath us. Even it could tell something was off.
By the time the road curved into sight of Morthal, the sun had dropped low enough that the mist glowed orange. The town came into view slowly, half-swallowed in fog. Wooden houses perched on stilts over swampy water, connected by narrow walkways. Smoke curled lazily from a few chimneys, but it didn't look alive—not bustling like Solitude, not warm like Dragon Bridge.
It looked like a place trying to pretend it wasn't already half-dead.
I tugged the reins, slowing the horse as we approached. Meridia sat straighter behind me, her gaze fixed sharp on the town. "Do not let your guard fall here, mortal. Something stirs beneath the stillness."
"Yeah," I muttered. "I got the same feeling."
The closer we got, the stronger it gnawed at me—that sense I wasn't just stepping into a backwater town, but into a story I didn't want to play through.
The inn's lantern light flickered faintly through the mist, a beacon in the gloom. But even that glow felt wrong, like it was struggling against the swamp trying to snuff it out.
I pulled the horse to a stop outside. Meridia slid off first, landing lightly, effortlessly, as if gravity itself didn't apply to her. When she turned back to look at me, her golden eyes were sharper than I'd ever seen them.
"This town holds rot. You will see it soon enough."
I swung down after her, my boots splashing into mud. My hand rested on my sword without thinking.
"Yeah," I said quietly, scanning the mist-choked houses. "I can already tell."
And as we stood there, watching the shadows coil through the fog, I knew this wasn't going to be just another stop on the road. Morthal was waiting. And whatever lived in the swamp wasn't going to let us leave easy.