The air was heavy with the scent of salt and dust as Gadriel ode into the ruins of Valyria. Once-great spires lay crumbled into shards of obsidian and pale stone, rising from the ground like the bones of some ancient god. The streets were nothing but broken veins carved into the island, littered with fragments of glass, twisted metal, and collapsed archways that reached toward a red-stained sky.
"Alright," Gadriel said, glancing down at Dust, his horse's steady hooves crunching against gravel. "First things first—we set up camp."
He dismounted near what remained of a large structure, its roof long fallen in but the foundation still solid. It offered a patch of shade beneath a leaning wall, enough to rest for a time. Gadriel began unpacking his supplies: a tent, a rolled blanket, a lantern, food rations, and some of his tools and materials. Dust snorted softly as he tied her reins to a thick stone pillar, likely once used to hold up a roof or something of the sort.
"Stay close," he murmured to her, running a calming hand down her neck.
When the camp was ready, Gadriel raised his hand. A faint blue swirl of energy formed in his palm, twisting faster until it erupted into five spectral wisps that coalesced into armored skeletons. The hollow clink of bone and metal echoed in the still air as they stood at attention looking at their new master.
"Spirits of the long since deceased," Gadriel said, his voice steady and commanding. "I have given you new life inside these skeletons so that you may serve me. Protect and guard my horse and camp while I am gone."
The skeletons wordlessly turned to their tasks, one standing beside Dust, two patrolling the edges of the ruins, and the others forming a silent perimeter.
Satisfied, Gadriel adjusted his satchel and began walking deeper into the city. As he passed through the crumbling ruins, he muttered, "Alright, let's find one of those stone men."
He took a breath, then shouted, "LAAS YAH NIR!"
At once, the world went black. All around him, the ruined streets faded, replaced by a ghostly vision of red silhouettes scattered across the ruins—living beings hidden from normal sight. Some far, some near. One, however, stood just beyond the nearest street—close enough to reach within minutes.
"There you are," he said softly, eyes narrowing as his vision returned to normal.
He moved forward, careful and silent, his boots brushing against loose pebbles as he stepped into an open courtyard. The creature stood there, its back hunched, its body cracked and gray as if carved from stone. The last remnant of a human form twisted by time and disease. Gadriel approached slowly until he was only thirty feet away.
"Hello there," Gadriel said.
The creature snapped its head toward him and let out a feral, broken screech. It charged.
Gadriel did not move. When it was barely five feet away, he raised his palm—and the creature froze mid-lunge, suspended in the air like a puppet caught in invisible strings.
"So this is what you look like," he said, circling it slowly. "I can see now why they call you stone men."
He nodded once. "Alright. You're coming with me."
With a flick of his hand, the creature was pulled backward, its limbs hanging stiffly as Gadriel guided it through the ruins. Within minutes, he reached his camp again. The skeletons watched but did not move. Gadriel gestured toward an open space near his tent, and with a rumble, the earth obeyed his will—rising and shaping itself into a solid stone slab.
He set the creature down upon it, using his magic to bind its wrists and ankles with earthen restraints. It struggled weakly, but the bindings held firm.
"Let's try to cure you," Gadriel murmured. He raised his hand, golden light pouring forth as the spell Healing Hands enveloped the creature. The light washed over its cracked skin, seeping into the gray scales—but nothing happened. The sickness held strong, unmoved by his magic.
Gadriel frowned. "I guess you're too far gone… body and mind alike." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Pity."
For a moment he stood in silence, staring at the creature's lifeless eyes—then his own eyes lit with an idea. "A sickness such as this only affects the flesh," he said quietly. "So the soul should still be intact."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a soul gem, clear and unfilled. Holding it aloft, Gadriel began chanting under his breath, a soft hum of power filling the air. The moment he finished the incantation, he drew Dawnbreaker from his back—the radiant blade gleaming even under Valyria's dim sky.
With a swift, clean stroke, he decapitated the creature. Its body went still, but from the severed neck rose a pale wisp of light that drifted into the waiting soul gem in Gadriel's hand. The gem flared bright purple, then dimmed.
"Good," Gadriel said softly. "I'm glad it still works here."
He set the filled gem aside and reached into his satchel of materials, pulling out fragments of Dwemer scrap metal—remnants of countless centurions he had fought long ago. With a wave of his hand, they lifted into the air. He shaped them with both flame and will, melting and reforging the metal through telekinesis and fire magic. Sparks filled the air as the pieces assembled into a towering metal frame—a Dwemer centurion, though unlike any other.
This one bore two sockets upon its chest instead of one—one for power, one for control.
When the structure was complete, Gadriel carved words across its plated chest using an invisible force:ZUL MEY GUT.
Once finished, he retrieved another soul gem—this one empty—and filled it with his own magicka. He then placed the two gems into their respective slots: the magicka-filled one for power, the soul-filled one for control.
The moment they locked into place, the centurion shuddered. Its eyes flared orange, then white, and the gears within it whirred to life. Steam hissed from its vents as the rune upon its chest glowed brightly.
The towering construct turned its head, scanning its surroundings until its gaze fell upon Gadriel.
"Hello," Gadriel said calmly, stepping closer. "I am Gadriel Dovahkiin, and I have freed you from greyscale."
The metal giant tilted its head, the glow of the rune pulsing faintly. When it spoke, its voice echoed from deep within the frame—a hollow but steady tone. "Did you… truly?"
"I did," Gadriel said with a small nod. "What is your name?"
"My name?" the voice repeated, as if searching through memories long buried. "My name is… Kaelan."
The wind swept through the ruins, carrying the faint echoes of waves crashing against Valyria's shores. The skeleton guards stood silently around the camp as Dust neighed softly in the distance. Gadriel turned to face the city's broken horizon—its towers like shattered teeth—and his eyes hardened with determination.
The lost empire still had secrets buried deep beneath its ashes, and he intended to uncover every single one.