"There is much darkness in these lands,…because of which, sinister spirits now lurk within the hearts of men. It is a beautiful thing, the silence of death. For it is,…the music of life. But even that can become corrupted if left unchecked. I have a task for you my sweet child, for you are the one who listens. There is one such corrupt soul,…I wish you to visit my sweet kiss upon them. There is also a soul I wish for you to seek out. Go,…and see your mother's will be done, sweet child."
Candlehearth Hall was alive that night. Music filled the air, echoing through the timber beams, mixing with laughter, drunken shouts, and the clatter of mugs. Outside, the streets of Windhelm were wrapped in frost and shadow. Inside, warmth and ale blurred the lines of war.
Windhelm was the home of the Stormcloaks—the stronghold of Ulfric Stormcloak himself. Yet for all its pride in being the heart of Skyrim's rebellion, the city rotted beneath the surface. Racial tensions festered between Nords, Dunmer, and Argonians alike. Whispers of discontent drifted through the markets and taverns. The war had divided not just kingdoms, but the very people who called this city home.
Kin and Gavhelus had arrived under that uneasy air, meeting Minevi at the city gates. With them was Taviiah—uninvited but impossible to ignore. She had decided, without asking, that she would accompany them.
Kin wasn't thrilled. He was happy to see her, of course, but Taviiah had always possessed an extraordinary talent for being both charming and insufferably overbearing. She claimed this was the only way to clear his name in Hammerfell. Kin, however, had little interest in the accusations that haunted his family's legacy.
"Kin!" Minevi called as she approached. Her smile cut through the cold. "It's so good to see you again. You've grown a bit in these past months, haven't you? And who's this young lady with you?"
Kin opened his mouth to respond, but Taviiah was already stepping forward. "I am Taviiah," she said smoothly. "Childhood friend of the Dragonborn here."
"More like childhood terrorist…" Kin muttered.
"Don't be like that, Kinny," she teased. "You'll make me look bad."
Minevi smirked before turning to Gavhelus. "And you, Gavhelus—how have you been? I hope training him by yourself wasn't too much of a hassle."
Gavhelus let out a booming laugh. "A hassle doesn't begin to cover it, luv. Training him with the sword was nothin'. But once he started playin' around with that Voice of his, keepin' the boy alive turned into a full-time job."
Minevi chuckled. "Oh my… what could've possibly been that dangerous?"
"Oh, let me tell ya!" Gavhelus grinned. "The kid starts shootin' hisself off the mountain almost every mornin'. The bloody master of the Greybeards had to pluck him outta the sky a few times."
Minevi blinked. "How… how does one pluck someone out of the sky?"
Kin answered with a straight face. "The Greybeards are able to study the Voice because of their master—who is, himself, a dragon."
Minevi's eyes widened. "You're kidding. A dragon lives on top of that mountain?"
"Yep," Kin replied. "His name's Paarthurnax. Scary at first, but he's a pretty nice guy once you get past the dragon breath."
Taviiah glanced around, unimpressed by the snow-covered city. "So this is Windhelm, huh? It's freezing. There's ice on everything. How do Nords live like this?"
Minevi smirked. "It's in our blood, luv. Nords are built for the cold."
"Indeed…" Taviiah said dryly.
They continued into the city, their boots crunching over fresh snow as they passed the towering stone archways and frostbitten markets. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and mead—and something heavier underneath, like unrest.
Up ahead, a crowd had gathered in the cemetery. Lanterns burned low, casting long shadows over the tombs. A city guard was trying to disperse the onlookers, but something had drawn everyone's eyes.
"I wonder what's this about," Minevi murmured.
"Only one way to find out," Kin said.
He stepped forward, Taviiah following close behind. Gavhelus, however, stopped in his tracks. His eyes drifted toward the ground as if listening to something far away. Then his expression changed—shock flashing across his face.
"Oh, dear Divines… Kin! Wait!"
But it was too late.
Kin had already seen it.
The crowd parted just enough for him to glimpse the body—what was left of it—laid across one of the tombs. It was a young girl. Her stomach was torn open, limbs twisted unnaturally, the snow beneath her soaked in red. The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air.
He froze, bile rising in his throat. Beside him, Taviiah's expression didn't change; she only studied the scene with a calculating gaze.
"Alright, everyone, please!" the guard shouted. "Stay back—and most of all, stay calm!"
A Nord man's voice rose from the crowd. "By the Nine… this is the third murder of a young woman this month! It has to be the work of the Butcher!"
An elderly woman sobbed into her shawl. "Poor Susanna… I warned her not to be out past sundown. It's not safe anymore."
A drunken voice slurred from the back. "I bet it was one of those damned devils! Ever since they started takin' refuge here, all manner of mischief's been goin' on. Wouldn't be surprised if one of them did it."
Minevi turned to Gavhelus, noticing the tension on his face. "Gavhelus… is something wrong?"
"There's a wicked energy about this place," he said lowly. "So many souls are crying out all at once. I can't make sense of them."
"Are the dead telling you something?" she asked.
He nodded faintly. "None of them know what happened. They don't even know they're dead. They're all drowning in sorrow and confusion."
Kin swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away from the body. He'd seen death before—dozens of times—but never like this. This wasn't war. This was desecration.
He returned to the others, still shaken, noticing the weight on Gavhelus's features. Taviiah, meanwhile, had wandered closer to the crime scene, scanning every detail with quiet precision.
"They said this was the work of someone called the Butcher," Kin murmured.
Gavhelus's expression darkened as his gaze drifted toward the corpse. "They're all young women… the voices," he said quietly. "It's like I can hear their souls screaming."
Kin's stomach turned. "What does that mean? Do you know?"
"It means somehow they're still suffering," Gavhelus murmured. "Even in death."
Minevi frowned. "How is something like that possible?"
"My guess…" Gavhelus rubbed his temples, his voice low and gravelly. "…some sort of necromancy. Whoever's behind this is murdering for a reason—a goal."
Kin folded his arms. "I didn't know there were kinds of necromancy that needed this sort of action."
As they lingered near the crime scene, Kin's attention was drawn to a man speaking with the guards—a thin Imperial dressed in fine, mismatched garments that seemed more suited to Cyrodiil than Windhelm's icy streets. The man's manner was calm, even pleasant, despite the chaos around him.
"I saw the culprit running off shortly after we heard the scream," the Imperial told the guard.
"Are you sure, Mr. Corrium?" the guard asked. "Which direction?"
Kin waited until the man finished before stepping closer.
"Excuse me, sir," he said. "Did you really see him—the culprit?"
The man turned, his expression polite but curious. "And who might you be, young man?"
"Forgive my rudeness," Kin said. "My name's Kin. And you are?"
"Calixto Corrium," the man replied with a slight bow. "Owner of Calixto's House of Curiosities, at your service."
Kin nodded. "Can you tell me what you know about the culprit?"
"I'm sorry, kid," Calixto said, spreading his hands. "I don't know much—just saw a figure running off into the night. I've already told the guards everything I could. Truth be told, I think they're looking at me as a suspect now."
Kin frowned. "Why would they suspect you?"
Calixto chuckled softly. "Because they need someone to blame. Gotta make it look like they're doing something about it, even when they're not. Won't last for long though—something's got to be done about this."
"I see," Kin said. "Thanks for your time, sir."
"Anytime, kid. You don't look like you're from around here. If you get the chance, stop by my shop. I'm sure I've got something you might want."
Kin managed a polite smile. "I may very well do that, sir. Thank you."
He turned and rejoined the others. Taviiah was already waiting, her usual unreadable expression masking whatever thoughts stirred behind her eyes.
Minevi sighed. "Well… this is all a bit grim for me. I'd hoped we could share a drink and catch up. Doesn't really seem appropriate now, though."
"Nonsense," Gavhelus said, clapping her on the shoulder. "This whole thing's given me plenty of reason to throw back a pint or two. Lead the way."
Kin glanced at him, concerned. "Gavhelus… are you sure you're alright?"
"I will be, lad," the Dunmer said with a weary grin. "Soon as I find somethin' to mute the screaming voices."
They left the cemetery behind and made their way through Windhelm's narrow streets, the cold wind carrying whispers of rumor and grief. When they reached the warm glow of Candlehearth Hall, Kin hesitated. Something tugged at his instincts.
He stopped just short of the door, looking back toward the dark alleys and empty streets.
Taviiah noticed and paused beside him. "Kin… is something the matter?"
He didn't answer. He stood there, staring into the shadows.
"Kin!" she said again.
He blinked and shook his head. "Yeah… sorry. What is it?"
"What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"
"It's strange," he said quietly. "I've felt watched ever since we came into town. Even now."
Taviiah followed his gaze but saw nothing—only drifting snow and dim torchlight. "Come now," she said softly. "I know everyone's on edge, but don't let it get to you."
She placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him inside.
The contrast was jarring. Candlehearth Hall was loud and alive, laughter filling every corner. The bard strummed his lute, singing tales of valor as barmaids spun between tables with pitchers of ale. It was as if the murder outside had never happened.
They found a table near the fire. Minevi signaled a barmaid for drinks, and soon the warmth of mead dulled the tension. Gavhelus sat hunched over the table, elbows pressed to wood, still fighting off the echoes of the dead.
Kin sat beside Taviiah, his eyes wandering the room. He caught one of the barmaids glancing at him from across the hall. She smiled before quickly looking away.
Taviiah noticed. "Is she your type?"
Kin blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The barmaid who can't seem to focus because of you," she said, sipping from her cup. "Is she your type?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "She's probably just trying to be friendly. Besides… I don't have a type."
Still, he couldn't help himself. He smiled and waved at the girl. She blushed, quickly turning away as she delivered another tray of drinks.
Taviiah sighed and turned her attention elsewhere.
Minevi and Gavhelus were already laughing, trading stories about Kin's early mishaps training with the Greybeards. Even Gavhelus seemed to have lightened up, though his slurred words and red eyes suggested the mead was doing most of the work.
After a while, the same barmaid approached their table, no longer carrying drinks. She was young—perhaps Kin's age, maybe a little older—with long brunette hair braided into a loose ponytail and a simple blue dress that flared when she moved.
"Excuse me, sir," she said shyly. "Would you like to dance with me? I love this song."
"Me? Dance?" Kin stammered. "I'm sorry, I'm not much of a—"
Before he could finish, she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the center of the hall. The crowd cheered as the bard shifted tunes, the rhythm bright and lively.
The girl took both of Kin's hands and smiled. "It's alright. Just follow my lead."
"O-okay," he muttered.
She drew him close, guiding him through the steps. Her movements were effortless, confident, and Kin—though nervous—found himself keeping pace. Every time their eyes met, her gaze lingered just long enough to unsettle him.
The patrons clapped and whistled, enjoying the impromptu performance. Even Minevi laughed at the sight, and Gavhelus pounded his mug on the table in applause. Taviiah, however, remained indifferent, watching the two with a detached expression as she sipped her drink.
When the song ended, the girl leaned close and kissed Kin softly on the cheek. "Thanks for the dance, handsome."
She turned to leave, but he caught her gently by the wrist.
"Wait… you're leaving already?"
She smiled over her shoulder. "I'm done for the night. Gonna get some rest for tomorrow."
Kin nodded. "Alright then. You be safe out there, miss."
The barmaid smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face.
"No need to worry about me," she said. "My house is just around the corner. I should be fine. Thanks again for the good time." Her eyes met his with a playful spark. "Will I be seeing you here again?"
Kin grinned. "I sure hope so…"
He let her hand slip gently from his grasp as she turned and disappeared into the night. When he returned to the table, the grin on his face gave him away immediately.
Gavhelus raised his mug. "Kin, you sly dog. Didn't know you had that kind of charm with the ladies."
Taviiah arched a brow. "You call that charm? He had two left feet out there."
Kin smirked. "Yeah, well… she seems to like guys with two left feet."
Taviiah rolled her eyes. "Whatever. People like what they like, I suppose."
She stood and stretched, her joints popping quietly. "I'm going to retire for the night. I'll see you all in the morning."
Minevi nodded, pushing her chair back. "Yes, I suppose we all should. We won't be able to meet with Ulfric for some time, but I'd like to look around the city tomorrow."
They agreed, and the group made their way upstairs—Kin and Gavhelus sharing one room, Minevi and Taviiah another.
[The Next Morning]
Morning came with the faint orange light of dawn creeping through the frost-coated windows. The group met outside Candlehearth Hall, breath misting in the cold air.
"So, where to first?" Minevi asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.
"That Calixto guy wanted us to check out his shop," Kin said. "Might be a good place to start."
"Wonderful idea," Minevi replied. "Do you know where it is?"
"He said it's called Calixto's House of Curiosities. We might have to look around—or ask someone."
"I choose the former," Minevi said cheerfully. "We might find something interesting on the way."
They set out into the waking city, the streets already alive with merchants setting up their stalls. Their route carried them through the district known as the Grey Quarter—a slum overrun with Dunmer refugees.
Here, Windhelm's beauty turned to ash. The streets were cracked and dirty, the walls coated in soot. Starved faces watched from doorways. Guards sneered at the dark elves as they passed, muttering under their breath.
Kin remembered the drunken old man's words from the night before—his accusation that one of "those damned devils" was behind the murders. Looking around, he realized how hollow and cruel that sentiment was. Most of these people could barely stand, let alone kill.
Then he saw it—a Nord veteran berating a Dunmer woman who had done nothing but walk too close to him. The man's words were venom, his tone triumphant. The guards ignored it.
Kin's jaw tightened. His fists followed.
Was this the Skyrim Ulfric fought to protect? A kingdom where his own citizens starved while he raged about purity and pride?
Taviiah noticed his clenched hands. Without a word, she reached out and rested her palm lightly on his. Her touch was calm, grounding.
"Calm yourself," she said softly. "You'll have your moment to address this."
Kin didn't respond. But his fists slowly loosened.
Minevi, watching the exchange, sighed. "This is the toll war takes on people. It turns them into their worst selves. Everyone wants to survive—wants to have hope. When that's gone, it brings out the ugliest sides of them. That in turn affects the next person." She looked toward the huddled Dunmer. "I believe the term for it is a vicious cycle."
Gavhelus chuckled. "That's deep, luv. Might get that engraved on a sword or somethin'."
Minevi shot him a look. "Are you not bothered by the mistreatment of your people, Gavhelus? Do you not despise us Nords at all?"
"I don't despise any man," he said. "I despise wickedness—and anything that gives it sanctuary. I've always been close to the darkness, and I know one thing: no man ever masters it. We're all just puppets that dance to its tune. Some folk just like the music more than others."
Kin grinned. "Wow, Gav… that was even deeper."
"Hey, none of that 'Gav' business, lad," the Dunmer said, wagging a finger. "Just 'cause you're lopin' your name short doesn't mean you get to start hackin' mine to bits."
"Hey, look!" Minevi interrupted, pointing down the road. "There it is—Calixto's shop!"
Taviiah crossed her arms. "Well, what are we waiting for? I'm starting to get depressed standing here in all this oppression."
Kin took one last look back at the Grey Quarter before turning away. He said nothing, but his eyes lingered on the broken streets as they left them behind.
Calixto's House of Curiosities was tucked neatly between two stone buildings. Inside, the air smelled of parchment, oil, and dust. Shelves lined the walls, filled with strange trinkets, relics, and jars of unrecognizable things.
"Ah, the young man from last night!" Calixto said brightly, stepping from behind the counter. "Glad to see you stopped by. Come in, come in! Take a look around. I'll be happy to answer any questions."
Kin and the others fanned out, examining the oddities around the room. Calixto followed, eagerly explaining each piece—the preserved insects in glass, the carved idols from distant lands, the cracked skulls rumored to belong to Daedra.
It reminded Kin of the excursions taken by mage apprentices in Elinhir—only darker. Every object had a story, and most of them ended badly.
At one shelf, Calixto showed them an unmarked tome. "The Book of Fate," he said proudly. "Empty to some, full of writing to others. Some say it reveals your destiny. Others say it foretells your death."
Kin frowned. "That's… unsettling."
Calixto smiled thinly. "Curiosity often is."
They spent nearly an hour browsing, listening to tales of how each relic had been discovered. Gavhelus, predictably, showed the least concern. "All this history talk's makin' me thirsty," he muttered.
Calixto's tone softened when he reached for a framed photograph on the counter. "My sister and I found most of these together. We traveled all across Tamriel collecting rare artifacts. Sadly, she fell ill not long after we arrived in Skyrim." He paused, gaze distant. "I opened this shop in her honor. Been here ever since."
Minevi's voice gentled. "That's very noble of you. I'm sure she'd be proud."
"I hope so," Calixto said. "Couldn't have done any of this without her. I miss her every day."
Gavhelus stretched. "Well, I'm ready for that pint. Anyone else?"
Minevi shot him a glare. "Seriously? We've only visited one place."
"Yep," he said, grinning. "All this history talk's dried me right out."
Kin chuckled. "You'll make any excuse to drink, won't you?"
"Probably," Gavhelus said. "And I don't feel the shame you might expect—though maybe that's just 'cause I need another drink!"
They bid farewell to Calixto, who thanked them warmly and returned to polishing one of his displays. As they stepped back out into the street, Kin found himself thinking of his father—of the strange trinkets Falwon had once carried, each with a story Kin had never learned.
When they returned to Candlehearth Hall, the air inside was strangely quiet. The barkeep was pacing behind the counter, wringing her hands.
Kin approached. "Ma'am, is something the matter?"
She looked up, startled. "Oh, it's probably nothing, lad. One of our barmaids hasn't shown up for her shift. Got me a bit worried, what with that Butcher still out there."
Kin's stomach dropped. "Can you tell me about her? Maybe we've seen her in town."
"She's a delicate little thing," the barkeep said. "Long brown hair. Wore a blue dress last night."
Kin froze. The memory of the girl's laughter, her hand in his, came rushing back.
"What time does she normally come in?" he asked quietly.
"About two hours ago," the barkeep said. "She doesn't live far. Always on time."
Kin didn't answer. His eyes were already on the door. He turned and slipped outside.
Taviiah noticed and followed, silent as a shadow. She found him sitting on the steps, staring into the snow-covered streets.
"You worried about your girlfriend?" she asked, arms crossed.
He sighed. "And if I am? What does it matter to you?"
Taviiah softened. "Calm down, tiger. Sorry—that was insincere." She crouched beside him. "What's bothering you, Kinny?"
He rubbed his hands together, frustration on his face. "I don't know. I just can't help thinking—what if he got to her? I should've walked her home. Why did I let her leave alone?"
"Hey, hey," she said gently. "You're only scaring yourself to death. That doesn't help you or the girl."
"Then what do I do?"
Taviiah's eyes narrowed as she thought. Then a spark lit behind them. She stood suddenly, looking him over.
"I've got an idea," she said.
Kin stood, wary. "What's the plan?"
"Do you want to catch this guy or not?"
"Of course I do, but how—"
"No more questions," she cut in, grabbing his arm. "Follow me. We've got errands to run before sundown."
Before he could protest, she was already dragging him toward the market district, her cloak fluttering behind her in the icy wind.
"Can you feel it my child? Darkness pouring into the streets of this city like flowing rivers. It is why I called you here. A sacrament has been made to us. Someone is calling,…for the death of another. Answer them,…and see their worries put at ease,…for I have a greater task for you yet,…my sweet, sweet child."
Night had fallen over Windhelm, and the city was cloaked in silence.
Most of the townsfolk had locked their doors, fearful of the murders that had turned the streets into hunting grounds. Only two figures remained outside Candlehearth Hall—Kin and Taviiah—huddled in the lamplight as they reviewed their plan.
Kin was not happy about it.
The plan, in Taviiah's words, was "simple": use themselves as bait to draw out the Butcher. But the method—her method—had left him mortified.
Kin stood stiffly in a purple dress that exposed his back, the hem brushing his knees. His legs were crammed into matching heeled boots. Taviiah, by contrast, wore a deep crimson gown that shimmered faintly in the lamplight, the picture of confidence.
He groaned. "I cannot believe I let you talk me into this."
Taviiah grinned. "Don't worry—you look great. Who knew you'd make such a cute young lady?"
"Not funny," he muttered. "I'm starting to think this was less about catching the Butcher and more about getting me in a dress."
"Nonsense," she said. "All we have to do is stroll through the city and look defenseless. If our killer's hunting young women, he won't be able to resist a couple of foxy ladies like us. Come on."
Before he could argue further, she hooked her arm through his and led him into the icy streets.
They wandered through alleyways and markets, playing their parts as vulnerable damsels, though the absurdity was wearing on Kin fast. After nearly an hour of aimless walking—and more than a few warnings from patrolling guards—they found themselves back where they started, standing before Candlehearth Hall once more.
Kin exhaled sharply. "This is ridiculous. I'm done."
Taviiah opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden voice broke through the night.
"Would you please leave me alone? I've done nothing to you or anyone!"
The cry came from down the street. They turned to see the same old veteran from earlier, drunk and furious, cornering the same Dunmer woman he'd harassed before. His slurred shouting echoed off the stone walls.
"Admit it!" he bellowed. "You devils are up to something! I bet you're the one behind these murders! I can't wait till Ulfric throws the lot of you out for good!"
Kin's patience snapped.
He stormed toward them. "Excuse me—"
A dull thud cut through the air. Moments later, two nearby guards rounded the corner to find the old man face-down on the cobblestones, his rear end sticking comically in the air. Kin stood nearby, feigning concern.
"Oh dear," he said innocently, "this poor gentleman seems to have had too much to drink."
The guards exchanged looks, then sighed in unison. They each grabbed an arm and hoisted the man upright.
"Come on, you old coot," one said. "This time we're locking you in your room."
"I don't know how he manages to get this drunk every night," the other muttered.
Kin, Taviiah, and the Dunmer woman watched as they escorted the old man away. The woman turned to Kin, her expression soft with gratitude.
"Thank you for that," she said. "He's unbearable when he's drunk. I usually try to avoid this part of the city after dark."
"No problem, ma'am," Kin said. "You should get inside, though. The Butcher's still out there."
She nodded. "I was just on my way. Thank you again."
The woman disappeared toward the Grey Quarter, leaving Kin and Taviiah alone under the flickering streetlamps. For a moment, they both laughed—part relief, part absurdity.
Then everything went still.
"Wait…" Taviiah whispered. "Did you hear that?"
Kin froze. "Yeah… it sounded close."
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement—a shadow slipping through a narrow alleyway.
"There!" he shouted, and without another thought, took off running.
"Kin, wait! Damn it!" Taviiah cursed, sprinting after him.
But by the time she rounded the corner, he was gone. The alley was empty, silent. Not even his footsteps echoed back to her.
Then came the laughter.
It was faint at first, drifting through the alleys like smoke, then growing louder—closer. The sound ricocheted off the walls, turning the narrow streets into a chamber of echoes. It wasn't joyous laughter, but something hollow and warped, crawling under the skin.
Taviiah turned in circles, scanning every shadow. "Kin…"
Meanwhile, somewhere deeper in the maze of streets, Kin had stopped running. He stood at the mouth of a pitch-black corridor, the kind where the light simply refused to exist. The darkness itself seemed to breathe.
He stared into it. "Hello?" His voice trembled slightly. "Are you looking for the murderer too?"
Only the wind replied, sighing through the stones.
"I could sense you," he said, louder now. "I felt your presence earlier—when I first came to the city. Why don't you show yourself? Maybe we can help each other."
For a moment, there was nothing. Then—movement.
A shape emerged from the black—a tall figure with scales that caught the faint light. Horns curved back from her head, and her eyes glowed faintly beneath her hood. The scent of oil and leather followed her, and the sound of her footsteps was barely more than a whisper.
Kin's heart hammered. The figure drew closer until her face—reptilian yet strangely elegant—was inches from his. Her voice came out low and smooth, each word deliberate.
"How is it that you can see me, child?"
"I… I don't know," Kin stammered. "I could just feel someone watching me. Are you looking for the killer as well? Or… are you the killer?"
"I am a killer," she said. "But not the one you seek."
Kin swallowed hard. "Then what are you doing out here?"
"The man known as the Butcher is a crude killer," she said, her tone sharp with disdain. "He lacks technique and purpose, spilling blood without artistry or reason. I am charged with seeing that his… butchering… is put to an end."
Kin blinked. "Who… who are you?"
"My name is Passha," the Argonian said. "I am a child of Night—a Listener to the Night Mother herself. And she has spoken to me about you, child."
"Me?" Kin's voice caught. "What does the Night Mother want with me?"
"She told me to assist you in the hunting of this animal," Passha said. "His is the kind of killing that blurs the line betwixt man and beast… and such a creature must be put down like one."
"So you'll help us?"
"Us?" Her eyes narrowed. "There is only you, child."
Kin's breath hitched. In that instant, he remembered—Taviiah. He'd left her behind, alone in the maze of empty streets.
"Oh no…" he whispered. "Taviiah."
The Argonian's golden eyes glinted beneath her hood.
And the night fell silent once more.
Chapter End—