Petrichor

by DovahkiinEowyn

Summary:

Vigdis glanced at Serana. Her cold, ice-blue eyes met persimmon ones and swirled with unspoken questions, her eyebrows still dipped in anger. The vampire glanced over her face—and froze when she spotted the cut on Vigdis’ pink lip.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered.
Vigdis looked away, her brows slightly furrowed. She instinctively stuck out the tip of her tongue. It grazed over the wound, stained with the bright red ichor, then darted back into her mouth. She raised her arm and wiped the saliva onto her freckled wrist.
Serana tore her eyes away from Vigdis’ mouth, but it was far too late. Her face was aflame, the image of her tongue and bloodied lips burned into the back of her mind. She chewed the inside of her lip and turned away from Vigdis, her gaze now focused on the teal barrier that still raged around the trapped Moth Priest.
This woman was going to be the death of her.

Chapter 1: Laid to Rest

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

“You wanna prove yourself? Head over to Morthal. You’re bound to find somethin’ to do there.”

Vigdis inwardly sighed for the thousandth time as she raked a freckled hand through her long, fiery red curls in irritation.

Morthal lingered beneath a blanket of midnight, adorned with Masser and Secunda as they hung high in the sky. Crickets and frogs chirped from the marshes and filled the eerily quiet night air. Too few torches bobbed throughout the village, although the presence of guards did not bring a sense of comfort; rather, it only added to the foreboding atmosphere.

Why the leader of the Dawnguard had told Vigdis to visit this place was beyond her. While she understood that he wanted to test her skills, he hadn’t even offered to accompany her; in fact, it was almost as if he simply wanted her out of his sight, as though he knew her worth from a mere glance.

She rolled her eyes. She would just have to prove him wrong.

Vigdis began to walk down the main path through the small town. She strolled by what she assumed was the Jarl’s longhouse, as flags with the emblem of Morthal swayed idly on either side of the door. Two villagers loitered beside it, who didn’t bother to lower their voices as Vigdis quietly passed them.

“A shame about that house,” one, an elderly woman, commented. “Helgi was such a lovely little girl, wasn’t she? I miss her smile.”

“I still think Hroggar did it on purpose,” the other—a younger, gruff man—admonished. “The coward pledged himself to Alva while the damn ashes were still warm!” He spat on the ground beside him. “Spilled bear fat, my ass. He cheated on his poor wife and couldn’t handle the guilt.”

“Killing the wife was bad enough—but his innocent child too?” She clicked her tongue in disappointment. “World’s gone completely mad, I say.”

Vigdis raised a red brow as she processed what she had heard and continued towards the tavern. Perhaps Isran had sent her to Morthal for a good reason after all.

She approached Moorside Inn, then entered with apprehension. Her eyes scanned the main room and found it completely empty, save for the orc fast asleep in his chair and the barkeeper at the counter. A small hearth in the centre was mostly embers, its warmth hardly felt. She crossed the room and slid into a stool in front of the bar, her mind abuzz with questions. The Redguard woman noticed her and smiled brightly.

“Hey there!” she greeted. She was far too cheerful for the hunter’s liking. “What can I get’cha?”

“Mead,” Vigdis requested flatly.

Her smile fell slightly. “You got it.”

The tavern-keeper grabbed a clean tankard and poured some mead into it, then handed it to Vigdis. The hunter peered into it. She noted that it was only half full—and smelled awful. Nonetheless, she took a tentative sip. The cold, bitter liquid flooded her tongue. She forced it down her throat with a hard swallow.

“What do you know about the house?” she asked as she lowered her mug. “The one that burned down.”

“Ahhh, saw that on your way in, did ya?” The woman sighed as she shook her head. “Tragedy, what happened with that. Hroggar and his wife used to live there, with their daughter Helgi. It caught fire in the middle of the night. The screams and smoke woke the whole town; it smelled bad for hours.” Her black brows knitted together. “Hroggar said he accidentally spilled bear fat in their fireplace, and that’s what caused the whole thing to go up in flames. Between you and me, most of us think he did it on purpose—’specially since he moved in with that Alva woman while the cinders were still hot. I guess we should know by now that lust can make a man do crazy things, even if he does have a wife and kid.” A deep frown marred her mouth. “They seemed so happy together, though. I really didn’t think he was the kind of man to do that, but . . . Maybe none of us really knew him after all.”

Vigdis’ features twisted into a subtle scowl. The story seemed wrong, from Hroggar’s lack of grief to his sudden infatuation with Alva. While it wouldn’t be the first time a married man was seduced by another woman, it didn’t make sense for him to murder his family over it. No, something was most certainly amiss—and all evidence of foul play pointed to Alva. She took another swig of her mead.

“Where’s Alva’s house?”

The Redguard woman stiffened, then giggled uncomfortably. “I, uh . . . don’t feel entirely comfortable tellin’ a stranger where someone lives, even if I don’t very much like her . . . . ‘Specially since it’s the middle of the night and all.”

The corner of Vigdis’ lip twitched. Casually, she reached down and pulled her dagger from its sheath. She placed it before her; her freckled fingers lingered on the hilt.

“We can do this the easy way,” Vigdis offered as she raised her icy eyes, her threat thinly veiled, “or the hard way.”

The barkeeper swallowed hard. “N—No need to get rough, stranger. She lives in a house along the jetty, next to the guardhouse.”

That was all Vigdis needed to know. Without a word, she took back her dagger, dropped a few Septims on the counter to pay for the mead, then exited the tavern.

The guardhouse was marked with the same banners as the longhouse, which made it much easier to find. She followed the wooden dock that spanned from the muddy bank and passed the barracks, then quietly ascended the few steps up to what she assumed was Alva’s house.

After a quick glance of her lifeless surroundings, she crouched down and fetched a lockpick. She picked the lock with ease and opened the door. Warily, she stepped inside. Silence. She took another step—

The floorboard creaked.

“Hey!”

She cursed and reached for her dagger as a blond Nord charged her, axe in hand. He swung—she ducked with ease, then sunk the ice-like blade of her dagger into his inner thigh and swiftly carved downward. He screamed as his axe clattered to the floor. Blood gushed freely in vibrant rivers; it stained his clothes, her dagger, her freckled hand—and splattered like paint across her face. She twisted the blade, then ripped it out. He collapsed to the floor.

Vigdis wiped her bloodied dagger on her pants, then sheathed it as she stood up. With a glance she spotted a set of stairs that led to the basement. She descended them, then shoved open the door.

The coffin in the centre of the room was empty. Disappointed but determined, she scoured the room for any clues of Alva’s whereabouts. A pair of shoes beside a small table caught her eye, for they were caked with mud that didn’t originate from the swamps. Her eyes trailed from the boots to the table, where a simple leather journal lie. She picked it up to skim its contents, and easily found the information she had sought: Alva had been turned by a vampire named Movarth, who resided in the cave nearby.

Vampires. Vigdis’ stomach tightened at the word; her jaw set as her expression hardened with hate. Perhaps this vampire, this Movarth, would know something about the monster from her past.

Renewed with a different purpose, Vigdis left just as swiftly and silently as she had entered. The body—Hroggar, she assumed—was left to rot.

After she crossed the stone bridge and reached the edge of the marshes, she scanned the landscape with her eyes and exhaled slowly. Adrenaline pumped gently in her ears, her breaths shallowed, her blood ablaze. Movarth would not see her coming; it would be his only mistake, and his last.

She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword, then boldly trudged into the swamps.

 

 

The cave wasn’t hard to find—it was located close to the village for convenience and not obscured in any way. She slipped into the mouth and plunged into the dark dampness.

Vigdis was efficient: the spiders and thralls were the first to meet her blade or arrows. It wasn’t long before she came upon the main chamber, where the vampires prowled and feasted, unaware of the vampire hunter that observed them from afar. She noted the seat at the farthest end from the table—a pale man, clearly a vampire, sat there and acted as if it were a throne. A dark-haired woman, of nearly the same shade of paleness, adorned his lap, her loud giggles like high-pitched bells. Three other vampires, seated on either side of the table, joined her in laughter between ravenous bites of bloodied pieces of flesh.

She pulled an arrow from her quiver and gently pressed the nock against the string of her bow. She drew her weapon taut so that the feathers rested against her cheek. She took even and steady breaths through her nose as her mind calculated the precision that she needed to execute. When the vampires erupted in laughter again, she straightened, and let her arrow fly.

It pierced the vampire closest to her through its neck. She drew another arrow—the next twisted through its skull. As the vampires began to scramble, Vigdis moved closer and the third went down with an arrow through its heart. As Movarth and Alva descended into panic, Vigdis approached and released three more arrows: two pinned each of Movarth’s hands to his chair, whilst the third punctured through Alva’s jawbone. The vampire hunter put an end to Alva’s misery and stabbed an arrow through her eye before she could even scream.

Movarth, on the other hand, breathed hard and fast as terror seized him. Alva’s corpse leaned against him, and every struggle against the arrows caused him to cry out in pain. Vigdis paid the vampire no mind as she used her arm and cleared a section of the table with one big sweep; Septims, flesh, cheese, and wine crashed to the ground. After she unsheathed her sword, she leisurely sat on the table and faced her prey, expressionless. Movarth’s carnelian eyes widened and glowed with fear.

“W—What do you want from me?” Movarth whimpered, pleading. “Don’t—Don’t hurt me, please, I’ll—I’ll do anything you want!”

Vigdis pressed her sword against the tip of his ear. A small dribble of blood trickled from the cut.

“You’re going to answer everything I ask you,” she told him coolly.

“Anything—Anything! I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

She leaned forward. “Selinus. Tell me where he is.”

Movarth shook his head violently. “I don’t know! I don’t know who that is!”

Malice alighted in her ice-blue eyes. She leaned back, only to stab her sword through his knee. He screamed as blood streamed from his leg.

“I’ll ask you again.” She slightly twisted the blade and he cried out again. “Where. Is. Selinus.”

“I don’t know,” he sobbed, tears staining his cheeks, “I don’t know where he is!”

Vigdis sawed her sword back and forth until his knee completely separated from his leg, his screams bloodcurdling. Blood pooled over his limb and the un-life slowly faded away from his eyes. She moved to do the same to his other leg.

“Wait! Stop! I—I think . . . I think Selinus he’s . . . . Yes, he was the one who came and stayed for a few days.” He swallowed, his voice raw. “But that was years ago. I—I don’t know where he is now, really . . . . . So please . . . spare me . . . .”

She stared at her sword. Fresh blood coated the blade and it glistened menacingly at her. She raised her head so that her eyes met his. Her cold, hate-filled expression would be the last image burned in his mind. She said nothing as she stabbed through his neck—he gurgled and choked on whatever he wanted to say, and she watched him suffer a long, painful death. Eventually, she removed her sword and his corpse slumped against Alva’s. She stood up and sheathed her bloodied sword; she would have to clean it properly later.

Vigdis gathered the corpses and threw them together in a messy heap. Then, with the help of the leftover wine and a torch, she set the bodies aflame. She didn’t stay to watch them disintegrate into ash.

 

“Here.”

Vigdis tossed the journal at the feet of Morthal’s Jarl. The crone stared at it for a moment, then lifted her silver gaze and raised a dark brow.

“What—”

“Alva was a vampire,” Vigdis informed curtly and coldly. “I killed her and dealt with the infestation in the cave nearby.”

The Jarl, Idgrod Ravencrone, stared at the hunter for a long, silent moment, her wrinkled expression blank in contemplation.

“So,” she finally uttered, "you sought out the truth. You put an end to an unforeseen danger against Morthal. This is a considerable feat that you, a stranger, have done for us, and should be rewarded properly.” She then turned her head and gestured to her steward, whose eyes sagged with clear exhaustion. He approached Vigdis and offered her a fat purse of Septims, which she took. “We are indebted to you, hunter of the Dawnguard.”

The hunter’s eyes snapped back to the crone in surprise—only for the crone to simply smile with a knowing look. Vigdis had heard that Morthal’s Jarl was a mystic, however she didn’t think the rumours had any truth to them. She clenched her teeth. She abhorred the idea of someone peering into her future.

“Should we have any more trouble with vampires, we will send for you.”

Vigdis inclined her head in acknowledgement, then turned and left the longhouse. She inhaled the cool night air deeply, then headed east to begin her trek back to Fort Dawnguard, more than ready to leave the miserable village and its nosy seer far behind her.

While she had more than proven her worth and capability as a vampire hunter, Vigdis still had a murderer to find. She could only hope that the Dawnguard would have the resources she needed to finally find the monster, and avenge her father’s death.

Chapter 2: An Unexpected Introduction

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

“Isran, Carcette is dead. The Hall of the Vigilants . . . everyone . . . they’re all dead. You were right, we were wrong—isn’t that enough for you?”

The red-haired hunter stood off to the side, out of the light. Her ice-blue eyes flickered between the two men whose conversation she was hesitant to interrupt. She had just come in through the large front doors, but the loud creaks as they opened and closed didn’t seem to draw the attention of either man—so she waited, impatient to report the vampire incident she had put a stake to in Morthal.

“Yes, well,” Isran began in a quiet, mournful tone, “I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you.” He paused, his eyes boring deep into the man in front of him, whose name Vigdis had yet to hear. “I am . . . sorry, you know.”

Vigdis shifted—Isran’s eyes flicked to her and the sadness that had glinted at the other man morphed into a stone-cold gaze. He turned his body towards her and gestured for her to approach, which she did after she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Finally.

“You’re back,” he stated gruffly. “What did you find?”

She briefly spared a glance towards the stranger and decided he looked like a pitiful excuse for a man before she spoke. “There was an infestation of vampires there. I handled the situation and cleared out the lair myself.” She shifted her stance, her shoulders squared. “I think I’ve more than proven myself worthy of your little order.”

Isran’s expression didn’t change. “We’ll see.” Instead, he looked back at the man and gestured to him. “Tolan, tell her about—what was it? Dimhollow?”

“Yes,” Tolan affirmed, “Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald was sure it held some long-lost vampire artefact of some kind.” He gave Vigdis a sheepish expression, which only reinforced her earlier impression of him. “We didn’t listen to him any more than we did Isran.” His eyes and voice grew empty and distant. “He was at the Hall when it was attacked . . .”

“And there’s your next assignment,” the Redguard interjected. “Go see what vampires were looking for in this Dimhollow Crypt. With any luck, they’ll still be there.”

Annoyed at Isran’s persistent distrust of her but desperate to gain Dawnguard’s resources one way or another, Vigdis inclined her head in silent yet begrudging agreement.

“I’ll go with you,” the Nord offered. She shot him a look and Isran seemed to have the same thought.

“Tolan, I don’t think that’s a good ide—”

“I’m going to Dimhollow Crypt,” the Vigilant growled out. “I know what you think of the Vigilants, Isran. You think we’re soft, that we’re cowards. You think our deaths proved our weakness. Stendarr grant that you do not have to face the same test and be found wanting.” He turned to Vigdis. “I’ll meet you there.”

He left before Vigdis could come up with an effective response to tell him off. When she looked back at Isran, he simply raised a brow at her. She stifled her irritated grumbles and followed Tolan out of Fort Dawnguard.

 

An icy blade slid effortlessly across the throat of the vampire. He choked quietly on his own blood, then collapsed to the ground with a thud.

Vigdis emerged from the shadows, her dagger stained with the red ichor. She spotted the body of Vigilant Tolan amongst the other slain vampires near the once gated entrance. She rolled her eyes as she stepped over his corpse to delve deeper into the cave. At least he wouldn’t get in her way now.

Dimhollow Crypt plunged far deeper into the earth than the hunter had anticipated—yet it crawled with vampires and thralls alike, both of which met either an arrow or the end of her blade. Despite her efficiency, it was hours before the damp dirt began to give way to old, distinct architecture, made from a dark stone she had never seen before. She passed under an archway, and it poured into a monstruous cavern. An odd structural platform graced its watery centre, where vampires studied it with great interest.

From her high vantage point, Vigdis had a good view of the enemies in question. With her bow in hand, she drew an arrow taut against the string, and inhaled deeply. She released with an exhale. The arrow struck the vampire nearest to her. She watched and waited for a moment as she moved closer, then fired another arrow. One by one, the vampires fell, none of them aware of her presence, just as she had hoped. After she killed the last vampire, she stood up and walked across the bridge warily.

The platform itself was circular, decorated with tall gothic arches along its edge. Multiple silver braziers surrounded a pedestal in the middle, although the hunter was uncertain of their purpose.

Unsure of how to proceed, she approached the pedestal for closer inspection. There was an obvious indentation at its peak. Without thought, she reached out and pressed it down. She yelped when a spike thrust up and cut the sides of her middle and index finger. She withdrew her bloodied hand and inspected her wound just as a loud click resounded throughout the chamber.

After she assessed that her shallow injury would be fine, Vigdis lifted her head to find that a violet and indigo flame-like wall had risen from the crevice in the floor and flowed to a silver brazier. She watched as the strange glow trailed from one brazier to the next and alighted them with a matching fire.

When the last brazier in the circle was aflame, a massive tremor shook the entire cavern. A red-violet mist rose into the air, then dissipated. Vigdis stumbled back as she struggled to stay on her feet, her freckled fingers gripped tightly around the hilt of her sword.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet lowered into steps towards the centre, and the pedestal revealed a stone monolith beneath it. The shaking subsided. The atmosphere became eerily still.

Just what in Oblivion was this place? Vigdis wasn’t sure what she had expected—but it most definitely was not this.

Before she could even move, the lid of the sarcophagus slid open and disappeared into the floor. A pale, dark-haired woman stood inside, her arms crossed over her chest. The hunter’s icy eyes widened in bewilderment as the mysterious figure inhaled sharply, then collapsed on her hands and knees. Vigdis stayed completely still as the woman seemed to regain her strength and slowly stood up.

Her armour was strange, unlike anything Vigdis had ever seen before. Around her neck was a thick choker, although she couldn’t make out its intricate design. Her outfit comprised of charcoal grey leather, which included her hooded cloak that was fastened by a ship’s wheel pin. Her dusty rose long-sleeved blouse was the only splash of colour, and most of it was hidden beneath a corset, an asymmetrical skirt, and a silver-embroidered belt. Her boots were just below her knees and overlayed her pants. At her hip, an ebony dagger hung in a sheath attached to her belt.

The woman groaned as she folded her arms, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Where is . . . Who sent you here?”

Vigdis hesitated. An endless stream of questions barraged her mind. Was this what the vampires had been looking for? Why was she trapped here? Better yet—who put her here? And what was she?

“Who were you expecting?” the hunter finally asked, her tone cold with suspicion.

The woman’s eyes fluttered open. Vigdis instantly caught the tell-tale persimmon hue of her eyes and unsheathed her sword—but before she could strike, a bright green light burst from the brunette’s hand. Vigdis’ entire body became rigid, unable to move. She clenched her teeth when she realised that a paralysis spell had been cast on her and rendered any physical resistance futile.

“You’re definitely not one of my father’s little acolytes,” the vampire stated blandly. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I should be asking you that,” Vigdis spat.

The woman’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t want to hurt you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You fucking paralysed me!”

“You were going to kill me!”

The woman sighed and rubbed her temples. The tense silence persisted between them for several moments before the woman sighed again.

“Alright, look.” She gingerly placed a hand on her hip. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“I’m not answering anything,” Vigdis growled.

“Will you just—” The woman stopped herself. She took a deep breath and held up her hands, her pale palms open to the air. “I’m not going to hurt you. If I wanted to, I would have done it already.”

The hunter stared at her, incredulous. “You really fucking expect me to believe that?”

“You don’t exactly have a choice, do you?”

Vigdis locked her jaw. She didn’t want to admit that her lack of choice was true; but she couldn’t keep up this impasse forever. The spell hadn’t loosened its hold on her, nor did she know when it would do so—it could be hours, days, weeks—and by then, she would be dead anyway.

“Let’s try again.” The woman tilted her head. “Who sent you here?”

“The Dawnguard.”

“That’s . . . not a name I know. And it doesn’t sound like a name a group of vampires would choose.”

“Because it’s the name of an order of vampire hunters,” Vigdis snarled. The woman winced; her expression tinged with regret.

“That explains that I guess,” she muttered, her arms crossed over her chest. “Okay . . . Any idea how long I’ve been down here?”

“Why in Oblivion are you asking me that? I have no idea.”

“Well, what year is it? Can you tell me that, at least?”

Vigdis suppressed her urge to sigh. “It’s the two-hundredth and first year. Of the fourth era.”

“The . . .” The vampire’s jaw dropped open. “The fourth era?” Vigdis blinked. The woman shook her head and began to pace as worry creased her dark brows. “I must have been gone longer than I thought—definitely longer than we planned.” She paused and chewed on the corner of her lip. “I need to get home so I can figure out what’s happened.”

“And how exactly do you intend on doing that?”

The brunette looked at her. Persimmon eyes widened ever so slightly, as if enlightened with an idea. “I’ll let you go. And you can help me get to my family’s home.”

The hunter’s red brows shot up. “What?”

The vampire unfolded her arms, her expression resigned yet determined. “If you want to know the whole story and get your answers, take me home.”

A mirthless smirk of disbelief briefly curled Vigdis’ thin lips. She pressed them together in frustration and managed to slightly shake her head. The utter nerve of this fiend!

“Did I not just establish that I don’t fucking trust you?”

“Nor do I trust you,” the vampire retorted. Then she softened, almost pleading. “But we both need answers. And we’re not going to get them if we keep arguing in the middle of this . . . cavern.”

The hunter recognised that she had no choice—and that the vampire was, ultimately, right. She would have to play along for the time being, even if she didn’t like it. She huffed under her breath in defeat, unable to meet the vampire’s glowing eyes.

“Fine. Where is it?”

“It’s on an island to the west of Solitude—should be pretty easy to find. I would guess my family still lives there. By the way . . .” The woman grimaced, although Vigdis almost didn’t see it. “My name is Serana.”

“. . . Vigdis.” She glanced downward, then glared at the vampire. “Care to undo your little spell?”

Serana shifted, uncertain. “Are you going to attack me again?”

The hunter scowled, for she had considered it. “I’m not stupid.”

“You are, as far as I know.” Vigdis barred her teeth at the accusation. Serana, with a sigh, raised her hand. “I’ll paralyse you again if you try anything.”

Before Vigdis could even decide to be a smartass, another bright green spell launched from the vampire’s hand and struck the hunter’s body. Slowly, her sense of touch returned to her and the magical hold over her body loosened. She groaned as aches shot up her limbs and she stretched them out to numb the pain. She was wildly aware of the vampire’s intense stare but chose to ignore it.

“Any ideas on how to get out of here?” she asked curtly.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Serana shrugged. “This place looks pretty different from when I was locked away.”

“Helpful,” the hunter grumbled. Then, for the first time, she noticed the giant, pale gold scroll attached to the vampire’s back. She instinctively opened her mouth to ask about it—but her expression must’ve given her away, for Serana snarled.

“Before you ask, yes, it is an Elder Scroll,” Serana snapped defensively with narrowed eyes. “And it’s mine.”

Vigdis shut her mouth and returned the glare. She stepped to the side and glanced around the stone sarcophagus. Although it was rather difficult to see thanks to the darkness of the cavern, she could discern that there was another entrance in the distance. She turned to the vampire and motioned her head towards what she hoped was an exit.

“Let’s go, then.”

Chapter 3: A Bitter Taste

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

A cold, bitter wind brushed Serana’s features as she followed the vampire hunter out of Dimhollow. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the cavern’s damp earth replaced with fresh, crisp air. Snow fell gently to the ground and crunched under her boots. When she opened her eyes, she noticed that Vigdis was several paces ahead and turned around, her hard gaze impatient yet expectant. Serana took the hint and quickly caught up with her, although she was met with a huff and an icy eye roll.

Their journey across Haafingar was less than ideal for the newly awoken vampire, for her escort had decided to give her the coldest shoulder she had ever experienced. Try as she might, Serana couldn’t get Vigdis to respond to anything, so she gave up within the first few hours of attempting some form of interaction. They fought against several wildlife, stray bandits, and the occasional undead along the way, but there was nothing neither of them couldn’t handle. It wasn’t long before Serana had to admit to herself that Vigdis was an excellent fighter and hunter—ruthless, merciless, cold.

The vampire was momentarily shocked when, on the second night of their trek, Vigdis had wordlessly cooked up wolf and bear meat for herself, then had proceeded to use their furs as makeshift blankets. The hunter’s distrust of the vampire ran deep, for she always propped her back against a pine tree and merely closed her eyes to rest through the night. Her heartbeat never slowed, which suggested that Vigdis didn’t—or couldn’t—sleep. Serana, who had been robbed of such luxury long ago, simply sat in sight of the hunter and watched the fire or the stars until dawn to continue towards her old home.

The snowy path towards Haafingar’s shores was a steep one down the mountainside, and it took several days before the pair reached the base of the mountain and arrived at the shoreline. The salty sea air was familiar to Serana, who found comfort in its aroma. Vigdis had set up a campfire whilst Serana, with her arms crossed over her chest, gazed out to sea, the sun hidden behind its watery horizon as the last rays reached towards the clouds in the violet rose sky.

“Hey.”

The vampire turned her head in surprise to see Vigdis, who not only currently acknowledged her existence but also gestured curtly towards the other side of the fire. Curious yet wary, she walked over to her, her head tilted in question. The vampire hunter plopped herself down and repeated the gesture.

“Sit.”

Serana’s dark eyebrows shot up. Vigdis raised one of her own fiery ones in return. The vampire pursed her lips and sat, gingerly, where the hunter had pointed to.

“This home of yours,” Vigdis began with the same seriousness she had in Dimhollow Crypt, “I need to know everything and anything you can tell me about it.”

Disbelief instantly surged through Serana. “I’ve been locked in a sarcophagus for thousands of years, and you’re asking me for details about my home?”

“Old information is still information,” the hunter argued with a glare. She shifted her posture and leaned forward. “Just tell me what you remember about it.”

“Why?”

“To be prepared. Why else?”

Serana stared into Vigdis’ hardened ice-blue eyes. Her freckled features, accentuated by the scars along her cheek and chin, were set in a serious, exasperated expression. The vampire slowly inhaled, then exhaled through her nose.

“As I told you before, it’s on an island,” she told her stiffly. “I’m hoping that we can find a boat to take us there. We’ll have to keep an eye out for a dock. It’s . . .” She paused. Her eyes dropped from Vigdis’ to watch the tongues of the flames that flickered in front of her. “It’s a castle. I don’t know much about its history, just that there were previous owners. Parts of the castle are abandoned, like the watchtower by the island’s dock. We mostly use the main hall and the rooms that branch off of it, including the courtyard.” She fiddled with her fingers, a crease between her brows. “Then there’s the inlet on the northern side of the island, which the previous owners used to bring in supplies. That’s abandoned, too.”

Her eyes flickered back up to the hunter’s, who stared at her with such intensity that she almost looked away again. She wondered if the redhead could tell she was withholding information from her right now—information that no one knew about Volkihar Keep, aside from Serana herself. And it would stay that way.

“What about your abilities?” Vigdis inquired. Her features morphed under the fire’s light; a shadow of hatred was now present in her eyes. “The Volkihar vampires typically stick to water and specialise in ice, correct?”

Serana nodded, somewhat grateful for the change in subject. “I personally haven’t tested the whole ‘ice breath’ trick, but reaching through a frozen lake was always fun. Not to mention that we’re still equipped with the base powers that come with all general vampires—necromancy, destruction spells, that sort of thing.”

The hunter’s eyes narrowed in thinly veiled suspicion; dread dug its snake-like fingers into the vampire. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I’ve told you everything you wanted to know.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” the redhead snorted. “I’m not fucking stupid.”

Serana clenched her jaw and said nothing. Vigdis watched her for a moment longer before she rolled her eyes, then gathered her furs and laid on her side. The moon’s crescent glow glistened from the sky and sea, the waves a quiet and drowsy lull accompanied with a constant yet soft breeze that starkly contrasted the tense, uncomfortable atmosphere that had settled around them. The redhead, now propped on her elbow with her head rested against her hand, sighed in a mix of exhaustion and annoyance.

“I don’t know what you’re hiding, and frankly, I’m too fucking tired to care,” Vigdis growled. Her eyes glinted with an adamant determination. “I’ll get my answers one way or another.”

A deep frown marred Serana’s pale lips. They stared at each other for another long moment before the vampire, now angry and thirsty, stood up.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered. She turned on her heel and began to walk away.

“Don’t try anything,” the hunter warned. Serana glanced over her shoulder, only for icy eyes to pierce her own persimmon ones. “I’ll know if you do.”

 

The tension between the pair had hardly dissipated by morning. A thin layer of wet mist blanketed the rocky shores that crunched and shifted under their boots. The silence between them was once again nearly unbearable for Serana, who wished she had someone more friendly and open to talk to. Despite her overall annoyance with the situation, it wasn’t long before she spotted her home—which appeared largely unchanged as it loomed like a dream in the distance.

“There’s the castle,” she said, more to herself than to Vigdis. “There should be a dock around here somewhere . . .”

Although Vigdis did not respond, her pace quickened. It wasn’t long before the pair found a half-submerged dock, accompanied by an old, long unused boat. The vampire stared for a long moment before she glanced at the hunter with a raised brow.

“This is the part where we get in the boat. You with me?”

Vigdis shot her a side glare, then hesitantly clambered into the boat. Serana followed her in and easily settled into a seat opposite of the redhead, who took the oars into her freckled hands and began to row across the sea and towards the castle. The brunette’s eyes trailed lazily over the ripples that the other’s rowing motion created—but then found that her eyes had travelled up the oars to Vigdis’ hands and arms. The realisation set in like a tsunami and she furiously jerked her stare back towards the water, unable to ignore the heat that had crept onto her pale cheeks. Much to her relief, Vigdis didn’t seem to notice.

To Serana’s surprise, it took less time than she had expected to reach the island. Her stomach, already tangled in knots, sank as the watchtower and castle seemed to look down on them. Vigdis ran the boat aground onto the shore and the both of them hopped out. Serana, with her lip between her teeth and her arms crossed protectively against her chest, spoke up.

“Hey, uh . . .”

The hunter turned to her, her icy gaze expectant as her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. The vampire briefly wrestled with the anxiety that raged in her mind and took a short breath.

“Before we go in there, I . . . wanted to thank you for getting me this far.”

A red brow merely lifted in response. Serana, who wrung her hands with her pale fingers to hide her wince, continued.

“I know you and your friends would want to kill everything in there and I’m hoping you can show more control than that. So . . . Once we’re inside, just keep quiet, for a bit. There’s . . . a lot of feelings wrapped up in this old place, and I know you don't care for them.” She paused and cleared her throat. “I’ll take the lead, if that doesn’t wound your pride too much.”

Vigdis shook her head, then took a step towards her with her hardened eyes trained on the other’s face. “There’s still something you’re not telling me.”

Serana instinctively held her breath to not catch Vigdis’ scent, her teeth clenched. “I’m sure my father will tell you whatever you want to know for rescuing me.” She narrowed her own eyes into a sharp glare as anger swelled through her chest. “Or, you can just turn around and row right back to your vampire hunters with nothing to show for all this shit you’ve put us through. Your choice.”

Fed up with the hunter’s treatment of her, the vampire roughly brushed past her and started to cross the bridge. Her sharp ears picked up on the footsteps that followed behind her, although she didn’t dare turn around to acknowledge Vigdis’ existence. The redhead would get her answers soon enough.

The iron gate, which was guarded by an old mortal watchman, was lifted once the pair drew close to it. Serana approached the wooden doors with a heavy heart, unsure of what to expect once they stepped inside. She then turned to Vigdis and gestured to the doors with a wry smile.

“Shall we?”

Chapter 4: Harkon

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

The heavy wooden doors slowly creaked shut behind Vigdis. She blinked a few times as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness before her just as a figure moved from the shadows towards them.

“How dare you trespass here!” the Dunmer man snarled, his glowing citrine eyes a dead giveaway to the hunter. He advanced towards them. Vigdis’ hand gripped the hilt of her sword, ready to unsheathe her weapon. But when Serana stepped into the small pool of light, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“I . . .” the vampire’s eyes widened. “Serana? Is that truly you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she answered, her voice tinged with an emotion Vigdis couldn’t place. Without another word, the Dunmer whipped around and stepped onto the balcony that looked over what appeared to be the main hall.

“My lord—everyone! Serana has returned!”

“I guess I’m expected,” she mumbled to herself. The hunter bristled at the remark, yet she said nothing in response.

As they approached the balcony, a grim sense of unease sprouted in her gut, like a young sapling from the earth. The smell of rotten fish drifted to her nose and grew in intensity with every step. It wasn’t until they passed the archway that Vigdis laid eyes on its source.

From the top of the stairs, the hunter overlooked what was once a beautiful and pristine grand hall. The floors and walls were splattered with blood. Tables were lined with corpses that vampires ravenously feasted on. As Serana descended the stairs on the left side, the vampires paused their banquet to lift their heads like curious rats. It wasn’t long before their gaze drifted to Vigdis, who took the stairs to the right and followed some paces behind Serana.

The redhead’s stomach churned violently with disgust. An entire clan of monsters thrived here, in a secluded island just off the coast of the mainland. She clenched her teeth as a different pair of glowing eyes bloomed behind her vision—a memory that threatened to claw into her skull and drag her into a pit of demons. She wanted to slaughter each and every one of them that stared at her, sneered at her, taunted her.

Vigdis’ thoughts shattered as a slow clap echoed across the hall and a figure emerged from the shadows.

“My long-lost daughter returns . . . at last.”

A Nord man with dark hair stepped forward, his hands clasped as his fangs protruded noticeably from his mirthless smile. He adorned armour similar to Serana’s, which led Vigdis to assume that the man in question was none other than the brunette’s father.

“I trust you have my Elder Scroll?” he inquired, his voice a bored drawl despite his persimmon eyes being alight with pride.

“After all these years, that’s the first thing you ask me?” Serana retorted, hurt faintly laced in her voice. Despite her tone, her sigh was soft. “Yes, I have the scroll.”

The other vampires whispered amongst themselves in excitement at the news. Her father raised his hand briefly to silence them, a smile still plastered on his lips.

“Of course I’m just as delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud?” He stroked his beard as if in thought, his grin now twisted with malice. “Ah, if only your traitor mother were here . . . I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike.”

Serana flinched noticeably, although her father either didn’t see it or didn’t care. Then, his gaze drifted to Vigdis, whose blood went cold.

“And who is this stranger you have brought into our hall?”

“She’s . . . She freed me,” Serana answered quietly. Her persimmon eyes met Vigdis’ icy ones, then became glued to the floor.

“I see.” His hands disappeared behind his back as he inclined his head. “I am Harkon, lord of this court. For my daughter’s safe return, you have my gratitude.” He tilted his head. “I must admit, it has been some time since a mortal has freely entered these halls. Tell me—do you know where you stand? Who we are? What we are?”

Vigdis’ red brows lowered ever so slightly at Harkon’s questions, her ice-blue gaze narrowed. She knew where she was—and she knew exactly what they were.

“You’re monsters,” Vigdis replied darkly.

Harkon guffawed loudly—almost forcefully. “Such a brave answer from one so weak. No—we are vampires, among the oldest and most powerful in Skyrim. For centuries we have lived here, far from the cares of Tamriel. Our bliss came to an end when my wife betrayed me and stole away that which I valued most.”

He encircled her, like a starved vulture eyeing its last meal. Vigdis warily tucked her freckled thumb under the cross-guard of her sword, ready to strike. She glanced to Serana—who still stood in the same place, perhaps too curious about the situation to walk away. When he properly faced Vigdis again, his expression was pensive.

“But you, a mere mortal, have done me a great service and reversed the harm my wife sought to cause me. Thus, there is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter.” He opened his arms, a wide and crazed smile on his reddened lips. “I offer you my blood. With it, you will be a lion among the sheep, and you will never fear death again. Behold—the power!”

Vigdis stepped back as Harkon hunched over, his form overcome with thick blood. Within moments, he burst forth from his liquid shell, his stature larger and taller than before. His skin had turned into a pale, translucent blue, his hair was long and white, and he had sprouted thin and bony wings. His clawed feet lifted, and he hovered off the ground with no effort.

The hunter shot an infuriated glare towards Serana’s statuesque form, whose persimmon eyes were still trained on the ground before her. So this was the information Serana had kept from her. She had no doubt that the brunette was just like her father—that she had this wretched power too. Vigdis gritted her teeth. Were they all like Harkon? Did they all possess the same monstruous transformation beneath their human façade?

“Impressive, is it not?”

Harkon’s voice jerked Vigdis out of her thoughts as her glare snapped to him. Even with his facial features akin to that of a bat, he still smiled clearly—and proudly. Her stomach convulsed as hatred flared in her veins.

“Well, mortal?” he asked, impatient. “Why the hesitation? Embrace me—accept your gift.”

Hatred seared through her veins as her stomach clenched with revulsion. What he offered her wasn’t a gift at all—it was death. Out of the corner of her eye, her father’s body rotted, half-devoured by flies as it sunk deeper in the floor.

“No,” she growled out firmly, defiantly. “I refuse.”

The corpse dissolved. The monster looked down at her, his twisted features weaved with disappointment.

“So be it,” Harkon snarled. In an instant, he raised his clawed hand above his head—

“Don’t!”

He stopped, and his head turned towards the voice. Vigdis’ sword was halfway out of its sheath. She looked over to see Serana, who had stepped closer to them and held out her hands.

“The mortal has made its choice,” Harkon declared, annoyed.

“She saved me, Father.” Serana's glowing persimmon gaze met Vigdis’ ice-blue one; her dark brows furrowed as a frown marred her pale lips. “Just . . . Just let her go.”

The brunette glanced to her father. They stared at each other for a long moment—then he dropped his hand and relented with a derisive sniff.

“Very well.” He glared sharply at the hunter. “Sheathe your weapon. I will spare your life just this once and banish you from this hall. Heed my warning, mortal: never return.”

Vigdis had half a mind to ignore Harkon's warning and stab him anyway, but a quick glance around the room informed her that every vampire in the room was ready to tear their claws into her flesh. Even with her skill, they would overwhelm her easily—and she needed to live another day.

She begrudgingly slid her sword back into its scabbard.

“Escort her out.”

 

Vigdis huffed as she crossed back over the bridge, the winds so cold that they stung her freckled cheeks. When the stone bricks finally came to an abrupt end, she walked over to the boat, which was grounded on the rough shore.

She pressed her hands around the bow, then gave the wooden dingy a hard shove. The stern hit the water, and the rest followed. She hopped into it with ease, then took the oars and began to row.

“Just let her go.”

Vigdis shook her head. Why had Serana insisted that Harkon allow her to leave? Was it not obvious that the hunter had every intention to return—and slaughter them all? That she wouldn’t rest until every single one of them was dead and their blood stained her hands?

She didn’t have any answers to the endless stream of questions that plagued her, and it frustrated her to no end. She had no choice but to go back to Fort Dawnguard to warn them of the threat that Serana and her clan presented. They would, no doubt, question and criticise her decision to take Serana home; but she had information, and that was better than being dead—or one of them.

Vigdis groaned under her breath when she recalled exactly who the leader of the Dawnguard was—and what he was like.

Isran was going to kill her.

Chapter 5: Not Like Father, Not Like Daughter

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

The castle vestibule was alive with indistinct chatter. Laughter floated through the halls and crept into the rooms. Serana, cross-legged on the floor by her newly-made bed with a furrowed brow, dug through her last crate of belongings—mainly withered dolls and dried flowers she had kept since she was a child. She scowled as another deathbell crumbled under her pale fingers when she tried to grab it, the petals now a fine, bright violet dust that coated a cobwebbed doll with a lopsided smile and tangled yarn hair. She sighed and took the doll into her hands. She lightly blew and brushed away the dust that reconvened in the wooden crate.

She stared at the doll, with its pink stained cheeks and red hair. The vampire hunter came to mind in an instant. Serana so vividly recalled her that for a moment, her room disappeared, and she sank deeply into the visions of Vigdis’ icy eyes set in freckled cheeks, fiery red hair, her hardened gazes accompanied with a low, velvet voice . . . How her eyes had flared with betrayal the moment her father had transformed . . . .

“There’s still something you’re not telling me.”

With a quiet yet forced sigh through her nose, she gingerly placed the doll in her lap and the memories of the vampire hunter dissipated. She bent forward again to continue her meticulous cleaning when heavy footsteps approached the door, followed by the loud creak that signalled someone had come in. She could tell by their smell that it was one of her father’s newer lackeys.

“Lord Harkon has requested your presence,” a gruff voice announced.

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Serana said with an edge of annoyance, concentrated on looking through the items before her. “I’ll see him when I’m done.”

“I’m afraid it’s an urgent matter, Lady Serana.”

She bristled. She was used to the titles and formalities once—but now it merely irritated her. She turned her head to glare over her shoulder but was caught off guard by the burly Orsimer woman that stood in her doorway. Her father had always surrounded himself with Nords and elves; she had never seen an orc in his company before. She blinked several times, unable to rid herself of the bewilderment that she felt, then shifted and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

The myrtle-skinned woman flared her nostrils. Her blazing pupils burned with indifference, her jet-black hair pulled into a large, tight bun and free of fly-aways. Small tusks protruded from her mouth, a stark contrast against the blood red lipstick that stained her plump lips. Scars raked across her features, unlike Vigdis’; she clearly had been mauled before her transformation. Her broad stature gave Serana the impression that she was nothing but a tiny bat to be crushed under the orc’s boot. The power and aura of superiority that rolled off her made Serana realise that she was definitely her father’s type, which caused her to inwardly cringe. The Orsimer, unfazed by the brunette’s tone, merely narrowed her eyes.

“Who I am is unimportant right now. Your father has asked to see you.”

Serana exhaled softly as a hint of disobedience settled in her chest—but shut it out when she stood up and brushed off her legs.

“Can I get a name at least?” she asked as she adjusted her charcoal leather wrist guards.

The orc woman sneered as she turned away. “You can ask Lord Harkon for an introduction, if it so pleases you.”

Serana raised a dark brow then clenched her teeth. She had no choice but to do as the Orsimer commanded, whether she liked it or not. She trailed after the orc woman with reluctance buried deep in her heart. As they approached the door to her father’s quarters, she braced herself.

The orc opened the door and stepped inside. Serana lingered behind her; blood, dust, and smoke wafted to her nostrils.

“Ah, you are here. Have you brought my daughter, Yotul?”

She nodded and gestured to Serana, who reluctantly walked forward. “As you requested, my lord.”

Harkon, who sat in his throne angled in front of the fireplace, looked to Serana with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Good,” he mused. “You’re dismissed.”

Yotul bowed deeply, then exited the room and closed the door behind her. Her father gestured to the seat beside him. Serana hesitantly sat down, then shifted towards her father so that the rusted cage beside the fireplace and the table cluttered with torture tools rested uncomfortably in the very edges of her peripheral vision.

“She’s new,” Serana observed awkwardly.

“Ah, yes. She’s a . . . newer addition to the clan,” Harkon explained. “Her time here has been short, but she has served me well.”

Despite her overwhelming curiosity for Yotul, she bit her tongue. Her father had a reason for bringing her here, and it was not to discuss the orc. Harkon picked up on her silence and leaned forward, his fingers loosely intertwined as his eyes searched her face.

“Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

She stiffened. She hadn’t properly spoken to her father since she had gotten Vigdis banished, and that was over two weeks ago. She had avoided him on purpose and had taken refuge in her room to steer clear of him—and to focus on something other than the Elder Scroll or the vampire hunter. Still, her father didn’t seem suspicious of her despite this behaviour; she concluded that he believed Valerica had taken her and the Elder Scroll by force. If she didn’t want to be branded as a traitor like her mother, she had to make sure Harkon didn’t question her loyalty to him.

“The Elder Scroll?”

He smiled with pride. “Yes. Now that your scroll is back in my grasp, I believe it is time that we hunted down our Moth Priest to decipher the prophecy inscribed in it.”

Serana’s stomach churned. She couldn’t remember the last time she had blood, and now she felt undeniably thirsty. “How do you intend to achieve that?”

“After you arrived here, I spread false rumours about the discovery of an Elder Scroll in Skyrim to lure a Moth Priest here. Now it is time to see if those efforts have borne fruit; my scions have already departed the keep in search of him. And you, my dear, will aid them in this task. Garan Marethi has arranged for you to leave for the College of Winterhold at dawn to ask the mages for any information they may have.”

Her eyes dropped to his hands. He was serious about deciphering her scroll for another piece of the prophecy. She had hoped, for a brief moment, that time had waned his obsession into nothingness—and it pained her to see that she was wrong. She realised that she still couldn’t let this prophecy come to pass, and that there was only one group that might be able to stop his madness once and for all.

“And the Dawnguard?” Serana asked hesitantly. “They’re bound to notice—”

“They are determined and well-armed, but foolish if they think they can defy us,” he snarled. “We will deal with them . . . in time.”

She swallowed hard, then bowed her head. “I will do as you ask, Father.”

“Good.” He leaned back into his throne, his eyes now focused on the fire before him. “Speak with Garan in his laboratory. Report your progress directly to me when you return.”

Serana nodded and stood, then quietly left the room. Once the door clicked shut behind her, she rushed through the halls and into the kitchens, where she barged into the thrall pens. She opened the cage closest to her and snatched the Imperial woman inside. The other two thralls watched, helpless as Serana dug her fangs into the Imperial’s neck and drank deeply until she was on the brink of death. She pushed the woman away and made her way back into the kitchens, her thirst slaked but not completely satisfied. She licked at the leftover ichor that stained her mouth, unable to place the taste she craved—

Then, she recalled the blackness of her sarcophagus. The scent and taste of fresh blood that had dribbled from above and onto her lips, that had roused her from her eternal sleep.

“Should blood wake you from your slumber, return to the castle,” her mother had told her just before Serana had stepped into the sarcophagus. “I will go someplace safe—someplace your father will never search.”

She pressed a pale hand over her mouth, her persimmon eyes wide.

The blood she craved belonged to none other than the vampire hunter Vigdis.

Her body trembled as disbelief washed over her. How had she not noticed it before? She thought back to when she had been with Vigdis and quickly noted that the hunter had always kept her distance, and often the blood and fur from the animals she killed covered her scent. When Vigdis had stepped closer to her on the bridge, the vampire had instinctively held her breath out of fear. Had the hunter known that her blood would awaken Serana? She doubted it—if Vigdis had known, she never would have activated the sarcophagus to begin with. Still, if she did know . . .

She glanced at her hand. The tremors from shock had subsided; she was as still as a corpse. She clenched it into a fist and decided that she would keep this a secret, especially if she ran into the redhead again. She gave her face one last wipe before she exited the kitchens and made her way to the second floor of the laboratory. Garan sat in his chair with a book in his hand but lifted his head and smiled as Serana approached.

“My lady,” the Dunmer greeted. “It is good to see you.”

Serana offered a weak smile. “It’s good to see you too, Garan.”

He shut his book and raised a brow. “Is something wrong, my lady?”

“No, I’m fine.” She tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “My father told me that I’m leaving for Winterhold.”

“Indeed. Has he explained your purpose there?”

“He wants me to ask about the whereabouts of a Moth Priest there. I mean, it makes sense—the College of Winterhold is the first place I’d think to go for any kind of magic or historical thing. The wizards know about all kinds of things that people probably shouldn’t know about.”

He nodded. “I had the same thought, which is why I asked Harkon to entrust you with this task specifically. I don’t trust any of those other fools.” His eyes softened. “And I know how much you despise being trapped here, Lady Serana.”

Serana’s smile was gentle yet sad. Garan was a part of their family long before their vampiric ascendance, and it was several hundred years before he joined them in immortality. He had always treated her as his own with a kindness that Harkon had never shown her. He was still the closest to her father out of all the other members of the clan, which caused her to be cautious in his presence—but he also knew her best and always recognised when she needed just a little more freedom.

“Thank you, Garan. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”  He shifted and laid the book flat in his lap. “It will be dawn soon. You should ready yourself for the journey, my lady.” He bowed his head. “I will bring a boat to the docks and send you off there.”

“Good.” She paused, for her previous curiosity had returned. “What do you know about Yotul?”

“Ah. Her.” A darkness settled over Garan’s features. “She’s Harkon’s newest little pet.”

“I can see that,” she huffed, her arms over her chest. “But what’s her story? My father doesn’t seem the type to keep orcs around.”

“Because he isn’t. But I suppose she became an exception.” He sighed and slowly shook his head. “Frankly, I care not for Yotul, so my knowledge on her is limited. What I do know is that she was mauled by a sabretooth cat, shortly after she was exiled from her tribe. She was near death when he found her. Why he saved her is beyond even me—but she swore unwavering loyalty the moment she woke as a vampire and has proven to be quite useful to him since then.” He shifted, as if uncomfortable. “I do not trust her. And neither should you, my lady.”

Serana nodded in agreement, then slumped her shoulders. “I suspected as much.” She exhaled sharply. “I should go now. And thank you again.”

They exchanged a quiet farewell, then she departed from the laboratory and walked back to her room. The crate was exactly where she had left it on the floor, the doll facedown beside it. She knelt next to it and scooped it up into her hands. She turned it over gingerly and stared at its face, the red yarn draped across its features.

“I have to stop him,” she whispered. She gave the doll a tight squeeze as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

 

 

“Are you ready to go, my lady?”

Serana nodded as she pulled up her leather hood. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Garan merely half-smiled as he accompanied her to the castle dock. Snow drifted down from the grey heavens and swirled weakly in the breeze. He helped her as she clambered into the boat, which was equipped with a cloth-covered hull, then hesitated. Serana raised her brow in question, and he cleared his throat.

“Before I send you on your way, I should warn you: the vampire hunters have increased significantly in numbers and have been seen recruiting in the capitals and towns of every hold.” His brows furrowed in worry. “Take extra care, Lady Serana. They will not hesitate to attack should you be discovered.”

Serana grinned. “Don’t worry, Garan. I know how to defend myself.”

His shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly. Then he bowed in respect. “Hurry back. And best of luck to you.”

Serana took the oars into her hands and began to row. Garan stood at the edge of the dock and his silhouette became smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the mists that surrounded the castle. She silently hoped that he didn’t suspect her of betrayal—and if he did, he couldn’t possibly predict what she had truly set out to do.

The vampire clenched her teeth when the bow of the boat scraped against the rocks on the shore, which signalled that she had arrived at the mainland. She leaned forward and pulled away the cloth to reveal the Elder Scroll that had been buried with her.

It was time to enact her own plans.

Chapter 6: Reinforcements

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

Over two weeks had passed since Vigdis’ banishment from Castle Volkihar.

She squinted her eyes up at Fort Dawnguard in disdain, the sun high in the clear blue skies. A new wooden gate had been installed just beyond the fort while she was gone, but there was no one posted to keep watch. With her hands, she shoved the doors open with a grunt. There wasn’t a soul to greet her, and the eerie silence settled deep in the pits of her stomach.

Something was wrong.

She followed the curve around the basalt tower, her frown more obvious as her eyes fell upon the empty camp. Where—?

Lightning crackled. Grunts and yells hit her eardrum. She bolted up the natural ramp that led to the fort’s entrance—only for a vampire to launch itself at her. She unsheathed her sword and used the momentum to bash the pommel deep into its stomach. She slashed the blade across its torso in one fluid swing, then shoved the blade into its heart. It disintegrated into ashes. She looked to see Isran smash another vampire’s head under his warhammer. A strange light enveloped him, as if the sun itself had given the Redguard its power. She glanced to Celann and Durak—the former swung his axe and slashed the last vampire across the face. Both vampires perished from their blows and dissolved into ash.

All four of them breathed hard, their energy spent as their adrenaline waned. Celann was the first to relax and offered Vigdis a bright smile as he sheathed his axe.

“Thanks for the help,” he told her, genuinely grateful and sincere. “You came just in time.”

“Agreed,” Durak gruffed out. He inspected his crossbow before he looked back to Vigdis and bowed his head in thanks.

Isran turned to his comrades. “Durak, secure the grounds. Make sure no other vampires got through our defences. Celann, I want you scour the fort from top to bottom and reinforce any weaknesses you see.”

The pair saluted their commander before they parted ways to perform the duties given to them. Isran now looked to Vigdis with a hard yet troubled gaze.

“Look at this mess,” he grumbled. “This is the price we pay for openly recruiting. We’ll have to step up our defences.” He raised a dark brow, then lowered it in doubt as his voice came out in an exhale. “I don’t suppose you have any good news for me.”

Vigdis’ lip twitched. “I don’t.”

“Damn. Well what do you know? Do we at least know what the vampires were after?”

The hunter braced herself, her voice steady yet cool. “Yes. A woman.”

“A woman? Trapped in there?” The Redguard’s features shifted into confusion and anger. “That doesn’t make any sense. Who is she? What does she have to do with this?” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Where is she?”

Vigdis cracked a mirthless smile. “You won’t like this answer either.”

“Vigdis—”

“She’s the daughter of a powerful vampire,” the redhead interrupted. “She’s part of Clan Volkihar and has an Elder Scroll. I wanted information, so I played along and took her home.” The muscles in her shoulders tensed at the memory of the castle’s hall. “I don’t know what they’re planning, but I know where they are and what they’re capable of.”

Isran’s eyes flared with fury. “You delivered her to them. You didn’t stop them? You didn’t secure the scroll?”

“Even you can’t kill an entire clan of powerful vampires on your own,” Vigdis snarled. “I said I was skilled, not fucking stupid. At least I’m still standing here and not one of them.”

His expression fell for a moment before he neutralised his features again. “I don’t like it. But you did right to play along.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes downcast. “What of Tolan?”

“I found his corpse at the crypt’s entrance.” Her tone was flat, clearly unsympathetic to the Vigilant’s life. Isran shut his eyes. “I took care of his killers.”

“Fool,” he muttered. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “They have what they wanted. And we’re left with nothing.” He let out a long sigh. “By the Divines, this couldn’t get much worse. This is more than we can handle.”

Vigdis folded her arms as her icy eyes studied the man before her. The leader of the Dawnguard, who trusted no one and believed blindly in his ways and his alone. He reminded her of someone she used to know, someone she once loyally followed. To know that she was at the whims of another man like him made her bristle. Unlike him, however, Isran did seem to be fond of those by his side. Whether it was genuine or not, Vigdis didn’t know—nor did she care. Her goal was unchanged, even if the leader was a stubborn old man.

“You don’t seem the type to give up this easily,” Vigdis finally said with a raised brow.

“When did I say that?” he snapped, the fire returning to his eyes. “We just . . . We need help.”

She was momentarily surprised by his confession, then glared in realisation. “You’re going to send me on some errand again, aren’t you.”

He returned her glare. “Do you want to join the Dawnguard or not?”

She clenched her jaw. Even after the Morthal vampires, after she hunted down the vampires in Dimhollow Crypt—she still hadn’t done enough? She was sick of his tests, of his immense and unreasonable distrust of her. She had half a mind to run him through; one stab through the chest or a slash through his neck would render him dead, then he would be one less obstacle for her to deal with.

After a long, tense moment, she breathed quietly through her nose and eased the tension in her shoulders. Isran shifted, as if he could sense the reluctant change of attitude in her.

“Look. I have good men here, but . . . There are people I’ve met and worked with over the years. We need their skills, their talents, if we’re going to survive this.” Isran stroked his beard in thought. “If you can find them, we might have a chance.”

Vigdis huffed. “Fine. Who do you want and where can I find them?”

“We’ll want Sorine Jurard. Breton girl, whip-smart and good with tinkering. Fascination with the Dwemer—weapons in particular. Last I knew, she was out in the Reach, convinced she was about to find the biggest dwarven ruins yet.

“You’ll also want to find Gunmar. Big brute of a Nord, hates vampires almost as much as I do. Got it into his head years back that his experience with animals would help. Trolls in particular from what I hear. Last I knew he was out scouring Skyrim for more beasts to tame. Bring the two of them back here, and we can get started on coming up with a plan.”

“And when I get back with your reinforcements,” Vigdis snarled threateningly, “you’re letting me into your organisation.”

Isran scowled, his doubt and distrust in her more obvious than ever. “We’ll see.”

 

Vigdis tracked down Gunmar near Ivarstead within a week.

When she had asked Keerava at the Bee & Barb in Riften about Gunmar, the Argonian woman proved less than useless. She took a carriage to a small village called Ivarstead, located at the foot of The Throat of the World. She asked the innkeeper of Vilemyr Inn for any information on the Nord, who helpfully told her that he had passed through two days ago, on the hunt for an animal. He pointed her in the direction of a nearby cave just to the right of the steps to High Hrothgar.

“Best be careful while you’re there, traveller,” he warned in a cowardly tone. “There’s a bear ‘round these parts—that’s what he was looking for, and he hasn’t been back since. Be prepared to find your man dead, or worse.”

She flashed him a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes and he flinched. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of—Of course! Of course you can.” He swallowed nervously, beads of sweat on his forehead. “Uh, good luck, and . . . I hope you find him.”

Her smile shifted back into her natural glare. Without another word, Vigdis departed the inn. She followed the road through town and crossed the bridge, just as the innkeeper instructed. She stepped towards the cave, her bow in her hand—

And a bear, from inside the cave, roared in fury. She drew an arrow and pulled it back against her bowstring just as the creature charged into the light. It hadn't seen her yet.

Her arrow flew and she cursed when it dug into the bear’s neck, but not deep enough to hinder or kill it. The bear, angrier than before, rushed her. She dropped her bow. Then she snatched the knife strapped to the side of her leg and sidestepped when it snapped its jaws. She thrust the blade deep into the side of its head.

“You there, hold—!”

She clenched her teeth and ripped the dagger towards the back of its head and out of its skull. The grizzly bear collapsed, dead, and she fell on her knees beside its body. Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. The adrenaline still coursed through her veins and muscles, a slight tremble in her hands and legs. She looked up to see a large red-haired Nord, who stared at her open-mouthed in disbelief. He had a husky on either side of him—both animals stared at her in interest.

“There’s a bug in your mouth,” she pointed out indifferently. His shock was immediately replaced with fear; his mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth. She wiped the side of her bloodied knife on her leg before she sheathed it and stood up. “You must be Gunmar.”

He straightened; his green eyes squinted in question. “For two weeks I’ve tracked that damn bear, only to find you with a blade in its head.” He looked at her with suspicion. “You . . . Who are you? What do you want?”

“Vigdis. Your old friend Isran sent me.” She studied Gunmar’s burly stature. His red hair was a darker shade, long and scraggly. His bushy beard matched his hair and reached his chest. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes only exaggerated his clearly exhausted appearance. Why Isran thought they needed another old man to join the Dawnguard was beyond her. “He needs your help.”

“Isran? Needing someone else’s help? Never thought I’d hear that.” He looked down at his dogs and gave one of them a soft pat on the head. “I’m afraid he’s a few years too late. I’ve moved on.” His expression shifted into one of anger and stubbornness. “Besides, he can handle anything alone! He assured me so himself. What could he possibly need my help with?”

“Is it not obvious?” Vigdis snarled, who didn’t care about Gunmar’s past with Isran. “He’s hunting vampires.”

“Vampires? That . . .” Gunmar frowned deeply, his brows furrowed in thought. “Well, that might change things. What’s going on? Has something happened?”

The hunter’s red brows dipped in irritation. What was it with these people and their ceaseless questions?

“I discovered a very powerful clan of vampires. And they have an Elder Scroll.”

“By the Eight,” he breathed. He shook his head. “All right, look. I’ll consider it, but I don’t know who you are. Isran I know and consider a friend, and if I find that—”

Vigdis cut him off. “All I need for you to do is go to Isran and hear him out.” She stared at him with a hardened expression. “The easiest way for you to find out if I’m lying is to go to the fucking fort yourself.”

Gunmar folded his arms. His fern green eyes studied her closely, as if he searched for any signs of falsity in her. He seemed to weigh his options before him, his distrust of Vigdis apparent alongside his curiosity—but then he sighed, as if defeated.

“You’re certainly different from Isran,” he finally grumbled. Vigdis relaxed, glad to see that his curiosity had won over his distrust of her, unlike Isran. “He’s still at that fort near Stendarr’s Beacon, I assume?”

“Yes. He’ll explain everything.”

“Good.” He unfolded his arms and walked past her towards the bridge. The huskies came up to Vigdis and sniffed her and the bear curiously, to which he whistled. “Bran, Sceolang! Come on. We have a long way to go.”

Vigdis turned to watch as they walked the road back into town—most likely to take the carriage that she had arrived in. After several moments, she sighed and returned to Vilemyr Inn, where she paid for a warm meal and a bed for the night. She decided that she would rest and take the carriage towards Markarth first thing in the morning.

One down, one to go.

 

“You haven’t seen a sack full of dwarven gyros lying around, have you?”

Vigdis raised her brow. “Uh . . . No.”

Three weeks later and Vigdis found herself deep in the wilds of the Reach, on the hunt for any signs of the illusive Sorine Jurard. She wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally spotted a lone Breton woman that paced around a Dwemer convector, but she was certain that it was the person she had been looking for. She approached her and barely opened her mouth when the woman began to blab about dwarven gyros that she had misplaced—and now the vampire hunter stood, silently baffled, as the brunette pursed her lips in thought.

The Breton spun around as her hand raked through her short brown hair in frustration. “I swear I left it right here . . .” She turned back to the redhead with narrowed eyes. “Do you think mudcrabs might’ve taken it?”

Vigdis momentarily snapped out of her stupor. “I don’t think—”

“I saw one the other day; wouldn’t be surprised if it followed me here.” She looked at the redhead with a pleading expression plastered over her dirtied, sweaty features. “Just look around, will you?”

Vigdis stared at the brunette for a long moment as she considered her options. With a long, exasperated exhale out her nose and a scowl that creased her brows, she began to explore along the shore of the river without so much as a word to the Breton woman. It didn’t take long for her to find a leather satchel, half-submerged in the water by a large, leafless tree. She knelt and unclasped it to peek inside—only to find not one, but seven gyros. Her irritation bubbled and frothed as she closed the bag and slung it over one shoulder. She trekked back to the brunette and thrust the sack out to her.

“Here,” she offered curtly. “I found it by the river.”

“That’s my satchel! You found it!” she squealed, her eyes wide with gratitude and excitement as she retrieved a single gyro from the bag. “Thank you! It’s not much, but this will help a great deal with some things I’ve been researching here.” She looked back at Vigdis with a wide and grateful smile that became tinged with embarrassment. “Oh, I almost forgot! I’m Sorine, Sorine Jurard.”

“I know.” Vigdis crossed her arms. “Isran sent me. He needs your help.”

Sorine’s smile fell, her expression confused. “Isran? Wants me?” She shook her head. “No, you must be mistaken. He made it exceedingly clear—”

“I don’t care about your drama with him,” Vigdis snapped. “We’re up against a very old and powerful vampire clan and he’s insisting that we need your help. Isn’t that enough?”

Sorine flinched, then frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I find it hard to believe he’s changed his mind. He said some very hurtful things to me before I left . . .”

Vigdis closed her eyes with a long, painful groan. She took the bridge of her freckled nose between her index finger and thumb, then gave it a tight squeeze to try to relieve her frustration.

“And I thought Gunmar was a pain in the ass,” the hunter muttered.

“Gunmar?” The redhead peeked through her lashes to see that Sorine’s eyes were wide with recognition. “How do you know Gunmar?”

Vigdis lifted her head. “The same way I know you. Isran ordered me to track him down, so I did.” She shifted her stance, her irritation somewhat subsided. “He’s probably at the fort by now.”

Sorine bit the inside of her lip in thought. Vigdis was ready to give up on her entirely when she huffed in exasperation.

“Fine, fine,” she sulked. “I’ll see what Isran wants. Where is he now?”

“He’s at Fort Dawnguard, near Stendarr’s Beacon.”

“Ahh. Should’ve known he’d still be working on his secret hideout.” She smiled. “I’ll finish up here and head in that direction soon as I can.”

The redhead nodded and turned to leave Sorine to her project, relieved that she had been successful after all. Isran would have to let her join the Dawnguard after this—and she vowed to never be his stupid errand girl ever again.

“Oh—Wait! Before you go!” Vigdis looked back at the Breton, who smiled sheepishly. “If Isran really is that worried, then the situation must be pretty bad.” The hunter tilted her head in interest and Sorine continued. “I was in Markarth a while back and I overheard some Vigilants of Stendarr talking about an excavation near Riften. Florentius was part of the Vigilants, and he would be really good to have at the fort.” She pursed her lips. “He shouldn’t take much convincing, but Isran won’t like it. He’s a little . . . eccentric, but we can definitely trust him and use his skills.”

The redhead almost smiled at the idea of recruiting a man that Isran hated. If there was an opportunity to get back at him for his treatment of her, this was it—and Vigdis was not going to pass it up.

“Help is help, whether Isran likes it or not,” Vigdis stated coolly. “The more men we have for this fight, the better off we’ll be.”

Sorine happily clapped her hands together, her smile wistful. “I wish Isran had your sense. The excavation should be north-northeast of Riften, if I remember correctly. It was a place called Ruunvald.”

“I’ll look for it.”

“Great! I’ll see you at the fort!”

The Breton woman turned back to her dwarven project and murmured to herself as she inspected the convector. Vigdis left her to her devices and headed in the direction of Rorikstead, where she hoped she would find a carriage or horse to take her back to Riften. She had half a mind to write Isran a letter to tell him of her intentions, then decided against it. She didn’t need him to know or interfere with her plans, especially since he was clearly against the extra help they could desperately use.

With a new task set before her and the sun high in the sky, Vigdis smirked. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Isran’s face when she got back.

Chapter 7: Unconventional

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

The tent and banner that bore the sigil for the Vigilants of Stendarr were a dead giveaway to Vigdis when she approached the entrance to Ruunvald. Old snow crunched under her boots as a harsh wind bit at her rosy and freckled cheeks. Her eyes scanned the premises for any sign of life—only to find that the post had been abandoned for some time. The firepit’s coals had gone cold long ago, and the sleeping rolls inside the tent were covered in a layer of thin snow that suggested they hadn’t been used for weeks.

Her nostrils flared in irritation. If Sorine’s information turned out to be a lie, if she had wasted her time and come all this way just to find Florentius’ corpse . . .

She turned towards the door. She sighed inwardly and pushed it open, greeted coldly by the cave’s void. She stepped inside and allowed her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness before she ventured forward. The tunnel was damp, and the fresh earth beneath her feet permeated her nose. The eerie silence filled the hunter with dread. Her gut warned her to turn back—

A crossbow bolt whizzed past her ear. She cursed and dove behind a stack of convenient crates just as another whistled by. She crouched down and took her bow into her hand, an arrow slowly extracted from her quiver as footsteps drew closer.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” a voice hissed threateningly. Vigdis nocked the arrow against her bowstring. “You can’t hide forever!”

The figure emerged, ready to fire another bolt—but Vigdis, in her defensive position, was faster. The arrow flew from her bow and punctured the centre of their throat, the shaft stuck halfway through. They wavered, stunned, as blood gurgled from their lips. Their legs buckled and they collapsed to the floor. They twitched once—twice—then stilled as blood slowly pooled on the ground.

The hunter took a moment to collect herself after such a close call, then peeked around the boxes to make certain that no one else would surprise her. She stepped out cautiously from behind the crates and followed the path that opened into a large cavern and spiralled down. Another Vigilant stood at bottom, crossbow ready. They hadn’t seen Vigdis yet.

She fired another arrow that buried into the side of their neck and rendered them dead in a few seconds. She stepped around their warm corpse and delved deeper into the excavation, where more dazed Vigilants of Stendarr patrolled and mined away at the rocks aimlessly. She knew Isran would disapprove of her silently killing the Vigilants whenever they crossed her path, but she didn’t care. It was clear that they were under a spell or trance, and incredibly aggressive—and she refused to risk detection, no matter the cost.

Long after she had lost count of how many throats she had slit or shot, she found a pair of old doors beneath the wooden walkways the Stendarr worshippers had built that certainly led into the heart of the ruins of Ruunvald. She took a deep breath, then pushed the doors open. She walked through the stone halls until they opened into a large, split-level room. She counted at least three Vigilants—and an Altmer mage with a staff, who currently confronted a robed Imperial man locked in a cage.

“Why you continue to try and fail is beyond me,” the Imperial huffed. “As I’ve already told you, Arkay protects me! Your little staff is nothing against a god.”

“Silence, you fool!” the mage boomed with fury. “God or not, all will obey me. You are no exception.”

Vigdis crept, step by step, down the stairs, until she had a better view of the situation. There was a fourth Vigilant she hadn’t seen before, hidden in the back corner. The closest Vigilant to her worried her most, as he was burlier and equipped with a two-handed weapon. She would deal with him first.

“Honestly, Minorne, how much longer can you keep this up?” The priest sounded tired and annoyed, with a hint of hope in his voice. “You and I both know that I’ll be rescued eventually. So why don’t you just let me go?”

The hunter pulled her bow taut, the fletching soft against her cheek. The burly Vigilant stilled in his tracks, his back towards her. She let go.

The arrow buried itself into his left shoulder.

Vigdis cursed when he turned in alarm and spotted her. She drew another arrow and let it fly into his right eye—he screamed in agony. The other three Vigilants rushed to him as he dropped to the ground in pain, Minorne still by the cage. Vigdis pulled three arrows out of her quiver and aimed at the trio of Vigilants, who were now stupidly clustered together. One arrow became buried in another’s gut, which rendered them immobile, while the other two suffered shots to their chests. The two charged at her with axes—she dropped her bow and drew her sword just in time to deflect their blows. She instinctively kicked at their knees to push them back and leapt off the stairs. She landed harder than expected and rolled back onto her feet, her hold on her sword loose. The Vigilants perceived an advantage and dashed towards her—only for her to readjust her grip and block their attacks again. She shoved one back, who stumbled over his feet, and used her free hand to rip the arrow out of the other Vigilant and plunged it deep into her throat. With the momentum she had left, she approached the last Vigilant that scrambled to stand and, with one swift move, chopped off his head. Blood dripped from her blade and stained her armour and face. Vidgis’ chest heaved as sudden fatigue crashed over her.

“Look out!”

Her eyes snapped towards the voice—but she was blasted back by a powerful force that sent her to the ground with a thud. She groaned in irritation and pain, aware of the bruises that now blossomed beneath her skin. Her mind felt hazy, her eyes unable to focus. The fingers of some strange magic clawed at her consciousness, plucked at the strings of her sanity.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand. The fog cleared and her vision became concentrated on the source: Minorne. With newly revived vigour, she gripped her sword and strode towards the Altmer, who backed away out of fear.

“How—? How could you resist my power?” she cried as Vigdis climbed up the steps. “How is this possible!? I’m supposed to be a god!”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Vigdis snarled. She angled her sword upwards and stabbed the woman through her stomach, under her ribs and directly into her heart.

Minorne glanced down, then met Vigdis’ gaze once more as her life slowly faded from her eyes. “What . . . Are you . . . . ?”

The hunter didn’t answer. She pulled out her blade and the Altmer slumped, lifeless. With the threat taken care of, she turned her gaze to the Imperial priest, who looked at her with a mix of excitement and fear. After a moment, she looked back to Minorne and searched her body until she found a key, which she presumed was for his cage. She approached the prisoner and unlocked the iron door, then pulled it open.

“I knew it!” he cheered ecstatically as he stepped out of his cell. “I knew Arkay would save me. I asked for help, and he sent you! You are a very welcome addition to this dreary place, my friend.”

Vigdis stared at him, unimpressed. “You’re Florentius?”

“The one and only!” He bowed with an overdramatic and flamboyant flair. The hunter could now clearly see why Isran disliked him so much. “At your service, my lady.” He straightened and smiled widely. “Now, please, tell me what I can do to thank you for your impeccable timing and rescue.”

“You can come with me to Fort Dawnguard,” she deadpanned.

His brows furrowed in confusion and curiosity. “I . . . suppose I could. What, pray tell, is there?”

“A group of vampire hunters. Isran, Sorine, Gunmar. A few others you probably used to know.” She shifted her stance, ready for whatever argument he planned to throw at her. “We need your help fighting a new threat.”

“Isran? My help?” Florentius crossed his arms, offended. “Is this some kind of a joke? Did Arkay put you up to this? If he did, he’s not very funny.”

A scowl of disbelief morphed into Vigdis’ features. “I—”

“Isran’s done nothing but mock me. He’s never given me the respect I deserve!”

“He doesn’t give anything to anyone,” she argued with a growl. “But he needs your help, and I just saved your fucking ass.” Her icy eyes pierced him like daggers. “You owe me.”

His expression hardened. “Look, I appreciate your help for getting me out of this mess, I do, but I—”

He cut himself off with a sudden, faraway look in his eyes. It was as if he could see someone that stood behind Vigdis.

“What’s that? No, that’s not what I . . . Yes, but . . . .” He sighed childishly. “Are you sure? Really? . . . Fine.” His gaze focused back on the hunter, who raised a brow. “Arkay says it’s a good idea for me to go. For the record, I don’t agree, but he’s not the sort of fellow you can just ignore.”

Vigdis was dumbfounded. He was obviously the craziest recruit by far and that worried her—mainly because she now had to travel a good distance alongside this lunatic. She stifled her sigh of annoyance and reminded herself that this was the last errand she would ever do.

“Unless you want to see the bodies of all your little friends, I suggest we take a different route out of here,” she advised coldly. Florentius flinched but she pretended to not notice. “Any ideas?”

“That Minorne woman used to come from a passage below the cage,” he told her. “I’m inclined to believe it leads to her room, perhaps an exit as well if we’re lucky.”

Without another word, Vigdis descended the stairs and looked to her left to find a locked door. She opened it with the same key and stepped inside, Florentius close behind her. She spotted a lever and pulled it—which activated a hidden spiral staircase to appear from the ground. She followed it down to yet another locked door, but she could hear the howling winds of the outside world. With a twist of the key, the door’s lock clicked open and revealed the snowy land beyond. She cast a glare over her shoulder to the priest.

“Don’t fall behind.”

 

Two days had passed.

Florentius had proven to be a very strong annoyance for Vigdis, as he was not as unsettled over her cold shoulder as the vampire had been. Fortunately, he was medically useful and skilled in battle, which made their journey somewhat easier. The pair had reached Dayspring Canyon in the middle of the night and, reluctantly, Vigdis agreed to make camp beside the falls. She recognised that she was exhausted; she had no energy left in her to deal with Isran’s attitude and would rather wait until morning to report to him.

The fire burned slowly at the dry timber the hunter had gathered into a pile. She sat on her fur sleeping roll, her gaze engrossed in the tongues of the flames. For once, Florentius was silent; he sat across from her on his own bedroll and looked as if he appeared deep in thought, his green eyes distant and glazed over. Vigdis didn’t care. She was just glad that he finally shut up.

Moments trickled by. Her eyelids dropped over her icy eyes as her exhaustion grew, her consciousness slowly ebbed away into sleep—

“Your father would be proud of you, you know.”

Her blood froze; her jaw shifted back and stiffened, her body rigid. Her eyes drifted open and stared, steadily, into his peridot eyes. Florentius, despite the hesitance that flashed over his features, continued.

“This path that you’ve chosen—it’s a noble one, one that many take. Avenging your father for his untimely death is certainly understandable. But you mustn’t become greedy, Vigdis. It’s easy to fall prey to the hunger of revenge. And when that happens, the repercussions—"

“How do you know about that?” she snapped. Her blood boiled beneath her skin as a lump weighed down her throat. Her heart squeezed so painfully in her chest she thought it might burst. Hatred clawed at her insides at the mere thought of him knowing her father’s killer. There was no other explanation.

“The only ones that know about his death are me,” Vigdis said as she slowly reached for her dagger, “and the monster that killed him.”

His concerned features became slack. Florentius’ eyes were unfocused, faraway; he didn’t seem to notice that her fingers now snaked around the hilt of her dagger, and pulled—

“He called you his little snowberry.”

She stopped.

The world around her collapsed; snow was at her feet. Flakes drifted by. A man stood beside her. Her small hand in his large, rough one. He looked down at her with what was perhaps a smile and spoke in a gentle voice—the semblance of his features there, yet distorted. She couldn’t remember his face anymore.

No—all she could remember was his cold, blood-drenched body. His blood on his face, his eyes wide and dead, his jaw slacked open from shock, his throat torn apart. All she could remember were her tears that had flowed down her face and onto her bloodied hands that tried and tried to shake him awake, and her blood that dripped from her face, her vocal cords raw from her screams, the monster’s hands around her neck as his nails dug into her throat—

“Vigdis.”

She inhaled. The memories dissolved instantly; the fire still crackled before her. Her body trembled as she breathed hard and unevenly through her nose, her sense of reality disorientated as she tried to mentally compose herself. Florentius stared at her, worry woven into his features, although she didn’t dare meet his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t lied about his connection to Arkay—and that scared her.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, softly. “Your father—”

“If you keep talking, I won’t hesitate again to throw my knife into your face,” Vigdis hissed through clenched teeth. His mouth shut with an audible click. She looked at him, stern. “And you’re going to keep this between us if you want it to stay that way. Understood?”

He nodded his head vigorously. Her shoulders slumped and she laid on her side, then turned over so that the fire would warm her back. She shoved the moment out of her head and shut her eyes, where exhaustion delivered her into a deep sleep.

 

Tip. Tip.

Vigdis stirred. Small water droplets tapped her cheek. Wet campfire smoke wafted to her nostrils. She opened her eyes.

Dayspring Canyon had become grey-tinted as dark clouds rolled overhead. She sat up and rubbed the sleep off of her face. She turned to see Florentius, who moved with a quickness that surprised her, almost completely packed. With a deep sigh, she followed his lead, the rain now a light, consistent drizzle. Thunder rumbled in the distance just as she finished up and her eyes met Florentius’. She motioned her head towards Fort Dawnguard, the top of the tower just barely visible, and walked towards it with him close behind her.

The guards at the post recognised her and allowed them inside. They made their way to the entrance of the fort with ease—Dawnguard members would often nod at her in acknowledgement. Even if Isran hadn’t made her an official member yet, she was, clearly, still respected as one of them.

They pushed open the wooden doors with a loud creaaaaak. Much to Vigdis’ annoyance, Isran stood gruffly and expectantly in the centre of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. As she approached him, she noticed his eyes narrowed at Florentius.

“Why is he with you?” he asked in a low grumble. “Where did you find him?”

“You said we needed help,” she countered. “He’s willing to help us. Are you really going to turn him away just because you don’t like him?”

He glared at Florentius again for a long moment before he turned his gaze back to her.

“Fine,” the Redguard relented. “He can stay, so long as he keeps some appearance of normalcy.”

“It’s good to see you too, Isran,” Florentius huffed.

The Dawnguard leader pretended to not hear him. “Gunmar and Sorine got here in one piece. I’ve already put them to work.” His expression hardened. “I promised to let you join the Dawnguard after this, but there’s something we need to resolve first. Follow me.”

Vigdis furrowed her brows in fury and confusion. Before she could even open her mouth, he turned on his heel and strode towards the spiral staircase. She glanced at Florentius, who simply shrugged. She clicked her tongue and followed the Redguard reluctantly. She now regretted that she didn’t chop his head off when she had the chance.

They reached the second floor, which Vigdis had never bothered to explore before. Then Isran walked past one room and entered another—where the hunter was immediately hit with a strong metallic smell. Blood was smeared all over the floors and walls. It was splattered on the wooden table that hosted several torture tools and dripped from various torture devices. She shuddered, involuntarily, as she briefly recalled Harkon’s castle.

He stopped. Her icy eyes trailed over the room—until she spotted a dark-haired figure in familiar clothes, with chains around her wrists that attached to the wall behind her.

“This vampire showed up while you were away.”

Vigdis’ eyes widened when the woman lifted her head. Persimmon eyes set in a pale face framed by dark hair stared back at her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Chapter 8: Complications

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

When Serana stepped through the gates of Solitude, it dawned on her that the city looked drastically different than what she remembered. It was bigger, stonier, more advanced; it took a long moment for her to recover from her shock. She shouldered her Elder Scroll, currently under a long-lasting invisibility spell, and shook off her vivid sense of displacement. She had come here for a reason, she reminded herself. Now was not the time for sightseeing.

She spotted the tavern—cutely named The Winking Skeever—and headed inside. Pleasant bard music floated to her ears as sunlight poured through the windows. The barkeeper cleaned a dirty tankard as he chatted away to a customer. Serana, who felt extremely out of place in such a warm atmosphere, scanned the tavern. She noticed a Redguard woman that sat by herself and adorned distinct armour. There was a shield propped against the table’s legs, with an insignia that resembled the sun. She steeled herself and approached the woman with a soft, curious smile.

“Hello,” she greeted. “Are you with the Dawnguard?”

The Redguard returned her smile enthusiastically. “I am! Are you interested in joining the cause? We’re always looking for strong, capable warriors.”

That was . . . easier than Serana had expected. She deduced that the woman was new to the Dawnguard, or simply didn’t know the tell-tale signs of a vampire. Either way, her obliviousness and naivety would make their interaction that much simpler for her.

She laughed nervously. “I’m not a warrior, exactly, but I’d consider myself a pretty good mage.”

“Anything helps.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Serana does so, perhaps more eagerly than she meant to show. With her hands folded on the table, she took a moment to observe the woman before her: black, tightly curled hair was pulled back into a neat bun. Dark eyes glistened like obsidian under thin, black eyebrows, the edges of her eyes crinkled upwards by her wide smile. A few beauty marks were splattered across her features. She was pretty—but not quite Serana’s type.

“So, in order to officially join, you’ll need to speak to Isran at Fort Dawnguard,” the woman said. “He’s our leader, and the one that ultimately decides if you’re worthy.”

“Makes sense. Where’s the fort?”

“It’s southeast of Riften.”

Serana bristled as the Redguard paused to take a long drink. Of course the fort was on the other side of Skyrim. Despite her annoyance, this meant she could stop by the College first to find out the Moth Priest’s whereabouts—and that meant extra leverage.

“Which means you’ll have to take a carriage,” the woman continued after a small burp, oblivious to the vampire’s silence. “Or you could walk there. That takes longer. By carriage you should get there within a few days, maybe a week. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

Serana nodded in affirmation. “Anything else I should know?”

“Nah. Just keep an eye out for wolves and bandits and bloodsuckers. You said you were a mage, so you should be fine.”

With that, Serana stood and offered the recruiter a sweet smile. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to speak with Isran when I get there.”

“I hope he likes you.” The Redguard smirked. “I know I do.”

The vampire’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, then she giggled, unsure of what to say to that. She waved goodbye and exited the tavern.

She walked out of the bustling city and made her way down to the stables, where a carriage was on standby. She approached the man and offered a bag of gold, then asked for passage to Winterhold. He joyfully accepted, and she climbed into the back with ease.

The carriage ride was largely uneventful, but impressively scenic. Over the next several days, the mountains of Haafingar softened into the endless plains of Whiterun Hold, then rose back up to form the mountains near Eastmarch and Winterhold. They had very little trouble on the roads, as Serana could easily blast away any wolves that attempted to come near them. It was strangely peaceful, even when she had to sneak a blood potion or recast her invisibility spell on the Scroll.

The carriage driver announced when they had arrived. Serana thanked him, then stepped off the cart and looked around with wide eyes. Her displacement kicked into high gear—the town, which once sprawled for miles, had been reduced to a few snow-covered buildings. When she was alive, Winterhold had been a grand city, full of Dunmer refugees and mages. What happened?

Snow began to swirl down gently from the silver skies. She forced her eyes shut and took a moment to compose herself. She should’ve expected such drastic changes after who knows how many years . . . But how she could possibly prepare for that? She didn’t know.

Serana sighed deeply as the sting in her heart subsided and opened her eyes. She pressed through the desolate town and spotted the College on the other side, where an Altmer woman stood guard at the entrance. She approached the woman warily.

“Welcome to the College of Winterhold,” the mage greeted emotionlessly. “I am Faralda, one of the senior Wizards here. I trust you found your journey to Winterhold not entirely unpleasant.”

“It was nice, actually,” Serana replied. Unfortunately for the Altmer, she wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter and went straight to the point. “I need to access your College to speak to your librarian.”

Faralda raised a brow. “By what authority do you think you can just demand access to the College? Not just anyone is allowed inside. Only those who seek to learn may enter.”

Serana gritted her teeth. “The College won’t teach me anything I don’t already know. Please, it’s just for—”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Faralda interrupted with a glare. “Either I give you a test to prove you’re worthy of the College, or you turn around and leave. It’s your choice.”

The vampire pursed her lips. There was one other option up her sleeve, and Faralda had left her with no other choice.

She stepped forward. The Altmer took a half step back, her back against the stone pillar. Serana’s eyes gazed deeply into her honey ones and watched as the once sharp focus became clouded. Her pale fingers reached out and stroked the back of Faralda’s golden hand, her voice a low, seductive whisper.

“Faralda, take me to the library in the College.”

The Altmer’s body snapped into rigidity, then relaxed. Her citrine eyes were dull and faraway, even as she nodded and turned to lead the vampire across the bridge. Serana smirked with pride. She always had a much easier time seducing women.

She followed Faralda, who obediently opened the gates of the College and led her across the courtyard. She was relieved to see that the College, compared to the town of Winterhold, hadn’t changed much at all since she last visited with her mother when she was a teenager. They passed two people—an Altmer man and a Breton woman—that argued in front of the main hall, but thankfully, they paid no mind to Faralda and Serana.

The Altmer mage opened the doors to the Hall of the Elements, then veered right through another door. They walked up the spiral staircase, which then revealed and spilled into what Serana immediately recognised as The Arcanaeum. She looked at the Altmer, whose control she knew she was about to lose, and gave her one last command.

“Return to the bridge and forget you ever saw me, Faralda.”

The woman nodded with a smile, then turned and left back through the way they came. The vampire took a moment to cast an invisibility spell on her Scroll to make sure it stayed hidden, then crossed into the main room. She paused, for a moment, to admire how beautiful the library was; if they would allow her, she would stay in this room and read every book that stacked from the floor to the ceiling in gilded shelves built into the wall. As a vampire, she had that kind of time.

“Ahem.”

Serana’s head whipped towards the sound as her thoughts instantly dissolved. She smiled sheepishly at the orc that stood behind a counter, who merely raised a white eyebrow at her, and approached him.

“Are you the librarian?”

His eyes gleaned with suspicion as he spoke in a gruff, unfriendly tone. “That I am, but I haven’t seen you around here before. What is it that you want?”

“I’m a new student,” she lied with a smile. “I was told that you could tell me where I can find a Moth Priest for information on Elder Scrolls.”

“A Moth Priest? What in Oblivion do you need a Moth Priest for?” the orc asked incredulously. Serana merely gave him a look, and he relented. “The obvious answer is to go to the Imperial City. The Moth Priests make their home in the White Gold Tower.” He paused for a moment, as if uncertain whether he should continue—then decided to tell her anyway. “Lucky for you, there’s a Moth Priest in Skyrim right now, looking for Elder Scrolls. He stopped in to do some research in the library, then left for Dragon Bridge. As far as the rumours go, he’s still there.”

Serana couldn’t suppress the excited grin that crept onto her face. It was exactly what she needed to hear, and now had extra leverage to offer to the Dawnguard to convince them that she was on their side.

She thanked the librarian for his help, then took off like a bat from a cave. She swiftly left the College grounds and brushed past Faralda for the last time with little more than a wave of acknowledgement. She jogged through the miserably small town until she reached the carriage, where the driver tended to his horse. She held out another bag of gold to him.

“Take me to Riften.”

 

After an arduous walk from the city of Riften, Fort Dawnguard was far more impressive than Serana had imagined: it was situated in a gorgeous, hidden canyon, complete with an icy waterfall to compliment its stoic ivory towers just around the bend.

She noticed a wooden outpost and swallowed nervously. She hoped that her Elder Scroll—now completely visible—would be enough to convince them to let her pass. When they spotted her, they readied their crossbows. She froze.

“Come any closer and we will shoot you down where you stand!” the guard on the left shouted.

Well, at least they know a vampire when they see one. Serana took a deep breath and lifted her hands to show that she meant peace.

“I just want to speak to Isran,” she told them as her eyes darted between the two. When they didn’t move, she sighed, and slowly retrieved the Scroll from her back so that it now laid clearly in her hands. “I have an Elder Scroll. Please, let me talk to him.”

The two guards exchanged looks. They nodded, and the guard on the right kicked the lever so that the wooden doors swung open. Serana, with a small sense of relief, passed through.

“We’re watching you,” the guard on the left spat. “Don’t try anything funny.”

“I’m sure Isran will deal with her soon enough,” the other sneered.

The vampire ignored them. She wasn’t here for Isran anyway.

She followed the winding path around another tower and up onto the hill, where the grand entrance to the fort welcomed her. More eyes watched her, so she always kept the Elder Scroll in clear view. She was relieved when all they did was glare at her—she didn’t want to explain herself over and over again. With a deep, shaky breath, she pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

Her eyes adjusted to the brief darkness, only to squint when the room flooded with a bright light. A Redguard stood in the centre, his arms crossed over his chest and his head held high. His stature gave him away as the leader of the Dawnguard. She took a moment to build up her courage, then walked over him and stopped a few feet away.

“You’re Isran, I take it.”

He narrowed his intense eyes but said nothing. Serana cleared her throat and continued.

“I’m looking for Vigdis.” She offered the Scroll to him. “I’m not here to fight you, or whatever it is you think we do. But I really need to talk to her. It’s important.”

Isran looked down at the Scroll. His expression gave nothing away, which greatly annoyed Serana. Eventually, he uncrossed his arms and took the Scroll, gingerly, from her hands. He stared at it for another long moment before he finally looked back at her.

“Follow me.”

The vampire frowned at the edge in his voice. She had possibly underestimated him and his hatred towards her kind, but she obeyed and followed him up the spiral staircase without question. If she wanted him to cooperate with her, she would have to do the same.

When they reached the second floor, she crinkled her nose. A faint scent of old blood wafted to her nose, although she couldn’t tell where it came from. As she walked behind Isran and passed the first room, the smell only strengthened in potency. She folded a hand over her nose as they, to her horror, waltzed right into what was clearly a torture room. There was blood and tools everywhere. It made her stomach churn, but Isran seemed wholly unbothered by it. He finally turned to her and gestured to the shackles that hung down on the far side of the wall.

“If you want your answers, vampire, you’ll agree to chain yourself to this wall.”

Serana dropped her hand and blinked in disbelief. She inspected the chains—they were surprisingly old, covered in a thick rust. It dawned on her that he believed her to be a threat despite her friendliness, and it ignited her fury.

“I just gave you the Scroll!” she argued. “I’ve given you no reason not to trust me!”

“If you thought you could just waltz in here with an Elder Scroll asking where my best hunter is and I would just give you an answer, you’re wrong,” Isran growled. “I’ve no reason to trust you, vampire. So either you do as I say, or I kill you.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She wanted her answers.

“Fine,” she agreed with a tinge of reluctance.

The corner of Isran’s lip tilted upward, as if satisfied with her answer. He took the chains and clicked them shut around her pale wrists. She pulled against them, for a moment, to test their strength—and found that she couldn’t break them easily like this. But if she was desperate enough to transform . . . She could. For now, she would play along with the illusion that these chains were more than enough to hold her.

“There. Happy?” she snarled. “Are you going to bring her to me now? Or do you still not trust me?”

Isran met her gaze steadily. “She’s not here.”

“She . . .” Serana’s heart sank. “What?”

“Vigdis isn’t here. I sent her on an errand that she completed more than a week ago and has yet to return.”

The news stunned Serana. She looked down at her hands. Vigdis wasn’t here. She wasn’t here to prove who Serana was or to back up her story. Without her, she was just another vampire. But if that was the case, then why has Isran decided to keep her alive?

“Why did you bother with this?” she asked when she lifted her head. “Why not just kill me?”

“Because you’re clearly the vampire she retrieved from Dimhollow Crypt,” he countered. He was smarter than she gave him credit for. “You had a reason for coming here and looking for her specifically. I want to know what it is you’re planning.”

Serana smirked. “I never agreed to answer your questions.”

Isran’s jaw tightened; his eyes flashed dangerously. The silence was tense between them as the Redguard seemed to weigh his options. The vampire stayed completely still, ready to cast a spell and bolt if he decided to just kill her. After a long moment that felt like years, he sighed in irritation.

“We’re at an impasse until she comes back,” he stated gruffly. His curiosity for her role in this had won him over, much to her relief. “Until then, we’ll keep you alive. And if she doesn’t, I will personally kill you.” He glared at her. “Are we clear?”

Serana nodded. The Dawnguard leader, without another word, turned and left the torture room.

 

It didn’t take long for Serana to lose track of time.

The torture room was windowless, although she suspected the hatch above her head allowed sunlight into the chamber—most likely to torture vampires. She wondered for a moment how many vampires had died where she stood before she quickly shook away the thought. If Isran thought she would die in here, he was a fool.

She doesn’t know how long she stood there for, but eventually a young blond man brought her an old bucket that was filled to the brim with fresh wolf blood. Clearly, they were worried about a possible vampiric frenzy and wanted to avoid it. He didn’t say anything to her, and she assumed that Isran would not appreciate it if she decided to speak to him.

Every so often, he would appear again with another bucket of animal blood; five buckets in a row were bear blood, most likely from the same bear, and she eventually got sick of it. She also grew increasingly bored and was naturally curious about the man, as he didn’t seem the type to slay vampires. At this point, she was desperate for interaction, even if it was unfriendly.

The next time he brought a bucket of blood—rabbit blood, she noticed with relief—, she didn’t hesitate.

“What’s your name?”

He jumped back in fright and dropped the bucket. The crimson blood sloshed inside and spilled out the cracks. The vampire acknowledged it for a moment before her gaze flicked back to the boy with a smile. She wasn’t very thirsty anyway.

“I’m Serana,” she told him. Perhaps if she told him her name first, then he would see that she wasn’t a threat and open up to her. For a long tense moment, he stared at her, his hazel eyes wide with fear. He appeared torn between running away and humouring her, and she silently hoped for the latter.

“M—My name is Agmaer,” he finally stammered. “I’m—I’m not really supposed to be talking to you . . .” He gulped. “Isran said you were evil.”

Serana didn’t bother to suppress her eye roll. “Yes, I’m sure we’re all monsters in his eyes. He forgets that I was human once, and still am.”

He frowned; his brows furrowed in sadness. “But you drink blood. You have to kill other people just to live, and that’s—”

“What’s that, then?” she snapped as she pointed to the bucket. “I would be starving right now if I relied solely on people.” A bitter taste stung her tongue. “I may be a vampire, but I’m not a monster.”

The blond Nord slumped. His eyes were now glued to the bucket, his expression twisted into one of inner conflict. Serana looked away as warm tears flooded her eyes and blinked them away. Her heart ached in her chest; she wished more than anything that Garan was there to comfort her.

“Farm boy!”

Serana lifted her head at Isran’s booming voice. Agmaer flinched and whipped around, startled. The Dawnguard leader approached his young recruit, his eyes ablaze with silent fury.

“What did I say about talking to it?” he snarled. Serana bared her teeth instinctively at being called an it, but said nothing.

Agmaer squirmed and sweated under Isran’s stare, his head bowed. “Y—You told me not to.”

“And why, exactly, have you disobeyed my orders?”

The blond man shifted uncomfortably. He seemed to debate whether or not he should tell him what transpired between the two, but the Redguard took his silence as an answer. Overhead, a light rain began to pitter-patter against the old stone fortress.

“Don’t let it happen again,” Isran growled. “Because if you do, I will personally remove you from the ranks of the Dawnguard. Are we clear?”

Agmaer straightened his posture. “Yes, Isran. I won’t let it happen again.”

The Dawnguard leader grumbled indistinguishably, then turned and walked away. The blond Nord cast a gaze over his shoulder and smiled sadly yet apologetically. Serana furrowed her dark brows—but he was gone before she could even open her mouth. She stared at the bucket of rabbit blood again and wondered, with a small frown, if her words had changed his view of her kind.

She was abruptly drawn out of her thoughts as a familiar scent hit her nose.

Chapter 9: One Condition

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

The footsteps grew louder; closer. Her heart pulsed in her throat. Her teeth dug into the inside of her lip. She knew that scent—it clouded her mind like a thick, impenetrable mist. Foggy claws dug deep into the back of her throat and seared her dry, parched tongue.

Isran’s boots came into view. She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.

Bright, icy blue irises set in a messy constellation of freckles stared back at her. Red lashes framed hard eyes that sat on rosy cheeks under bushy red brows. Curly red hair twisted and twirled down from her head, sporadically braided, and slightly frizzy from the rain. A subtle aquiline nose protruded from her face with a long bridge and small nostrils. Her thin pink lips pouted into a strong, natural frown and accentuated several small scars cut across her chin and cheek and neck . . .

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Serana snapped out of her reverie. She clenched her jaw as memories of Vigdis flooded back to her. She had forgotten their previous interaction, and the hunter’s overall treatment of her the last time they spoke. She sucked in a shallow breath to both calm and brace herself.

“I was looking for you,” she finally said. She fully met Vigdis’ gaze again, her tone cool. “I know you were expecting to never see me again, but I need your help.”

The hunter’s eyes darkened with hatred and distrust. She barred her teeth and snarled. “And why the fuck would I help you?” For an instant, her eyes flashed with hurt before they went cold again. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t—” Serana cut herself off as she drew in a shallow breath. Vigdis’ vivid scent immediately flooded her nose and mouth; her thirst howled to life; her jaw threatened to unhinge—she clenched it shut and spoke tightly through her teeth. “I didn’t know my father would do that. I was just trying to protect my family.”

Isran’s eyes darted between them, his glare narrowed in suspicion. He looked as if he wanted to cut in, but stayed silent as Vigdis advanced closer to Serana, her eyes ablaze with bottomless anger and fury. It took every ounce of Serana’s willpower to keep her mouth sealed.

“Protecting those fucking things you call family could’ve fucking killed me,” she spat venomously. The vampire flinched but Vigdis didn’t care. “I have no fucking reason to help you or let you live. Your resourcefulness was spent the moment I—”

“If it’s information you want, then I fucking have it!” Serana finally screamed out, her voice a ferocious swirl of desperation and frustration. “I already gave you my fucking Elder Scroll! I came all this way for you to hear me out, and all you’ve done is spit on me and treat me like a monster!” She took a shaky breath to regain some of her composure, her gaze trained on the hunter’s face.

“Look. Just—hear me out.” She paused for a moment, hesitant—but Vigdis merely stared at her with impatience, so she took that as a sign to continue. “If I wanted my father to succeed, I wouldn’t have come here. I wouldn’t have brought the Scroll and given it to the Dawnguard. I wouldn’t have persuaded him to let you go.” She tugged on the rusted chains clasped around her wrist and lifted them for Vigdis to see. “You know what my father is and what he’s capable of, and that those same powers apply to me. You know as well as I do that I could’ve escaped if I wanted to, but I chose to stay and wait for you.” She dropped her hands, her expression sorrowful and her voice quiet. “My father has to be stopped. And you’re the only person who can help me.”

Vigdis scowled, dubious. “Why me?”

The vampire crossed her arms. “Because you’re the one that woke me up. And your friend here says you’re the best vampire hunter he has—I’m inclined to believe him.”

Vigdis eyes flashed dangerously as she turned to Isran, his own expression moulded into thinly veiled disappointment and rage.

“You withheld information from me,” he stated lowly.

“You lied about me being an official member of the Dawnguard,” Vigdis retorted. “You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you. I’ve done every fucking errand you’ve sent me on and more than proven myself to you. So either you let me in—” She stepped closer so that she towered over him. “—or I kill you.”

Serana’s eyebrows shot up in bewilderment. She glanced to Isran, who merely glared at Vigdis and seemed to assess the severity of her ultimatum.

“You think you’re in a position to threaten me?” he rumbled lowly. “You can’t kill me.”

The redhead, whose freckled hand had settled beneath the cross-guard of her sword, now used her thumb to reveal a small sliver of the blade that hid in the sheath. The action, although simple and small, dared him to test her further. The brunette’s eyes glanced between them as she held her breath. For several moments, no one moved. Then, slowly, Isran relaxed his shoulders, as if defeated.

“You’re in,” he relented. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Without a word, the hunter’s sword slid back fully into its scabbard, then turned her cold gaze back to Serana.

“Where is the Scroll now?” she asked—more to her leader than to the vampire.

“With me,” Isran grunted. “I’ve kept it in my quarters until we can get a Moth Priest that can read it. There’s one in Skyrim right now, but he’s proven difficult to track down.”

Serana smirked. “I know where he is.”

Both pairs of eyes snapped to her; Vigdis spoke, her voice curt. “Where is he?”

The vampire pursed her lips. “You haven’t agreed to help me yet.”

Freckled nostrils flared in thinly veiled irritation. “Don’t play this fucking game with me.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” she offered. “If you promise to help me, I will tell you everything you want to know.”

Ice-blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

Red eyebrows furrowed slightly as the hunter appeared to consider her options and attempt to gauge whether or not Serana spoke the truth. After a long silence, she finally sighed.

“Fine. I’ll help you,” she acquiesced, “on one condition.”

“Name it.”

Vigdis’ freckled features morphed into a dark, bottomless hatred, one that Serana had seen before, and it stared cruelly at her once again.

“If you falter for even one moment, there will be no mercy for a monster like you.” Her words were a vow; the vampire shuddered in discomfort under such a sharp, unwavering gaze. “Got it?”

Serana forced her persimmon eyes to meet the hunter’s. The deep distrust shined brightly in her irises, definite and resolute. She was hatred in mortal flesh; it would be dangerous for her to travel with this woman—this vampire hunter that would enjoy nothing more than to shove a sword through her throat. Although flesh easily yields under the sword, the soul can shift . . . given enough time. No soul is immune to change. Not even Vigdis herself.

Serana nodded.

The redhead fetched a rusted key from her pouch and unlocked the irons around the brunette’s wrists—who struggled to not notice the brief grips of warmth from the freckled fingers around her pale arms. How could Vigdis look and act so cold, and yet be so warm to the touch?

“You’re letting it go?” Isran growled in disapproval as Serana gently rubbed at her newly freed wrists.

“How else is she supposed to prove her resourcefulness?” Vigdis countered. “I doubt you want to waste your time or your men looking for the Moth Priest.”

“And when it turns on you?” The hunter merely gave him a look. His nostrils flared in irritation. “You’d better know what you’re doing. If it so much as lays a finger on anyone here, I’ll hold you both responsible.” He cast his dark gaze to Serana. “You’re an asset and nothing more, vampire. One wrong move, and your little deal is void.”

“Thanks,” she quipped sourly. She looked back to Vigdis, who simply motioned for her to follow before she left the room. Serana, uncertain yet ready to be as far away from Isran as possible, brushed past the Redguard and went after the redhead.

They descended the spiral staircase with an almost inhuman swiftness, almost as if Vigdis didn’t want to spend another moment in the fort. Serana struggled to keep up once they hit the ground floor and they headed straight for the exit.

“Wait! Vigdis!”

The hunter stopped and looked to her right. Serana followed her gaze to see an Imperial, who jogged to Vigdis with urgency.

“I’m glad I caught you,” he told her, slightly out of breath as he stood beside her. “I came to ask you: what is . . .” He cast a wary look at Serana as his voice dropped to a low tone. “His name?”

Vigdis glanced towards Serana, then paused. Her ice-blue irises shifted—but Serana was shocked at the lack of coldness or hatred she typically perceived in them, as anger and fear swirled to life in their place. The hunter’s entire body was rigid, her jaw unnaturally stiff, as if her answer to the Dawnguard man might break her.

“Selinus,” she answered, strained yet quiet. “An Imperial.”

The vampire frowned. The name was unfamiliar to her; she was thoroughly confused as to why Vigdis stared at her so intensely. She shifted uncomfortably as she folded her arms over her chest as if to shield herself from unavoidable scrutiny, then forced her eyes away from Vigdis to find that her friend stared at her, too, although it was a much friendlier gaze.

“Do you know him, my lady?” the man inquired softly.

Serana shook her head. “No. I’ve never heard of him.”

In her peripheral, Vigdis relaxed noticeably. The emotions Serana saw before were long gone and she, briefly, looked relieved, before she reverted back to her naturally cold, neutral state. The Imperial turned back to Vigdis with a compassionate expression.

“I’ll sift through the records that the Dawnguard has here for any information. I’ll let you know if I’ve found anything when you come back.”

The hunter nodded and he disappeared back into the halls of the fort. Questions festered on the tip of Serana’s tongue—she pressed her pale lips into a tight line so they wouldn’t spill out. She will have plenty of time to interrogate the redhead on their journey.

Together, they exited the main fortress—but it wasn’t long before the pair were stopped again, this time by an Orsimer who had waited for them at the bottom of the hill.

“You’ll need this.” He handed her the reins to a dappled brown horse, equipped with a white bareback saddle. When Vigdis raised a brow, he merely smiled. “Consider it a gift for saving my ass. Her name’s Mournloaf. She’s a sneaky one, but she’s reliable. She’ll take good care of you, so long as you do the same for her.”

Serana smiled at the name, then watched as the hunter immediately shed some of the equipment on her back and attached it to the horse’s saddle. She then slid her boot into the stirrup and lifted herself up. With one fluid motion, her other leg swung over to meet the stirrup on the opposite side, and she sat in the seat with familiar ease. She met Serana’s gaze and jerked her head behind her.

“Hurry up. You’re wasting daylight.”

The vampire, although surprised by the command, obeyed, albeit hesitantly. It was excruciatingly difficult for her to ignore every light, accidental brush she made against Vigdis as she climbed onto the saddle to sit behind her; every touch felt like the sun’s rays as they washed over a glacier, or a warm fire on a cold night. Neither of them said anything, not even as Serana’s pale fingers uncertainly gripped Vigdis’ waist to stabilise herself.

The orc gave a whistle, then slapped the horse’s butt for her to go. Mournloaf neighed, then began a gentle trot along the trail away from the fort. The guards at the post were warned of their arrival and opened the wooden gate with wary glances.

Vigdis’ warm scent drifted to Serana’s nostrils again, her nose practically lost in the red curls. It slowly filled her head like a sweet wine, the temptation a low pound in her throat. Unable to completely satisfy her inner beast, she breathed it in deeply so that it stained every piece of her immortal soul. Her vampiric instincts may be strong, but her will was stronger. It had to be, if she wanted to survive.

“The Moth Priest—where is he?” Vigdis inquired, abruptly snapping Serana out of her drowning thoughts.

“He’s in Dragon Bridge,” she answered simply.

The hunter grunted, then elapsed completely into an icy silence once again. The vampire sensed that this was going to be another long, unbearably quiet journey. The brunette leaned her head back with a quiet sigh, her eyes towards the snowy peaks of the mountains that encircled them in the canyon.

She hoped for what felt like the thousandth time that she had made the right choice.

Chapter 10: Questions Without Answers

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

If Vigdis was glad of one thing, it was that Serana was quiet.

They stopped in Riften for supplies and a new map, as Vigdis’ was tattered and ripped nearly beyond all recognition. When they set off again, she pulled out the map and traced all potential routes to Dragon Bridge with her eyes until she settled on the best possible way. Although they had the means to camp almost every night, it wouldn’t hurt for them to stop in small towns along the way. They just needed to keep a low profile to not draw unwanted attention to themselves if they wanted to reach the Moth Priest with little to no problems.

They travelled north, away from the dense deciduous forests of the Rift and into the cold, sparsely coniferous lands of Eastmarch. They passed Shor’s Stone by midday, then arrived at the small village of Kynesgrove by dusk. The mining village was aglow with fresh snow, soft and powdery beneath their feet.

“Are we really staying here for the night?” Serana asked as Vigdis tied Mournloaf to the rail of Braidwood Inn. Although the sun had set and the sky twinkled with stars, a rosy golden light still panned out from the horizon. “Why not Windhelm?”

“It’s more expensive,” Vigdis responded dryly. “And your little friends can find more places to hide in the city.” She fetched an apple from the bag attached to the horse’s saddle and fed it to the creature. She cast a look over her shoulder with a sneer. “We don’t want your father finding out you betrayed him yet.”

Serana folded her arms with a frown, although she didn’t say anything else. The hunter patted the horse’s neck before she climbed up the steps, tapped the toes of her boots on the deck to shake off any loose snow, and headed inside.

The firepit crackled and its warmth cradled the inn in its orange radiance. Vigdis approached the bar and took a seat on one of the stools. When the innkeeper approached, she ordered a bowl of horker stew and a bottle of honey mead. Just as she received her drink, Serana appeared on her right and took a seat beside her. Vigdis didn’t have to look to know that the brunette was still upset about what she had said.

“Do you treat everyone like this?” The redhead took a swig of her mead. “Or is it just me?”

The hunter swallowed the bittersweet liquid and turned her cold gaze to the vampire. Persimmon eyes buried in black sclera were narrowed in anger, dark brows dipped low and nostrils flared. The hurt had been clear in her voice, and now it was written all over her pale features.

Instead of an answer, Vigdis looked away and took another sip. Serana sighed with irritation.

“And you wonder why everyone’s afraid of you,” she spat. “Are you even human?”

The innkeeper handed Vigdis her horker stew, then scurried away like a mouse, as if she sensed the suddenly volatile atmosphere. As her icy eyes stared into bowl, the steam of the hot contents wafted to her nose: tomatoes, garlic, horker meat, and a hint of lavender. Her stomach rumbled—but her hands were curled into tight fists, her short nails dug into her palms. Her fury was barely concealed under her tense body.

“Is it really smart for you to say shit like that to me?” Vigdis asked in a low, almost inaudible snarl through her clenched teeth. “You don’t know me. So don’t start fucking pretending that you do.”

The corner of Serana’s mouth twitched in pity. “I know enough to know this much: you think that guarding yourself so fiercely will save you from getting hurt, but in reality, it’s just going to ensure that you’re always alone.”

On the surface, Vigdis said nothing, and turned her attention back to her stew which she promptly began to eat. Deep down, the comment had stung her—but she utilised every bit of her willpower to keep it planted away in her soul and focused solely on the meal in front of her. Vigdis caught the clink of gold over her loud slurping.

“I’d like a room for the night,” Serana told the innkeeper.

“Splendid!” the woman said with a smile. “You can use the room with the door closest to the bar on your left.”

Vigdis turned to see Serana’s back, bewildered by the sudden interaction. “Where are you going?”

The brunette looked over her shoulder with a glare. “Away from you.”

With that, Serana entered her room and shut the door. The redhead rolled her eyes, as she recognised what little good such a childish tantrum would do, and went back to her stew. She lifted the bowl and swallowed the rest of its contents with a few gulps, then set it down and burped. She handed the innkeeper some gold and took the room beside Serana’s. As she was now unable to watch the vampire for any wrong moves, she felt annoyingly on edge. But as she rubbed at her eyes and moved towards the bed, which was soft and welcoming, exhaustion washed over her.

Vigdis laid on the bed. Her back ached, then relaxed into the makeshift mattress. She threw a freckled arm over her eyes and, for a moment, recalled her time in with the bandits she was once a part of. She wouldn’t call them her friends—certainly not her family—but they were people that she once knew. People she interacted with. People that taught her how to survive, how to live, how to protect.

And she chose to be alone again.

She turned over. She shoved her memories to the back of her mind, where they would linger until she remembered them again, and squeezed her eyes until she fell into the depths of dreamless sleep.

 

Vigdis was out of the inn before dawn.

She fed Mournloaf and strapped some of her equipment back onto the saddle, ready to get back on the long road to Dragon Bridge. A torch burned beside them to illuminate the inn’s porch, and she used its light to consult the map again. The front door opened, but Vigdis didn’t bother to look up. She rolled up the map and put it away for the time being, then mounted the horse before she noticed that Serana stood on the deck, her arms crossed and her eyes a noticeable yet soft persimmon glow.

“Are you ready to go?” Vigdis inquired gruffly, her voice still husky. Serana merely nodded as she climbed onto the horse behind the hunter. The redhead clicked her tongue and pulled the reins—the horse neighed, then turned her head and followed the road.

They trudged along in silence. Even when the sun rose and dyed the skies with blood and fire, and the snow fell from dense silver clouds, and their natural breath became an unnatural fog, they said nothing.

Vigdis was lost, consumed by the myriad of thoughts that barraged her relentlessly. Some suspected what the vampire had done while she had slept; some questioned if the newest recruits at Fort Dawnguard were still alive or if Isran had kicked them out because they annoyed him; others still wondered when she would get to bathe again.

The sun hadn’t yet reached its peak when Nightgate Inn loomed into view. It was their next stop for supplies—and to stretch. She parked Mournloaf at the inn’s entrance and slid off the saddle, grateful to stand again. Vigdis reached her arms over her head just as Serana got off the horse with a grunt of her own.

“Ow, I’m so sore,” Serana grumbled. The hunter went to remove a bag from the horse’s saddle—then froze.

A small dock protruded from the rocky shore and extended into the small lake beside the inn. It glittered serenely under the sun, its crisp blue hues an invitation. She brushed past the horse and approached the water to crouch down and test its temperature with her finger. It was certainly cold, but she had bathed in colder waters before. It was perfect, and there was no way to know when this opportunity would come along again.

She stood and unclasped the buckles of her armour. One by one, layers of fur were peeled off, followed by the leather and cloth that hid underneath. There was an audible gasp behind her as Vigdis stripped off the last remnant of her top and, after a noticeable shiver from the chilly air that caressed her freckled skin, glanced over her shoulder to see an incredulously shocked expression on the vampire’s features.

“What are you doing?” Serana asked in bewilderment.

Vigdis dropped her top to the ground beside her, then resumed her focus on her boots. “I need a bath.”

When her statement merely earned a string of strangled sounds of embarrassment, she snorted under her breath. Her boots slipped off with ease, followed by her thick pants. Now completely bare, she exhaled sharply when she touched the water with her toes.

“Are you insane!?” the brunette finally hissed. “Someone’s going to see you!”

Vigdis glared at her, annoyed. “You really are a fucking princess, aren’t you?” Serana bared her teeth; the redhead rolled her eyes. “Be useful and keep watch if you’re that fucking worried about it then.”

Vigdis crouched down and dived into the water. The cold pricked at her skin like a thousand needles, and aches in her muscles slowly faded away. Her head resurfaced a moment later, the air she deeply breathed stabbed her lungs. She ran her hands over her freckled face to wipe the water drops away from her eyes. For the first time in a while, she felt refreshed, even under the vampire’s intense persimmon gaze.

She dove under and swam for several minutes, and only came up for air and to scrub away at her skin and hair. When her body fully adjusted to the temperature, she returned to shore and walked out of the water. Droplets raced down her freckled skin and dripped from her curly red tresses. She went to squeeze the extra water from her hair when Serana held out a towel. Vigdis raised a brow and looked up to see that the vampire’s head was turned away, clearly still flustered over her nude state.

“They had one inside,” Serana mumbled.

The hunter stared at her for a moment, then gingerly took the towel and swiftly dried herself off. She used the towel to wring out her hair, then returned it to Serana. She scooped up her armour off the ground and dressed herself, her hair still noticeably damp. She didn’t even notice that Serana had gone inside the inn to give the towel back until she returned, her arms crossed just as Vigdis clasped the last buckle.

“Are we done here?” Serana asked. “I don’t think we need any supplies yet.”

The redhead ignored her and, after a thorough check of their supplies, decided that they wouldn’t need to resupply until they reached Dawnstar. She mounted Mournloaf and Serana followed, and they returned to the main road to continue their journey.

 

They resupplied at Dawnstar and camped outside of the city with no trouble. It was a rare stroke of luck—and one that didn’t last.

Vigdis knew the signs of an oncoming storm; the sudden gusts of wind, the ominous clouds that crept towards them from the west, the tingle of electricity in the air, the silence of nature itself.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Serana voiced, a tinge of anxiety in her words. “Are we almost to Morthal?”

“We’re not staying in Morthal,” Vigdis growled. Memories of the town lurked at the edge of her mind and threatened to seep into her vision—she shut her eyes and pushed them back into the darkness. “We’ll find somewhere to camp and wait out the storm.”

“That’s . . .” The vampire sighed in obvious irritation. “Why are you so stubborn and so stupid?”

The hunter looked back at Serana and narrowed her eyes. “You’re asking for a dagger in your throat, vampire.”

Persimmon eyes flashed at the threat, but Serana didn’t back down.

“If we camp, we risk dying out here. This isn’t a normal storm we can just sit out in the wilderness—we need a stable structure to stay in, and Morthal’s inn is our best bet right now.” Her expression then changed from a challenging anger into a pleading desperation. “I know you don’t like it. I don’t either. But we don’t have a choice this time, and I would prefer if we made it to Dragon Bridge in one piece.” The corner of her lip twitched. “And I, for one, don’t think the Dawnguard would appreciate it if you died.”

Serana had made a point that Vigdis couldn’t argue unless she wanted to mention the vampire coven she had wiped out before. She said nothing, and instead, begrudgingly steered Mournloaf towards Morthal.

The town came into view as they reached the top of the hill. The wind had picked up considerably and flecks of snow drifted down from the darkened skies. Vigdis dismounted from Mournloaf and spotted a small stable for her to stay overnight. She guided the horse into a stall and tied her to a post in hopes that it would be enough to keep her safe. Then she and Serana headed straight for Moorside Inn just as the visibility began to disappear in the thick snow.

“Travellers!” the innkeeper called joyously when they barged in. “Come in, come in! Good to finally have customers, even if it’s because of the bad weather.”

Vigdis brushed off the snow on her arms. She hesitated for a moment, then sighed and approached the innkeeper at the bar. The woman’s eyes immediately went wide when she saw the hunter’s face.

“Wait, ain’tcha the hunter that killed all them vampires?” she inquired, a tremble in her voice.

Vigdis clenched her jaw as Serana joined her side. “I am.”

“I remember you now. You’re the one that asked me about Alva’s house,” the woman continued, shaking her head. “She turned out to be one of them nasty vampires too. But you went in that cave all by yourself! Heard you even burned their bodies.”

Vigdis recalled how her sword sawed through Movarth’s knee; how he screamed and cried for mercy as she interrogated him; the disappointment that still bled into her veins when he knew nothing of Selinus’ current whereabouts and led her into another dead end. She flared her nostrils, tired of this conversation—and irritated at the possible questions the vampire would ask her about it once they were alone.

“Is this enough for a room?” Vigdis inquired sharply as she placed a small bag of gold in front of them.

The innkeeper’s face fell, a frown on her lips as she sighed. “Well, you ain’t very kind, but I can’t deny that you’ve done Morthal a real favour.” She took the purse. “The big room to your right is yours for the night.”

The hunter turned and walked over to the door. When she opened it, she noted that it was the largest room she had ever seen. It was sporadically decorated but had a bed that was clearly meant for two people to sleep on—and a cosy fireplace in the corner, aglow with soft, dying embers.

As Vigdis went over to the bed and sat down, Serana shut the door. Silence settled over them, save for the crackle of the fire and the rustle of Vigdis as she dug through her backpack for the map.

“Care to tell me what that was about?”

The hunter lifted her icy eyes, only for them to meet the vampire’s own persimmon gaze, tinted with curiosity and apprehension.

“It’s none of your business,” she responded curtly, dropping her eyes back to her pack. When she finally found the map, she pulled it out and unravelled it. She ignored Serana, even when the brunette sat right next to her.

“That’s why you didn’t want to stay here, right? Because of that?”

Vigdis said nothing, focused solely on the map in her hands. Moments passed; in her peripheral, the hunter could see the vampire’s fingers as they twisted and pulled in her lap. Perhaps she had finally gotten the hint and saw that it would be better if she shut up.

“Why do you hate vampires so much anyway?”

Every thought screeched to a halt. Every muscle in her body became as rigid as stone. Every breath was short and shallow.

“I mean, there has to be a reason, right?” Serana continued. There was hint of sadness to her voice, although Vigdis couldn’t understand why. “People don’t typically hate vampires. They’re afraid of them, but that’s not the same thing.”

“Shut up,” the hunter snarled. The map crinkled in her hands as her fingers curled and dug into her palms. A distorted face swirled at the edges of her mind. “Just shut up.”

“Why? I just want to understand. Is that so much to ask?”

Vigdis forced herself to look the vampire in the eyes. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Serana’s pale lips curved into a deep frown, her dark brows furrowed. For a moment, Vigdis thought that she finally dropped the subject—but then she opened her mouth.

“Was it . . . Did a vampire kill someone you loved?”

A shiver washed over her; the inn dissolved into her childhood home, her father’s bloodied corpse on the floor. The cold hand was around her neck, her back against the wall. Nails clawed into the thin, soft skin. Fingers crushed her oesophagus. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream. She scratched at the hand, she kicked helplessly at the undead body, she stared through her tears into the bright fiery eyes of her father’s killer as he bared his fangs—

“VIGDIS!”

She gasped.

Serana was pinned beneath her legs; her cold pale hands tightly enveloped her freckled wrists. Her dagger was raised above her head, ready to stab the vampire and kill her once and for all. Vigdis’ chest heaved as she breathed hard for the air that wouldn’t fill her lungs. The brunette’s persimmon eyes were wide with fear.

The hunter pushed herself off of the vampire, her dagger still clutched in her hand as she stood, unsteady. Her entire body trembled uncontrollably as nausea churned in the pits of her stomach. Silent tears spilled onto her freckled cheeks, but she was quick to brush them away on her sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Serana whispered. “I . . . I shouldn’t have asked.”

Vigdis turned. The vampire was propped on her elbows, her own gaze watery. She slowly sheathed her dagger, her breaths still hollow and her tremors obvious. Her every move was watched closely by the brunette, who no doubt worried that this was all a ruse to put her at ease. She looked at Serana again, her expression hard despite the fractured vulnerability she felt inside.

“Don’t bring it up again.”

Serana nodded her head in agreement, solemn.

Vigdis pressed a hand to her head and walked to a chair that was tucked in the corner of the room opposite to the bed. She sunk into it as she swallowed down her nausea, her head rested against the wall as she stared at the door. She brought her knees to her chest as her eyelids slowly folded shut over her ice-blue eyes, her body an empty cage that still rattled to the panic that coursed in her blood. Within a few deep breaths, she plunged deep into the darkness of sleep.

Chapter 11: The Moth Priest

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

Vigdis’ wrists still faintly burned in Serana’s pale hands.

She laid on her side, her knees bent and her hands folded against her mouth, unable to tear her eyes away from the hunter’s curled form. The redhead had fallen asleep like that; her breaths were calm, deep, her freckled face a blank, peaceful slate.

But all Serana could see were her eyes; her ice-blue eyes, her eyes that were always so cold and so sharp, her eyes that screamed with terror as she loomed over the vampire with the dagger high above her head, her eyes that crumbled into a brief horror followed by a painful sorrow when her name brought her back to reality.

And her tears, although silent and brief, glistened down her cheeks, mirrored in Serana’s guilty gaze. And when hard icy eyes found her again—broken, haunted, tormented—Serana almost couldn’t stand it.

“Don’t bring it up again.”

A long, deep sigh left Serana’s lips. Although she was certain that Vigdis’ hatred for her kind was warranted and she genuinely meant no harm when she asked about it, it was clear that her insatiable curiosity had gone too far this time. It was a memory, a piece of Vigdis’ past that frightened her; haunted her. They were her demons to fight, to bury—what right did Serana have to pry? Perhaps, someday, Vigdis would have the strength to face it, and let Serana in.

The hunter shifted. The vampire tensed, her breath still as she prepared for the woman to wake. But several moments passed and Vigdis continued to sleep, her mouth slightly agape.

Serana relaxed as her mind wandered far away. Icy blue eyes melted into a lake that glittered under the afternoon sun. Freckled skin glowed beneath the warm rays, loose fiery hair curled down her bare back. Scars covered nearly every surface; faded lacerations, old burns, small bright cuts. Her shoulders were broad and square, her torso long and tall. Swaths of thin red hair blanketed her legs, her arms, and a trail blazed from her belly button down to her bushy curls . . .

In that moment, Vigdis had taken Serana’s breath away. She would be a fool to deny the hunter’s beauty, to deny that the scene had made her teeth dig into her lip. For a brief second, she imagined that she had reached out to her, brushed the tips of her pale fingers along the scars down her back, traced into the canvas littered by the endless constellations of freckles—

Vigdis groaned.

Serana’s thoughts immediately scrambled in panic and she bolted up, her cheeks stained pink. The hunter turned her head so her half-lidded blue eyes rested on the vampire. Despite her exhausted gaze, her eyes still pierced Serana, and they studied her face in silence. Serana merely stared back—and hoped that her expression was neutral enough to hide the embarrassment that lingered in her mind.

Vigdis broke their gaze. She shuffled her feet off the chair and onto the floor, where she stood to stretch her arms. Serana continued to stare after her in silence, surprised that the hunter hadn’t yet said a word to her. She frowned and wondered if she was that desperate to avoid the conversation about their earlier altercation—and it bothered her.

Serana watched as the hunter meandered around the room. Freckled hands pulled at the buckles of her armour, adjusted her gauntlets, raked through her fiery curls. It was odd, to see her so aimless yet so anxious. She eventually found the map she had crumpled up the night before and, after she carelessly folded it, stuffed it into her backpack.

Then Vigdis slipped her pack onto her back and walked out the door.

Serana stared after her, puzzled. Perhaps what she had perceived as aimlessness and anxiety was, in reality, focused impatience.

She stood up and smoothed down her armour, her mind still muddled from her earlier fantasy. She shut her eyes—freckled skin, countless scars, icy eyes conjured instantly in the blackness—and she shoved it all away. When her persimmon eyes fluttered open, a numbness settled in the pit of her chest.

She exhaled the shaky breath she didn’t realise she still held, then followed after the redhead.

 

“What’s that?”

Vigdis pulled on Mournloaf’s reins to come to a stop, then followed the point of Serana’s outstretched finger.

“Looks like an overturned cart,” the hunter observed.

Daylight faintly streaked across the horizon. The two had ridden through the rest of the night towards Dragon Bridge in complete silence, neither of them in the mood to talk unless necessary. These utterances were the first they had spoken since last night, and Serana hoped that this find meant their awkward quietness would finally end.

Vigdis steered the horse towards the cart. As they drew closer, it became clear that it was an ambush; discoloured corpses littered the scene, blood pooled beneath their lifeless bodies and dry blood splattered across the stony road and plants. Vigdis then dismounted to inspect one of the bodies. Serana, eternally curious, did the same, and approached cautiously.

A few flies buzzed around the corpse. The armour, a chestnut leather cuirass with red undergarments, had been cut by a sword. The pale flesh underneath had been eaten away by an animal, most likely a wolf if Serana had to guess. She crinkled her nose, as the blood was stale and rather unpleasant to her.

Her eyes flitted to the hunter, who silently moved to a different body. She froze when she noticed the vampire armour that the corpse adorned.

“Is this one of your friends?” Vigdis asked, unable to fully mask the hatred that lurked beneath. She had obviously recognised the distinct armour too. She slid the tip of her boot beneath the vampire’s face and tilted it up to the sky. The Dunmer’s colourless face was slack, her eyes fogged by death.

“I don’t recognise her,” Serana replied, her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s not uncommon for my father’s advisers to create other vampires to do their bidding.”

“Hm,” Vigdis hummed in a low, neutral tone. She crouched down and swept over the body with her eyes. Her freckled hands reached out to search any pockets—

The sunlight passed over the vampire’s hands. The grey skin bubbled, then cracked into fissures that crumbled into fine dust. The armour began to give, the sudden loss of the body it once rested on disintegrated and gave into the absolute power of gravity. Her face flaked and burned away; it wasn’t long before the pungent smell began to overwhelm Serana.

Arms closed around her cold body. Hands grasped at her shoulders. A low, cruel voice whispered in her ear, the words indistinguishable, his breath a ghost against her cheek. Heartbroken and pained eyes behind the sunlit cage looked to Serana, rivers of tears down her cracked cheeks.

“Serana . . . Help . . . . !”

She clasped her hand over her trembling mouth and turned away, her eyes squeezed shut. She swallowed the memory, forced it deep into the bowels of her subconscious. Her shallow breaths steadied; she pulled her hand away as the shake in her body subsided. This kind of weakness in front of Vigdis would be the death of her—and she refused to let that happen.

The crinkle of paper brought Serana back into reality. She turned—her heart sunk at the sight of the vampire’s ash pile—and noticed Vigdis with a letter in her hands.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Serana held back a gasp when icy eyes met her own. Her dread completely washed away under such a cool, sharp gaze, and her brief moment of fragility was instantly forgotten.

“Orders to kidnap the Moth Priest,” Vigdis stated blankly. She trailed her eyes over the scene again. “There’s some blood that leads away from here. Either he’s injured, or one of the vampires is.”

Serana tore her gaze from the hunter to look for herself—and saw the blood that she meant. She walked over to the closest pool, then knelt and dipped the very tip of her pale finger in it. She gingerly held it up to her nose, but it was difficult to tell its scent with the other spilt blood that permeated the air. She stuck out her tongue and wiped the ichor onto her tastebuds.

“It’s a vampire,” she confirmed. “They were hurt pretty bad.”

When she was met with silence, the vampire turned to see that the hunter stared at her with a thinly veiled expression of bewilderment. After a moment, her confusion was washed away, her natural coldness back in her face.

Vigdis’ glanced over her shoulder and pierced the air with a sharp, clean whistle. Mournloaf neighed and obediently trotted over to them. The pair mounted the horse and Vigdis steered Mournloaf to follow the blood trail.

“Let’s see where it leads,” Vigdis muttered.

 

Vigdis nocked an arrow and pulled the bowstring back until the feathers brushed her freckled cheek. Serana held her breath.

The blood had led them to a cave—and to the vampire’s corpse, leaned up against the rocky entrance. They had guessed that this was the Forebears’ Holdout that had been mentioned in the letter, and where they held the Moth Priest hostage. They had proceeded inside with caution.

Serana, whose eyes pierced the darkness better than most mortals, peered over Vigdis’ shoulder. They were crouched atop an old, ruined staircase. Hints of ancient stone pathway embedded in the overgrown grass weaved to a bridge that crossed over a strong stream, where a vampire stood guard. Past the bridge was the fort itself, crumbled away from the merciless passage of time and merely a glimpse of the grandeur it once was.

The arrow flew forward—the unexpected snap of the string made Serana jolt—and sailed across the empty space until it struck its intended target. Her dark eyebrows shot up as the vampire fell and Vigdis quickly descended the steps to press on. Serana followed close behind, and as they passed over the body to cross the bridge, Serana was shocked to see the arrow dug deep into the side of its neck.

Vigdis loosed another arrow, which pierced a thrall lookout on the fort’s walls. They collapsed silently, their absence unnoticed. Serana’s mouth was agape with astonishment—she had watched the hunter kill animals before, but this was different. The redhead’s temper and stature didn’t match this stealthy approach; yet every movement seemed second nature to her. The shadows themselves cloaked her like black wings, her prey never aware of their demise until it was far too late.

No, Serana realised. Her method was just like her: quiet, and ruthless.

They peeked into the fort—and were met with a massive bonfire. Serana counted no less than three men, all humans. Vigdis shot another arrow, but it didn’t hit any of the three men that Serana saw. Instead, it found its mark in another vampire, who had stood on the second floor of a crippled tower, and dropped to the ground with a thud. This drew the attention of the men, who armed themselves and were now on guard for intruders.

“Why did you do that?” Serana hissed. “Now they know we’re here!”

Vigdis’ icy eyes glared over her shoulder. She put away her bow and unsheathed her dagger as she crept towards the closest man, whilst Serana begrudgingly decided to stay in place. Once he was in reach, Vigdis smashed a freckled hand over his mouth and dragged him to the ground. He struggled hard against her—until she stabbed the blade deep into his jugular. Blood sputtered from his wound and onto her hand. He laid on the ground, lifeless, and Vigdis shifted to her next victim.

Unfortunately, he sensed something was wrong, and turned just as she went to grab him. She jabbed the dagger into his inner thigh and dragged it down, then gave it a twist before she ripped it out. He opened his mouth to scream, but she cut his neck so he gurgled and choked on the sound.

Vigdis whipped around as the third man attacked her with unbridled fury. Serana’s breath hitched as the two fell to the ground in their struggle to kill the other. Serana thrust out her open palm—and an ice shard punctured the side of his head. He went limp.

Serana rushed over just as Vigdis shoved him off of her, her freckled face twisted with disgust. Before the vampire could open her mouth, the hunter stood up. For a moment, Serana glanced over her body and face, thoroughly covered in blood.

“I had that,” Vigdis muttered with a glare.

“You’re welcome,” Serana replied coolly.

The redhead huffed and rolled her eyes in irritation, then turned to ascend the staircase to the second floor. As Serana followed her, a faint yet familiar smell wafted to her nose. Her stomach churned.

“There’s no need to fight me, Moth Priest,” a voice murmured. “Your suffering will end, but only if you give in.”

“No!” another, older voice protested, clearly strained. “I must resist you, monster! I must . . . resist!”

The pair reached near the top of the staircase, then paused to look over the last steps. A magical teal barrier swirled around the centre, the stones inside aglow with the same light. An old man—presumably the Moth Priest—was trapped inside. Three vampires stood near him outside the barrier. One was a tall orc, with myrtle green skin . . .

Dread clenched Serana’s heart with a painful squeeze. The Orsimer was none other than her father’s new pet, Yotul, who would no doubt recognise her. She sighed to herself. Her betrayal would have to be revealed sooner rather than later, it seemed.

Vigdis reequipped her bow, an arrow pulled taut against the bowstring. It soared and struck the vampire closest to them, whose sudden death alerted the other two vampires. She swiftly readied another arrow—

“Let him go!” Serana called out. Vigdis threw her a furious, bewildered look. The hunter would certainly question her intentions, and perhaps even kill her, for this.

She emerged carefully from the staircase and stepped into the barrier’s light. The orc’s eyes glinted with recognition as a wide smirk stretched across her scarred features.

“If it isn’t Lord Harkon’s precious daughter,” Yotul sneered. “Your absence has left quite an impression on my Lord. He expected your return weeks ago.”

“I’m sure,” Serana bit sarcastically. She wasn’t here to talk about her father. “Let the Moth Priest go, Yotul. I’ll take him myself.”

The orc narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Dread creeped into the back of Serana’s mind. She had to convince Yotul that she was still on her side.

“Ah, but how is it that you found us, hm?” Her green fingers brushed the hilt of her mace. “I captured him merely hours ago, and yet, here you are.”

Panic seeped into dread’s place. “Father told me where to find you.”

“I haven’t told Lord Harkon that we’re here.”

Shit.

Yotul closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She exhaled through her mouth, and when her eyes opened, magic surged through Serana’s veins. The game was up.

“Did you really think you could hide that ungrateful mortal that refused my Lord’s gift?” the Orsimer snarled. “That bitch’s traitorous blood courses through your veins. It is time I proved to Lord Harkon you’re just like your mother!”

An ice shard shot out of Serana’s palm. To her disappointment, it narrowly missed Yotul’s face, who dodged it with a swift jerk. Fury burned through Serana’s veins, her fangs bared in a hiss. She was done talking.

The vampire with Yotul—a Dunmer—threw a lightning spell towards Serana. It barely missed her. She cursed and backed away, even as Yotul charged at her with her mace high above her head. She cast a desperate lightning spell of her own, but it deflected right off of the orc’s metal armour. She tripped over an uneven slab of stone and crashed to the ground, her mind a chaotic dance of panic as the orc swung her mace—

Clang!

Relief briefly washed over Serana at the sight of Vigdis, who had used her blade to block Yotul’s attack. She shoved her back and twirled the sword in her hand, as if to taunt the orc. Serana stood up and took her elven dagger from its sheathe on her belt.

“You finally revealed yourself,” Yotul snarled, her persimmon eyes alight with menace and disgust. “That will be your last mistake, Dawnguard filth.”

Vigdis merely growled before she charged the Orsimer with another swift attack. Serana tore her worried gaze from their fight and focused on the other threat that still lingered behind the orc—the dark elf.

Serana cast another ice shard, which pierced the Dunmer’s leg. They howled in pain as their eyes darted to Serana in anger. She smirked and allowed another spell to surge to her palm. She sidestepped when they shot another lightning bolt at her—which clearly used up most of their magic reserves—then rushed the dark elf and sliced at them with her dagger. They hissed and drew their own sword, a steel one that glinted threateningly in the teal glow. Blood dribbled down their cheek as Serana attacked again but was deflected by their sword. After a few exchanges of their blades, they drew their blade back over their shoulder—and Serana opened her palm. An ice shard pierced their heart. A shocked expression crossed the vampire’s face as they dropped to the ground, dead.

“Rrraagh!”

Serana whipped her head towards the roar—and her heart wrenched as Yotul elbowed Vigdis in the face, which caused the redhead to stumble back. The Orsimer then darted towards the staircase to retreat, and Serana impulsively shot an ice spike from her hand.

It smashed into the castle wall. Yotul disappeared into the ruins.

Despite the hard hit, Vigdis moved towards the battlements of the fort. She sheathed her sword and drew her bow, an arrow swiftly nocked just as Serana reached her. She followed Vigdis’ gaze and spotted Yotul as she ran across the bridge.

The hunter let her arrow fly—and it struck an object that hung from the orc’s belt. Yotul sprinted up the staircase and vanished from the cavern.

“Fucking fuck,” Vigdis cursed under her breath. She raked her hand through her red curls in frustration. “She got away.”

“But we saved the Moth Priest,” Serana quickly reminded her. “We just . . . have to figure out how to get him out.”

Vigdis glanced at Serana. Her cold, ice-blue eyes met persimmon ones and swirled with unspoken questions, her eyebrows still dipped in anger. The vampire glanced over her face—and froze when she spotted the cut on Vigdis’ pink lip.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered.

Vigdis looked away, her brows slightly furrowed. She instinctively stuck out the tip of her tongue. It grazed over the wound, stained with the bright red ichor, then darted back into her mouth. She raised her arm and wiped the saliva onto her freckled wrist.

Serana tore her eyes away from Vigdis’ mouth, but it was far too late. Her face was aflame, the image of her tongue and bloodied lips burned into the back of her mind. She chewed the inside of her lip and turned away from Vigdis, her gaze now focused on the teal barrier that still raged around the trapped Moth Priest.

This woman was going to be the death of her.

Chapter 12: Scroll Hunting

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

“That bitch’s traitorous blood courses through your veins. It is time I proved to Lord Harkon you’re just like your mother!”

The words rang like temple bells, hollow and relentless, in Vigdis’ mind.

“Ah, if only your traitor mother were here—I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike.”

She trailed behind Serana, who escorted the old man—Dexion, he had told them—with a gentleness that Vigdis thought was almost unnatural for her. She bored her ice-blue eyes into the back of the vampire’s dark brown hair, almost black in the darkness of the cave. The crease between her red brows was sharp and prominent, her arms crossed over her chest as her boots mindlessly fell one in front of the other.

In truth, she had nearly shot Serana; her confrontation with the orc had screamed betrayal to the hunter, who had shifted her aim to Serana’s jugular. But as the conversation went on, it became clear to Vigdis that it was Serana’s very poor attempt to distract the Orsimer. She had watched on, confused by her own hesitation to shoot, as Serana struggled to defend herself against the stronger opponent. It wasn’t until Vigdis blocked the orc’s mace with her own sword that she realised she had decided to save the vampire at all. Even after the pair shut down the barrier to save the Moth Priest, Vigdis still reeled from the fight, and so had stayed both silent and distant in the conversation.

Vigdis shook the memory from her mind and refocused on the countless questions that swirled in her mind. What did Serana’s mother have to do with all of this? What role had she played thus far—and what part does she still have to play?

Cling!

Her head snapped down. Puzzled, she knelt over what appeared to be a chalice—although it was unlike any cup she had ever seen. The strange chalice was crudely crafted from iron; spikes pierced completely through the bowl along the bottom of the rim. More spikes protruded from the base, encircled just above the foot. She pinched the stem between her freckled fingers and lifted the hefty object carefully.

“That’s what you shot off of Yotul,” Serana observed as Vigdis stood up. “I wonder what it’s for?”

“It appears to be an ancient artefact,” Dexion speculated, his wiry brows raised in thought. “Perhaps it is of some importance to these vampires.”

Vigdis shook her head, not in the mood to entertain Serana and Dexion’s hypotheses. She shrugged off her pack and stuffed it inside. If it was important to the vampires, they would figure out its use later.

“The sooner we get back to the fort, the better,” Vigdis reminded them coldly. “Isran isn’t exactly patient.”

“Neither are you,” Serana muttered.

The hunter’s annoyance instantly flared in her chest. She merely glared at the vampire, then shoved past them.

“Your friend is . . . very brash, my lady,” Dexion noted faintly.

“Tell me about it.”

 

“I see a vision before me . . . An image, of a great bow. I know this weapon; it is Auriel’s Bow.”

The entire Dawnguard watched as the Moth Priest with glazed eyes read from the Elder Scroll in the blinding light of the rotunda. Crates were scattered about and caused the hall to feel smaller than ever. Vigdis sat comfortably on one of the many boxes, one leg propped up against her torso as she fiddled with a mudcrab leg to devour the last scraps of roasted meat under its spiny shell. It didn’t escape her notice that Serana lingered close by; she stood tall with her arms crossed, her persimmon eyes fixed on Dexion.

“Now a voice . . . whispers,” the Moth Priest continued, “saying: ‘Among the night’s children, a dread lord will rise.’ In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men, darkness will mingle with light, and the night and day will be as one. The voice fades and the words begin to shimmer and distort—but wait, there is more here.

“The secret of the bow’s power is . . . written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other scrolls.” His brow furrowed in concentration, then softened. “Yes, I see them now . . . One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood.”

Vigdis growled under her breath, the mudcrab leg now scraped clean. Of course one extremely-hard-to-find Elder Scroll wasn’t enough to stop the vampire menace. No—there was always something fucking else. The old man’s wrinkled eyelids fluttered, tired and weak.

“My vision darkens, and I see no more.” He shut his eyes tight as the scroll slid back into its intricate golden case. “To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other two scrolls.”

“Helpful,” Vigdis snarled, too low for Dexion to hear. She threw down the crab leg; the empty shell hit the floor with a sharp, resounding crack just as Serana turned to her, clearly disappointed.

“I really thought that would be it,” she murmured. “I didn’t expect there to be more pieces to the puzzle . . .” Vigdis bit on her tongue and opted to not comment, whilst Serana fell silent, her dark brows knitted in thought. “Dexion said something about that scroll. What was it . . . Something to do with dragons, I think?” She looked at Vigdis, an idea alight in her persimmon eyes. “We should ask the librarian at the College of Winterhold—this is definitely something he would know about.”

The hunter glared at her. “And how in Oblivion are we supposed to get into the College in the first place? It’s not like—”

“Forgive my intrusion, but did I hear something about the College?”

Vigdis snapped her gaze away from Serana to see none other than Florentius, whose lips were lifted in a tentative smile. When he was met with a tense silence, he continued.

“I was once a very young and eager student at the College of Winterhold. I studied under the previous Master of Restoration; very nice fellow, taught me everything I know—but I left after he passed away.” He paused, a glint in his peridot eyes. “But there was another gentleman. Not a professor at the College, but he was—and likely still is—the leading expert in these, ah, elusive Elder Scrolls.”

“Can you get us in?” Serana asked, hope laced in her voice.

“Surely. It’s not that difficult to bypass the guardian of the bridge once you know how,” Florentius mused, a hint of a past endeavour in his eyes. “I’m almost certain no one there will recognise me now, aside from old Urag and perhaps a few professors. Alas, it will have to do.”

Disgruntled by the added yet unavoidable company of Florentius to their party, Vigdis stood up and headed for the doors. When she glanced over her shoulder, she glared at Serana and Florentius, who merely stared back in confusion.

“Are you coming or what?”

 

It didn’t take long for Serana and Florentius to become friends over the course of their journey—a fact that irritated Vigdis to no end, who wished every step of the way that they would shut up.

They travelled along the road north, towards Windhelm, and camped several times. Twice they were forced to stop and wait through a snowstorm when they drew closer to the city, but fortunately for them, the storms never lasted more than an hour or so. When they reached the split just before Windhelm, they ventured west—for it was unsafe to cross the White River at this time of year—then turned back east through the mountains that loomed behind the City of Kings. They stopped to camp again when the moons hung high in the cloudless sky, and Vigdis guessed that they would reach Winterhold the next day if it didn’t snow during the night.

“Hungry, Vigdis?” Florentius asked as he held out a bowl of stew to her. She shook her head as she laid out her furs on the ground, exhausted and disinterested in food. He merely frowned at her, concerned. The light of the flickering fire exaggerated his dark features, and softened Serana’s glowing eyes.

Vigdis slid under a layer of wolf fur, then reclined on her side, her back to the warm fire, her curly red hair splayed away from her face and neck. But her exhaustion was not swiftly met with the sleep she wanted and, instead, was greeted solely by the crackling of the fire and the occasional slurp from Florentius.

“Can you teach me something?” Serana asked, her voice low yet hesitant.

“Oh—yes, of course. What would you like to know?”

An awkward pause.

“Just a simple healing spell.”

“Ah.” Another pause. “What for?”

“For . . . Emergencies. If she . . . .”

Anger rose from the pits of Vigdis’ empty stomach. Was Serana learning a healing spell for her? She clenched her teeth to keep herself silent. She could take care of her own damn self. There was nothing a healing spell could do that Vigdis couldn’t possibly stitch up or bandage instead. She was self-sufficient for a reason; magic may be useful, but Serana’s presence was temporary. There was no point in relying on something that wasn’t permanent.

“Here, give me your hands.”

Vigdis listened as Florentius gave Serana a lesson on a simple but effective healing spell. The whispers of magic, along Florentius' constant guidance and encouragement, soon became redundant. Vigdis closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

-[<>]-

“You have to survive, Vigdis.”

She wrapped her small, cold fingers around a tiny bow. She pulled the bowstring to her cheek, her eyes glued to a makeshift target under a lone pine tree. The warm presence of her father knelt beside her.

“Even if it hurts.”

The bow dissolved. Embers glittered before her, a bowl scraped clean of its mutton soup cradled in her lap. At the edge of her vision, her dad’s purple hand settled beside her knee. She was still alone. She was still hungry.

“Even if it’s a consequence.”

The hut collapsed—and bodies bloomed in its place. Blood plastered her face and clothes and matted itself in her curly hair. She took a lit torch and tossed it onto the bodies, which immediately burst into hot, red flames.

The flames shifted, moulded, and carved into blood orange irises. They burned bright, hardened with hunger, with hate, with desperation. She sharply sucked in the bloodstained air that refused to fill her lungs. Blood pumped so loudly in her ears that it drowned out everything else. She tasted the deep red ichor on her cracked lips.

“You’re bleeding.”

-[<>]-

Eyelids slowly peeled open. Ice-blue eyes stared, unfocused, into the dark, starless night framed by the silhouette of the mountains. She gradually sat up. The nightmare that still lingered behind her irises had already begun to lose its tangibility no matter how hard she tried to recall every detail.

“Vigdis?”

She turned.

The same persimmon eyes she had seen in her dreams now reflected back at her; then it was clear that they were softer, less grim and utterly without cruelty. These eyes held no hate nor hunger; rather, they caressed a care and a worry that was obvious, even to Vigdis. No—these eyes studied her; watched her; examined her.

“You’re bleeding.”

Vigdis instinctively swiped her tongue across the bottom of her lip—only to taste her dry, cracked skin. Her cheeks flared in a subtle embarrassment. It dawned on her that Serana still waited for an answer.

“A nightmare,” she mumbled with a shrug.

Serana frowned. “You dream a lot.” Her eyes fell to the dying embers. “It haunts you.”

“Every night,” Vigdis whispered to herself, her eyebrows drawn together at the painful squeeze in her chest. The ghosts of her past would always mingle with her living present. Even if—when—she found her father’s killer and ended his monstruous un-life, her demons would haunt her until her last breath. She knew that. She had accepted that.

“Even if it hurts.”

She angrily shoved the fur blanket off her body. The nightmares of her memories receded until they were nothing but a whisper at the back of her mind. She glanced to the sky and saw that the warm dawn had started to seep into the cold black midnight over the horizon. She packed her equipment and refocused on their goal to reach Winterhold before the day’s end.

She turned and smashed the lingering hints of smouldering cinders with her boot. The ruckus woke Florentius; admittedly, Vigdis had forgotten he was even there, for he had slept as quiet as the dead.

It wasn’t long before the three of them resumed their trail towards Winterhold. Their journey was in silence, which surprised Vigdis. Still, she was grateful for the lapse in mindless chatter, and would savour the moment while she could.

When the town of Winterhold could be perceived in the distance, it looked as barren as Vigdis had imagined it to be. What she did not expect was the soullessness—the lifeless faces of the people that lived there. They lived in the shadow of the College, trapped beneath the magical haven as it loomed over the Sea of Ghosts. Despite her unease, she pressed through the village until they reached the steps to the bridge that connected to the grand College of Winterhold.

“Allow me,” Florentius murmured as he slipped in front of Vigdis to approach the guard of the bridge. She buried her snarl; she was half-convinced that this interaction would backfire, and they would have to rely on a more aggressive route. Still, she lingered a few feet behind him, her wary eyes trained on the Altmer that stood in their way.

“Stop where you are,” the mage warned stiffly, head held high. “If you seek entry into the College—”

“We are here on official business,” Florentius interjected in a formal tone that surprised Vigdis. “We wish to speak with the Master Wizard who will no doubt grant us an audience with the Arch-Mage.”

The Altmer narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “With what business?” Her gaze examined the three of them, her nose crinkled in disgust. “You don’t seem to be mages of any kind. What could you possibly want with—”

“We’re from the College of Whispers,” Serana blurted out.

All eyes snapped to her. Vigdis gripped the hilt of her sword, then glanced back to the guard.

“The College of . . . ?” the Altmer faltered. “You actually came?”

The tension dissipated. This was their chance to get in without bloodshed.

“Were you not expecting us?” Florentius inquired. “We sent word beforehand . . .”

“I—I had no idea. Mirabelle usually deals with your correspondences and, well if I’m being honest, she always throws them away . . .” Her face flushed bright pink. “The Arch-Mage tells her to, of course.” She cleared her throat, then stepped aside. “Come along then. Although I must ask that the brutish Nord stays out here.”

Vigdis, who recognised that the Altmer meant her, bared her teeth. It took every ounce of her control to not draw her sword and gut the elf.

“Then I must insist that she come along with us,” Serana objected with a glare. “She is our bodyguard and has protected us over the course of our very long journey.”

“I agree,” Florentius reinforced with a bright smile. “Surely you don’t want to make us feel unsafe while at your College?”

The Altmer frowned. Then she sighed deeply, defeated, and gestured for them to follow her. Vigdis was impressed that the lie worked so well and had to give the vampire some credit: she didn’t fuck it up this time.

The hunter wanted to relax after such a tense altercation; but her shoulders would not drop. The trio now had an Altmer to slip away from and a librarian to track down in unknown territory.

Vigdis drew in a deep breath as they passed through the iron gate and stepped into the courtyard of the College of Winterhold. A thin layer of snow crunched under her old boots. A silver sky rolled overheard. A massive statue of a hooded man with his arms outstretched as if to greet them stood before them as he loomed over a pool of azure magic that swirled up and around his hands. The main tower of the college overshadowed the statue, with a single stained-glass window of an eye encircled by lines that peaked over his head.

As unease bubbled in the pits of Vigdis’ stomach, she felt that someone—or something—waited for them. She reminded herself that this was their only possible lead to find a second Elder Scroll. With a tightened grip on her sword, she steeled herself and followed the Altmer inside.

Notes:

Hello.
My sincerest apologies for such a long wait. My life spiralled for a little while, and despite my desperation to write, I couldn't bring myself to do so for weeks.
But I want you to know that no matter how long it takes, I will always be writing new chapters and content. I have no intentions of ever abandoning this story--it is my sole source of happiness these days, so I'm going to keep writing their adventures, their arguments, their story.
Again, I'm so sorry for the long wait. I won't make any promises, but I can promise that I will keep writing. And I hope that promise is enough.
Thank you for reading. Until next time. <3

Chapter 13: The Arch-Mage

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

“Urag!”

An orc behind the counter lifted his head; a visible smile stretched his lips. “Well, well! If it isn’t Florentius Baenius!”

Florentius approached Urag with open arms, and the orc stood up from his chair to embrace his old friend. Vigdis scanned the Arcanaeum warily; the circular room had a small depression in the centre, where a pair of tables with chairs were placed on either side. Four sets of stone voussoirs beside the depression stretched and curved towards the ceiling. Two low partitions faced the tables and had small windows carved out. Arches opened into passages to the left and right sides of the library. Windows were high above and set in the outer rim of the room, although most of the light was supplied by candles and magic. Vigdis inhaled, her nose overwhelmed with the faint, musty smell of books. Bookcases upon bookcases housed the collection of tomes, an amount that Vigdis had never seen before. Books even piled up on the tables, by the arches, in front of the bookcases. With this much access to knowledge, the orc surely had the answers they searched for.

“It’s been a long time, old friend,” Florentius gently murmured with a smile. Vigdis glanced over her shoulder—Serana lingered behind, her glowing eyes glued to but not focused on the books that resided inside the cases.

“Too long,” Urag chuckled. “I still remember the young boy who would fall asleep on the floor with a book in his hands.”

“Some old habits never change.”

Their laughter echoed throughout the Arcanaeum. Vigdis rolled her eyes and approached, her patience thin. Florentius spotted her and stepped aside, whilst Urag raised a wispy white brow.

“The Elder Scrolls. Tell us what you know.”

“Elder Scrolls?” He scratched at his chin that was hidden under a scruffy mass of silver hair. His beady brown eyes narrowed in a mix of offense and astoundment. “Do you even know what you’re asking about?”

Her temper flared hot, fogged her skull and spine. As her thumb shifted beneath the hilt of her sword, she moved to step forward—when Florentius hurriedly thrust out his arm to stop her advancement. She instantly switched her fiery cold gaze to the Imperial.

“I’m afraid we do, Urag,” he interjected with a nervous smile. “It’s very important that we find one, and—well . . . I thought you could help us.”

The librarian flicked his eyes between the two. He weighed their words for a long time, before he eventually exhaled a deep, disgruntled sigh. “Fortunately for you, the Arch-Mage has one.”

“The Arch-Mage? Savos—?”

Urag shook his head. “Savos is gone. He died over a year ago.” The orc briefly shut his eyes, as if the death still loomed over him even now. “Octeagan Sictarius is the Arch-Mage now. You wouldn’t know him, Florentius. He arrived here as a new apprentice less than a decade ago. He’s a Breton from Cyrodiil, which caused some tension with the Nords when he first became Arch-Mage.”

“Of course it did,” Florentius huffed. “Where is he?”

“Where he should be,” Urag answered. “He’s upstairs in the Arch-Mage’s Quarters.”

“Finally,” Vigdis snarled out. She turned sharply on her heel and stomped back towards the staircase. She momentarily caught Serana’s glowing gaze from behind the arched partition, who hastily dropped whatever book she held in her hands and followed suit.

“What did you find out?” Serana asked once they began to ascend the spiral staircase to the third level.

“Enough,” Vigdis answered curtly.

When she reached the top and was met with another brown door, she kicked it open with so much force that it banged against the stone wall adjacent to it. Behind her, Florentius audibly sighed.

“You really know how to make such an elegant entrance,” he drawled. Vigdis ignored him as she stepped into the room, a cautious hand on her sword.

The three of them crossed the antechamber into the dodecagonal room, notably identical in structure to the Arcanaeum below them. A garden lit by several mage lights lived in the centre dip. A dead tree rose tall, glowing mushrooms climbed up its trunk, its thin limbs outstretched towards the ceiling—perhaps in false hope that it would someday see the sky. A partition sat behind the garden of alchemical plants, and three banners sewn with an eye adorned it. As Vigdis scanned the room, she saw no sign of the Arch-Mage.

“Does anyone else feel uneasy?” Serana whispered.

“Yes,” Florentius squeaked. “Um, Vigdis, perhaps we should—”

Violet light from behind the partition flashed across the room.

Vwoom . . . vwoom.

“I apologise if I’ve kept you waiting.”

A man stepped out from behind the wall. He smiled, perfect teeth set in a round face under thin, dark brows. His hair was shaved close to his head, and he sported a goatee. Rather than the robes expected, he wore armour comprised of both leather and metal. All of the dark grey metal was inlaid with intricate gold filigree, and some parts of the metal were plated with old gold. Two leather straps were buckled across his abdomen, and four more connected the breastplate to his shoulders, two on each side. Another belt wrapped securely around a purple-blue sash that draped over his scaled waist guard. He adorned matching fingerless gauntlets, but no shoes—instead, they were wrapped loosely with a soft cloth.

In his right hand he clutched a staff as tall as he. The walnut wood shaft was carved from top to bottom, the ferrule plain and untouched, whilst the foot was composed of a labradorite inserted into the ferrule. The collar of the staff widened into two rows of spikes and curled upwards. The crown itself had long fingers that encased around a spherical glowing labradorite, akin to a cage.

“I was expecting you,” the Arch-Mage admitted with a shrug. “But not quite so soon.”

Vigdis’ unease from before festered in her throat. The Arch-Mage shuffled towards his garden, and he lightly grazed his fingers along the trunk of the long dead tree thoughtfully. On closer inspection, it dawned on her that the Arch-Mage was blind.

“Before you ask—my magic has guided me through the world since my birth,” he noted. “A much more trustworthy method than an animal, no?”

“It’s certainly impressive,” Florentius agreed, although there was a thread of caution in his voice. Vigdis slightly loosened her grip on her sword, her suspicious gaze still sharply trained on the Arch-Mage.

“Where is the Elder Scroll?” she asked bluntly. She didn’t have time to ask him more interrogative questions—her goal was the Scroll. And she would have it.

“It’s here,” he replied vaguely. “But I wonder . . . What do you intend to do with such a powerful artefact? Hm?”

“Whatever I fucking please,” she snapped. “Now hand it over.”

The Arch-Mage tsked. He turned to Serana. “Perhaps you are more politely inclined to give me a response?”

Vigdis threw a dangerous glare over her shoulder to Serana, who hadn’t spoke since before the Arch-Mage’s mystical appearance. Serana met the hunter’s gaze, her dark brows knitted in thought, then looked to the Arch-Mage, who patiently waited for her answer.

“We need it to save Tamriel,” she finally said, her voice quiet. Everything went still as the man processed her words—then, he smiled.

“A noble cause,” he told her sincerely. He then turned and disappeared behind the partition, followed by a click and a small creeeak. When he returned, he presented the Elder Scroll in his free hand. “Here you are.”

Vigdis approached him warily. Her unease and distrust grew with every step, especially when she removed her grip from her sword to take the Scroll into her freckled hands. She looked at him once more, his misty gaze focused on her. He knew something that she didn’t, and that deeply unsettled her. She stepped back and dropped her gaze to the Scroll in her hands, her stomach sick with dread.

“Would you like it returned to you?” Florentius asked.

“No,” Octeagan assured. His smile seemed almost sinister. “Keep the Scroll. It may prove useful to you in the future.”

 

“Strange fellow, wasn’t he?” Florentius muttered as he idly stirred his vegetable soup.

The three of them sat at a table in the Frozen Hearth Inn as the fire-pit crackled faintly behind them. Vigdis slurped another bite of venison soup, her ice-blue eyes focused on the Elder Scroll in paranoia.

“Here,” Serana murmured, her hand now hovered over the Elder Scroll. The hunter took her eyes off the Scroll to glance at the vampire, her gaze narrowed in suspicion. She cast a spell—and when Vigdis looked back, the Scroll that laid on the table in front of them slowly disappeared. She raised a red brow when Serana grabbed the invisible artefact and strapped it to her back, just as she had done with her own Scroll.

“Tired of staring at it?” Florentius asked, an obvious grin on his face. He was met with only silence as Vigdis mulled over the next phase of their plan; they still needed one more Elder Scroll, and she was out of ideas. The silence permeated even after their meals were finished, and when Vigdis’ gaze drifted to a flickering candle, a frown marred her freckled features as she continued to contemplate how to move forward.

Eventually, Florentius sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m needed back at the fort.” He stood up, then turned to them with a smile. “You can handle yourselves without me, right?”

The Imperial priest of Arkay merely laughed when Vigdis glared at him, as she found his attempt at a joke very unfunny. “Of course you can, I’ve never doubted you for a moment.” He gave a flourishing bow. When he stood, his smile was gentle and sincere as it wrinkled the corners of his peridot eyes. “Take care, you two.”

He solemnly exited the inn. Vigdis returned her gaze to the candle and was about to set her head down when Serana suddenly spoke.

“Can we talk?” She paused and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Alone?”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Serana stood up from the table to enter the room closest to the bar, and Vigdis followed close behind her. The vampire blew out the candle on the dresser, which left them both in a void of black.

“Close the door.”

The hunter rolled her eyes, but did as she was told anyway as her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. When the door clicked shut, she even took the extra measure to lock it. She stepped away and inspected the room carefully; she investigated all of the wooden drawers and even checked under the bed to make sure they were completely alone. Her paranoia still pounded loud in her mind, and she would personally not feel more herself until they were far away from Winterhold and its College.

“Are you done? Can we talk now?”

For the first time that night, Vigdis looked fully at Serana. Her persimmon eyes glowed brightly in the darkness of their room, her arms folded over her chest. Her dark brows were furrowed in annoyance—and worry.

“The other Elder Scroll,” Serana began hesitantly, “I think I know where we can start looking for it.”

“You didn’t say anything before,” Vigdis growled.

“I know, I . . . I was scared to tell you.” She dropped her eyes to the floor. “You won’t like it, but we don’t have any other choice. And frankly, I trust my father less than I trust you.”

This admittance surprised and confused Vigdis. “But he’s your father.”

“You saw him yourself,” Serana pointed out. “He’s . . . obsessed. Ever since he decided to make that prophecy his calling . . . . We kind of drifted apart.”

“He doesn’t care about you anymore,” the hunter realised, softly.

Serana bit her lip. Her expression twisted, as if she was on the verge of tears. “I thought . . . I hoped that if he saw me, he might feel something again.” She shifted her stance and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “But I guess I don’t really factor in at this point. I don’t think he even sees me as his daughter anymore. I’m just . . . .” Her voice quivered and broke. “A means to an end.”

Vigdis, for once, had nothing to say. She didn’t know what to say. After several moments of what she felt was an awkward silence, she changed the subject.

“Where can we start looking for the Scroll?” she inquired nonchalantly.

“It’s with my mother, Valerica,” Serana answered as she straightened her posture. “She’ll definitely know where it is, and if we’re lucky, she actually has it herself.”

“Where is she?”

“That I don’t know. The last time I saw her, before I was entombed, she said that she’d go somewhere safe; somewhere that my father would never search. Other than that, she wouldn’t tell me anything.” Serana frowned, troubled. “But the way she said it: ‘someplace he would never search.’ It was cryptic yet she called attention to it. I just can’t figure out why she said it that way.”

“She didn’t trust you,” Vigdis stated pessimistically.

“That’s always a possibility,” Serana reasoned. “She was almost as obsessed as my father by the time she shut me in Dimhollow.” She shook her head. “But I can’t worry about that now. We need the Scroll, and she’s our only lead. Besides, I can’t imagine a single place my father would avoid looking. And he’s had all this time, too.” Her persimmon eyes looked to Vigdis. “Any ideas?”

Vigdis thought for a long moment. Eventually she couldn’t stand anymore and sat on the floor, her legs crossed. Serana joined her, merely a foot apart so they could continue to keep their voices low. For now, she would tolerate the vampire and play along with her, as they needed to figure this out one way or another.

“Sealed away?” Vigdis suggested. “Similar to you?”

“I don’t think so. She said she wanted to stay awake in case the situation was resolved. It had to be one of us, and, well, she’s so much more powerful than I am. It just made sense for her to be out here. Anything else?”

The hunter stared at the vampire in disbelief, tempted to voice a hard disagreement, but opted not to. “She obviously wouldn’t hide with the Dawnguard.”

“No, definitely not. Any other ideas?”

Vigdis began to chew on the inside on her lip. “In Castle Volkihar?”

“That . . .” Serana’s eyes widened. “That almost makes sense!”

The hunter raised a red brow. “It does?”

Serana nodded, enthusiastic for the first time since they started their conversation. “There’s a courtyard in the castle. I used to help her tend a garden there—all of the ingredients for our potions came from it. She used to say that my father couldn’t stand the place; too peaceful.”

“That’s risky. Even for her.”

“Oh, absolutely; but my mother’s not a coward. That is . . . I don’t think we’ll actually trip over her there. Still, it’s worth a look.”

“We can’t use the front door,” Vigdis reminded her. “Is there another way in?”

“Remember the unused inlet I told you about?” The hunter nodded. “What I didn’t tell you is that old escape tunnel from the castle exits there—only I know about it. I think that’s our way in.”

“It leads to the courtyard?”

“Yes, through an abandoned part of the castle.”

Vigdis lowered her head as her exhaustion finally seeped deep into her bones. Her relief was palpable; she had gotten nowhere in her own thoughts, and begrudgingly admitted to herself that she was glad Serana had spoken to her. Finally, she had another lead.

“What are you thinking?” Serana asked.

Vigdis lifted her head, determination alight in her ice-blue eyes that met with curious yet hopeful persimmon ones.

“We leave at first light.”

Chapter 14: Chasing Echoes

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

“Halt!”

Vigdis pulled on the reins to stop the horse. Serana tugged down nervously on her black leather hood. She dared to peek over Vigdis’ shoulder to see a Bosmer approach them, dressed in shiny steel Legion officer’s armour. She glanced behind him and noted three more individuals, who all adorned the regular Legion armour. But something about this seemed off; none of them had the stance that most legionaries possessed. And why were they here in the swamps north of Morthal? Vigdis seemed to sense this too as her freckled hand settled on the hilt of her sword.

“This area is off limits,” the Bosmer announced. Since when did the Legion appoint elves as officers?

“Move,” Vigdis warned with a growl. The horse snorted and stamped its hooves.

“The Empire requires that you pay a toll for using the roads,” the Bosmer pressed, unwilling to give up his charade. “Pay the fine and we’ll let you pass.”

Vigdis moved her hand from her sword to her back, where she gripped her bow. “Move.”

The Bosmer and two of his fellow comrades unsheathed their weapons. “Your choice, idiot.” He turned to the others. “C’mon, boys! Let’s get—”

He sputtered. He choked. The other two started to choke with him as they desperately clawed at their throats. It didn’t take long for them to collapse to the ground—and eventually, only one stood among them. The loner sighed, as if annoyed.

“It took two—TWO—bottles of poison! And seconds of the soup!!” she cried as she pulled off the helmet that disguised her features. “At least you're dead now, you clawless, useless . . .”

The Argonian descended into mutters as she kicked at the corpse. Vigdis hadn’t dropped her guard, and Serana merely looked on in bewilderment. Eventually, the Argonian turned her attention away from the bodies to Vigdis and Serana. A smile spread across her scaly deep pink and vermillion face as her indigo fingers fiddled with the straps of the armour.

“Surprised to see me, old friend?”

Serana’s dark brows shot up. A snarl rumbled through Vigdis’ throat, as if she hated being called a friend.

“Why are you here?” Vigdis demanded. It dawned on Serana that they knew each other. She stayed silent, both curious and wary.

The Argonian shrugged. “Killing my contracts.” Her tanzanite slits looked pointedly at the hunter. “Tracking down my other contract.” The horse shifted its weight. The Argonian gave it a look, then continued. “I’m supposed to kill you now.”

“You can try,” Vigdis offered seriously.

“I’m sure you’d love that,” the Argonian giggled. “But, I won’t.” She finally stripped off the legion armour and revealed a midnight black and crimson red leather bodysuit, complete with belts, various metal fixings, and a hood. “Consider this . . . A debt repaid to Shatha.”

Vigdis said nothing as Shatha pulled up her hood. She then threw up two fingers with a grin—and vanished. The hunter gave a deep, irritated sigh.

“That was your friend?” Serana asked once the horse started to move again.

“She’s not my friend,” Vigdis snapped. “She was someone I knew.”

The vampire frowned. “She seemed to think you were friends.”

“I don’t have friends.” The hunter clicked her tongue and the horse settled into a gentle trot. “Now shut up and watch the road.”

Serana fell silent. Vigdis was still touchy and kept her at an arm’s length when she could; apparently the neutral attitude she’d had over a week ago was simply just for show; just to get the answers she wanted.

Serana felt hurt and used when Vigdis had reverted to her cold state the next morning, but she knew that the hunter required focus—and still hadn’t adjusted to someone being with her, much less a vampire. They were still enemies, after all.

When they had left Winterhold that morning, they were without a horse and forced to travel on foot; but halfway through the day they had stumbled across an abandoned horse, almost as white as the snow that had swirled around them. They had immediately taken the ownerless horse and continued their journey around the mountain pass towards Dawnstar once again, although Vigdis had opted for the more rugged, less used roads this time. She refused to go to Morthal again, and there would be no argument against that choice. It was clear to Serana that neither of them were fond of their memories there.

They pressed on through the northernmost part of the swamps, and eventually arrived at the shores of the Karth River. The Solitude Arch bent and loomed over them to their left, the silhouette of the city almost indistinguishable from the rock itself. Serana recalled the city fondly, her recent visit included.

“We have to get across,” Vigdis muttered to herself as she consulted her map.

“Maybe there’s a boat?” Serana proposed.

Her only answer was a grunt as the hunter clicked her tongue again and guided the horse carefully along the shore in search of a small boat.

The horse abruptly stopped. Vigdis slid off its saddle and walked up to an empty boat that sat on the sand. Serana followed her, surprised by their luck.

“Get in,” the hunter ordered as she braced her freckled hands against the boat.

“Do you want help—?” the vampire tried.

“Get in!”

Serana flinched, then climbed in anyway. She watched as Vigdis tried to push the boat, but it refused to move. Finally, with a frustrated grunt and powerful shove, it gave, and slid across the bank and into the water. Vigdis then jumped into the boat, which caused Serana to wince when it aggressively rocked and threatened to tip. After a few sways, it stabilised, and Serana let out the breath she didn’t know she had held.

Vigdis grabbed the oars and began to row across the mouth of the river. The faint scent of salt water filled Serana’s nose, as the river emptied into the Sea of Ghosts to the west of them. Although the smell and scenery brought a semblance of comfort to her, it wasn’t long before her eyes trailed back to the woman before her.

The hunter’s fiery red curls were matted, in desperate need of a good comb or trim. She huffed as she rowed back and forth, her freckled knuckles white and her rosy cheeks a deep shade of red. Her cold eyes weren’t focused on anything at all; rather, they were glazed over a fire that burned beneath them. Perhaps the Argonian, Shatha, had gotten more under her skin than Serana had realised.

“You’re really not going to tell me about Shatha?”

Ice-blue eyes snapped up, blazed with fury. “No.”

Serana huffed and folded her arms. “Look, I told you some of my history. It’s only fair that you tell me some of yours.” When Vigdis looked as though she wouldn’t relent, the vampire sighed. “I’m not asking about your father or anything related to that. I just want to know about Shatha.”

Vigdis dropped her icy eyes and locked her jaw.

Silence.

Serana started to think she would never get an answer—until, finally, Vigdis spoke.

“Shatha and I were in the same group of bandits for a few years,” she said. “She always tried to be alongside me, and constantly got in the way. She was driven by her mad bloodlust and never shut the fuck up.”

She sighed harshly. Serana was silently amused that Shatha had caused her so much irritation and couldn’t suppress the grin that twitched its way across her lips.

“Maybe she admired you,” Serana teased.

“Shut it,” Vigdis hissed.

The vampire pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her smirk as the hunter continued to glare at her. Eventually, the bottom of the boat scraped to a halt. They had arrived on the other side of the river, now fully in the shadow of the arch. Both fell quiet as they climbed out of the boat and reality settled back into the atmosphere.

They still had a long way to go.

 

The inlet had earned new skeletal occupants—which Vigdis shot down with ease—, and it was no different once they were inside the dank cistern. A feral vampire had tamed several death hounds which attacked them on site; luckily, the two were familiar with each other’s strengths at this point and had dispatched them with almost no effort. Afterwards, it had taken mere minutes for them to lower the bridges despite the double-switch mechanism her father had implemented so long ago.

And now, they were here.

“This leads out to the courtyard.”

Serana stood before the old wooden door at the top of the staircase, her pale hand lifted in hesitation.

Her hand trembled faintly. She tried to steady her breath, to brace herself for whatever waited beyond the door. Her mother wouldn’t be there, and she knew that very well—but she hadn’t stepped into the courtyard since . . .

A sudden warmth brushed against her side. She whipped her head—only to find ice-blue eyes that stared back at her. The eyes searched Serana’s face, a hint of a question in her cold gaze. Yet she couldn’t answer; Vigdis was too close, her scent a thick haze that suffocated her. She clamped her teeth shut, her persimmon eyes wide as hot thirst seared her throat.

It was then that Vigdis trailed her eyes to the door, reached out, and gently pushed it open with the tips of her freckled fingers. She stepped around Serana, and passed through the door.

Serana stood there, confused, dazed, and unable to ignore the pound of her heart or the heat in her face. In an instant, she was overrun with guilt: she had almost lost control again.

She inhaled the deepest breath—and composed herself within the next exhale. With her mind clear, she crossed the threshold into the courtyard.

Only to find death and destruction on the other side.

“No,” Serana murmured, devastated. “No no no—”

She rushed up the stairs past Vigdis. The courtyard she once knew was in shambles; the trees were long dead, the grass browned and largely overgrown with weeds. The doors that once led to the main hall were gone, decimated by the pile of broken stones that had crashed on top of them. It was clear to Serana that her father had caused this massacre after her and her mother’s disappearance, and had eradicated all that had reminded him of his estranged wife. He never understood its place in the castle to begin with and never could appreciate its serene beauty. Serana’s heart crumbled further when she approached the garden that had thrived with life and saw its annihilation with her own eyes.

“This was my mother’s garden,” she whispered, unsure if Vigdis was near or could hear her. “It . . . Do you know how beautiful something can be when it’s tended by a master for hundreds of years?” She shook her head in disbelief, then folded her arms as she turned to see Vigdis, who stood several feet away and looked at her with an unreadable expression. “I used to walk through here after evening meals to calm my mind. It was beautiful, once.”

Vigdis was silent. Her eyes were focused on something behind Serana, her head tilted as her red brows were drawn together. She walked past the vampire and delved into the garden whilst Serana watched on, puzzled. When the hunter turned around, she held a silver, circular moon in her freckled hands.

“That’s a crest,” Serana realised aloud as she stepped closer to observe it with Vigdis.

“What the fuck is it for?” Vigdis asked.

“The moondial.”

“The . . .” Vigdis lowered the crest to give Serana a look that questioned her intelligence. “The what?”

The brunette pointed to the centre of the courtyard. “That.” She walked over to it and immediately realised that some of the crests were, in fact, missing. “Something’s wrong with it, though. There are other crests missing and the dial is completely askew.” She lowered her voice to a mutter. “I didn’t even know the crests could be removed . . .”

“Did it even work?” Vigdis grunted. “Looks pointless.”

“That’s the thing,” Serana agreed. “I never understood the point of it either. The previous owners of the castle had a sundial in the courtyard, and obviously, that didn’t appeal to my mother. She persuaded an elven artisan to make some improvements, and—as far as I’m aware—it’s the only one in existence. I always wondered why she didn’t just have the whole thing ripped out, though.”

The hunter moved around the moondial, the crest still in her hands as she inspected it. She eventually knelt and fixed the crest back into its proper place with a click.

The vampire, meanwhile, glanced around the area—and immediately spotted another crest, this time half-submerged in a small pond near the sealed entrance. She approached it from the closest side, then very carefully lifted it out of the water. It was the half-moon crest, and it shimmered with beauty.

As Serana returned to the moondial, she did her best to keep old memories at bay—alas, they were relentless, and her mother’s face surfaced.

Although the details had become hazy with time, Serana recalled the times she spent in the garden as she laughed and conversed beside her mother, who tended to her plants with a smile.

But to her mother, Serana was always more of a protégé than a daughter.

Her chest clenched as the memory darkened. Her mother, the only person she had left to trust, suddenly became a stranger. After Molag Bal’s ritual, after her friend—her mother would take no excuses anymore, and always shooed Serana away . . . until it was time to seal her underground for a thousand years. Her teeth clenched as she stared back at a blank, unremorseful expression, with eyes that seemed to deem her unworthy.

“Serana . . .”

She dropped the crest.

Hands slithered and gripped onto her shoulders again. Valerica’s face morphed, cracked and flaked as they burned to death under the sun’s merciless rays. A hand, half disintegrated, reached between the bars and out to her . . . .

“This is for the best,” her father whispered cruelly.

“Hey!”

Serana jumped. Ice-blue eyes glared at her like daggers, embedded in a freckled face with faint yet deep scars and rosy cheeks. It wasn’t her mother or her dying friend—it was Vigdis, the vampire hunter, who stared at her and clutched her shoulders as if to shake her from her nightmare.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Serana professed, her voice weak. “I don’t know what . . .”

“I know,” Vigdis said. Her neutral tone, unnaturally, contained a tinge of empathy. “I know.”

As Serana collected herself through quiet and uneven breaths, Vigdis let her go. She bent down and picked up the crest that Serana had dropped, then handed it to her.

“We have to keep moving,” she admonished coldly. “You’re wasting our time.”

The words were a slap to the face for Serana, but it brought her back into the harsh reality she stood in. Vigdis was cold and unkind, unsympathetic to a vampire like her. In those icy eyes, she was still a monster, and whatever empathy she might’ve had for that split second had been blown out like a candle. Their alliance was temporary, Serana reminded herself. Their goal was all that had ever mattered to Vigdis; and she would not tolerate stalls in their progress.

Serana tightened her grip on the half-moon crest to steel her nerves. She crouched beside the moondial and laid it into the circular depression.

The dial groaned and creaked, then slowly swept around until it stopped. When Serana cautiously approached it to take a closer look, she saw that the dial had revealed a secret staircase that had been hidden in its compartments below.

“Very clever, Mother,” she murmured to herself. “Very clever.”

“Where do they lead?” Vigdis wondered, wary.

“I’m not sure,” Serana admitted. “But there must be tunnels that run under the castle and into the tower ruins. I had always assumed it was completely destroyed inside . . . I guess I was wrong.” She folded her arms as betrayal seeped into her heart. “She kept this a secret, even from me.” She then looked at Vigdis, her expression serious. “We’ll have to be careful. I don’t know what might be around.”

With that, they descended the stairs and entered the tunnels.

 

After slaying countless skeletons and gargoyles that roamed within the ruins—no doubt remnants of Valerica’s experiments—, the pair finally ascended to the highest point in the tower, which had been hidden behind a secret entrance in the fireplace. Her mother was always smarter than Serana had ever given her credit for.

Once they reached the top of the staircase, Serana was the first to cross the threshold—and was stunned by what she saw. It was a secret necromantic laboratory, the likes of which she had never seen before. Its magnitude was impressive, with various high quality ingredients and ancient tomes spread throughout the grand, dusty space. It was nothing compared to the alchemy setup in her mother’s old drawing room.

“This place has to be it,” she exclaimed. “I knew she was deep into necromancy—I mean, she taught me everything I know—but I had no idea she had something like this.” She approached the cluttered table in awe, covered in the bones of creatures she couldn’t name. “Look at all of this. She must have spent years collecting these components.”

“And this thing?”

She turned to Vigdis, who raised a red brow and directed her icy gaze down at the strange, indented circle surrounded by candles at the centre of the room. Serana walked over to her and studied it with a thoughtful frown.

“I’m not sure, but it’s obviously . . . something.” She folded her arms. “Let’s take a look around. There has to be something here that tells us where she’s gone.” Her persimmon eyes then drifted to the small nook lined with bookshelves. “I remember she used to keep a small journal—my mother was meticulous about her research. If we can find her notes, we can find her.”

An irritated hmph was the only response she received as she went to scour for a journal. Many of the books were frayed and ruined, but soon she found a leatherbound book that she recognised. She retrieved it carefully; the ship’s wheel of the Volkihar Clan was engraved on the front, clasped shut by a beautiful silver buckle. With a deep breath, she opened it towards the end, and began to read. She barely finished the last sentence before a rough voice interrupted her.

“Find it?”

Serana jumped, startled—for Vigdis had somehow come up right behind her without her noticing. The hunter furrowed her red brows, an expectant look on her freckled face.

“She was . . . It was before we . . . .” The vampire shook her head, her jaw set. The sting of betrayal gripped her heart again. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that she actually did it—created a portal to the Soul Cairn.” She pressed her finger to the swirled ink and began to read off the list. “We need: a handful of soul gem shards . . . Some finely-ground bone meal . . . . A good bit of purified void salts . . .” Her expression fell. “Oh, damn it.”

“What?”

Serana sighed. “We’re also going to need a sample of her blood. Which, if we could get that, we wouldn’t even be trying to do this in the first place.”

“You’re her daughter,” the hunter pointed out. “You share her blood.”

Serana paused, then hummed. “Not bad. We’d better hope that’s good enough. Mistakes with these kind of portals can be . . . gruesome.”

Thankfully, Valerica was the type to make copious amounts of her ingredients, and they were able to find everything they needed with little trouble. Serana spotted a vessel on the upper balcony, which directly overlooked the strange circle that was likely the portal itself. But as they poured the bonemeal, void salts, and gem shards into the bowl, a pit of unease writhed in the vampire’s stomach, haunted by a question she couldn’t shake.

What would she do when they found her mother? She had imagined what seemed like every scenario possible within the past few days, and yet . . .

No; she didn’t have the time to worry about what may or may not happen. Not now—not when they were so close.

“Then the rest is up to me,” Serana murmured uncertainly. She exhaled, then crossed her arms and turned to Vigdis. “Are you ready? I’m not entirely sure what this thing is going to do when I add my blood . . .”

The hunter stared at her, her freckled expression unreadable, the glint in her icy gaze indecipherable. Finally, she stepped back and nodded.

The vampire swallowed nervously and approached the vessel. She pulled on the ruffle of her sleeve to expose her wrist, then brought it to her mouth and sank her fangs into the pale flesh with a wince. Then, she hovered it over the ingredients and held her breath as the crimson ichor dripped freely into the bowl.

Chapter 15: Valerica

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

“By the blood of my ancestors . . .”

The stone circle surrounded by candles shattered apart—some sunk deeper, while most rose up and formed a magical yet uneven staircase to the balcony where the pair stood. Serana looked on in awe as a violet liquid pooled in the centre and rippled into reality. It glowed vividly in the dark room and cast shadows across the stone floor.

The portal between the realm of Mundus and the Soul Cairn. Her mother had created it—and Serana had successfully reopened it the use of her own blood, despite her initial worry.

Serana’s worry quickly turned to anxiety. Her mother would be there, of that she had no doubt—but would she still be alive? She assumed her mother had been in the Soul Cairn almost as long as Serana had been entombed in Dimhollow. Perhaps the Ideal Masters had killed her? Taken her soul? Without answers or evidence of her mother’s safety, her mind was now rampant with only the worst outcomes.

Vigdis took the first step towards the portal, and effectively snapped Serana out of her reverie. She watched the hunter closely as each tentative step echoed throughout the laboratory.

Her dark brows knit together as Vigdis approached the portal’s pool. Why did she feel like she had forgotten something? It was something important—too important; something Vigdis needed to know. She tried to remember everything she knew, everything her mother had told her about the Soul Cairn, and yet she couldn’t recall what it was—

Vigdis screamed.

Serana instantly reached out, wanted to help—but the hunter was quicker and bolted up the stairs without much trouble. Vigdis briefly leaned against the stony rail along the balcony to catch her breath as her pained expression slowly eased into a more neutral relief. The vampire immediately noticed a faint violet pull at Vigdis that clearly originated from the portal. Before Serana could even speak, Vigdis glared at her.

“What the fuck was that?” she demanded between breaths.

The vampire wanted to kick herself. She remembered now.

“That was . . . I should have expected that. Sorry.” The hunter raised a red brow. Serana sighed as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “The portal, it’s to the Soul Cairn, and it’s . . . . hungry, for lack of a better word. It’s trying to take your soul as payment.”

“And that means what, exactly?”

“You . . .” Serana braced herself. “You have to be dead to enter the Soul Cairn. Like me. Vampires aren’t counted among the living, so I could probably go through there without a problem.”

The air turned cold as Vigdis’ face darkened. The atmosphere became electrified, volatile with hostility. The violet glow of the portal reflected in Vigdis’ ice-blue eyes, their sharp, dagger-like gaze not just a promise, but a threat. The murder in Vigdis’ eyes might send chills through Serana’s blood, but they didn’t scare her anymore.

“I suppose being turned into a vampire isn’t exactly a choice you would consider?” Serana guessed, her tone a half-hearted joke.

“No,” Vigdis snarled.

The vampire thought for a moment. “There is . . . another way.” Vigdis merely stared at her. Serana continued. “It wants a soul, so we give it one. Yours.” She fetched a common soul gem she had stuffed in her pocket earlier. “I can partially soul trap you, and offer this gem to the Ideal Masters. It may be enough to satisfy them. But you won’t be at your full strength—you’ll be weakened until we recover this again, somehow.”

The hunter looked unimpressed. “That’s it?”

Serana nodded. “It’s the only way. I’m sorry.”

Vigdis fell silent. Then, she stepped towards Serana, a hardened expression on her face as she offered her arm. For the first time, the hunter seemed to show the vampire a level of trust she had never demonstrated before.

“Fine. Soul trap me.”

Serana, hesitantly, wrapped her pale fingers around Vigdis’ arm. She then looked directly into the icy gaze, her own resolute.

“I would never do anything that could hurt you.”

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Something shifted behind Vigdis’ irises, that much Serana could tell—but the hunter’s freckled expression was unreadable. She shoved away the urge to ponder it further and dropped her persimmon eyes to focus on the task before her. She held the soul gem over Vigdis’ arm.

“Hold still.”

Serana murmured the spell—and Vigdis flinched as a part of her essence seeped into the soul gem. She let go of the hunter and stepped back. She hoped it was enough.

“Ready?” Serana asked as she cast an uncertain glance to Vigdis.

Vigdis straightened her shoulders. She turned her gaze to the portal and nodded.

Just as a new dread ensnared Serana’s undead heart, they descended the steps and passed through the violet pool into the Soul Cairn.

 

The small sliver of Oblivion was as lively as Valerica had once described it to Serana.

The Soul Cairn spanned for miles, with no wind nor water, or any sign of life at all. Trees and grass were sparse and just as dead and statuesque as the land around them. The buildings themselves were build out of stone blacker than ebony but held no residents other than the occasional skeleton or helplessly caged soul. A black abyss swirled in the centre of the sky, its edges tinged with blues and violets. Indigo storm clouds swallowed everything else, with flashes of lightning that lit up the otherwise dark, lifeless, and desolate Plane of Oblivion. As Vigdis was alive and would eventually need food and water, they had to find Valerica—and fast.

They travelled across the soul-ridden landscape, in search of somewhere—anywhere that her mother may have taken refuge. They passed through a vast wall that divided the Soul Cairn in two, and Vigdis eventually spotted a fortress that loomed on a lonely hill in the distance. It was their best chance, and they soon reached its steps.

“Mother?”

Magenta barriers, created from magic, stood tall above the ruins. It was by far the largest structure they had seen since they first laid eyes on the soulless landscape, and the barriers were a sign of something—or someone—trapped inside. As Serana ascended the small staircase, she spotted a lone figure within. Her stature, her square chin, her sharp jaw, her eyes, her taupe brown hair pulled up into two neat buns . . . There was no other person it could be.

“Mother!” Serana called out as she rushed up to the barrier.

The woman fully faced her and slowly approached. “It can’t be . . . Serana?”

“It’s really you!” Serana exclaimed. “How do we get inside? We have to talk.”

Her mother stepped into the pink light. The edges of her widened persimmon eyes were crinkled, her mouth a stern frown. The same dark brows were furrowed, a deep crease between them. She looked similar enough to her daughter that she could be mistaken as an older sister, although her stature suggested otherwise. She still even wore the same lavender and red Volkihar clothes.

“What are you doing here?” Valerica hissed. Serana’s heart and smile sank. “Where’s your father?”

“He—He doesn’t know we're here,” Serana told her. “I don’t have time to explain, we have to—”

“I must have failed.” She wrung her hands as her body swayed nervously. A crazed look lingered in her eyes, and it pained Serana to see it there. “Harkon’s found a way to decipher the prophecy, hasn’t he.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong!” Serana couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. “We’re here to stop him, to make everything right. Just let me—”

“You brought a stranger here,” Valerica suddenly stated, her eyes no longer on her daughter. She must have noticed the we in Serana’s words, and boiled with fury at this revelation. “Have you lost your mind?”

Serana’s heart fell even further when she turned and spotted the hunter behind her; she had completely forgotten Vigdis was there. The hunter had opted to stay farther away, and now seemed to observe the situation with disdain.

“No,” Serana tried, her voice quiet. “You don’t—”

“I would speak with her. Now.”

Serana was silent, completely disheartened. How could she not see that this is how their conversation would end? What made her think that her mother would be happy to see her? She was unable to stand up to her mother even now, as her mother’s venomous words had all but banished any coherent thoughts she may have had before this fateful reunion. Every memory of her mother after their transformation became tainted, stained with prophecies and blood, as the truth of her toxicity and manipulation finally became crystal clear to her.

Serana felt trapped.

Vigdis crossed her arms and snarled, her gaze dangerous. “Don’t drag me into your bullshit.”

Valerica’s eyes, which now blazed with uncontrollable rage, snapped back to her daughter. “Are you so naïve? How do you not recognise that this stranger aligns herself with those that would hunt you down and slay you like an animal—”

“I’M NOT AN ANIMAL!”

The unexpected outburst stilled time itself. Serana struggled to breathe, struggled to keep her eyes open as memories threatened to shut her down. No—they would not overtake her. She curled her hands into fists, shoved her memories away, and slowly lifted her head. Her buried anger would be her weapon—and she would use it.

“She has done more for me,” she seethed, “than you have in a millennium!”

“How dare you!” Valerica shrieked. “I gave up everything I cared about to protect you from that fanatic you call a father!”

“Yes,” Serana admitted sombrely, her face twisted with pain and sadness, “he’s a fanatic. He’s . . . changed. But he’s still my father. Why can’t you understand how that makes me feel?”

“Oh, Serana, if you’d only open your eyes! You are a Daughter of Coldharbour! The moment your father discovers your role in the prophecy—that he needs your blood—you will be in terrible danger! Is that not—”

“So to protect me you decided to shut me away from everything I cared about?!” Serana was on the brink of tears, but that wouldn’t stop her. She would unleash everything she had kept in her soul, here and now, for her mother—and for herself. “You never asked me if hiding me in that tomb was the best course of action, you just expected me to follow you blindly! Both of you were obsessed with your own paths!” She panted hotly as her fury dwindled into something deeper: betrayal. “Your motivations might have been different, but in the end . . . I’m still just a pawn to you, too.” Her voice trembled as a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“I want us to be a family again. But I don’t know if we can ever have that now. Maybe we don’t deserve that kind of happiness. Maybe it isn’t for us.” She let out a long, shaky exhale, and composure settled over her form. “But we have to stop him. Before he goes too far. And to do that, we need the last Elder Scroll.”

Silence fell. Lightning cracked in the distance. Eventually, Valerica spoke.

“I’m sorry, Serana. I didn’t know . . . I didn’t see. I’ve allowed my hatred of your father to estrange us for too long. Perhaps, someday, you will forgive me for what I have done.” She breathed in calmly, the crazed look gone from her eyes as the mother Serana once knew settled back into place. “If you want the Elder Scroll, I have it. It’s yours.”

“And our way in?” Vigdis inquired. Valerica glanced pointedly at Vigdis, her distrust plain in her features.

“You need to locate the tallest of the rocky spires that surround these ruins,” Valerica answered. “At their bases, the barrier’s energy is drawn from unfortunate souls that have been exiled here. Destroy the Keepers that tend them, and it should bring the barrier down.” She turned fully to Vigdis, her eyes narrowed. “I still don’t know your intentions, nor do I trust you, vampire hunter. If you lay a single hand on my daughter—”

“Your daughter can protect herself,” Vigdis snapped, clearly unfazed by Valerica’s unfinished threat. With her question answered, the hunter walked away. Serana shot her mother a small smile, then followed after Vigdis.

“Where do we start?” Serana asked, in an attempt to be light-hearted and casual.

Vigdis didn’t respond to her.

Serana, for once, was fine with that.

 

“Rrrrrarghh!”

Vigdis decapitated the last obsidian skeleton in their way. It clattered unceremoniously to the ground as its violet eyes went dark. She huffed hard as she straightened and sheathed her sword. Serana dropped her hands as her magic dissipated, her eyes unable to tear away from Vigdis’ form.

Now that they had battled together several times, Serana couldn’t help but notice how skilled Vigdis truly was, even in her weaker state. She had the speed, strength, and strategy to effectively cut or shoot down plenty of enemies and come away with only minor wounds. She continued to be an elusive mystery to Serana, who sorely wished she knew more of the hunter’s past.

She sighed. “That’s all of them, right?”

Vigdis nodded, her breaths stable again as she turned her back to the vampire. For a moment, Serana’s eyes trailed down Vigdis’ body, and briefly recalled the scarred and freckled skin that lurked beneath her armour . . .

Serana quickly shook the thought from her mind, an unmistakable pink stain on her pale cheeks. She forced herself to focus on her mother, and on the fact that they had killed all three of the Keepers she had mentioned. She cleared her throat.

“The barrier should be down, then. We should head back to the prison.”

Vigdis nodded her head again, and with that, they traversed back. As they drew closer to the prison, the hunter picked up her pace. Serana did her best to keep up with her, unsure why she was in such a hurry.

Once they climbed up the steps, Vigdis barrelled towards Valerica in a fury—and seized her mother’s neck with her left hand. Valerica’s yelp was strangled in the hunter’s strong grip, Serana too stunned to say anything as she watched on, perplexed and mortified.

“Make one fucking move,” Vigdis growled as her grasp only tightened, “and I’ll kill you. Understand?”

“I’ll behave,” Valerica rasped, “so long as you do.”

Vigdis glare deepened, and for a moment, Serana was afraid she would never let her mother go—until she released the woman and turned away.

“Then prove it by being a better fucking mother,” the hunter countered lowly. Valerica coughed slightly, but said nothing as she smoothed down her armour and hair.

Serana, on the other hand, stared at the back of Vigdis’ head in shock. Had she been that upset by their altercation? Had her mother’s behaviour bothered and angered her that much? It left Serana with the impression that family was more than just a sore spot for Vigdis.

“A word of warning before we continue,” Valerica prompted. “There’s a dragon that calls itself Durnehviir. I have not seen him for some time, but he has presided as my jailor here. Be on your guard.” With that, she gestured for them to follow her deeper into the prison.

Beyond the obsidian doors laid a desolate courtyard, with nothing of interest to note. Valerica led them to a small alcove to the side, where an alchemy lab and ornate case presided. Her mother opened the case to reveal the last Elder Scroll they needed, and gingerly held it in her hands to offer it to Serana.

“Here you are: my Elder Scroll. Take it.”

Serana took the Scroll. She looked to Vigdis and gestured for her to turn around. When the hunter merely raised a red brow, Serana sighed in exasperation and approached Vigdis’ back herself. After several moments, she had strategically strapped the Elder Scroll to the redhead’s back, its position just below her quiver and effectively out of the way of her bow.

Her mother had turned back to her laboratory, then paused when she noticed something among her ingredients. She held it up—Serana immediately recognised it as Vigdis’ soul gem as it swirled with faint shades of dumortierite and clinohumite.

“That’s mine, Mother,” Serana said as she walked up to her.

“I recognise your handiwork,” Valerica murmured, a faint smile on her lips. She lifted her eyes and pride gleamed brightly in her irises. “Well done. It seems I taught you well.”

Serana returned her smile. “You taught me everything I know.”

She opened her hand, and Valerica gently placed it in her palm. Serana then motioned for Vigdis to come closer and briefly touched the gem to her arm—then crushed it with ease and watched as the soul essence wisped back into the hunter, whose rosy complexion was fully restored to her freckled face.

“Now that you have what you came for, you should be on your way,” Valerica murmured.

“You’re staying?” Serana asked, her voice sad.

“Yes. As I am a Daughter of Coldharbour as well, I am safer here than I am in Tamriel.” Her mother then gently cradled her daughter’s face with her hand. “As your mother, I will never cease my worry for your safety. However, I will not stand in your way. If anyone can stop Harkon, it’s you.”

The faintest smile curled Serana’s lips. It was good to see her mother trust her in her ability to find her own path. She felt her heart gladden and soften; with time, she would forgive Valerica. She was only trying to protect her from a fate her father had cursed her with, after all.

Valerica dropped her hand and shot a sharp look to Vigdis. “Promise me that you will keep my daughter safe. And end Harkon’s madness.”

Vigdis said nothing; she only returned Valerica’s glare.

“I’ll be fine, Mother,” Serana promised. “We’ll stop my father, no matter what.” She paused, her chest tight. “But I . . . I wish you could come with us.”

“As do I,” her mother murmured as she took Serana’s hands in her own and gave them a squeeze. “When Harkon has been dealt with, I will return to the castle. I promise.”

Serana squeezed back, then released her hands reluctantly. She could sense that Vigdis itched to leave, to advance to the next steps towards her father’s demise. Serana had long ignored the idea that she had to murder her own father—but now that she found her mother, she saw that there was no other choice. Her father would kill his own daughter and wife to achieve his goals, and in turn, Serana had to kill him to stop the fulfilment of this insane prophecy.

Perhaps she had known all along that this day would come.

She just never knew when.

 

“We need to get out of here,” Serana muttered. “But I doubt there’s an easy way back.”

After another arduous trek across the Soul Cairn, Serana and Vigdis passed through the portal back into Valerica’s secret laboratory mostly unscathed. They now stood at the top of the balcony where Vigdis took a thorough inventory of her supplies, just to make sure she didn’t lose anything. Her irritation was more palpable than ever, a sign that her extra food was low and she was in desperate need of a restock.

“We’ll have to go back through,” Vigdis said. “It’s a long way to the fort.”

“Do you think Dexion will help us again?”

“He doesn’t have a choice.” The hunter strapped her gear back on, and briefly stretched out her freckled hands. “He either helps us, or I make Isran cart his ass back to Cyrodiil.”

Serana had half a mind to ask if that was truly her intention, or if she would simply kill the old man out of annoyance. Both were very much in Vigdis’ character, and the vampire was not eager to find out which it would be.

She, personally, was ready for a nice, long bath. She wanted to rest before they embarked on another lengthy adventure like this—but she knew better than to be wishful for such a luxury. There was no such thing as rest for the weary.

Serana sighed, her exhaustion heavier on her shoulders as she uncrossed her arms. “Back down we go, then.”

Notes:

Hope you guys enjoy the 'surprise' chapter! I'm working on the next one as we speak and I'll try to post it soon [not as soon as this one though, I promise]! <3333
Thank you for reading and I hope you're all having a beautiful day. All of your comments are so sweet, and I appreciate every single one of them. They brighten my day immensely. <33
Thank you again! Until next time!

Chapter 16: The Unseen Glade

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

“Old man.”

The Moth Priest Dexion, who was shrouded in darkness, turned to them. Serana’s eyes widened when she noticed the cloth tied around his eyes. She glanced worriedly at Vigdis, whose mortal eyes hadn’t perceived it yet.

The carriage ride from Solitude to Fort Dawnguard had been strangely uneventful, much to Serana’s relief. Neither of them had spoken over the course of the journey back, although they had stopped a few times to either sleep or resupply. When they had arrived at the fort, Isran was nowhere in sight, so they had searched for Dexion themselves—only to find him alone in a darkened room.

“You’ve returned,” he said. His voice lacked the usual excitement it held. “I trust you were successful?”

Serana’s intense gaze never left Vigdis’ suddenly still form. The Elder Scroll on her back mystically gleamed in its golden sheen, even in the lack of light.

“Wait,” the hunter began slowly, “are you . . . blind?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I’m afraid so. I can no longer be of use in this matter.”

Vigdis’ freckled hands became tight fists. “So this was all for nothing?”

“No!” he quickly corrected. “No. There is another way.” He leaned back. “But I cannot guarantee that you yourself will be free from harm should you choose to go forth with this. Becoming blind could be the least of your worries.”

“What do we have to do?” Serana asked.

“Scattered across Tamriel are secluded locations known only as Ancestor Glades. There’s one in Skyrim, somewhere within the pine forests south of Falkreath. Performing the Ritual of the Ancestor Moth within the glade itself should provide the answers you seek.” He paused, then continued. “There should be a specific tool within the glade, called a draw knife. Traditionally, this knife is used to carefully remove the bark from a canticle tree, also found within the glade. Carry the bark to attract the Ancestor Moths and their song, which taps into the primal augur and ancient magic of the Scrolls themselves. You can share in the moth’s augury, and this should allow you to read the Elder Scrolls without consequence.”

Serana’s head swam with the information. Dexion must’ve sensed that Vigdis was about to throw him out, or he really was just that passionate about the subject. She couldn’t tell.

“What makes you so sure this will even work?” Vigdis questioned, doubtful.

“Whether you believe or not, hunter, the Scrolls have a mind of their own,” he told her cryptically. “If they didn’t want you to find them, you wouldn’t have found them at all.”

“What about the other Scroll?” Serana inquired. “Do you still have it with you?”

“Ah, yes.” He turned towards the table beside him and briefly fumbled for the object he sought—until, finally, he reached back and grabbed the Scroll. “There it is . . .” He carefully lifted it up, then levelled it across his wrinkled hands and offered it to Serana. “Your man Isran allowed me to have it for safe-keeping, despite my . . . condition.”

Serana took the Scroll into her hands, grateful for his kindness towards her. She remembered that she still had the other Scroll from the Arch-Mage on her back and reached for it. She held up her knee so her thigh could act as a balance for the two Scrolls, which she pressed together to the best of her ability before she used a spare leather strap to tie them up. Satisfied, she replaced them on her back, her load heavier but still manageable.

“Thanks Dexion,” Serana professed. “We’ll be back soon.”

Vigdis, who had stood in silence for several minutes, now turned and walked out of the room. Serana suppressed her sigh. There was never a dull moment with the vampire hunter.

“Good luck!” Dexion called out when Serana left to follow Vigdis.

She had a feeling that they would need it.

 

Serana was at a loss for what to do.

She peeked again over the top of her hand, only to be met with the same scene that has plagued her for the past ten minutes.

Vigdis had found a beautiful natural spring to bathe in.

And had no intentions to finish up any time soon.

Another sigh escaped Serana’s pale lips as she drowned in endless embarrassment behind her hand. They were supposed to look for the glade in the forest, not somewhere to bathe! She had half a mind to just take the third Scroll and abandon the hunter to her sudden whims.

But the other half of her mind wanted a bath, too.

There was nothing wrong with that, right? Clearly Vigdis had no shame to speak of, nor did she care to undress in front of another woman, vampire or not. By that logic, Serana shouldn’t care either—they were both women, roughly around the same age. There was nothing that weird about it.

But there was a problem.

Serana glanced at Vigdis again. The hunter scrubbed at her freckled and scarred skin with a piece of moss, her fiery curls weighed down with water and pulled away from her rosy face. Droplets slid down every aspect of her sharp features, from her nose to her cheeks to her lips. Here in the misty spring, she looked more relaxed than ever as her icy eyes fell behind her eyelids and rested her head against the earthy edge behind her. The water rippled, but it did little to hide the toned body that lurked beneath.

Serana was breathless. How could a woman so cruel be so beautiful?

She shut her persimmon eyes in frustration. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

Serana dropped her hand and slipped into the shadows behind a pine tree. She unpinned her cloak, then removed her collar and let them fall to the forest floor. She distracted herself with a hum as she proceeded to remove her armour, layer by layer, as Vigdis had done before her dive into the natural spring. She shivered as her pale skin became completely exposed to the breeze that softly blew over her. She then reached behind her head and pulled out her black tie; her dark hair immediately fell so that the braids now awkwardly framed her face. With lithe fingers, she slowly brushed them out until they were loose waves that flowed down her shoulders.

She took a deep breath, her nerves knotted and frayed beyond reason. It was just a bath. A sorely needed bath.

Serana stepped out from the shadows. Then, without thought, plunged into the spring.

Water engulfed her. Bubbles briefly tickled her skin before they rose towards the surface. She floated there, as light as a feather—and this limbo swallowed her aches, her fears, her mind. It wasn’t long before her head broke through the surface of the water, her breaths calm and even.

She opened her eyes.

Across the spring, Vigdis stared at her. For a moment, she was completely unreadable to Serana—until her red brows furrowed and her mouth slanted into a deeper frown.

“What?” Serana asked, defensive.

Vigdis folded her arms, her head tilted as she scowled. “Aren’t you too royal for this kind of shit?”

“For—what—a bath?” she sputtered incredulously. “No one’s beyond a bath.” She thought for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not the princess you think I am.”

“Really.” The doubt was so thick that Serana almost didn’t catch what she said.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Vigdis, for once, was quiet. Her scowl was not as harsh as her frown eased back into a natural pout. After a long moment, she tore her gaze away and rinsed off any loose pieces of moss on her shoulders and face. She dunked her head under the water, then resurfaced. After she wiped most of the drops from her ice-blue eyes, she twisted her body around, sunk her hands into the earthy bank, and lifted herself out of the spring.

Serana’s persimmon gaze trailed down the hunter’s freckled back and noticed even more scars. When Vigdis paused to swipe off more of the drops, the vampire frowned when she saw her wrists—scars upon scars, new and old. From the way they crisscrossed and dragged, Serana guessed that she carelessly guarded attacks with her wrist, as if it were a shield. Her eyes flickered to Vigdis’ back again, and slowly traced the soft curves of her waist, the sharp dips of her hips . . .

She looked away, her cheeks aflame. She casually swam around the spring, tried to focus on something else; alas, nothing she thought of effectively distracted her mind from Vigdis.

Serana groaned to herself.

She really needed to learn to not stare.

 

“Oh wow . . .”

While the initial cave had been very unimpressive in its shabby and overgrown state, the cavern hidden beyond a dark tunnel befitted the name of Ancestor Glade. Brown-and-white-striped moths fluttered everywhere, their wings a graceful flap as they danced through the air. The dirt trail winded down a gentle slope, the elegant trees and bushes less frequent as it ended at the spring below. A pink-flowered tree wavered tall, and near it was a circular stone structure—with a strange object in its centre. To the right, a gorgeous river coursed over rocks and poured into the spring. A column of light shimmered through a hole from above, and it glowed like a halo on the dais. It was the most beautiful scene of natural beauty Serana had ever laid eyes on.

“Come on,” Vigdis muttered as she pressed on.

Serana, with an inward sigh, followed her down the hill.

They hadn’t said much since their baths in the forest. The vampire couldn’t help but wonder if she had offended the hunter when she had defended herself against the accusation that she was beyond a more natural bath. She was right, wasn’t she? Hadn’t she proven her point when she jumped in too?

But even when they lapsed into silence, Vigdis didn’t seem angry—in fact, she seemed almost . . .

“What the fuck is this?”

Serana blinked, her thoughts drowned out as her eyes snapped to the object in Vigdis’ freckled hand. It was the object from the circular stone, and Serana recognised the tool instantly.

“That’s a draw knife,” she said. “My mother had one to scrape off the moss that grew on trees in the garden.” She leaned in closer for a better look at it, and noted the intricate swirls carved into its handle. “This one is much prettier, though. Almost ceremonial.” She briefly recalled the information the Moth Priest had given them before they had departed the fort. “But Dexion didn’t say it was for moss—he said it was to extract bark from a canticle tree, didn’t he?”

Vigdis nodded. She looked up, her eyes trained on the trees beside them. With the draw knife in her hands, she went up to the tree and pressed the blade to its trunk. She scraped it in a downwards motion, and a long piece of bark curled towards her. She snapped it off with ease.

“That was easy,” Serana mumbled. She opened her mouth to ask what was next—until a moth fluttered by and brushed her cheek.

One by one, the moths were drawn to Vigdis—to the bark in her hands. Their dance encircled her, every flap of their wings a soft song as a subtle glimmer enveloped the hunter. The faint aura strengthened with every moth until it nearly blinded Serana. It was difficult to see Vigdis through the swarm, her fiery red hair the only occasional indication that she still stood there. The glimmer created by the Ancestor Moths looked eerily similar to the column of light Serana had noticed before.

“The dais!” Serana called out. “Stand on the dais!”

The swarm moved to the light. Serana caught more frequent glimpses of the hunter now that she was directly under sunlight. She saw that Vigdis had her Scroll in her hands.

“Hand me the Scrolls!”

Serana detached the Elder Scrolls from her back. As she held them out, the moths parted enough for her to hand them safely to Vigdis. The redhead thought for a long moment, then unfurled her Scroll.

The moths spiralled towards the ceiling. Vigdis’ rosy complexion drained from her cheeks, which left her freckled face pale. Her ice-blue eyes were blurred, far away from the Scroll in her freckled hands. She dropped it and opened the next Scroll. The moths’ songs grew louder and pierced Serana’s ears. As Vigdis unrolled the last of the Elder Scrolls, the magical glimmer engulfed her. Serana shielded her eyes from the light, her mind numb with anxiety. Could this ritual kill Vigdis? Dexion had said blindness was the least of their worries; Serana kicked herself, for she should’ve asked what he meant.

The moths dispersed. The light dimmed. The song stopped. Serana turned back to Vigdis.

The hunter looked unharmed, the Scrolls scattered at her feet. Her natural blush was restored to her freckled cheeks. Her cool eyes darted back and forth, a subtle furrow of her brow.

“Are you alright?” Serana asked, apprehensive.

“I’m fine,” Vigdis grunted dismissively. She raked a hand through her curly hair with a sharp inhale. “Auriel’s Bow—it’s in Darkfall Cave.”

“Darkfall Cave?” She placed her hand on her hip. “Where’s that?”

“In the Reach. I know where it is.”

Serana sighed in relief. Vigdis was fine. She wasn’t blind—or worse, dead. She was still herself, which was something Serana didn’t think she would ever be grateful for.

“Then let’s go.”

Just as the pair began to walk towards the trail back up, Vigdis stopped. Serana turned to her with a raised brow.

“What’s wrong?”

Vigdis never answered her. Her cold eyes grew wide—she snatched Serana’s arm and pinned her to a tree just as an ice shard struck the stony ground beside them and burst into a thousand pieces.

Their bodies were merely centimetres from each other; Vigdis’ heat and scent rolled off in waves like a sweet intoxication. Serana held her breath, her face hot. A deep, rumbled growl tore from the hunter’s throat in irritation as her icy eyes were trained on their new and unwanted company.

She equipped her bow, then stepped out from behind the tree and swiftly loosed an arrow. She jumped back as another spell barely missed her leg. Serana’s adrenaline kicked in; she spun out into the open to throw her own offensive spells.

Three vampires garbed in her clan’s armour descended upon them with fury. Serana concentrated as her magic roared to life; she was quick to cast lightning and ice shards, her aim almost impeccable as they landed on vital weak points alongside Vigdis’ arrows that pierced through their light armour. It wasn’t long before there was only one left—until laughter erupted across the glade.

“So, we meet again.”

Serana recognised that voice. She looked up to see Yotul, her grin bloodied and smug. Anger and magic surged through Serana’s fingers. Yotul turned her head and gestured with her fingers—which prompted more vampires to show up behind her.

“Last time, I left you both alive.” Yotul shouldered the mace that rested on her burly shoulder. “I won’t make the same mistake this time.” Her persimmon gaze zeroed in on Serana. “By the grace of Lord Harkon, this is your last chance to ask for forgiveness, traitor. There will not be a second. Return to the castle and we will spare you.”

Serana barred her fangs. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Before either could move, an arrow nicked Yotul’s ear and struck the throat of a vampire behind her. As he choked on his own blood, Serana turned to see Vigdis with another nocked arrow. Her ice-blue eyes burned with bright flames of fury.

“You’ll have to settle your score with me first.”

Chapter 17: Darkfall

-[<>]- Vigdis -[<>]-

Clang!

Vigdis shoved her blade hard against the orc’s heavy mace, her teeth clenched with strain. She glanced briefly to Serana, who was left alone to deal with the horde of vampires that barraged her. The orc’s thunderous snarl forced the hunter to refocus on her current enemy just as she lifted a hand to swipe at Vigdis. She dropped her sword and narrowly dodged it. The move gave her room to consider her next attack.

She twirled her sword in her hand as they circled each other. Her ice-blue eyes watched the orc’s every move, unable to spare another look as magic cracked and shattered beside them. Serana would have to fend for herself.

Yotul’s mace glistened menacingly in her hand, its orichalcum metal crudely formed into sharp, ugly points near its head. One good hit from the weapon would easily tear a hole in Vigdis’ armour and skin—she would have to be mindful of its range, or else suffer a very deadly hit.

The orc tensed her shoulders.

Vigdis gripped her sword.

It was a deadly dance between swings and parries, stabs and dodges, exchanges of blows between mace and sword. Vigdis had no choice but to fight defensively, for although she was smaller and faster, Yotul was far more aggressive this time. Neither wanted to be caught off guard again or give the other leverage, and so on they circled, hunter against vampire, predator against predator.

Serana yelped, her voice twinged with pain. Vigdis instinctively glanced—

Yotul swung. Vigdis tried to sidestep, but the mace’s head crashed into her shoulder and ripped away both armour and skin. With a shout of pain, she collapsed into the shallow water, and Yotul was quick to pounce on her. They struggled for control over the other until Vigdis gritted her teeth and kicked Yotul squarely in the stomach—enough to shove her off of her drenched body. Vigdis rolled over and readjusted the grip on her sword, still crouched as Yotul snatched her mace and stood to attack again.

Hot fury and adrenaline surged through Vigdis’ blood. She planted her feet, her head bowed to give a false sense of continued recovery, and waited until Yotul held her mace high above her head. She bolted up so that her body’s momentum collided solidly into the orc’s chest just as her mace ripped at her shoulder. The vampire stumbled from the hard hit. Vigdis slashed the orc across the chest. Yotul fell.

Yotul scrambled for her weapon, but Vigdis pressed the tip of her blade to the orc’s green throat and kept her pinned. Persimmon eyes blazed at her in hate. Both breathed hard and heavy as water dripped off their hair and armour. Vigdis drove the sword deeper, so that blood oozed and dripped down Yotul’s skin. The orc grabbed the blade to stop it, and it resulted in more of the red ichor from her fingers.

Then, the vampire smirked.

As Vigdis’ red eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Yotul burst into a swarm of bats. She slashed her sword through the air, but the bats flitted and screeched in a cloud of black before they dispersed. The orcish mace, left to sit in the pool, tinged the water red.

Vigdis stood there, briefly dumbfounded—then, livid. She cursed under her breath, her knuckles white.

“Slippery one, huh?”

The hunter looked up. Serana stood there, her hands on her hips. Vigdis glanced around the scene and saw that Serana had killed all the other vampires, most struck with ice shards in the chest or head. Her icy eyes then trailed back to the vampire and inspected her thoroughly for injuries—only to find a scrape on her cheek. If she had any other wounds, she could handle them herself. Florentius had taught her a healing spell after all.

“Are you alright?” Serana asked as she approached her.

Vigdis stiffened and turned her body away. “I’m fine.” She sheathed her sword as her adrenaline finally waned and her shoulder pulsed with pain. She shifted her focus from her anger over Yotul's escape to their next destination, as the bright lines of the cave’s location still lingered in the blackness behind her eyes. “We need to move before more of them show up.”

Serana sighed but nodded anyway. “Let’s go then.”

 

Vigdis tugged on the reins so that Mournloaf came to a stop. She then slid off the horse and gathered her gear to set up camp.

The stars sparkled bright in the moonless skies, the forest thick with trees whose outstretched limbs and fingers crept over the sea of glittered darkness overhead. Crickets chirped their nightly chorus, joined by a stray owl’s quiet hoots.

Vigdis scavenged the area for kindling, although most of it wet and muddy from an earlier rainstorm. Her shoulder ached, still untreated from the mace’s hit. She chewed the inside of her lip and, after several minutes, started a small fire. It was only then that she plopped down beside the flames with a groan of relief.

She couldn’t set up shelter with a wounded shoulder.

Vigdis grabbed her pack and dug through its contents. Eventually she retrieved the needle, string, salt, and cloth she sought, then tossed the bag aside. She shoved the cloth into her mouth. Buckles were unclasped and Vigdis worked with only one hand to take off her top. She bit deep into the cloth as pain throbbed in her shoulder. She exhaled sharply once she was free of her armour and threw it aside.

With the cloth clenched between her teeth, she grabbed and threaded the needle. She set it down momentarily and scooped a handful of salt, which she rubbed over her wound. She sucked air in sharply. The salt was as coarse as rocks and stung like a thousand wasp stings. She snatched her needle again and, without hesitation, began to knit her skin back together.

A sigh reached her ears. Vigdis paused and glanced up to find Serana, who sat near her with a frown.

“I learned a healing spell for this reason,” she huffed.

Vigdis merely gave her a look then refocused her attention back to the stitches. She was halfway done—then stopped again when Serana’s shadow loomed over her. Her lips curled back to snarl at the vampire. Serana, however, wasn’t swayed by the warning, and instead moved closer.

“Do you want an infection?” Serana asked seriously.

The hunter, annoyed, spat out the cloth so that it dropped into her lap.

“I’ve done this a million times,” Vigdis growled, exasperated with the vampire’s accusation. “It won’t—”

“You think I didn’t notice it to begin with? I’m not blind—you left it untreated for hours!”

A tense silence settled over them, their stares as sharp as daggers. It seemed that they were at an impasse. Vigdis didn’t know how long they glared at each other for. Minutes? Hours, perhaps? But the ache in her shoulder worsened. Exhaustion weaved into her muscles and bones. She couldn’t keep this up anymore.

She looked away.

Without the fabric, she was left to chew at the inside of her lip and cheek. The needle glided through her freckled skin. The string gently tugged at the canyon until it was nothing but a thin river in the land. She reached the end of the wound, and clumsily tied it into a tight knot. She then brought her shoulder to her mouth and cut the thread with her teeth.

Vigdis glanced to Serana, who still watched her with furrowed brows. She inclined her head and sighed. She brought up her knee and propped her arm on it, albeit with a small flinch. Serana, who got the hint, gently folded her hand over the newly stitched wound.

Warmth emitted from Serana’s cold palm. At first, Vigdis gritted her teeth at the fire that burned hotly against her skin—then, it died into a comfortable heat, akin to the campfire that glowed before them. The hunter let out a long, soft breath as the pain finally eased, then subsided entirely. But it wasn’t until Serana dropped her hand and leaned away that Vigdis fully relaxed.

With her thread and needle still in hand, Vigdis reached for her armour. Then, with the pads of her fingers, she searched for the holes left by the mace, and tacitly began to patch it.

“Who taught you all of this?” Serana asked quietly.

Vigdis stiffened at the question as her eyes darted to the vampire’s face. Her finger pinched the needle tightly. Her father’s distorted face floated at the edges of her vision. Memories blinked through her mind—when he taught her to sew; to hunt; to cook; to repair; to survive. She pressed her lips into a thin line and dropped her ice-blue eyes back to her armour.

“My dad,” she stated icily.

The fire crackled and popped. Vigdis patched the smaller tear with ease, then moved on to the larger rip above it. Drops of blood pooled on her fingertip with every accidental prick of the needle.

“He’s in everything you do, isn’t he?”

Vigdis’ silence was more than enough of an answer.

 

“It’s . . . a dead end?”

Vigdis held her torch high to illuminate the wall. She guided it carefully along the stone in search of a passage—but found none.

“Damn it,” she hissed. They had missed something, Vigdis was sure of it. It took them three days to reach this cave, this cave that she had seen in the Scrolls. There was no way that the cave just ended. She turned to Serana with a scowl. “Go back.”

Serana nodded. They took two steps back across the unstable bridge—

Crack.

Serana gasped. Vigdis snatched her wrist and pulled her back—

The bridge broke apart beneath their feet and they plunged into the rapids below.

The water ferociously swept them away, and although Vigdis tried to keep a death-like grip on Serana, she slipped from her grasp. The hunter couldn’t see, nor did she know which way was up. When her head briefly broke through the surface of the water, it dawned on her that she was headed straight for a waterfall. She braced herself.

As she went over the falls, she glanced up. Frostbite spiders dropped from the ceiling to descend on their next meal. She cursed, then was pushed under the rapids again.

As Vigdis tumbled and spun, she reached for her sword. It wasn’t long before she was sent over another waterfall, then spat out onto a rocky stream bed. She pushed herself to her feet as she coughed up the water trapped in her lungs and unsheathed her sword. She whipped around and slashed a spider through its head to kill it instantly. Another charged her—but before she could move, ice shards struck its body until it was motionless. Vigdis sensed a third spider behind her. She flipped her sword around and stabbed it just as it reared its ugly head. It screeched, then collapsed, dead. She tugged her sword out of its corpse and sheathed it.

She turned to see a pair of persimmon eyes that glowed brightly in the darkness. She raked a hand through her wet red hair to push strands away from her face.

“Now what?” Serana asked, her voice low.

Vigdis reached for her bow. She pressed her finger to her mouth, for spiders wouldn’t be the only creatures in the depths of the grotto. They crouched down and moved downstream—but it wasn’t long before Vigdis heard the snarl of another spider. They passed underneath a natural bridge, the creature somewhere above them to the right. As it was only one creature, Vigdis deemed it too much trouble to bring down, and merely pushed forward.

Without a torch, the cave was that much harder to navigate. Vigdis brushed her shoulder against the wall to act as a guide. She squinted her eyes at dark, messy shapes, which often melted into nothingness when approached. Her mind played with her in the darkness, and it set her on edge.

Vigdis couldn’t guess how long they had traversed the cave before they stumbled upon an abandoned camp. The fire was long extinguished. A table was cluttered with ingredients and potions. A dead body was splayed across one of the blood-soaked bedrolls. The corpse’s skin drooped, and maggots wriggled through her hair.

“She . . . Why would anyone want to set up camp here?” Serana whispered, horrified.  

Vigdis shook her head. She gave the camp a final sweep with her eyes and found nothing of use, then turned to the slope to their right. She took a step—then froze as her leg pressed against a string. It was a tripwire, and she had almost set it off. Carefully, she pulled back her foot, then moved around the trap.

They slid down the steep slope and passed through twists and turns of the dark passages. The tunnels opened into a massive chamber, where ankle-deep water settled like a lake. Light poured in from the western side of the cavern, and Vigdis spotted two trolls across the pool from them. Since they were so far away, Vigdis decided to leave them be, and followed the shore around the water towards the light.

The lake thinned into a small river. Up ahead, a small, golden shrine sat atop a hexagonal white stone slab. The candles that surrounded gave it an ethereal glow. A strange structure that shared the same sun insignia was beside it, alight from the natural rays that shone from above. A pale person with white hair dressed in unique bone-grey armour stood at the shrine, their back to them. Further back was a shabby camp, where another figure laid curled up on their side, their long white hair draped across their makeshift bed.

Vigdis paused, uncertain whether these individuals were enemies—

“Approach the shrine. I mean you no harm.”

The figure turned to them, his hands casually laced behind his back. Silver eyes pierced the darkness and settled on Vigdis, who cautiously stood up. The other figure from before now lingered behind him and curiously peered at them with the biggest eyes Vigdis had ever seen. They resembled elves but were far paler than any Altmer or Dunmer that walked Nirn—which meant only one thing.

Vigdis stared back into the Falmer’s studious gaze with an icy glare.

“I am Knight-Paladin Gelebor,” he introduced solemnly. “Welcome to the Great Chantry of Auri-El.”

Vigdis exchanged a look with Serana, who simply shrugged and approached him. The hunter grunted under her breath and did the same, although she kept more distance between herself and the snow elf.

“You’re a Falmer,” Serana observed quietly.

Gelebor frowned in disapproval, his voice a sharp snip as he spoke. “I prefer snow elf. The name Falmer typically holds a negative meaning to travellers.” He paused, then continued. “Those twisted creatures you call Falmer, I call the Betrayed.”

Serana crossed her arms. “I assume you know why we’re here?”

“Of course. You’re here for Auriel’s Bow. Why else would you be here?”

Vigds rolled her eyes as her nostrils flared. She was already thoroughly annoyed with the elf and regretted her earlier hesitation. She should’ve shot him when she had the chance.

“I can help you get it,” Gelebor offered. “But first, I must have your assistance.”

“With what?” Vigdis snapped, her patience drained. “Cleaning the shrine?”

“No.” The girl behind him snaked her arms around his waist. He gently patted her head and spared her a soft smile, then took a deep breath. “I need you to kill Arch-Curate Vyrthur . . . My brother.”

 

“So let’s get this straight,” Serana sighed out. “We need to do all that nonsense to get into the temple, just so we can kill your brother and claim Auriel’s Bow?”

Vigdis had zoned out of the conversation entirely. Gelebor talked far too much, and it proved to be a deadly combination with Serana’s insatiable curiosity. He answered all of her questions, most of it useless information that made Vigdis’ head spin. She would do anything to shut them up at this point.

“I know how it all sounds. But if there was another way, I’d have done it long ago.” He briefly looked at Vigdis, then back to Serana. “The only way to get to my brother is by following in the Initiate’s footsteps and travelling from wayshrine to wayshrine, just as they did. The first lay at the end of Darkfall Passage—a cavern that represents the absence of enlightenment.”

“Exactly how many of these wayshrines are there?”

“Five in total, spread far apart across the Chantry.”

“Huh.” Serana’s hands settled on her hips. “These must be some impressive caves, then.”

Gelebor snorted. “Oh, no. The Chantry encompasses far more than a few caves, as you’ll soon discover.” He glanced to the girl—Helthune, Vigdis learned after Serana asked about her earlier—and gestured to her. She dashed off behind the structure that Gelebor had risen with his snow elf magic, then returned with a grey ewer in her hands. She gave to him, who in turn offered it to Serana.

“Here, the Initiate’s Ewer. You’ll need it.” The vampire, hesitant, took the ewer. “Once you’ve located a wayshrine, there will be a spectral Prelate tending to it. They will allow you to draw the waters from the shrine’s basin as if you’ve been enlightened.” Gelebor bowed his head, whilst Helthune curtsied and smiled brightly. “All I can do now is grant you my hopes for a safe journey.”

Vigdis snatched the ewer from Serana, only to find that it was heavier than it looked. She gritted her teeth, her temptation to spit on the Falmer almost irresistible. She shoved past him and walked up to the basin that sat in the centre of the wayshrine. She dipped the ewer into it—as water flowed into the pitcher, a portal materialised before her.

The hunter, with the partially filled vessel in hand, walked around the basin and entered the portal. She stepped into darkness on the other side. Serana, who was close behind her, shuddered. Vigdis turned to her with slightly furrowed brows.

“That . . . wasn’t as unpleasant as I thought it would be,” the vampire noted lightly. “Kind of soothing, actually.”        

Vigdis had enough.

“Are you done?” she growled.

Serana frowned, confused. “Done what?”

“Talking.”

Dark eyebrows dipped in offence. “What are you—I was just—”

“Just what?” Vigdis snapped. “Wasting our fucking time with your curiosity?” Serana set her jaw but said nothing, her eyes hard. The hunter’s next words were harshly scoffed out. “Fucking unbelievable.”

Rather than dwell on her anger towards Serana, Vigdis stormed off into the pitch-black tunnels, the ewer in one hand and her bow in the other. She figured out a long time ago that the best way for her to blow off steam was to find something to kill.

Chapter 18: The Vale

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

“What are these?”

Vigdis glanced over her shoulder to see Serana squatted over a small meadow of strange blue flowers. They had been sparse in the caves, but on the other side of the portal they flourished. After such a perilous journey through a seemingly eternal cave system infested with Falmer and chauruses, the blossoms were a relief to see.

The flowers’ soft glow cast a gentle light over Serana’s pale features—her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her lips. Blue danced with persimmon in her eyes, her mouth agape in awe and wonder. Her gaze wavered, then wandered, then stared back into Vigdis’ icy-blue irises. The hunter looked away as heat crept into her cheeks, annoyed, and crushed a flower under her boot as she pressed on towards the tunnel before them.

The passage sloped and spiralled upwards. The cold air smelled fresh but burned Vigdis’ lungs with every breath. Natural light bounced off the walls, birds chirped away distantly. Was it morning? Were they outside? She quickened her pace, desperate to see the sky after so long in the endless darkness.

The light blinded her—she shielded her face with her arm and pushed forward until the noises of nature no longer echoed. Warmth swallowed her, then spit her back out as a chill gushed over her body. Goosebumps erupted over her skin as the hairs on her neck stood up. She dropped her arm.

And opened her eyes.

She stood alone at the edge of a grand cliff, where the crevice below split into a vast valley, dusted with snow as it teemed with wild animals painted in ebonies, malachites, and opals. Falmeric arches laid in ruins, dotted across the landscape as a sombre monument to what had once been a prosperous civilisation. A faint path snaked between the trees; it divided in two, and one forged ahead to the north whilst the other veered west towards a pass between two mountain peaks. Clouds rolled over the mountains and spilled into the crevice like a waterfall into a deep lake.

There was an audible gasp beside her. Vigdis didn’t have to look to know that it was Serana.

“This is . . . incredible,” the vampire murmured in amazement, breathless. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

It was the sixth time she had spoken since her obnoxious chat with the Knight-Paladin—and for the sixth time, Vigdis would stay silent. She couldn’t deny the beauty of the scene before them, but she didn’t have to voice it aloud. They had a ewer to fill, and she had stalled for long enough.

Vigdis turned to walk around Serana to find a path down. Just as she began to pass her, a strong gust of wind blew over them. Serana wavered. Her breath hitched. She lost her balance—

Vigdis grabbed her arm and pulled her from the edge. The vampire stumbled into her, her head bowed as it crashed into Vigdis’ chin and earned her a grunt. The hunter put her hand on Serana’s hip to stabilise her. Serana looked up, her dark brows furrowed in fear and worry. Vigdis scowled and released her hold on Serana to give her chin a rub with her freckled fingers to dull the pain.

“Stay away from the edge,” the hunter snapped. “You almost fell to your death.”

Serana’s pale hands curled into tight fists. She no longer looked afraid—she looked angry—livid, even—, and she steadied her gaze on Vigdis. When she spoke, her voice stung with regret.

“You should’ve let me fall.”

Vigdis harshly gestured to the cliff, fed up. “Well then go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

Serana stared at her with her mouth agape, her dark brows briefly raised in shock before they dipped in frustration. The hunter, who believed she had made her point clear, then turned on her heel—

“You can’t keep pretending that you don’t care!”

She stopped in her tracks. She whipped around and walked up to Serana so that she was in her face, her fury ablaze in her eyes. Vigdis felt as though she could breathe fire.

“I don’t care,” Vigdis snarled.

“You do,” Serana argued, unwavering. “You care. And you’re afraid of it. And it’s killing you.”

Vigdis trembled. Her stomach churned; her throat closed; her heart stopped. The world around her threatened to fall into the maw of her demons as they clawed and screamed and whispered in her ear—

“You don’t know me.” Her voice was a forced breath that shook over her tongue and lips. She stepped back as the demons grew louder. “Don’t pretend that you know what I am or what I can do.” Her icy eyes flickered to Serana’s persimmon ones. She couldn’t discern the emotion that laid there; she could only see the bright glow as they stared back at her. The demons fell silent. “You will never know me.”

Serana approached her, her hands outstretched until they wrapped firmly around Vigdis’ upper arms, her stare hard.

“Let me in, Vigdis,” she pleaded in a whisper. “Stop shutting me out. I won’t hurt you.”

Vigdis violently jerked herself away from Serana’s grasp, her breaths shallow. She pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away to end their conversation with finality.

Despite that, Vigdis couldn’t stop the words that echoed in her mind.

"I won’t hurt you."

It was the second time Serana had promised such a thing to her. Vigdis didn’t know what to make of it.

As another chilly breeze brushed over her, she decided that she never will know.

           

Two days had gone by since they first exited the dark caves and looked upon the valley. The land beyond the pass through the mountains had proven even more vast, an icy wasteland with magnificent waterfalls, jagged bluffs, glacial caves, and a plethora of snow elf ruins. They travelled from wayshrine to wayshrine, the ewer heavier and heavier with water as they moved through uncharted territory.

It wasn’t until they traversed through the rocky twists of a ravine infested to the brim with Falmer that Vigdis and Serana approached the fifth and, thankfully, last wayshrine. Both were exhausted beyond reason—Vigdis, personally, was ready to throw the pitcher into the next chasm and leave.

Unfortunately for her, they couldn’t get Auriel’s Bow without it.

She stepped out of the wayshrine with a grunt, her arm sore from the weight of the full ewer. Vigdis turned eastward, where she saw Serana with her hands on her hips as she stood before a grand—and complete—Falmeric arch. White stone steps led up to a narrow bridge that crossed a profound canyon. A temple had been built into the mountain on the other side, where it towered ominously, adorned with icicles that dripped over eroded stone. Although dawn would not rise for a few more hours, it gleamed with an ancient pride as if the sun still graced it.

Before Vigdis could brush past Serana, the vampire turned to her. Her bitingly cold fingers wrapped gently below the hunter’s warm freckled ones, then took the ewer from her without a word. Vigdis raised a brow in question—but Serana merely walked away and climbed the steps to cross the bridge. With an irritated flare of her nostrils, Vigdis followed her across.

They passed through the temple face’s archway and were greeted by a tall, brass statue of Auriel. The sun’s rays leapt from his idle hands, his expression stoic despite the ice that dribbled from his nose. Vigdis crinkled her own dry nose, its freckled tip rosy from the cold.

They clambered up the stairs that wound up behind the statue to a pedestal with an empty basin. Serana approached it, the ewer cradled in her hands, and took a deep breath.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.

She tipped the pitcher. The water flowed into the bowl with a gentle splash and streamed down into three channels that drained into a sun-shaped depression in the floor. With the last drop, it became illuminated with a bright light. The lock mechanism on the doors clicked; the sun symbol spun, then separated to reveal itself as a set of intricate door handle.

Vigdis shot Serana a dubious look with an irritated raise of her red brow. Serana returned a thoughtful frown, then proceeded to the door with Vigdis close behind her.

The doors opened into an expansive room, so large that it looked almost endless. Ice draped from the columns to the floor like glass curtains. Statues encased in ice surrounded the shrine of Auriel in the centre—but something wasn’t right about the scene before them. A chill brushed over the unsettled hunter. The hairs on her neck stood up as her gut clenched in dread. Their boots echoed in the eerie silence as they approached the statues.

Only to discover that they weren’t statues at all.

“These Falmer, they’re . . . frozen in the ice,” Serana breathed out nervously. She warily touched one’s shoulder, then dropped her hand with a grimace. “And I thought the Soul Cairn was creepy.”

Vigdis begrudgingly agreed with her in silence. She knocked her knuckle on the chaurus beside her, which looked as though it would spring to life at any moment. Her instinct frothed beneath her calm façade, screaming at her to be on her guard. The Arch-Curate—Vyrthur, Vigdis recalled—no doubt waited for them. And he would not make it easy for them to reach him.

The hunter pressed onward. She shoved open the brass filigree doors—the metal scrolls akin to a ribcage—, which swung open with a metallic squeal that made her teeth hurt. Her eyes swept the hall. More Falmer were clustered together, frozen in reverence.

She took a step forward. Ice cracked and splintered under the weight of her boot. She cursed as the Falmer burst to life. Her bow slipped into her hand in time to slash one that charged her. They shattered into pieces; limbs and ice flew everywhere as it blasted apart. More barraged her with swipes of their claws or blasts of magic. She dodged and stepped back, exasperated. She ripped an arrowhead through another’s neck, who exploded into more shards and body parts.

But more frozen Falmer flooded towards her in a fury—and Vigdis’ exhaustion ached in her muscles and bones as she continued to fight them. She was about to be overwhelmed; until lightning crackled across the room and struck several of the Falmer, which effectively stunned them. She looked up to see Serana, her eyes wide with panic.

“Run!”

Vigdis gritted her teeth. She didn’t need to be told twice.

She crashed through the crowd, freeing herself from the Falmer and breaking into a sprint. Serana cast more offensive ice spikes and lightning to buy her extra time. Vigdis spotted a passage that opened beside Serana and followed it, with the vampire close behind her as they blindly travelled deeper into the Inner Sanctum.

Whatever Vigdis had done, she had awakened most if not all of the Falmer that had been frozen inside. The creatures pursued the pair with unbridled fury as their screeches echoed off the walls. While Serana could throw out spells, Vigdis couldn’t risk a shot from her bow—it would slow her down, and their only option was to run or else die to a frenzied crowd of frozen Falmer—and Vigdis would be damned to die in such a cowardly manner.

The ruined corridors twisted and turned, slanted and shrunk. It wasn’t long before Vigdis was forced to slide as her boots slipped on the ice and the tunnel dived into a downward slope. She landed so hard that she had no choice but to roll out of it; she used the momentum to get back on her feet and rush forward. She narrowly dodged an ice bolt as it whizzed above her ducked head and struck the ceiling.

The earth beneath her feet rumbled. She pressed her hand to the wall to keep herself upright as the floor fissured and icicles fell from above. The Falmer’s spell had hit a weak spot; the ruined sanctum now threatened to crush them. Vigdis dared to glance back—and was relieved to see Serana not far behind her, who hopped between the fragmented tiles to avoid the debris.

But the frozen Falmer were undeterred by the wreckage, and they were too close for comfort. Vigdis looked ahead and saw that the passage opened into a cavern. She spotted another weakness in the ice just before it and clenched her teeth. Her idea was dangerous; but if they could outrun the Falmer, they had a chance. It was a risk she had to take.

Vigdis unsheathed her sword and bolted. Just before she passed beneath the deformed arch, she struck the weak spot with all the force she could muster. It was then that Serana collided into Vigdis and together they tumbled to the ancient stone ground. The frozen Falmer screeched and screamed towards them—until they were trapped under or blocked by the sudden avalanche that thundered beyond the safety of the chamber.

They both went completely still as the creaks of the rubble and shrieks of the Falmer were subdued into an eerie silence; only their hard breaths resounded loudly across the chamber. The hunter grunted as she moved herself away from Serana’s grip and stood up, unable to ignore the high-pitched ring in her ears. She sighed under her breath, then offered her hand to the vampire, who took it gratefully.

Then, she turned around.

A snow elf dressed in armour exactly like Knight-Paladin Gelebor’s sat upon an old throne, protected behind a thick sheet of transparent ice. Translucent topaz eyes glittered with malice; a deep sneer marred his marbled features. Vigdis tightened her grip on her sword.

“An impressive display,” the elf chided coldly, “but a wasted effort. You delay nothing but your own deaths.”

“Hand over the bow, Vyrthur,” Vigdis snarled as she slowly approached him.

“Did you really come here expecting to claim Auriel’s Bow for yourselves?” He shifted so that his fingers rested against his gaunt cheek and his glare deepened. “You’ve done exactly as I predicted and finally brought your companion to me. Which, I’m sorry to say, means your usefulness is at an end!”

With a snap of his fingers, statuesque chauruses burst forth from the frozen snow piles near the throne. With every creature slain by Vigdis’ sword or Serana’s spells, another emerged and attacked. The floor became littered with limbs and dust as chauruses were joined by more Falmer. It was with a roar that Vigdis finally slew the last enemy, their head separated from their neck with one deadly swing.

“No!” The barrier cracked from the force of Vyrthur’s spell. “I won’t let you ruin centuries of preparations . . . !”

“Surrender and give us the bow!” Serana screamed.

“ Death first! ”

With one fell swoop of his arms, the entire chantry collapsed on top of them.

Notes:

Apologies for the longer absence. Still trying to sort out some personal things--but we're getting there. Slowly but surely. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it ❤
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for reading! ❤

Chapter 19: Cascade

Notes:

Hello everyone!
I normally don't have notes in the beginning like this, but it has to be done.

As a forewarning, there is mention of sexual assault/rape in this chapter. There are no explicit details, but it's pretty clear what Serana's remembering. It's a very brief scene, towards the beginning of the chapter--however I wanted to let everyone know just in case you're sensitive and I don't wish to trigger you without warning.

Other than that I hope you enjoy the chapter <3 Thank you for reading!

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

“Hey . . . Hey!”

Serana’s eyes fluttered open. Her pale skin tingled under the dawn’s bright rays; it was uncomfortable, but not unpleasant. She focused on the freckled face above her, the ice-blue eyes sharp under crinkled red brows. Serana frowned at the thin stream of blood that trickled down the hunter’s freckled forehead. When did she get hurt?

“What—?”

“We don’t have time,” Vigdis admonished. “Vyrthur’s on the balcony. Come on.”

One warm hand enclosed Serana’s wrist, whilst the other pressed against her back. Serana’s head spun as she was lifted effortlessly into the air, the sudden weight on her feet and legs unexpected. But the hunter’s grip was firm and certain, and kept the vampire steady as she stumbled through her confusion.

After several moments, Serana nodded to indicate that she was fine and Vigdis released her. Serana closed her eyes briefly, unsure that she was truly prepared to face this enemy and the consequences of his death. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Vyrthur himself was a vampire—and that acknowledgement made her uneasy, as it was unmentioned in Gelebor’s story. The Knight-Paladin had believed that his brother was corrupted by the Falmer; however, it appeared that the reverse was true. Serana frowned. Something didn’t add up—but she couldn’t figure it out on her own. Perhaps the Arch-Curate would tell them the truth that Gelebor didn’t know. She shook her head, then pulled up her leather hood and followed the hunter to Vyrthur.

The snow elf stood at the end of the balcony, his back to them as he peered over the hidden valley before him. Vigdis didn’t hesitate to ready her bow, though it wasn’t yet pulled taut. Serana’s hands hung loosely, yet twitched faintly with the magic that surged to her fingertips. She braced herself.

“Enough, Vyrthur,” she spoke, softly yet flatly. “Give us the bow.”

The Arch-Curate stiffened, then turned to Serana. Hatred gleamed bright in his orange eyes that matched her own.

“How dare you,” he seethed. “I was the Arch-Curate of Auri-El, girl. I had the ears of a god.”

“Until you were turned,” she guessed, her arms folded as she frowned in thought. “But Auriel should’ve protected you, so why—?”

“The moment I was infected by one of my own initiates, Auri-El turned his back on me!” His voice boomed like thunder. Serana flinched, but Vigdis only moved closer, as if to warn him. “I swore I would have my revenge. No matter the cost.”

Serana’s dark brows furrowed; she questioned his sanity. Whether it was the vampirism, betrayal, or time itself that drove him mad, she would never know.

“Revenge? On a god?”

“Auri-El himself may be beyond my reach—but his influence on our world isn’t.” Vyrthur stepped forward, his face mere centimetres from Serana’s. The tip of an arrow pressed into his pale throat. He shot a glare at Vigdis, who returned it with a fierce one of her own. When he brought his gaze back to Serana, he sneered with malice. “All I needed was the blood of a pure-blooded vampire . . . the blood of a Daughter of Coldharbour, and his own weapon: Auri-El’s Bow.”

“It was you,” Vigdis growled. The arrowhead dug deeper, and crimson trickled down his neck. “You created that prophecy.”

Serana trembled, her eyes wide. As she stared back into crazed persimmon eyes, the white stone of the balcony and the rays of the sun were swallowed whole.

Candles flickered around her. The low altar behind her was adorned with sheets of ruby and midnight. She stood there, cold and naked. A faint yet hard muscle beat in her chest. A nervous sweat drenched her pale body. Her breaths were short yet stained with smoke and stone. Her stomach churned so violently that she had to swallow her own bile more than once, and it tainted her tongue with a sour acidity.

Claws cut into her shoulders and shoved her back. She fell onto the altar. She gasped.

Tears streamed down her face.

She wanted to scream.

It hurt.

She reached out into the darkness until her hands wrapped around a sharp, icy metal. The blackness shattered as she lifted Arch-Curate Vyrthur into the air by his armoured collar, her fangs bared and her cheeks wet.

“You were waiting,” Serana breathed, “all this time. For someone with my blood to come along.” He struggled in her grip, his hands wrapped around hers—but his efforts to escape were futile. “Well too bad. I intend on keeping it. You can demand it all you like, but my blood belongs to me. It is my power to command, not yours.”

Serana wanted to crawl out of her skin, to rip out her insides, to burn alive—but she had to finish this. She clenched her teeth and threw Vyrthur to the ground as if he were a doll.

“Let’s see if your blood has any power to it!” she spat as magic burst to life in her hands.

Despite the hard crash of Vyrthur’s body and armour against the stone, he recovered with ease. With a snap of his fingers, a frost atronach materialised into existence with a deafening vwoom.

“I’ll stain the ground and darken the skies with your blood!”

The atronach charged Vigdis, who cursed and dove for the stairs to dodge the swing of its deadly arm. Fear spiked in Serana’s stomach. She flung out her hand in desperation to cast a lightning spell—only for Vyrthur to snatch her wrist as the lightning split from her fingertips and struck the railing instead.

“Your blood will be mine,” he snarled, his eyes crazed with bloodlust as his nails dug into her skin.

Serana hissed. She jerked her hand out of his grip and stepped back, then unsheathed her ebony dagger as she focused her complete attention on the snow elf before her. As much as every distant grunt from Vigdis made her flinch, she had to believe that the hunter could survive the fight—and it was up to Serana to take down the Arch-Curate herself.

“Try and take it from me,” she challenged.

Vyrthur sneered and revealed his own dagger, an obsidian black and ash grey blade that gleamed menacingly. The symbol on its scabbard was that of an Oblivion Gate—and Serana instantly recognised the exact razor he wielded. The very idea that he acquired such a weapon so as to not waste her blood sickened her. Her hand trembled as she gripped her dagger tighter so that her knuckles went white.

She squared her shoulders and threw out an ice spike. It collided with Vyrthur’s own icy spear and shattered into thousands of shards. He swiped his dagger—Serana stepped back and narrowly avoided it. She countered with a slash of her own. He dodged, then followed with another slice—and cut Serana’s cheek. She stumbled back in shock. Pride flashed in Vyrthur’s eyes as he admired the blood that coated the tip of his blade.

Rage erupted from her chest and ripped from her throat. Magicka coursed through her veins as her fingers curled towards Vyrthur, blinded by her mania. Iron flooded her mouth as her magic coaxed his blood—his very life—from his body in thin, crimson strings. She smiled as he screamed, his body hurled over in pain.

“You,” she murmured with a snarl, “are nothing to me.”

Serana reached deeper into her magicka, and flicked her wrist—

Vyrthur lunged. He tackled her to the ground—her dagger flew from her hand as her head hit the stone. Her vision blurred; she struggled against the hot, sweaty hands that threatened to choke her and pin her down. She thrashed and kicked, desperate to escape his grasp. Vyrthur's fingers coiled around her neck and began to crush her windpipe with his thumb. She scratched at his hand; gasped for the air that couldn’t fill her lungs. Her mind and body screamed at her to find something—anything—to survive this.

He raised the dagger above his head—

Serana shot an ice shard into his neck.

Vyrthur’s topaz eyes grew wide. He dropped the dagger, and it clattered beside her ear. He sputtered; choked; gurgled. Blood gushed from his mouth and splattered onto Serana’s cheek. He leaned back, then fell onto his side. Serana seized his blade—then stabbed him again, and again, and again.

Tears streamed down her bloodstained face as she drowned in fear; the air she breathed was fire and water that consumed her. Vyrthur’s expression burned behind her eyes, matched with that of the Daedric Prince she once blindly worshipped. She was nothing but a caged animal; a prize to be won and coveted; a vessel for evil.

Strong hands clutched her arms and jerked her back. Serana whipped around, the dagger still in her hand—only to face familiar ice-blue eyes that stared at her. As she took in the expression before her, the sun prickled at her skin; a breeze ghosted through her dark hair and brushed her damp cheeks. Vigdis’ faint scent drifted to Serana’s nose—sweat, blood, earth, and rain swelled in her lungs. The smell was unmistakable; it belonged, undoubtedly, to the red-haired hunter, who was real and alive, whose warm hands wrapped so firmly around her arms that it hurt, whose icy eyes burned amongst the constellations of her freckles.

“I . . .” Serana tried, her breath shaky.

Vigdis shook her head. “You don’t have to explain. Not to me.”

The ground rumbled. The hunter let go of the vampire and they both turned to watch as a wayshrine rose below the stairs. After Vigdis shot her an indecipherable look, Serana moved to descend the stairs, completely numb as she tucked Vyrthur’s dagger into the empty loop on her belt. From the wayshrine emerged Gelebor and Helthune, her wide eyes as she looked around in pure awe. As they approached, the Knight-Paladin turned to them with a sombre expression.

“So,” he sighed, “the deed has been done.” Neither of the women spoke. He continued. “The restoration of this wayshrine means that Vyrthur must be dead, and the Betrayed no longer have control over him.”

“That wasn’t it,” Serana forced out. “He—”

“He controlled them,” Vigdis interjected. “He was a vampire.”

He raised his wispy brows in shock. “A vampire?” He folded his arms over his chest as he processed the words—mulling over the news in a brief silence. “I . . . see. That would explain much.” His expression then softened. “It brings me joy that the Betrayed weren’t to blame for his actions. There’s still hope that they might one day shed their hatred, and learn to believe in Auri-El once again. It’s been a long time since I felt that way and it’s been long overdue. My thanks, to the both of you.” His smile was small yet grateful. He stepped aside and gestured to the wayshrine. “Please, take the bow. It is yours.”

Vigdis brushed past Serana and went inside the shrine. She then reappeared with Auriel’s Bow in her freckled hands. Its make was unlike anything Serana had ever seen—distinctly elven in its design, it shimmered faintly in a cold, pale gold. The hunter ran her fingers along the bow string, then carefully tested its strength.

“It’s beautiful,” Serana murmured, unenthusiastic as the reality of their situation washed over her like a violent storm. Her hands curled into fists. “But we both know what comes next.”

For a long moment, Vigdis was quiet. When Serana raised her head, the hunter wore an unreadable expression. The vampire wanted her to say something. Anything. The silence was unbearable against the cacophony of memories that threatened to drive Serana over the edge.

“We need to consider our options back at the fort,” Vigdis finally said. She held out the bow to Serana. “Hide this with your spell. I don’t want Isran to know that we have it yet.”

Serana was taken back. It was obvious to her that the next step was to face her father, perhaps to return to Fort Dawnguard and ask Isran for reinforcements—but Vigdis seemed to think otherwise. Despite her confusion over the request to conceal the bow, she reached for what magicka she had left and cast an invisibility spell over the weapon. Vigdis nodded, then maneuvered the bow beneath her own and strapped it successfully to her back.

Without another word, they traversed into the wayshrine and passed through the portal that teleported them back to Darkfall Cave. As they searched for the exit, it occurred to Serana that wherever Vigdis went, she would follow her lead.

While the hunter was, perhaps, the worst person in all of Nirn she could entrust her life to, she had no one else.

 

“So. What did you find?”

Serana glanced nervously at Vigdis, whose features rested in a cold neutrality. Isran sat across from them, his sepia gaze fixed sternly on the red-haired vampire hunter.

They had just returned to the fort late last night—and it was barely morning when Isran found them and demanded a report. Serana suspected that Agmaer had told him, as she had seen the blonde man when they first had arrived and had waved to him without thought. She hoped that Isran hadn’t been too harsh with him.

“The glade,” Vigdis answered curtly.

“Don’t be smart with me,” Isran growled, his eyes narrowed. “What did you find in the glade?”

The hunter’s nostrils flared. “Moths.”

“Vigdis.”

Serana sighed as a faint headache pounded at the back of her skull. She hadn’t missed the fort and began to wonder why they had bothered to come back at all. It was clear now that Vigdis had a good reason for the bow’s secrecy; Isran was not a patient man and would have undoubtedly rushed them into battle without second thought. In his eyes, they would have the upper hand—and he wouldn’t weigh the consequences of such a reckless decision until it was far too late.

No, it was better that he didn’t know they had already acquired Auriel’s Bow. They needed more time.

Vigdis’s annoyance permeated the atmosphere as she tapped her fingers against the table. “I did what the old man said to do and read the Scrolls.”

Silence. Then—

“Are you out of your damn mind?” It took all of Serana’s willpower to not groan aloud. “Did you even consider the consequences? If anything had gone wrong because you decided to be stupid—”

“I’m fine,” Vigdis snarled, her teeth bared in warning. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise, would we.”

Isran deflated, but only a little. “What did the Scrolls show you?”

“The rest of the prophecy.”

Isran raised a dark brow. “That’s it?”

Vigdis nodded. Serana fiddled with her fingers as the Redguard leaned back into his chair, his angry expression now tinged with disappointment.

“I suppose I should’ve expected that,” he muttered. “I’ll have to talk to the priest, see if he can’t tell us anything else.” He paused, then reached for his belt and pulled out a sealed letter from his satchel. His gaze hardened as it shifted from Vigdis to Serana. “This came for you while you were gone.”

He placed it on the table and slid it over to her. Her name was written on it in a slim, elegant script that she didn’t recognise. With a frown, she gingerly picked up the letter. She immediately noticed that the blood red seal had been broken cleanly.

“I checked its contents to make sure you weren’t sending information back to your little friends,” Isran explained coldly. “The last thing we need is a spy in our midst.”

The comment stung, but Serana did her best to shrug it off. She didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her, and she would prefer to keep it that way. Hesitantly, she unfolded the fine parchment, and began to read.

You have been cordially invited to dinner and drinks at Bloodchill Manor.

Bring your chalice, and arrive alone.

“Bloodchill Manor?” Serana asked.

“According to one of my scouts, the place seems to be a vampire lair,” the Redguard answered gruffly, his gaze focused on Vigdis again. “As a vampire hunter, it’s your priority to root out these monsters and destroy them. Harkon is still a threat, but he hasn’t made any more progress than we have, so for now, I’ll worry about the bow.” He stood up, the legs of the chair scraped against the ground. “Report back when you’ve finished the job.”

Just as Vigdis opened her mouth—likely to protest—Isran left without another word.

Serana read the letter over and over again, unable to shake the dread that seeped into her heart like venom. Something wasn’t right—but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

With a shake of her head, she locked away her fears, convinced herself that there was nothing to worry about, then slipped the letter into her belt.

Chapter 20: The Guest

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

“It’s a trap, you know.”

“You think everything is a trap.”

After they had carefully concealed Auriel’s Bow, the pair left Fort Dawnguard. The letter for Serana had come with a map that marked the location of the manor, high in the mountains southeast of Dawnstar. While it had only taken a week to approach the mountain, it took several days for them to find a viable path to their destination—and even then, it proved both arduous and dangerous. Mournloaf trudged slowly up the steep, snowy mountainside, whilst her riders leaned forward to better disperse their weight.

“That’s why I’m still alive,” the hunter muttered.

Serana sighed in annoyance. “Remind me again why I’m allowing you to come with me when it specifically said to come alone.” She paused, albeit briefly, her voice laced with bitterness. “I know it’s a trap. I’m not stupid.”

“Then you should know that letting you go alone is even more fucking stupid.”

The vampire’s only answer was a hard, loud huff through her mouth. They elapsed into complete silence, save for the crunch of snow beneath the horse’s hooves. Vigdis’ sharp eyes traced the horizon in search of a manmade silhouette—but found none, even as they neared the top of the slope. This deeply troubled Vigdis, as she had thought the manor would be more obvious. Her instinct brewed hotly beneath her calm, studious façade. She couldn’t shake the uneasiness that clawed into her lungs, the dread that twisted in her heart and ensnared her mind.

Something was wrong.

Mournloaf stopped, then snorted harshly. The hunter pulled herself from her thoughts, only to stare deep into the mouth of a cave. There was no manor to be seen.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Serana voiced uncertainly.

Vigdis furrowed her thick red brows. She tugged gently on the horse’s reins—then froze as a figure emerged from the cave. Her freckled knuckles went white as an orange and black marbled Khajiit vampire stepped out from the shadows and offered them a mirthless grin. Serana was quick to dismount Mournloaf and approached him. Vigdis reluctantly followed.

“We’ve been expecting you, Lady Serana,” he purred. But his grin fell as his eyes slowly glided to Vigdis’ form. “Unfortunately, your cattle is not welcome inside. Perhaps if they are willing to wait . . .”

Fury seared through the hunter’s veins. She snarled and stepped forward—only for Serana’s arm to abruptly halt her. Vigdis turned her enraged glare on the brunette, who merely smiled at the Khajiit with uncharacteristic ease.

“I have an acquired taste,” she said smoothly. Vigdis didn’t miss the faint yet palpable sinister edge to her voice, or the sharpness in her persimmon eyes. “I doubt you have anything exquisite to offer me, so I brought my own drink. I would like to accept your invitation—however, you will allow her to accompany me if you wish for me to be cordial.”

The Khajiit frowned, silent as he considered Serana’s words. Vigdis gritted her teeth, sickened by the words cattle and drink; but she was forced to recognise that it was the only way for them to get in without too much suspicion. It was a stealthier approach, therefore Vigdis’ more preferred method, no matter how uncomfortable this interaction made her feel. She stepped back, to show that she would trust Serana on this—and acquiesce until trouble arose.

When he lifted his slitted gaze, he smiled widely and warmly. “Very well. If you will follow me, I will lead you to the manor.”

After the Khajiit turned his back to them, Vigdis and Serana shared a brief look, then quietly went in after him.

The path snaked through a tall cavern, then sloped down towards a stone bridge that arched over the ravine and spilled into the manor’s front terrace; a majestic waterfall to the right crashed into the river below. As they drew closer, music lilted gently across the space, accompanied by murmurs and an occasional laugh. Before they could cross the bridge, the Khajiit stopped and faced Vigdis with his arms held out, palms up.

“Please relinquish your bow and sword to me for the safety of the other guests,” he requested with a wide smile.

Vigdis stiffened, then shot a hard, sharp look at Serana. The brunette side-eyed her, her expression neutral as her dark brows furrowed and her pale mouth slanted into a frown. He hadn’t asked for all of her weapons—only the most dangerous. She sneered, then complied with his wish, the dagger strapped to her thigh heavier than ever. They would learn soon enough that she didn’t need her bow or sword to be effective in their slaughter.

Satisfied, the Khajiit took her weapons and led them across the bridge. The quiet mutters of conversation swelled into a cacophony of individual voices, mingled with sly giggles and boisterous guffaws. Every guest was dressed in silks and intricate embroidery; their fingers decorated with signet rings and plain bands; their necks glittered with necklaces; their foreheads crowned with circlets; from their hips hung daggers—yet, like the rest of their attire, it was merely another ornate trinket to brag about.

As Vigdis scanned the party, her gut tied itself in knots. The guests’ eyes were glazed over, unfocused. Their smiles were too wide as if in a trance. The servants, with bright eyes like fire, slipped between them like shadows, their fingers and mouths bloodstained. Horror rose in her throat as it dawned on Vigdis that the dinner party wasn’t for the guests at all.

The guests were the dinner.

The hunter felt a sharp and sudden tug at her back. She whipped her head around to find Serana, who stared at the chalice—the strange artefact from Forebears’ Holdout—in her pale hand. When did they take it from Vigdis’ bag? She gritted her teeth, her muscles taut with terror. She had known—she had known it was a trap—and she still walked straight into it.

“Aren’t you thirsty, Lady Serana?”

Vigdis turned. Every pair of orange eyes stared back at her, perfectly still; a pack of wolves awaiting to descend upon their vulnerable prey. The hunter instinctively moved her freckled hand to reach for her dagger—

Her wrist was snatched within a cold, firm grasp. She looked back and found Serana’s persimmon gaze, wide and pleading. Vigdis’ breaths were hard yet steady as she matched the vampire’s silent question with her own bewildered expression. Serana merely tightened her grip in response. There was no other way.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Vigdis twisted her arm, the inside of her wrist face-up. Serana shifted her grip; her thumb slipped beneath her sleeve and shoved the cuff back to reveal the freckled yet heavily scarred skin that lurked beneath. The vampire’s nail traced the faint blue veins that streaked across the rosy flesh, stiff under her touch. The hunter forced a harsh exhale through her nose as the nail pierced her skin. Blood pooled, then trickled down her arm. Serana held the chalice beneath the wound, and both watched as the ichor dripped into the spiked cup.

When Serana’s grip loosened, Vigdis pulled her arm away. Her ice-blue eyes flickered to the vampire’s face, whose gaze was intensely fixed on the chalice. Serana swallowed hard, then lifted the goblet to her lips, and tilted it up.

The glow of persimmon veiled in black scleras couldn’t hide the exact moment the red liquid touched her lips. Something unravelled behind those widened eyes; pupils dilated sharply, lost in a hazy fog. Then her eyes darted down, snapped back into focus as dark brows dipped in bitter concentration. She lowered the chalice, not a single stain of blood to be found on her pale lips.

“You drink well.” The hunter glanced over to find the Khajiit from earlier beside her, his smile sly. He then gestured to the front entrance of the manor. “This way, Lady Serana.”

As if on cue, the guests shuffled towards the door, their murmurs quieted. Serana quickly shoved the goblet back into Vigdis’ hands as if burned by it—yet her gaze lingered noticeably on the lifted sleeve. Tentatively, she reached out and pulled it down to hide the cut she had made. They briefly shared an indecipherable glance; then Serana turned away and followed the guests inside with Vigdis close behind her.

They proceeded through a small foyer, which then opened into a grand hall adorned with blood-red tapestries and rugs. Sconces dimly lit the dark stone and cast grim shadows upon the walls. They filed into a dining room, where a long table awaited them. The same ruby tapestries hung from the ceiling, just above the table. Silver dishes lined the crimson tablecloth, filled to the brim with decadent—yet noticeably cold—foods. Only one four-armed candelabra graced the middle of the table, the flames dim and weak despite the stillness of the room.

The Khajiit led Serana to her seat, positioned in the middle whilst Vigdis took the chair to her right. The Khajiit lingered between them as the hunter’s icy eyes pointed at a folded letter on Serana’s empty plate.

Serana nervously picked up the letter, unfolded it, and began to read aloud.

“By now you have figured out that you are surrounded,” Serana spoke, “that there is nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.”

Vigdis tore her eyes away from Serana—only to see that every vampire loomed behind the seated guests, their gazes trained on the unaware mortals before them with a fiery hunger. The hunter’s fingers wrapped around the cold hilt of her dagger.

“Know that it is because of you that everyone at this party will be slaughtered, fodder to the very same monster you are.” There was a pause. Vigdis glanced to Serana to find the letter partially crinkled beneath her grip, her pale knuckles as white as snow, her teeth slightly bared. “You will watch them die, just as you watched Ma’thera burn to ash.” Her voice trembled as she continued. “But don’t worry. Their bodies will serve their purpose, even in death. You know this better than anyone. Revel in their fates—or perish with them. The choice is yours.

“Drinks are served.”

Blood-curdling screams drowned out Vigdis’ thoughts as the vampires sunk their fangs into their meals. The Khajiit’s clawed hand grasped the hunter’s fiery hair; Vigdis swivelled around and stabbed the short blade deep into his neck. Before he could even sputter, she ripped the dagger across his throat so that blood splattered all over her face and hair. He fell to the ground with a lifeless thud.

She knelt to recover her bow and sword from the Khajiit—but was suddenly tackled by another vampire. She struggled under its grip as it hissed with bloodlust. She swung her dagger and punctured it deep into the monster’s temple. With a twist, Vigdis extracted her blade, and the vampire’s body dropped to its side. She kicked it away with a grunt, then rolled over onto her feet to reach the Khajiit and take back her bow and sword.

With her sword in her left hand and her bow in the other, Vigdis turned to find three vampires dead at Serana’s feet, yet four more remained. Two of them splintered off to face Vigdis, who sneered at their stupidity.

She effortlessly slashed the first vampire across the chest, then decapitated the next in one swift motion. Serana had killed one of her attackers with a well-placed ice spike, but the other threw themselves at her in a mad frenzy and pinned Serana to the wall. Vigdis sheathed her sword and drew an arrow taut against the bowstring. The fletching's feathers cut her cheek as it flew—then punctured through the vampire’s nape with a sickening schnick. Blood gushed from their throat, showered Serana’s pale features, her persimmon eyes wide with the same wild fear that had ensnared her on that marbled balcony in the Vale. The body dropped to the floor. Serana didn’t move.

Vigdis carefully crossed the room until she stood before the dark-haired vampire; her chest rose and fell with every shaky breath, her body faintly trembled. A soft yet deep open-mouthed sigh escaped the hunter’s lips—Serana’s eyes darted to her for the first time. Neither of them so much as whispered as they stared at each other. For Vigdis, it seemed as though ages had passed before Serana’s erratic gaze finally relaxed, her breaths even and steady. When the hunter concluded that the vampire was fine, she turned to fully survey the massacre before her.

The table and several chairs were overturned. Food, plates, and goblets were flung across the floor, painted with blood. Bodies were awkwardly splayed, their drained faces twisted in horror. The hunter pressed her boot against one of the corpses and shoved it aside, then crouched over one of the vampires to thoroughly search their pockets.

“I couldn’t save them,” Serana whispered sombrely.

Vigdis carefully pulled out a folded note and eyed it with curious suspicion.

“No,” Vigdis replied quietly as she stood, “we couldn’t.”

When she turned, Serana wore a deep frown, her arms crossed. Ice-blue eyes intensely studied Serana’s form for any wounds, then paused on the dagger attached to her belt. The charcoal blade had belonged to Vyrthur; Serana had used it to kill him. It didn’t escape her notice that the scabbard had appeared magically several nights ago, which further solidified her suspicion that it was of Daedric origin.

As her gaze trailed back to the vampire’s face, Vigdis’ memories lingered on that day. The hunter had been occupied by the frost atronach, and thus had seen none of the battle between Serana and Vyrthur until he was dead. It was only when the creature had dissipated into nothing that Vigdis had rushed up the stairs and witnessed the madness that had overcome Serana, her pale face stained with blood and tears as the dagger sunk into his body over, and over, and over again. After Vigdis had torn Serana away from Vyrthur’s corpse, for a moment, she had stared back at the shadow of herself in those wide persimmon pools. It was then that the hunter realised that, perhaps, they weren’t so different after all.

Finally, Serana spoke.

“What’s that?”

Rather than answer her, Vigdis dropped her eyes and unfolded the parchment. The vampire audibly huffed and approached her so she could read the note over the hunter’s shoulder.

Deliver the corpses to Redwater Den, southeast of the Riften Watchtower. We’ll be waiting.

“Well isn’t that cryptic,” Serana muttered flatly.

Vigdis merely frowned, her red brows creased in frustration. Of course there was another vampire coven, most likely a vast infestation like the manor they stood in. In this line of endless work, there was always something else to kill. If she reported this information back at Fort Dawnguard, Isran would no doubt send her there without a second thought and reprimand her for not doing so in the first place. The note crumpled in her fist and her teeth clenched at the very thought of Isran’s voice, thick with his usual disapproval and disappointment.

In that case, she would deal with it before he even knew it was a problem.

“Do you have any idea where this den might be?” Serana asked, effectively disrupting Vigdis’ thoughts. “I know it mentions a watchtower, but . . .”

“Shouldn’t be hard to find,” Vigdis quipped curtly. She loosened her freckled fist so that the note dropped to the floor.

“You’re right.” The corner of Serana’s lip twitched into a small grin. “We’ll find it.”

Notes:

Are you nervous?
You should be nervous.
Until next time~ <3 c;

Chapter 21: Tainted

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

“Vigdis?”

Eyelids fluttered open to reveal the ice-blue orbs that lurked underneath. Her gaze darted across the fire to Serana, whose breath hitched when their eyes met.

The hunter laid on her side, her elbow propped up so that her hand held her head. Before Serana had called out to her, she had thought Vigdis to be asleep—although she couldn’t imagine she was very comfortable in her current position. But now that she had the hunter’s attention, her words were lost as Vigdis’ scent faintly swirled into her nose.

The campfire before her melted into a thousand eyes that leered at her. Vigdis’ hot skin tingled in her cold fingers. The chalice’s spikes bore into her palm.

Serana could still taste her.

Every breath she took was tainted with blood; it pooled on her tongue, clawed her throat, burned her insides. Her sharp fangs cut deep into her lips. She swallowed hard, tried to drown the taste—but it remained, and it would haunt her until she could drink it again. It was a better agony to suffer than the letter that—

“What?”

The memory vanished like smoke. Vigdis still waited on a reason for the interruption, her red brow raised in suspicion and annoyance. Serana quickly cleared her throat, then paused as she sorted her thoughts into a more cohesive web. Her teeth dug into her lip as her question resurfaced, her anxiety a heavy stone in her stomach. Her eyes drifted away from the freckled face; her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Why did you . . . ?”

Serana shook her head. She tried again.

“You let me . . . .”

She faltered; her words crumbled away, unable to withstand the breath that would grant them reality. Serana curled more into herself as fear swallowed her whole.

Her persimmon gaze found Vigdis again.

The hunter stared back. Cool irises contrasted with the fiery tongues that devoured the charred wooden embers. Her freckled yet scarred face rested in its cold neutrality, stony and emotionless; yet her eyes shifted, fractured like a glacier afloat in the Sea of Ghosts. Serana couldn’t even begin to read the emotions that swirled in those eyes—but they were open to her for the very first time.

Vigdis closed her eyes and turned away. The moment was shattered; Serana was left breathless. Her persimmon eyes never left the redhead’s form, who rolled over so that her back was to the warm yet dying fire, her curly red locks fanned out across the bedroll.

Serana pulled her legs to her body and encircled them with her arms, her chin propped on her knees. She slowly inhaled as her undead heart fluttered unnaturally in her chest. Although she hadn’t received a verbal response to her question, the look Vigdis had given her was an answer—and one that Serana knew she would spend the rest of the night trying to decipher.

 

Birch trees danced idly in the wind; gold and topaz leaves rustled loosely from the spindly limbs as the rays of the sun glittered across the ground like stained glass.

Mournloaf carefully weaved between the trunks, as there was no clear path through the forest. Vigdis tightly held her reins to help steer, her map precariously clutched in her freckled grip. Serana peeked over her shoulder every now and then to distract herself from the warmth that emitted from the hunter’s waist against her own cold hands.

“We have to be getting close,” Serana muttered.

Vigdis tugged hard on the horse’s reins, which brought them to a sudden stop. Serana glanced ahead—and immediately perceived a half-destroyed shack in the distance.

“Who goes there?”

Serana cursed under her breath. She had spoken too soon.

Both of them dismounted the horse—Vigdis spared a moment to tie Mournloaf’s reins to a tree—then approached the house. A Nord lookout spotted them and waved; his smile was unnaturally large.

“Hey there, friends! If you’ve come for a fix, you’ve come to the right place,” he told them far too eagerly. “Just head on down through the trapdoor. Danielenwe’s got the best Skooma you’ll ever taste; it’s like nothin’ else in Skyrim.”

Serana cast a wary glance towards Vigdis from under her leather hood—but the redhead’s sharp, calculative eyes were focused solely on the thrall before her. After a brief yet apprehensive moment, the hunter quietly proceeded through the shack with Serana close behind her. Her movement reminded Serana of a wolf, slow yet intentional as she scrutinised both the Nord man and the Breton woman that sat within. It didn’t escape the vampire’s notice that her freckled hand casually rested on the hilt of her sword, prepared for any unseen attack from either individual.

Fortunately, neither of the lookouts even spared a curious glance, and the women descended through the open trapdoor. Serana, without thought, closed it behind them, then stepped down the unsteady ladder.

They immediately came face to face with a Redguard, whose arms were crossed as he glared threateningly at them from beside the entrance.

“Keep your weapons to yourself,” he snarled, “or we’ll get better acquainted.”

Serana dropped her shoulders. Was that all? She had expected more resistance, more caution from these vampire thralls. Perhaps their masters were even more stupid and careless than she had anticipated.

Her eyes drifted to the hunter again. Her broad shoulders were squared, her head hung low. Serana’s gaze trailed down her back to her waist, then glanced to her left hand. It was curled around an arrowhead, the shaft concealed behind her straightened arm. Her freckled fingers shifted; the tip slipped out.

The next moment was a blur; Vigdis punctured the centre of his throat. His body hit the wall with a thud as blood bubbled from his lips, his eyes wide with shock. She twisted, then tore the arrow from his neck. His dying cough showered her in the deep red ichor. He slumped to the floor.

Vigdis returned the bloodied arrow to her quiver and stepped around him to pass through the door. Serana nervously tugged her hood down further as the small room opened into the main den. A thick, heavy sweetness permeated the musty air and assailed Serana’s nose, who flared her nostrils in irritation. A Bosmer woman stood behind a caged counter, her smile just as wide as the lookout’s.

“Welcome, welcome!” she greeted. “I don’t believe we’ve seen either of you here before, have we?”

Serana stepped forward. Warm fingers grazed lightly against her wrist. Serana glanced up to see Vigdis with a raised brow. The brunette shook her head, and, after a moment of contemplation, the redhead dropped her hand. Serana turned back to the Bosmer and forced a smile.

She had a name. It was all she needed.

“No. It’s our first time here,” Serana replied.

“I thought so,” the Bosmer chuckled. “You can buy your fix from me, then join any booth you like. There’s plenty of room for the both of you.”

Serana leaned against the counter and lowered her hood. Persimmon bored into umber. As her smile eased, so did the dealer’s. The lesser vampires behind this so-called drug den were nothing compared to a Daughter of Coldharbour.

“Actually,” the brunette murmured, “could you show us around?”

The dealer blinked as her smile faded. “Show . . . you . . . .”

Serana reached through the small hole in the bars. Her cold, pale fingers casually brushed the back of the Bosmer’s warm, tan hand. Her next words were a sweet, honey-coated venom, spoken slowly with intention.

“I’m curious about what kind of operation you’re really running here, Danielenwe.”

The woman’s features went rigid; she was nothing but an empty yet malleable shell. After a moment, a new smile stretched across her face. Danielenwe then turned and unlocked the cage door.

“Right this way.”

Serana smirked. She glanced over at Vigdis, whose thick red brow was raised. The vampire couldn’t discern whether the hunter was surprised, impressed, or wary of the scene that had just unfolded before her. Seduction was, after all, another useful yet dangerous power Serana had—one that Vigdis was likely unhappy to be reminded of.

The pair followed Danielenwe into the cage and through a back door. As the tunnel snaked down, Vigdis crept closer and closer to the dealer. With her dagger in hand, the hunter snagged Danielenwe and slit her throat. The Bosmer quietly fell to the floor as she gurgled on her own blood.

Serana furrowed her brows. “What are you—?”

Vigdis silenced her with a sharp hiss. She crouched down, then tracked quietly down the dirt path. After a moment of hesitation, Serana followed her lead. The tunnel spilled out into a large, cavernous room; soft, indiscernible voices echoed off the walls. They hid behind a natural column, then peeked around its bend. Three vampires debated hotly in hushed whispers near an alchemy lab; another slept, their upper body slouched across a small table; one more paced in front of a distinctly ruined hallway. Magic surged to Serana’s fingertips as Vigdis drew two arrows from her quiver.

She darted out into the open—and cast a lightning spell at the group of three. Her spell struck the vampire nearest to her, then jumped to the other two to create a bright violet chain. Their muscles spasmed uncontrollably and forced them to the ground. Their loud grunts of pain alerted the other two, both who eagerly sprung into battle. Their enthusiasm was met by an arrow that pierced their chests. As Serana shot an ice spike at one, an arrow punctured between the eyes of the other. They sprawled across the floor, stopped dead in their tracks. Serana then turned her attention back to the other three—only to watch as Vigdis’ arrows silenced them permanently.

Serana sighed as her glowing gaze flitted to the alchemy table beside her. Heavily damaged parchments were scattered across it, the handwriting almost completely illegible. A drawing caught her eye, though it was mostly obscured underneath the other papers. She approached, then brushed the parchments away. Her eyes widened.

“Vigdis.”

An indifferent grunt echoed across the room.

“Come look at this.”

There was a rustle, then light footsteps as the hunter wordlessly came up beside the vampire. Serana glanced up to watch as ice-blue irises darted back and forth idly yet slowly over the notes, her red eyebrows scrunched in concentration. She mumbled something incoherent under her breath before she turned away from the page to continue through the ruins. Serana looked over the documents once more, then quickly trailed after Vigdis.

As they traversed the hall, Serana was drawn to the familiar stonework around her. It reminded her of Dimhollow; traces of once beautiful arches were inlaid into the walls lined with black brick. She reached out so that her cold fingers grazed against the rough stone. Musty, damp earth filled her lungs, tinged with metal that swelled—

Serana dropped her hand.

The corridor had stretched into a grand chamber. More black bricks were twisted and arched into columns that ringed a grotesque fountain. Carved faces and bodies adorned the three tiers—blood poured out of their mouths and noses and eyes, their expressions moulded in eternal pain as their arms stretched out desperately, futilely. Various bones floated at the edge of each basin, unable to flow over the edge. Torches from the columns cast sinister and warped shadows upon the spring.

Serana pressed the back of her hand to her nostrils to try and drown out the smell, albeit in vain. She glanced to Vigdis—who approached the fountain with the chalice in her hand. The goblet gleamed at Serana menacingly; her stomach dropped at the very sight of it. Vigdis moved to dip the cup into the bloody waters—

“You vampire hunters are always so gullible.”

Persimmon eyes snapped towards the voice—only to meet another pair of fiery orange eyes with blazing pupils set in scarred myrtle skin. Yotul stood near the fountain, her mace loosely hung from her hand. The weapon, however, was not the orichalcum monstrosity from before; it was a deadly yet elegant weapon, its ebony head curved and pulled into sharp spikes. Although upside-down, Serana’s stomach churned when she recognised the likeness of Molag Bal etched above the shaft. Serana could barely contain the furious yet sickened trembles that threatened to shake her body and soul.

Vigdis unsheathed her blade, then stepped in front of Serana. This attracted Yotul’s attention, whose gaze settled on the chalice the hunter still clutched in her freckled hand.

“Now that you’ve willingly walked into my final trap,” the orc snarled, “I’ve come to take back what is mine.”

Vigdis’ lip curled into a cruel, taunting smirk as she twirled her sword. “Come and get it.”

Yotul bared her teeth and charged with a scream. Their weapons clashed, metal against metal, sword against mace. Vigdis held her ground, her knees bent only slightly under the force of the larger woman, then she shoved the orc back with clenched teeth. Their blades met again and again, Vigdis’ speed and accuracy versus Yotul’s strength and power. Serana could only watch on as the two exchanged blows, her hands raised yet uncertain. Her magicka was still low from the earlier fight—she only had enough for a few ice spikes, which would be dangerous to cast in this situation. No, she needed something stronger than that; something that wouldn’t be so easy to accidentally miss.

Serana stood there, anxious as she bided her time for a paralysis spell. Every sidestep and dodge seemed narrower and narrower; her teeth dug deep into her lip; Vigdis spun and cut Yotul’s right cheek—

Hands seized her leg. Serana yelped as she was yanked to the ground—her shoulder and head hit the floor with a solid thud. Her vision blurred; her head ached; her panic amplified. She instinctively aimed her hand towards the threat and shot out an ice spike. The grip loosened, then released her. She groaned as she sunk her palms into the dirt to stand—

A scream pierced her ears. Metal clanged to the ground. Serana lifted her head.

Her eyes widened.

Yotul had a death grip on Vigdis’ wrist, her sleeve torn. As the hunter scrambled for her dagger, the orc met Serana’s gaze. Intent flashed in Yotul’s fiery orbs. She jerked Vigdis forward, her mouth wide as her fangs dove for Vigdis’ exposed skin—

And bit deep into her arm.

Vigdis’ cry was drowned out by Serana’s terrified shriek. Yotul ripped her teeth out, then tossed the hunter, whose body slammed into a column with a sickening crack and slid to the ground, motionless. The orc grinned with pride as her tongue snaked out to lick her red-stained lips.

Serana thought her entire body would burst into flames.

With a shout of pure hatred and desperation, she threw out an ice spike. Yotul dodged the attack with ease, then bent over and retrieved the bloodied Bloodstone Chalice that Vigdis had dropped. Before Serana could cast another spell, Yotul’s form dissipated into a swarm of bats and fled the chamber.

Time itself seemed to stop as Serana struggled to her feet and rushed to Vigdis. Frantically, she turned over the hunter, whose eyes were squeezed shut. Her freckled fingers were locked around her arm, where blood gushed from Yotul’s bite. Her breaths were shallow and weak through clenched teeth. Her natural rosiness faded into a ghostly paleness; her warmth turned cold.

“Vigdis—Vigdis talk to me,” Serana pleaded as she pried Vigdis’ fingers away from her arm. “I’m here, I’m here. You’re going to be fine—I can use a healing spell.” Vigdis whimpered quietly. Serana blinked away her tears as she tried to stay calm. “Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me.”

Heat flooded the vampire’s fingertips as she cast a healing spell. The golden aura fell over Vigdis’ body like sunlight at dawn.

The wound didn’t close.

She tried again, and again, and again—yet the bite mark continued to bleed, utterly unaffected no matter how many times Serana cast the spell. Tears flowed down her pale cheeks as terror set in.

“Not all mortals can withstand his embrace.”

The hairs on her neck stood up as a shiver rolled down Serana’s spine. Her father’s voice was firm yet arrogant, even as he whispered in her ear.

“But you are my daughter. And you will not fail me. This is, after all, a gift.”

Serana gritted her teeth.

Vampirism wasn’t a gift. It was a disease.

And it was killing Vigdis.

The vampire’s bones cracked; her muscles stretched. Her pale skin took on a bluish hue as limbs extended from her back and unfurled her wings. A ferocious snarl escaped her parted lips as she carefully scooped Vigdis into her arms. Her clawed feet left the ground, as it would be faster to levitate than to walk. Unlike her father, her transformation was instantaneous.

Serana held Vigdis close to her body, her voice quiet yet soft.

“I won’t let you die.”

Notes:

C:
I AM NOT SORRY

Chapter 22: Deliquesce

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

“Promise me you’ll survive, Vigdis.”

She turned. A man towered over her, his face blank and distorted. He bent down to her level as a sad smile graced his features.

“You’re all I have left in this world.” He reached out and threaded his callused fingers through her curly hair. “Promise me, okay?”

Screams broke across the sky. Vigdis slammed her palms over her ears as the figure melted away and left her alone again in this harsh, cold world.

“Monster! There’s a monster!”

Her arm burned like ice; her head pounded like a thousand drums; her ears split and bled. The snowy ground gave beneath her feet. Wind rushed through her hair. Her eyes slipped shut. Her limbs fell limp. Darkness unhinged its jaws and swallowed her whole.

“Please—save her.”

Voices faded away. Light bloomed behind her eyelids. Flowers and blood stained her nose. A fire crackled softly under a moonless night. She lifted her head to find no fire before her—only a pair of bright, glowing persimmon eyes. Her muscles became immovable stone as cold fingers wrapped gently around her upper arm, just below her shoulder.

“I would never hurt you.”

Vigdis breathed. The fingers dissolved into dust; the fiery pools remained. She knew those eyes, their soft curves and folds. As her fear faded away, something else rose in its place—something unfamiliar; unknown; intangible; indecipherable.

Her eyes fell shut again.

“Survive.”

-[<>]-

Vigdis slowly opened her eyes. Her brows scrunched tightly as aches seeped into her bones. She groaned as she shifted and stretched, her muscles stiff.

“She wakes.”

She jumped at the voice and turned her head to find Florentius, who smiled warmly in amusement. Vigdis scowled in return, then glanced around the room to find that she was in the Dawnguard’s sleeping quarters. She frowned as her eyes dropped down to her obscured legs, then drifted to her bandaged arm.

She inhaled. Redwater Den. Yotul. The orcish fangs in her flesh. Serana’s pleas as everything went black.

“How long?” she asked, her shoulders tense.

“Nine days,” the priest replied simply. His smile fell slightly. “It was . . . a very close call. Thankfully, Arkay and the Divines were on our side, and you live to see another dawn.”

“Not as a vampire,” she noted.

“No, not as a vampire.” He paused. “In truth, you would be dead right now if not for your friend. Vampirism is, by all technicalities, a disease. A few will die, regardless of their overall health. There is no avoiding it.”

Vigdis stared at him in silence. Her blood had rejected the gift Yotul had intended to curse her with and, instead, sentenced her to die. But, despite Yotul’s best efforts to destroy or dispose of her, Vigdis had survived—and she would keep it that way until her father’s murderer was dead at her feet.

Rather than simmer any more on Florentius’ words, she changed the subject.

“Have you found anything on Selinus?”

Florentius sighed, then shook his head as a grin stretched across his features.

“It’s always business with you, isn’t it?” he teased through a chuckle. “Shouldn’t you be asking about Serana?”

Her red brows pulled together, both confused and unamused by his sudden derailment.

“She’s fine, by the way.” He leaned back into his chair, his arms folded. “Isran has her isolated somewhere outside the fort. But don’t worry, I already—”

Vigdis’ lip curled into a snarl. Isran had taken Serana for one reason and one reason only: he had planned to kill her. Her temper seared in her blood as her freckled hands clenched into tight fists. The mere thought that Isran might have interrogated her, hurt her, murdered her—

She breathed out her words like fire.

“If Isran so much as touched her—” she started.

The door creaked open. Vigdis looked over to see Agmaer, who shot a nervous smile from behind the door.

“I, uh, brought her,” he announced. He glanced back and motioned with his hand.

Boots echoed across the floor as a figure emerged from behind Agmaer. She held herself in a death-like grip. Dishevelled brown locks draped like curtains over her pale face; her braids were almost completely undone. She lifted her head and her hair parted to reveal an expression twisted in fear and misery, her persimmon eyes crinkled as they flitted up . . .

Their eyes locked. Her jaw dropped open as despair melted instantly into shock. Without thought, Vigdis spoke.

“Serana.”

The name felt strange as it glided over her tongue and lips, entangled in her accent. It occurred to her that she had never called out to Serana before.

The vampire’s shock dissolved into relief. The feet of Florentius’ chair scraped against the floor as he stood up abruptly.

“I’ll let the two of you talk,” he told Vigdis gently with a knowing smile. He then turned on his heel and exited the room, dragging a protesting Agmaer with him as he did so. The door shut with a soft click, and the quarters fell into silence.

Vigdis studied Serana, whose eyes were glued to the floor as she bit her lip. With a shaky sigh, the vampire finally approached and sat in the chair beside the bed. Her pale hands were frozen in her lap, her head still bowed.

“I thought you were dead,” Serana whispered.

“You wouldn’t be alive if I was,” the hunter retorted.

The vampire raised her head as a small grin tugged at her lips, though it didn’t meet her glowing eyes. “You’re right. Isran would’ve tried to kill me.”

“He would’ve succeeded.”

Serana stared at her for a long, silent moment, her persimmon eyes burning with an intensity that Vigdis had never seen before. Then, with a harsh yet slow exhale, she abruptly leaned back in her chair and inspected her nails. Her pale lips were drawn into a thin line as her jaw clenched noticeably.

“How much do you remember after Yotul bit you?” she asked brusquely.

A faint scream pierced Vigdis’ ear as teeth punctured her arm. Pain seared through her blood, then her spine; her vision blotched with dark rings, then black. A faint voice murmured in her ear, yet she couldn’t make out the words—except for her name.

“Vigdis . . . Vig . . . .”

She blinked. The memory crumbled into ruins. Vigdis was still in bed in the sleeping quarters and Serana still sat before her; her pale fingers skilfully smoothed and braided her dark hair back into the familiar style she always wore, a black ribbon pressed between her lips. Her downcast eyes glanced up with a raised brow.

Vigdis tsked, a subtle admittance that she didn’t recall much at all. The vampire’s lips curled into a smirk as she retrieved the ribbon to finish her hair.

“As I thought,” she snickered.

“What does that have to do with—”

“Look, that doesn’t matter right now.” She tucked a stray dark strand behind her ear with a sigh. “I think Yotul set us up. She was after the chalice, and . . . She has it now.” Worry creased her brow, and she shook her head. “I don’t know what she intends to do with it, but my guess is that it isn’t good. It’ll make my father that much harder to . . . .”

“That much harder to kill,” Vigdis finished bluntly.

Serana winced. Persimmon eyes met ice blue; they stormed and raged with a pained resolve, hints of fresh tears that glittered at the edges of her waterline.

“I know what I have to do. I don’t have a choice.” Her lips trembled as she exhaled. “He has to die.” She paused and bit her lip. “Just . . . just him. His madness is his own; I don’t want to kill my entire clan.”

The hunter snarled as her hatred ensnared her heart. “They’re all monsters. They don’t deserve to—”

“Am I still a monster?”

Vigdis narrowed her eyes in a fierce glare. “Aren’t you?”

Serana’s brows dipped as her eyes glinted in ire, her jaw locked.

“Have you looked at yourself lately? You keep reminding yourself that I’m a vampire—that I’m the real monster.” She crossed her arms. “If I was a monster, I would’ve let you die in that chamber. I would’ve let you rot until you were nothing but bones.” She inhaled deeply. “I risked everything to save your life. And you still won’t admit that the real monster is you.”

Vigdis’ hands curled into fists. The laugh of her father’s murderer echoed in her ears; his sneer was visible in her peripheral. His claws dug into her throat, threatened to crush her windpipe—to kill her then and there. She tried to breathe, but the air that filled her lungs wasn’t enough. Her cold, clammy body shook uncontrollably. She could taste the blood that stained her mouth; she could smell her father’s body as it rotted on the wooden floor of their hut.

“I’m a monster,” she spat, “because my father was killed.”

A lump formed in her throat. Her stomach churned viciously. Her father’s bloodstained face stared back at her, his jaw loose and his eyes glassy as a maggot crawled across his nose.

“Killed by the vampire he tried to save.”

Her hands pressed over her icy eyes; her fingers raked through her unruly red hair. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “He took everything from me. And I will kill anyone that stands in my way.”

Her hands fell gradually from her hair. She inhaled slowly, softly, deeply, as the memories sunk back into the black depths of her subconscious. When her face dried, she lifted her head to see Serana, whose expression had crumbled into anguish and sadness.

“If that makes me a monster, then so be it.”

Serana frowned but said nothing, the emotions in her glowing eyes indecipherable as they became fixed on the open space between them. It was the first time that Vigdis had ever spoken about her father’s death; it had reignited her hatred, her rage, her grief. Her muscles trembled faintly, her adrenaline a scream and a fire in her blood. Her anger was a newly sharpened sword—and she intended to use it.

Vigdis ripped the bandages off her arm, then shoved the blankets down and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her teeth dug into her lip to suppress her wince; her stiff muscles ached noticeably at the sudden movement.

“What are you doing?” Serana asked, bewildered. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve rested enough,” Vigdis growled as snatched her boots. “I’m going after Harkon.”

“By the fucking blood Vigdis,” the vampire cursed in exasperation, “we can’t just leave and kick down the front door! We need to—”

“Aww. Going so soon already?”

The hunter’s head snapped up whilst Serana suddenly jumped from her seat, as if she had been caught red-handed. Florentius leaned against the wall, a big grin on his lips as he held his hands behind his back.

“Normally I would insist that you stay in bed to fully recover from your injuries,” he mused as he approached them, “but I know when a particularly stubborn patient won’t listen to me.”

“Good to know you’re not completely stupid,” Vigdis commented with a raised brow.

“You truly flatter me.”

With a scoff, Vigdis dropped her gaze back down to her boots, which she proceeded to slip on with ease. She caught a glimpse of the new scar on her arm—then forced her icy eyes to direct elsewhere and noticed her armour folded neatly on the bedside table. She grabbed it, then groaned in annoyance as some of it unravelled into a messy pile on the floor. Before she could lean down to pick it up, a pale hand reached out. Vigdis lifted her eyes to find Serana, who scooped up the clothes and examined them curiously. When Serana finally met Vigdis’ silent and inquisitive gaze, she raised a dark brow.

“What?”

Rather than answer her, the hunter merely held out her freckled hand. The vampire looked at her hand then back to her, incredulous.

“You intend to dress yourself? While injured?”

“I’m fine,” Vigdis growled. Her fingers darted towards the armour—but Serana swiftly moved them out of her reach. She gritted her teeth in irritation as the vampire simply narrowed her persimmon eyes.

“Either you let me help you,” she stated firmly, “or you can forget about leaving at all and stay in bed for another week.”

The hunter’s nostrils flared; her red brow twitched in annoyance. Neither of them had the time for her stupid games, but it was clear that Serana had no intention to give up so easily. They were at an impasse.

Then, the glare slowly fell from the vampire’s face to soften into a silent plea. Those same glowing eyes had met her cold, icy gaze before—Bloodchill Manor; Valerica’s secret laboratory; Fort Dawnguard’s very own torture room.

Trust me.

Vigdis dropped her hand. Surprise passed briefly over Serana’s face, then lapsed into a neutral concentration as she worked to untangle the armour in her hands. The hunter raised a red brow as Serana rearranged the clothes with relative ease, then put several pieces aside to start with the leather top to overlay the linen shirt she had on.

Every small movement caused an inward wince and quiet yet sharp inhale from Vigdis. Laces were tied, buckles were clasped, straps were tightened; and every time, Serana glanced at her with concern—only to be answered with a glare. Finally, the vampire fitted her gauntlets—the last of her equipment—to her wrists, then pulled away. The hunter released a long, steady breath as her shoulders relaxed. Out of habit, she tugged at her armour to check that everything was secure. She was mildly impressed that Serana had managed to dress her properly, although she wouldn’t say so out loud.

“Aren’t you two forgetting something?”

Vigdis looked up. She had completely forgotten that Florentius was still in the room. He wore a wide and amused smile on his lips, which earned him an irritated scowl once again.

“Are we?” Serana asked, her voice genuine.

“Indeed you are.”

Florentius finally revealed what he had hidden behind his back—Auriel’s Bow, and a quiver of arrows Vigdis had never seen before. She stood up despite the pain that shot through her limbs, furious.

“How the fuck—”

“Arkay told me where it was, of course,” he answered simply. “He assures me that you’ll need it for the battle ahead, so best not leave it behind.”

He approached her and held out the weapon. After a long moment, she took it warily, still angry that he had found it at all. She fixed the bow and quiver to her back, then glanced to Serana.

“Let’s go.”

The vampire nodded her head, her expression blank but her eyes conflicted. She turned to exit the quarters, and the hunter started to follow—until Florentius called out to her.

“Oh, and Vigdis?”

Vigdis stopped just before the doorway and looked back. Florentius opened his mouth—then, as if he changed his mind, he smiled and shook his head.

“Never mind. We’ll talk later.”

Notes:

Bonus points if you know what the chapter title means! c;

Chapter 23: Kindred Judgement

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

Serana never thought she would regret going back home.

Volkihar Keep loomed before them, its dark silhouette prominent even against the starry skies. The sea crashed violently into the shore as harsh winds whipped around them. Even the boat rocked uneasily over the waves, its only anchor a thin rope knotted around a wooden post.

The very sight of the castle formed a hard lump in Serana’s throat. Before, her father had welcomed her with open arms—and now, she returned to kill him. Her parent—her own father—would die by her hands. The very thought brought tears to her eyes, her undead heart shattered by grief and sorrow.

But if she didn’t stop him . . . Who would?

“Serana.”

The vampire jumped at her name. She had heard it a few times over the three weeks it had taken for them to reach the castle, but she was still not used to it. She turned to Vigdis, whose red brow was raised in question. She shook her head.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice quiet.

Vigdis nodded.

Serana, with a silent yet shaky inhale, cast an invisibility spell. The hunter vanished from sight; yet the vampire could still smell her.

“Remember the plan,” Serana reminded her, unable to disguise her nervousness. “Stay close to me, and keep quiet.”

“I’ll do my part,” Vigdis’ disembodied voice grunted, “so long as you do yours.”

The vampire frowned as her worried gaze found itself on the castle again. The winds howled; they carried Vigdis’ earthy scent. For a moment, her glowing eyes slipped shut, lost in the hazy fog that filled her to the brim with . . .

“If that makes me a monster, then so be it.”

Tears had glistened on her freckled cheeks; her features had twisted in unfathomable rage. But in those watery ice-blue eyes, she was vulnerable. She was hurt.

And it had bothered Serana—to see her vulnerable; to see her hurt; to see her in so much pain. She had tried and failed to find the words that would wash it all away, that would offer the hunter even a semblance of peace after so much loss.

Warmth brushed the back of her hand. Serana opened her eyes.

“Come on,” Vigdis’ voice came again, annoyed. “We don’t have all fucking night.”

The vampire rolled her eyes and suppressed a sigh. The hunter was right—she had stalled for long enough.

With a heavy heart and heavier feet, she trudged across the bridge. She wrapped her arms around herself—not because she was cold, but because her stomach churned and her breaths shallowed, her mind rampant with doubt and anxiety. What would she say to her father? What if their plan failed, and her clan attacked them? It was a stupid idea; even Serana wasn’t certain the invisibility spell would last long enough for them to track down her father.

She stopped. She stared at the wooden doors before her, unable to ignore the subtle tremors that rocked her body. Then, she clenched her teeth, steeled herself, and shoved the doors open.

When she stepped inside, the doors closed shut behind her. Heat blazed against her hand again, albeit briefly. Serana realised that the warm touches came from Vigdis, perhaps as a silent way to indicate that she was still beside her. It was impossible to know the hunter’s true intentions for doing so, but the vampire was touched nonetheless as comfort bloomed in her chest.

Serana shook her head. She pressed on through the foyer, then peeked over the top of the stairs from the shadows of the archway—and found the dining hall empty, save for the corpses on the tables. With silent footsteps, Serana descended the steps to the left. When she reached the ground floor, she turned into the laboratory and bolted for the stairs—

“Lady Serana?”

Her heart stopped; her head snapped up. Garan stood at the top with a book in his hands, his brows drawn as his mouth slanted into a frown.

“Garan,” she greeted nervously, frozen in place with fear, “I didn’t realise you were there.”

The Dunmer shut his book and approached her, his troubled features exaggerated. Under different circumstances, she would be glad to see him—but she had no doubt that Vigdis stood behind her, her freckled hand on her sword, prepared for a fight that would drench the entire keep in blood.

“But why are you here?” he asked, concerned. “Surely you know that Harkon thinks you’ve . . .”

He stopped. His nostrils flared as his eyes darted over Serana’s shoulder. In her panic and desperation, she grabbed his arms. His attention instantly snapped back to her, confused.

“My father,” she asked, her voice low and pleading, “where is he?”

For a long silent moment, Garan merely stared at her. Slowly, his expression fell into a broken realisation. “The cathedral.” He paused, then gave her a sad, understanding smile. “I will take you to him.”

Serana sighed in relief and released him. “Thank you, Garan.”

Without another word, Garan turned on his heel and proceeded back up the stairs. As Serana followed the Dunmer through the dark halls, there was another warm brush against her pale hand—although it brought no comfort to her this time, for her heart continued to sink until she was certain it would fall out of her body onto the stone tiles beneath her feet.

Garan stopped abruptly. Serana glanced up to find the cathedral’s doors already before her, their tall dark stature and crude iron scrollwork a grim reminder of what awaited beyond. The Dunmer turned to her, his hands behind his back as his expression became solemn.

“Return safely, my lady,” he told her with a bow. He cast one last look at her—one that shimmered distinctly with hope—then left.

Serana’s nails dug into her palms; her lip trembled. Anger and sorrow crashed through her body—there was so much she wanted to say, so much she had left unsaid for far too long. If she could just convince him that there was another way . . . That it didn’t have to end like this. Her mother had seen her side; surely, she could persuade her father too?

“Through here?”

Her head snapped up. Vigdis stood before her, her red brow raised in question, her freckled fingers lightly splayed against the doors. The vampire blinked in shock—she had expected the hunter to confront Harkon without a second thought; yet there she still stood, as if hesitant to press on without Serana.

After a moment, the brunette shook her head, and inhaled a shaky breath to collect herself. Together, she and Vigdis pressed their shoulders against the doors, and shoved them open.

Light poured into the empty nave. Dust and dirt swelled in Serana’s lungs as they cautiously crossed into the dim cathedral. The shrine of Molag Bal gleamed from the chancel; blood oozed from the statue’s mouth and into the pool below.

Serana knew the room well; it was the very place where Molag Bal had taken her and her mother for his deprived ritual on his summoning day. After the ordeal, she had sworn to never step foot in the cathedral again—but she had learned long ago that fate was a cruel mistress.

Her stomach churned more violently when she spotted her father’s form, whose back was to them as he prayed on his knees at the altar. The edges of her vision blackened—her memories threatened to claw their way out of her throat and suffocate her—but with a hard swallow, she extinguished them. She was in control; she would not lose to her demons.

They stopped at the transept just as heavy doors clicked shut. Her father spared a glance over his shoulder.

“Serana . . . my darling.” Harkon drawled venomously as he stood and turned to face them. “I see you still favour keeping a pet.”

Vigdis snarled beside her and moved forward—Serana grabbed her arm to stop her. They shared a brief glance: ice blue in anger, glowing persimmon in fear. The hunter’s nostrils flared—then, she relented, albeit reluctantly. Serana dropped her hand and locked her gaze on Harkon.

“You know why we’re here.”

“Of course I do,” he sneered. “I have anticipated this since your . . . disappearance. You have completed the prophecy and brought Auriel’s Bow to me.” He folded his arms, his eyes narrowed. “But you disappoint me, Serana. You have taken everything I have granted you and thrown it aside for this . . . thing.”

“It was your obsession that destroyed us,” she retorted firmly, her voice faintly trembling as her hands curled into fists, “destroyed our family. And for what? Power? Control?” Hot tears stung her eyes. “You threw us away the moment you found that prophecy. And it was you that decided we weren’t enough.”

“My sacrifices have been for the betterment of our kind. Search within yourself; look deep into your heart. You know that this prophecy is our only salvation. Your blood will save us from annihilation.” His eyes flashed dangerously as he held out his hand to her. “Kill this mortal and give me the bow, Serana.”

She stared at his hand. He implored her as a father would to his daughter. The small, innocent, childish part of her wanted to reach out—wanted his warm hand to engulf her own, as it once did. But he offered it to her now for her cooperation; for her loyalty; for her blood. She lost her father a long time ago.

Serana unsheathed her razor.

“No,” she breathed out defiantly. “I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.” Harkon lowered his hand in dismay. Serana stepped protectively in front of Vigdis, her persimmon eyes aglow with rage, her voice strong as it echoed off the grimy stones. “I won’t kill her. If you want the bow and my blood, you’ll have to take it from me.”

Her father sighed as his eyes flicked to the hunter. “It appears I have you to thank for beguiling my daughter and turning her against me.”

“Spit your fucking shit somewhere else,” Vigdis spat. “You’re not getting the bow.”

Harkon hunched over. Blood poured from his pores until it completely overwhelmed him—then he burst from his mortal shell and emerged as a Vampire Lord. His obsidian hair ran white, his skin a translucent blue. Bony wings protruded from his shoulders, tucked against his back as his clawed feet levitated off the ground. He screamed with a monstruous roar.

“Then I’ll take it from your corpse!”

He thrust out his hand. A vwoom rattled Serana’s ears—two gargoyles emerged from a swirl of ebony and violet beside him, more than eager to do their master’s bidding.

They descended upon the pair, who dove in different directions to escape their violent swipes. Serana hid herself behind a pillar to buy herself time and, with extreme concentration, reached deep in her pool of magicka to summon forth the souls of the dead.

Bones burst from the ground and walls, where the skeletal remains of the previous owners had been interred eras ago. They clattered into the cathedral and drew the attention of the gargoyles away from her.

Despite her magicka reserves mostly depleted, magic still tingled faintly in her fingers. She clutched her dagger, then spun out into the open—

Fingers twisted into her dark hair and jerked her back. She screamed as pain seared across her scalp, tears in her eyes as she met her father’s cruel, dissatisfied gaze. She tried to pull away, to squirm out of his grip—but he only tightened his grasp.

“Escape is futile, Serana,” he sneered. “Your blood will be mine. The prophecy will be fulfilled! You will obey me as my daughter, or you will die for your defiance!”

She gritted her teeth, her fangs bared. She swung her dagger—only for Harkon’s other clawed hand to catch it. His lip curled—

Light burst against his shoulder. Harkon grunted loudly in pain; his grip loosened. Serana twisted her arm out of his hand and slashed him across the chest. With a roar, he tossed her away. She slammed into the ground and rolled to a stop, the edges of her vision blurred with black clouds.

Everything ached and stung and throbbed; blood dripped from a fresh gash on her cheek. She leaned against the wall, tried to stand—but a blue hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her effortlessly. Her dagger slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground.

“I should have killed you and your mother long ago,” Harkon seethed. His claws pierced her skin as her own nails clawed desperately at his hand, her windpipe almost completely crushed under his strength. The black void threatened to consume her—

Another burst of light struck his arm. He instantly released Serana, who collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. The blackness retreated, but the bleariness remained while her head spun.

A familiar shriek pierced her ears. Time slowed around her as she lifted her gaze. Her breath hitched—her mind reeled in panic; fiery red hair caught her eye, pinned beneath the monster of her father, Auriel’s Bow grasped between them—

“I’ll rip you apart!” he thundered. He wrenched the bow from the hunter and threw it out of her reach. He unhinged his jaw, his mouth filled to the brim with sharp teeth—

With a shout, Serana pushed herself off the ground into a sprint and shot an ice spike from her palm. He turned at the sound—and the shard clipped his wing. She crashed into his body and sent them both to the ground, her hands scraped raw from the gritty stone.

Rage rippled through her chest as magic ignited in her cold veins. She coiled her slim fingers towards her father; tendrils of blood seeped from his body like strings, twisted and snaked around her wrist as iron coated her tongue and stained her throat. He crumpled under her spell, under her power; she was utterly blinded by her long-buried anger, and she would drown the world in it.

Vigdis, whose icy eyes were aflame with hatred, approached Harkon from behind, her sword raised high. But as she brought down her blade, the vampire lord’s arm snapped back and knocked it out of her hand. Serana’s spell broke as he turned and pounced on the hunter, his eyes wide with mad bloodlust. Serana fumbled for something—anything—

“Serana isn’t yours,” her father screeched, “she’s mine!”

Her fingers wrapped around an edge that cut into her skin. She looked to see that it was an arrow in her hand, and it shined brilliantly like the bow. She watched as her blood seeped into the arrowhead, and its shimmer faded until it was completely corrupted by darkness—by evil. She clenched her teeth. No one was allowed to destroy her—to use her—now, or ever again.

Serana inhaled. A shiver coursed down her spine as the cold, dusty air pierced her lungs. Vigdis struggled against Harkon still, his grunts of frustration mingled with her panicked, shallow breaths. Serana stood, the arrow clutched tight in her fist. Fresh tears streamed down her face and stung the cut on her cheek as she rushed towards her father.

“Leave her alone!” she screamed.

Harkon raised his head—and turned. He tried to lift his arms—to stop her; but the fates that once crowned him king betrayed him, for the tip had already found its way into his twisted heart, sunk deep into his chest. Serana stepped back, her eyes wide with disbelief and horror. He stumbled, his persimmon eyes dulled by an invisible fog.

Black veins webbed from his deadly wound as if it were poison. Fissures cracked across his once smooth features. His skin slowly crumbled, gradually disintegrating into red ash on the floor. Serana was frozen in shock; she couldn’t move, even as he reached out to her, pleading.

“Serana . . . Your own father . . . .”

A tear streamed down her cheek. Harkon completely deteriorated before her, until he was nothing but a pile of blood red ash.

Harsh breaths filled the eerily silent chapel. Faint rustles of leather and fabric mixed with grunts pulled Serana from her turbulent thoughts, who quietly turned—and observed as Vigdis picked up her sword. She spotted the bow and moved towards it, her freckled hand clutched at her side. Serana’s dark brows were drawn together in worry.

“Are you alright?”

Vigdis bent down and scooped up the bow with ease, then spared the vampire a glance. “Are you?”

Serana was surprised by the question, for it was one that Vigdis didn’t care to ever ask before. She dropped her gaze and idly smoothed down the front of her armour.

“I’m fine.”

An irritated sigh brought the vampire’s gaze back to the hunter.

“Why do I even bother asking,” Vigdis muttered with a roll of her eyes. “You’re obviously not. You had to kill him with your own hands.” She raked a hand through her fiery hair, her rosy cheeks stained red. “I tried to avoid that.”

Serana stared at her. Vigdis stood there—her red brows dipped in anger, her thin mouth slanted in sadness, her nostrils flared with every huff. Shock, confusion, and disbelief clashed within the vampire’s chest, locked in an internal war. The hunter before her was not the hunter she once knew; no, Vigdis had changed. She was upset for Serana—upset that she, perhaps, couldn’t spare the brunette from the bloodshed of her father. The idea that Vigdis had wanted to lighten her burden, to land the final blow in her place . . .

Serana reached out to her.

“Vig—”

The doors burst open with a sudden bang! Serana shielded her face from the blinding light with her arm. Cold wind gusted through the nave and over her body; the hairs on Serana’s neck stood up as her eyes widened with realisation—

And fear.

“HARKON!”

Chapter 24: In Cruelty

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

Vigdis turned towards the voice—and raised the bow just in time to block the vicious swing of a gnarled mace.

“Yotul,” she snarled.

The orc bared her teeth. She pushed against the hunter—then leapt away as an ice spike whizzed between them. Vigdis had no time to adjust, as Yotul merely attacked her again and locked them both in a shaky stalemate.

“Where is he?” Yotul demanded, her blazing eyes burning with rage. “Where is Lord Harkon?”

A cruel smirk curled Vigdis’ lips. She jerked her chin towards her shoulder. Yotul’s dark brows furrowed, yet her eyes flickered—and her expression fell into instant devastation at the sight of the red blood ashes. Then, the Orsimer roared and shoved her back. Auriel’s Bow flew out of her hands; Vigdis’ spine crashed into the cold, hard ground with a loud crack. She coughed and groaned, then rolled just in time to dodge Yotul’s wild swings.

A scream echoed throughout the room. Vigdis lifted her head just as Serana slammed into Yotul, her razor in hand. The orc was briefly confused—but quickly recovered from her stupor and hit Serana across her shoulder, who stumbled to the ground and moaned in pain. The hunter gritted her teeth and scrambled to her feet. Yotul turned to her just as she unsheathed her sword.

“You didn’t turn,” she observed, obviously disappointed.

Vigdis briefly glanced at Serana, then scoffed. “Takes more than a bite to kill me.”

Yotul shifted her stance. “Then I’ll do as my lord would’ve wanted,” she growled, “and finish you off myself!”

She snarled; her mace clattered to the ground. Her bones visibly shifted and audibly cracked under her olive skin. Her tusks protruded further from her red lips and gleamed menacingly to match the talons on her hands and feet. Her muscles rippled with strength as she grew nearly twice in size. Strands of black hair fell from her neat bun and spilled over her smashed, twisted features. Bony wings burst from her back, wrapped in a thin, myrtle green membrane. Her pupils still blazed like fire, wide with insanity and grief as they settled on Vigdis once more.

“DIE!”

She lunged. Vigdis cursed and dodged to the left. Yotul’s clawed hand narrowly missed her leg—the hunter hit the ground harder than she expected and struggled to her feet. Her body ached with exhaustion; her injuries from Harkon were worse than she had anticipated, especially on the right side of her ribcage where she had absorbed a hard fall. But so long as her adrenaline blazed like fire in her blood, she refused to give up.

Vigdis planted her feet into the ground, her sword in hand. Yotul charged her again—the hunter sidestepped and slashed her arm. The orc merely turned, as if undeterred, and swiped with her talons. Vigdis’ blade was effortlessly knocked out of her hands. Before she could even think, Yotul tackled her to the ground. She struggled, but it was in vain. Her heart raced in her ears as her arms and legs were pinned underneath the monster’s crushing weight, helpless to defend herself.

Her mind drowned in panic as her survival instincts screamed in her veins. She wouldn’t die—not here, not now, and not to Yotul. There had to be a way out of this; there had to be—

A sudden force crashed into Yotul and pushed her off of Vigdis. The hunter’s head snapped up—and her icy eyes widened at the sight before her.

A tall creature stood protectively in front of Vigdis, grey skin tinted blue. Long dark hair flowed down her back; two pairs of horns sprouted from either side of her head. Leathery, spindly, bony wings extended from her back. Persimmon eyes set in a familiar face glanced back, then focused on the orc before her.

“You,” Serana shouted, “will not touch her!”

It dawned on Vigdis that this was the power Serana had alluded to; and that Serana had become a Vampire Lord once already. The realisation struck her like lightning.

“How much do you remember after Yotul bit you?”

She clenched her teeth. It seemed Isran had something to be afraid of after all; but fear was an emotion that Vigdis was numb to—a concept she had personally eradicated long ago.

The vampires stared each other down; then, with a ferocious and blood-curdling roar, became locked in a violent tussle. Teeth gnashed, claws swiped, magic discharged. Red ichor dripped from their various wounds and splashed onto the stony floor. They were a blur of blue and green; the hunter couldn’t tell who had the upper hand—or who was bleeding more.

Vigdis glanced beside her and spotted Auriel’s Bow. She crawled on her arms, dragged herself over to the bow—and picked it up with blood-splattered hands. She dared to look back—

Serana’s back slammed into the altar. Yotul’s hands wrapped around her neck and shoved her over the bowl. Serana clawed viciously, desperately, as terror spiked in Vigdis’ chest.

The hunter stood up. She reached for an arrow from her quiver, then drew it tight against the bowstring. Her muscles screamed, burned with fatigue and pain—but she locked her jaw and inhaled. She wasn’t going to let Serana die.

“I would never hurt you.”

She exhaled—and let go. The arrow flew across the nave; it gleamed brighter than before, as if it were a ray of the sun itself.

A shriek echoed throughout the cathedral as the arrowhead punctured deep between the orc’s wings. She released Serana and lurched back. Light ebbed like rivers into her skin from the fresh wound as if it cleansed her very soul.

Yotul turned; rifts of that same light fractured across her myrtle green features, twisted in grief and fury. She limped towards Vigdis—and with every step, ash flaked from her limbs.

Vigdis, with the last of her strength, nocked another shining arrow, and loosed it. It pierced the orc’s neck; she gurgled and choked as the last of her body disintegrated into a pile of violet-grey ash.

The bow fell from the hunter’s hands and clattered against the stone floor. She lifted her icy eyes—and met Serana’s persimmon gaze. The vampire had already reverted to her original form; her braids were undone so that her dark hair framed her pale face. Whatever wounds had been inflicted on her by Yotul, they were now hidden beneath her leather armour. Vigdis would have to assess the damages later.

She shifted her focus to the altar that loomed behind Serana. The façade of Molag Bal gleamed menacingly—tauntingly—at her. Rage boiled in her blood; it prickled at her scars and throbbed in her ears. She didn’t have to be a vampire to know that he was the maestro that orchestrated the bloodsucking monsters into existence, conducting the undead to dance to the sick tempo of his cruelty. Her stomach churned like a violent storm at the very thought of Serana worshipping the Daedric Prince, praying on her knees to—

“Vigdis.”

The hunter snapped out of her thoughts—then froze. Serana’s cold fingers brushed lightly against her scarred cheek as her persimmon eyes searched her freckled face, her dark brows drawn together with worry. Instinctively, Vigdis pressed her left hand to her bruised side, and winced.

“You’re hurt,” the vampire murmured with a frown.

Vigdis scoffed. “Really. I didn’t think it was obvious.”

Serana dropped her hand, her expression annoyed. Rather than respond, she hesitantly yet gently laid her pale hand over the hunter's freckled one. From her frigid fingers, there emitted a familiar warmth; Vigdis immediately recognised that it was the healing spell as her pain began to fade. After a long, tense moment, the heat disappeared, and Serana removed her hand.

“There,” she mumbled. “That should help.”

Vigdis shifted. Her right side didn’t hurt any more, that much was true—but she noticed several other injuries that littered her body, although there was nothing some thread and alcohol couldn’t fix. This was the second time Serana had used the healing spell that Florentius had taught her, and it had proven to be more useful than Vigdis had ever anticipated. The silent admission made her uneasy, and she narrowed her eyes into a glare.

“I’m not the only one that’s hurt,” Vigdis pointed out, disgruntled.

“I just need some blood. I’ll be fine.” She stepped back and crossed her arms, her head bowed. Vigdis quietly let out the breath she didn’t realise she had been holding. “Let’s just get out of here.”

The hunter couldn’t agree with her more—she was far beyond ready to leave the desecrated chapel and its pathetic piles of ashes behind her. She crouched down and scooped up Auriel’s Bow, then followed the vampire to the doors. After she strapped the bow to her back, she shoved her shoulder against the door, then heaved with a grunt. It gave with a loud creak; light spilled over her face and briefly blinded her.

“Lady Serana?”

Icy eyes snapped open. A sea of fiery eyes set in obsidian stared back; Nords, Dunmer, an Altmer, a Bosmer, a Redguard, and a Breton—all vampires. Vigdis cursed. The Nord closest to her, a man with red hair and crimson leather armour, bared his fangs.

“You Dawnguard rat!”

The hunter unsheathed her dagger and slashed his face when he pounced on her. He screamed and covered his face in vain as blood gushed profusely. She kicked him square in the chest so that he plummeted back into the group of vampires.

While most were distracted by him as he suffocated on his own blood, another vampire—the Altmer—seized the opportunity and attacked her. Vigdis blocked him with her arm, then twisted the blade inward and slammed it into the side of his head. He fell to the ground with a thud.

The sound drew the attention of the rest of the vampires, who hissed and prepared to retaliate. The Breton woman moved forward—

“Modhna, stop!”

The vampires halted at the voice, their gazes abruptly torn from Vigdis to find Serana behind her. The hunter stiffened and tightened her grip on her dagger as the brunette brushed past her to stand before the horde of hungry eyes.

“But she—”

“Is with me,” Serana growled with a challenging edge. “I won’t tell you again.”

The Volkihar Clan shifted uncertainly, but after a moment, they reluctantly backed down. Vigdis exhaled and sheathed her dagger, for it seemed that Serana had everything under control. Her freckled hand moved to the hilt of her sword, where her fingers wrapped loosely. Her sharp, icy gaze swept over the crowd in silent vigilance. If any of the other vampires wanted to fight, she would be ready for them.

One Dunmer—Garan, Vigdis recalled—approached Serana hesitantly, his bronze brows furrowed.

“What of Lord Harkon?” he asked slowly. “Is he . . . ?”

Vigdis could sense that he already knew Harkon’s fate and glanced warily at the brunette. Serana met his curious gaze with a seemingly cool expression, although her persimmon eyes glittered clearly with an indecipherable emotion.

“Yes. He’s dead.”

Gasps erupted from the group and grew into a noisy clamour. Rather than quiet them, Serana kept her attention on the Dunmer and continued.

“Garan, use the inlet to reach the courtyard.” The vampires quickly realised she wasn’t finished and hushed. “The moondial leads to the old castle ruins; follow that until you reach a laboratory. Go through the portal and . . . find her. Give her the news. Tell her that it’s safe now.”

For a moment, Garan’s eyebrows dipped in confusion—then, in an instant, his eyes flashed in understanding, and he frowned solemnly. With a sigh, he bowed his head in respect, then departed. Several pairs of eyes and malicious whispers followed him, although no one moved to stop him.

“Who is she?” A vampire inquired with clear distrust. The others rehashed the same question in murmurs as their gaze flitted back to the brunette expectantly.

Serana turned to them. Her face, which had been carefully crafted into a blank slate, fell apart.

“She,” she breathed out shakily, “is my mother.”

Chapter 25: A Clan Once Divided

-[<>]-Serana-[<>]-

“Here.”

Rargal set a silver platter before Vigdis—which had only a large, slightly roasted fish laid on it. The hunter stared at it, then lifted her eyes and raised a red brow.

“What?” the thrall master sneered. “Not to your liking, morsel?”

The ice-blue gaze found Serana’s persimmon one and asked a silent question. Serana shook her head subtly. The hunter sighed and, reluctantly, tore into the fish with her fingers. Rargal, who seemed pleased and perhaps even amused by her reaction, returned to his seat.

The main hall had been temporarily rearranged; the three slim tables, once separated and spread apart, had been placed together to form one rectangular dining table. Serana and Vigdis sat beside each other on either side of a sharp corner. The other vampires were wary to be so close to those they clearly considered as traitors, and so left empty spots for Garan and Valerica next to them, who had yet to arrive.

Serana nervously swirled the blood in her wine glass, then brought it to her lips. It was freshly drained from a Breton, and therefore warm as it slipped over her tongue and slid down her throat. Although the red ichor was incredibly refreshing as it coursed through her dead body and mended her wounds, she was still . . . thirsty.

Her eyes drifted to Vigdis again. The redhead picked through the skin of the fish and peeled the meat off its delicate bones. She hungrily stuffed it into her mouth and chewed ravenously, as if she didn’t know when she would eat again. Serana didn’t blame her—the battle with her father and Yotul had worn them both out, physically and mentally. She locked her jaw as the memory bubbled just below her mind’s eye.

She didn’t want to think about that. Anything but that.

With a quiet huff through her nose, Serana focused on Vigdis’ features: her fiery, curly red hair; her thick, bushy red brows; her intense, ice-blue irises; her aquiline nose; her rosy cheeks; her thin, naturally pouty pink lips; her strong chin and sharp jaw; her freckles that splashed across her face like paint in endless constellations; her faded scars that cut across her cheek and chin.

In the cathedral, Serana had, without thought, brushed her cold, pale fingers, ever so lightly, across that warm flesh—and Vigdis’ icy eyes then had peered back, wide with surprise, utterly without menace and hate. The expression had sent a strange flutter through her chest—one that still lingered and left her breathless at the very thought of it. She wanted to reach out, to feel that soft warmth beneath her fingers—

“Serana?”

Serana hastily stood up as heat bloomed abruptly on her cheeks—the feet of her chair scraped against the stone floor and caused her to wince. She looked up and her eyes instantly widened.

“Mother,” she stuttered, flustered as her face grew even hotter.

Valerica folded her arms across her chest, a dark brow raised. Her citrine eyes glimmered faintly with suspicion and Serana’s embarrassment brewed into a childish shame, as if she had been caught red-handed. Had her mother seen her staring so obviously at Vigdis?

“This way, Lady Valerica.”

Serana deflated at Garan’s words and, after a moment, resumed her seat. She couldn’t worry about what her mother had perceived or presumed right now; they had far more important matters to discuss.

Valerica took the spot beside Serana, whilst Garan sat next to Vigdis—albeit with some reluctance. Thankfully, the hunter was still engrossed in her fish, and didn’t seem to notice him.

“So,” Feran Sadri drawled after a beat, “you are alive.”

“Indeed,” Valerica snipped. Her gaze passed over every single member at the table and a frown marred her lips. “Where are Orthjolf and Vingalmo?”

“That filth killed them,” Hestla hissed as she jutted her chin towards the hunter, who lifted her icy eyes briefly to narrow them in a dagger-like glare.

“Hm,” Valerica hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is for the better that they’re dead. They were my husband’s biggest supporters, after all.”

“Except the fact that we’re now without a leader,” Fura argued. “Without him, the clan will fall apart! Serana and that hunter were fools to kill him.”

“He was out of control, Fura,” Serana stated bitterly. “I did what had to be done to save us; it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. He . . .” Her hands curled into fists. How could she make them understand? “He was still my father.”

“But you killed him,” Ronthil murmured dejectedly.

Serana bit her lip and blinked away the tears that stung her eyes. “Yes. I killed him. I . . . I suppose my father really died a long time ago, and this was just . . . . the end of something else.”

“Of course, my dear,” Garan softly assured her. “With your success and Lady Valerica’s return, all will be well now.”

She suppressed a sigh. While he was most likely right, his words hardly comforted her.

“Garan is right,” Valerica agreed. She gestured to the clan imploringly. “We can rebuild. Turn the legacy of the Volkihar Clan into something more respectable—restore the power its name once held. Harkon was blindly leading you down the path of extinction. We were once broken and divided, but no more.” She paused. “I would like to propose Garan Marethi as the new head of the Volkihar Clan.”

Silence. Then—

“Shouldn’t you or Serana take Harkon’s place?” Modhna asked, incredulous. “You are the Volkihar family. It’s your birthright.”

Valerica smiled primly. “It is a legacy that is tainted by our blood. I have no interest in leading—I simply wish to tend to my courtyard and further my studies in peace.” She glanced at Serana. “And knowing my daughter, I very much doubt that she desires it either.”

Serana frowned. For a brief, fleeting moment, she considered the idea—but then it dissolved like fresh snowfall as her eyes wandered back to Vigdis. Ice-blue stared back at persimmon, a red brow raised. Volkihar Keep had been her home once, and it still was; yet the longer she gazed into Vigdis’ larimar eyes, the louder her silent admission became.

It wasn’t home anymore.

“No,” she finally answered, quietly and softly as she looked away and fiddled with her fingers. “I don’t. And I think Garan would make an excellent leader.”

“Are we all in agreement, then?” Valerica inquired.

After an exchange of murmurs and whispers, everyone—Modhna, Rargal, Namasur, Stalf, Ronthil, Salonia, Fura, even Feran and Hestla—bowed their heads to show that they were in favour. Valerica turned to Garan.

“The final decision falls to you now, Garan. Do you accept this position, and all of its responsibilities?”

The ginger Dunmer looked dumbfounded, which brought a genuine—albeit small—smile to Serana’s lips. He cleared his throat and composed himself, although it was another long, silent moment before he finally spoke firmly.

“If it is your will, Lady Valerica, then yes. I accept.”

“Then it is decided,” she declared. “Garan Marethi, you are the head of the Volkihar Clan. I will advise you, if need be, but you lead us now. I trust you won’t disappoint.”

The other vampires saw this statement as a conclusion to the debate, and it wasn’t long before all of them dispersed and departed from the main hall. Valerica abruptly stood up, which immediately drew Serana’s attention.

“Come with me, Serana. I need to speak with you.”

Dread coiled like a snake in Serana’s stomach. It slithered and hissed up her throat, an adamant refusal on the tip of her tongue. She forcefully swallowed it down, then stood up. She spared the briefest glance at Vigdis—whose cold, neutral expression gave nothing away—and followed after Valerica.

They traversed through the twisted yet familiar halls, and it dawned on Serana that Valerica was headed straight for her old room, which had once been shared with her father. Her heart leapt in her throat as they crossed the threshold, as she half-expected to see Harkon in his chair in front of the fire. When she saw that it was empty, relief washed through her—then sorrow crashed, like the tumultuous waves of the cold sea just before the storm. Her father’s face floated at the very edges of her vision.

“Serana . . . Your own father.”

Her fangs dug painfully into her lip, and she tore her gaze away.

They continued past the chair and up a small set of stairs. Valerica approached the door that separated the bedroom from the rest of the area and went inside. The move suggested that she wanted their conversation to be as private as possible, and it merely worsened Serana’s anxiety. What did she want?

After Serana stepped into the room, Valerica shut the door behind her. She was too afraid to face her mother and, instead, stared at the intricate rug on the floor with immense interest.

“What exactly are your intentions?”

Serana bristled. “My . . . intentions?”

Boots echoed across the floor and came into Serana’s view. Her pale hands curled into tight fists as she slowly lifted her head. Valerica folded her arms across her chest.

“Yes. Your intentions.” Her eyes narrowed. “That vampire hunter . . . What is she to you?”

Serana almost choked on the panic that clutched her throat. “She’s . . . She helped me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Serana. Do you think me a fool? Or blind?” Valerica raised a dark brow. “Perhaps both?”

“I . . .” Serana trailed off and clenched her teeth. “What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

Her mother pursed her lips. Her gaze studied and scrutinised, just as she used to do when Serana was younger—and more naïve. She wanted to squirm, to wriggle out from underneath those eyes that silently scolded and judged her.

“I don’t trust her,” Valerica finally said. “She may have aided you in slaying Harkon, but there’s no telling when she’ll turn that blade on you next.”

“If that was her intention, I would be dead already,” Serana defended.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I know her. She would never hurt me.”

“Don’t be so adamant, Serana.” Her mother wrung out her hands. “She is still a vampire hunter at heart. The Dawnguard’s goal is to slaughter every last one of us. Do you think you’re an exception to this?”

“You sound just like Father,” Serana snarled. “Worried more about the extinction of our kind than about me. Too busy telling me what I should want rather than asking me what I want.” Her anger was a hot fire that burned like a thousand suns in her chest—yet, even as her nostrils flared, her voice softened. “I’m not staying here, Mother.”

“And where will you go?” Valerica snapped. “With her?”

“With Vigdis,” Serana corrected with a growl, “yes.”

Valerica’s pale features fell, pleading. “You belong here, Serana. You’re a vampire—a Daughter of Coldharbour. You’ll be safe here; we’ll protect you, and—”

“Mother, I can’t stay here. It’s . . . It’s too painful.” Heat pricked at her eyes—but Serana shut them tightly. “I can’t stop seeing his face. Hearing his voice.” She let out a short, shaky breath. “I don’t want to be stuck here; I want to go my own way for a while. I want to breathe. And if that means leaving with Vigdis, then . . . so be it.”

The stings slowly subsided—she forced her eyes open. As tears streamed silently down her mother’s cheeks, Valerica stepped forward and cupped Serana’s face.

“You’re the only thing of value I have left in this world,” she murmured brokenly as she stroked her daughter’s hair. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Serana’s lips lifted only slightly. “You won’t lose me, Mother. I just . . . need you to trust me.”

Valerica searched her daughter’s face. Her eyes lacked the judgement and scrutiny they had once held before; rather, they brimmed with worry and fear. Finally, she nodded, and moved away to wipe off the tears with the back of her hand.

“I will trust you,” she said with a gentle, motherly quality Serana hadn’t heard in a very, very long time. “No. I do trust you. I know that you can handle yourself.” She sniffed, then dropped her hand and straightened, her expression serious yet genuine. “You will always have a place here.”

Serana merely smiled.

“I know.”

 

Lithe snowflakes danced from the skies and swirled in the breeze. The curved slivers of the crimson and silver moons hung low over the sea to the west so that their radiance rippled across the calm waters. The fire had died long ago, but the embers still glowed and emitted a gentle warmth.

Shortly after they had returned to the mainland, Vigdis had set up the camp within a small group of pine trees around midday and had spent several hours tending to her wounds and patching her armour. She hadn’t spoken much; Serana could see the dark bags under her icy eyes and attributed her silence to genuine exhaustion, as the hunter had yet to sleep. How she was still awake was a mystery to Serana.

The vampire, with her legs pulled to her chest and her chin on her knees, stared idly into the cinders. The faint pulse of Vigdis’ heart pooled just beneath her ear, a soft and languid lull. Her rainy, earthy scent was a hazy fog—its smoky tendrils shrouded Serana’s thoughts, buried her in a dreamy trance of freckles and scars and ice-blue irises and blood on her tongue—

“You didn’t stay.”

Persimmon eyes snapped up in surprise. Vigdis’ ice-blue eyes stared back, her tired yet sharp features set in a neutral state. Serana swallowed her confusion, then shook her head to compose herself despite the anxiety that fluttered wildly in her stomach. She steeled her nerves in a shallow breath as she grasped at her pale fingers and chewed the inside of her lip.

“No,” Serana replied quietly. “I didn’t.”

Red brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Isn’t that . . . obvious?”

“No.” The hunter moved from her seated position and laid on her side, her head propped up by her hand. “You still have a mother. And a castle.” The bitterness in her voice was impossible to miss. Her brows dipped as her eyes narrowed into a scowl. “So why are you here?”

Serana’s knuckles went white. Like a phantom limb, her father’s fingers crushed her throat; his claws pierced her skin; the arrow in her hand sunk into his chest. She breathed—and the ghosts of her memories vanished.

“Because it haunts me,” she whispered. “It’s a waking nightmare. And I can’t . . .”

Her voice faltered and broke. She couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down her cheeks like flooded rivers in the rainy spring. Her teeth caught her bottom lip to stifle her sobs just as her wrist pressed to her nose.

She glanced up again.

Ice-blue eyes glittered back, reflecting like broken glaciers on a sunny day—bright and endless like the sea. Her glare had softened, her snarl had faded, her brows had lifted. Something tangible, decipherable, discernible glimmered in her gaze—and it dawned on Serana that they finally understood each other.

Vigdis looked away. Pain passed clearly over her face, then fell away like rain.

“I’m going to sleep,” she muttered as she rolled over. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Silence elapsed as Serana stared at her form in thought. While she had achieved vengeance and put a stop to her father’s insane plans, she recalled that Vigdis still searched for the man that murdered her own father. It was, no doubt, the reason for her enlistment into the Dawnguard to begin with. After everything they had done, Serana felt like she owed her—and helping her find him was the least she could do.

The vampire cleared her throat.

“I’ll help you find him.” She paused awkwardly. “Selinus, I mean.”

Vigdis snorted, bemused. “I don’t fucking want your help.”

“Well you’re clearly not succeeding on your own,” Serana pointed out. “You know I’m not completely useless. I can handle myself. And who better to help you find a vampire than another vampire?”

The hunter shifted just enough to glare over her shoulder—but said nothing, as if she were considering her options. Then, after a long moment, she flared her nostrils and rested her head back on the bedroll.

“Fine. Just don’t get in my fucking way.”

Serana beamed. “You got it.”

“Then shut up.”

Despite the harsh words, the vampire could’ve sworn that there was almost a smile in Vigdis’ voice. Nonetheless, Serana obeyed her wish and cast her persimmon eyes out to the ocean, where the crescents of Masser and Secunda winked back at her while she listened to Vigdis’ peaceful breathing for the rest of the night.

Notes:

One more chapter left . . . Anyone else in disbelief? I know I am and I'm writing the damn thing, haha.
See you in the next one! c;

Chapter 26: Awakening

-[<>]-Vigdis-[<>]-

“See anything?”

The hunter squinted as her eyes scanned the horizon. Charcoal clouds towered ominously in the distance; the wind blew in her face and carried the scent of a storm. She sighed in irritation. This was the third storm this week, which had greatly impeded their journey from the shoreline of the Sea of Ghosts through Haafingar. She turned and descended back into the shallow valley between two peaks of the Druadach Mountains, where Serana looked at her expectantly as she rolled up the bedroll.

“Another storm,” Vigdis reported, disgruntled.

“Really?” Her dark brows became knitted, obviously troubled. “That’s . . .”

“Annoying.”

The vampire paused, then shrugged in agreement. “It’s not ideal, that’s for sure.”

Vigdis raked a freckled hand through her curly red hair, her nostrils flared. She then dropped her hand, and helped Serana pack up the rest of the campsite before she smothered the dying embers of the fire beneath her boot.

They turned eastward, towards Solitude. Vigdis habitually cast a cursory glance towards the storm, which seemed to loom closer with every step. A sense of foreboding trailed across her throat like string and pulled it taut; her instinct scratched at her chest and seethed in her inner ear. She gritted her teeth and forced it all to the back of her mind. She was tired of the mountains, and she would be damned if they were stuck in the valley for another night.

The faint crunch of snow behind her broke the hunter’s turbulent thoughts and promptly reminded her of her current situation.

Why she had agreed to let Serana come with her, she didn’t know. The vampire’s talkative and sarcastic personality grated on Vigdis’ nerves more often than not; however, she had to admit that Serana had more than proven her resourcefulness several times in battle. But that reason on its own wasn’t good enough for the hunter, who had spent the last week searching for something better to explain her sudden lapse in judgement. She pressed her pink lips into an even thinner line. Why had she really agreed to continue dragging Serana along with her?

Persimmon eyes blinded by tears surfaced like a dream before her. Soft sobs pierced her ears.

“It’s a waking nightmare.”

Vigdis locked her jaw. The air she breathed was suddenly colder, sharper; her chest ached, as if the hollow cavity would collapse if she inhaled too hard; her throat was too tight, as if it was about to be stitched shut. Was it because she understood? Because she knew? Because for that brief, fleeting moment, she saw herself?

They crossed into another valley, although this one was wider, its slopes steeper before it flattened into a natural basin. The winds howled; the dark clouds crept closer, like a grey wolf stalking its prey. Out of the corner of her eye, lightning flashed—and illuminated a strange shape within the storm. When she fully turned her head, the shadow was gone. Her red brows furrowed.

A deep, distant roar broke across the silver skies. Vigdis stopped in her tracks.

“Was that a mammoth?” Serana asked, her voice barely audible over the din as she came up beside Vigdis.

“No,” the hunter shouted back with certainty, “it sounds bigger.”

“Bigger? What could—?”

The roar came again. Vigdis couldn’t pinpoint where it was—only that it was closer. Her instinct tempted her freckled fingers towards Auriel’s Bow; her dread darted her eyes, frantic in their search for the source of the sound. Thunder rumbled softly yet distinctly, and only further confirmed Vigdis’ suspicion that it was an animal. But where was it?

Another roar. Vigdis clenched her teeth, her knuckles white as her fingers gripped the ethereal bow. Light snow swirled wildly around them. Where—?

Serana suddenly grasped her arm. “Vigdis! Above us!”

She looked up. A winged beast circled high in the clouds of the storm that had descended upon them. Before Vigdis could even try to analyse what kind of creature it was, it arced gracefully across the sky, then nosedived.

Vigdis sidestepped so that she stood in front of Serana as her freckled hand reached for an arrow. She pulled it back; the sharp edge of the fletching cut her cheek. She then aimed for the scaly beast—and released. As it flew, it wavered noticeably in the strong winds and veered to the right. She cursed and went for another arrow—only for the creature to unfurl and flap its wings so that a powerful gust knocked them to the snowy ground.

The icy powder stung her cheeks as her mind reeled. She lifted her head and searched for Serana—until the earth rumbled beneath her. She glanced back—

And peered straight into the glassy eyes of a dragon. Its scales were ivory and silver; obsidian spikes protruded down its long neck and spine. Horns curved from its pale head, and amethyst veins spread across its wings. It whipped its tail angrily as its lips parted in a snarl. She rolled onto her back and tried to scramble away—

Its voice filled her ears and rumbled in her bones. She froze, paralysed. It was unlike anything she had ever heard before; and yet, it was as if her very soul was drawn to the sound . . . to its familiarity.

Claws dug into her neck and jaw. Her nails scratched at his hand until it bled, her gasps and gulps desperate for air. Fiery eyes blazed at her with hunger and hatred.

Why was it so familiar?

“Let . . . me go!”

His grip only tightened. His fangs gleamed through his wicked grin. She kicked at his stony body in vain. Then, she inhaled—blood stained her tongue; smoke filled her lungs; fire burned in her throat.

“Get away from me!”

His nails were ripped away from her, and she dropped to the floor. He stumbled from the sheer force of her scream, briefly knocked back into the wall opposite her. Everything hurt, even the adrenaline that shrieked through her veins as she—

“Vigdis!”

She gasped. Snow-covered reality effortlessly bloomed to life before her. Persimmon eyes stared back, wide with worry and fear. The memories she had once forgotten threatened to drown her again beneath their hazy tendrils, dizzy with adrenaline and—

“Vigdis—snap out of it!” Serana called out, pleading. Her cold fingers wrapped urgently yet gently around Vigdis’ arms as she pulled the hunter to her feet. “Come on, we can do this—I know we can!”

Vigdis wanted to vomit; her fingers trembled; her legs shook; her head spun. What was happening to her?

She gritted her teeth; her nails cut into her palm. The pain instantly snapped her mind back into focus. She would not fall apart—not here; not now. She would be damned if a dragon killed her.

Vigdis gazed above, where the dragon circled in the skies once again. She could see an ice spike bored into his scaly hide near his spine, but it clearly hadn’t been enough to hinder him. She fetched another reed from her quiver and drew her bow. After a long, steady breath, she fired—and pierced through his fleshy wing. It cried out in pain, the thin membrane torn. It flapped viciously in an attempt to stay airborne, but all efforts were futile. It crumpled its wings against its body, then willingly crashed into the valley and slid across the snow.

She put away the bow and unsheathed her sword. She twirled the blade in her hand as she approached, the fresh snow soft under her boots. The dragon shifted, then shook the loose white powder from its body. The creature turned its head, and its body slowly followed, eyes trained on the hunter. The strange language slid off his tongue and trembled the air; it tugged at her soul again angrily, twisted with mockery. Her mind whirred as she studied the beast for weaknesses, desperate for some kind of plan—when a gentle voice spoke in her ear.

“Remember, Vigdis: you’re a lot harder to keep track of when they’re so large . . . and you’re so small.”

She had an idea.

“Keep it busy!” Vigdis shouted over her shoulder.

Too impatient for a confirmation, she charged the dragon. It snarled down at her, its teeth parted. Just as the beast lifted is head, lightning struck its chest, followed by an ice spike that nicked its neck. The dragon’s attention snapped to the vampire, who continued to barrage it with spells. Vigdis ran for the opening beneath its wing—

Only for it to turn and swipe its tail. It tripped her—but she merely wobbled for a moment, then regained her balance. She dodged another wide sweep with a well-timed hop. She avoided the tip of its wing as it let out a roar of pain. She assumed that one of Serana’s ice shards had hit its mark, and the dragon rose tall to retaliate.

With the creature’s back lowered to the ground, it gave Vigdis the perfect opening. She sheathed her sword and approached the base of its tail, where she jumped up and grabbed onto one of the long spines. She held on tightly; her other hand reached up and ensnared another spine. Her boots dug into the scaly hide to keep herself stable—

But the dragon had noticed her, for it swiftly hunched over and thrashed wildly. Her body flailed back and forth, briefly at the mercy of its tantrum. When the beast stilled, she moved up surely and confidently, then paused when he writhed again. Vigdis could hear the discharge of Serana’s spells, but she was concerned that the vampire was low on magicka. She needed to kill this thing—and fast.

When she reached the middle of its back, Vigdis glanced up to see its head lifted again. Scales had been dislodged in a previous fight near its skull, revealing the soft, vulnerable skin beneath its tough hide. She continued to climb to the base of its neck, her eyes trained on the weak spot. If she could just reach it—

Vigdis slipped and lost her grip. The dragon threw her off with ease—she crashed into the snow-covered ground and rolled to a stop. She groaned in annoyance; her previous bruises hadn’t fully healed, and now were layered with brand new ones that would ache in a few hours. She forced herself to stand and unsheathed her sword once more.

Fine, she decided. She would just have to do things the hard way.

Serana cast another ice spike. It barely scraped the dragon’s cheek. Vigdis spotted several other shards in its chest, where blood trickled out slowly down its body. The creature turned its gaze from the vampire to the hunter, its nostrils flared. Vigdis sensed a challenge and smirked, giving her sword a cocky twirl.

The dragon lunged towards her. Vigdis narrowly dodged the snap of its jaws. She slashed the end of its snout with her blade—red ichor gushed from the wound and stained the snow as it hissed in pain. Despite its bouts of arrogance, the beast was wounded, and he was exhausted. The dragon opened its maw in an attempt to bite the hunter in two again, but she easily sidestepped its attack. The fight had gone on for long enough; it was time for her to put him out of his misery.

With both hands, Vigdis angled her sword upwards, then plunged the blade deep into the creature’s slitted eye. The dragon cried out sharply, wriggled briefly, then slumped into the snow, motionless.

After a long, silent moment, Vigdis retrieved her sword with ease, the metal drenched in blood. She turned to find Serana beside her, persimmon gaze wide with awe.

“Is it really dead?” she inquired, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.

The hunter gave her a look. “Does it look like it’s still moving?”

“Well, no, but . . .” Serana frowned. “I always thought dragons were just a myth, so I wasn’t exactly sure it could be killed.” She crossed her arms, her dark brows furrowed. “I don’t know about this, Vigdis. Something’s not right.”

Vigdis opened her mouth, a snarky comment on her tongue—when a faint crackle drifted to her ears. She glanced back to the dragon’s corpse.

Veils in shades of clinohumite and dumortierite engulfed her in a deafening whoosh. A scream of pure agony ripped from her throat as fire seared across her scarred body. Flames blazed furiously inside and out. Smoke poured like haze from her lungs. She was burning.

Then, suddenly, the pain subsided. Numbness settled like freshly disturbed earth in her limbs, then prickled from the cold that stung her freckled skin. Her breaths came short and ragged, woozy from the lack of oxygen in her head as she swayed uneasily.

Serana grasped her shoulders, whose pale lips moved but made no sound—for Vigdis could only hear a distant pulse that slowly grew in volume. The pulse sunk into clear, yet deep drums that resounded from within and submerged her ears. Weaved between the beats came a soft, almost inaudible whisper:

Do . . . Vah . . . Kiin .

Notes:

I . . . I still can't believe we're here. That this is the end of Petrichor. That I actually did it.
I want to take a moment to thank everyone who, without them, this wouldn't have been possible: my mother, who has always supported my writing no matter what it was [or how shitty]; my friends, both old and new, who were my best hype people whenever I doubted myself [and for who, without them, this fanfiction would not exist at all!]; and finally, my readers, who have grown fond of this story along with me and left me some of the kindest comments that I will always cherish.
Thank you all again for joining me on this amazing ride. I'll see you again in the sequel! <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Threads of Blood