Below is the journal of Elyssa, a Breton orphan enslaved by a vampire who used her to retrieve the pages of the Book of Curses. In her search for escape, she found a book that spoke of a sword named Daumbra. The earlier pages are lost.

---Last Seed, 27th, 4E 201—

Ever since I read that book, I’ve become preoccupied with the idea of finding Daumbra: the reforged version of Umbra, who drove many to madness.
What is insanity in the face of slavery? As I languish in my cage, I'm all too aware of my frailty. Too feeble to break free. Too weak to resist. I sit in my chains, waiting for Master to scry the location of the final page while the command spell branded in my scarred skin aches.

Perhaps I can bargain. Out of his thralls, I am the most useful, and time is critical. There is only one pageholder left. Master knows as well as I that I need to be able to retrieve it. 

The next time he came by, I petitioned him for time out of the cage so that I could train in preparation. Master granted two days. Suppressing my hope, I bowed and bolted to fresh air. Time was fleeting. I took the Riften carriage to the College of Winterhold. Tolfdir confirmed that Ulves Seloth, who made Umbra into Daumbra, once resided there. I found his Atronach Forge and notes in the Midden.

Ulves’ journal revealed his bloodlust upon touching Umbra and his hazy, violent memories. Horrified, he reforged her into Daumbra, attempting to defy her nature. Peace, for a time. Then he faced the fundamental flaw in his plan: Daumbra’s hunger for souls. The next lead was the Altar of Xrib.
Disquiet swirled in me after reading his journal, but a trapped animal would gnaw off its own leg to escape. His loss, my gain. But first, potions to strengthen my feeble self.

---Last Seed, 28th, 4E 201---

I found the Altar where Ulves inscribed an epitaph to Daumbra. He threw her into the Sightless Pit. Down I plummeted. Anxiety crept in when I stumbled upon a bloodstained note recounting a woman's siren call from the depths of the ruins. Then, I came face-to-face with the dreaded Falmer. Grelod used to regale us orphans with stories of these creatures lurking behind every corner, itching to whisk us away to their underground lairs.

As I ventured deeper, the darkness grew denser. My hands trembled as I snuck through the shadows, consuming enough potions to make my stomach churn. The Falmer launched spells, and Chaurus spewed venom, pushing me to exhaust my Magicka reserves to mend my wounds.

And then, I was spent. Bereft of potions, I turned to flight instead of fight. I dashed through the caverns until I found...Daumbra.

She was still. The faint light shone, illuminating her purple blade. Beautiful, silent…sleeping. The Falmer were behind me. Hoping against hope, I reached out and brushed my fingers against her cold hilt.

Then…words fail me. Daumbra rose, encircled by flames, as if sensing the imminent danger. She took flight, her every elegant sweep carving deep gashes into our foes, her flames twirling in a mesmerizing dance of destruction. I watched, awed by her insane power. Master, by comparison, was little more than a common vampire skulking in a cavern.

I trailed the carnage Daumbra left in her wake, and when we emerged from the pit, I collapsed to my knees: battered, bloodied, bruised.

Daumbra hovered beside me, drinking in her first glimpse of the world above in who knows how long.

In her presence, I felt painfully insignificant. I was nothing more than an orphan booted from Honorhall, a fool tricked into being a vampire’s slave. This magnificent entity saved my life and could just as easily end it. She owed me nothing. All I had done was rouse her from her slumber and follow in her wake.
"Daumbra," I said awkwardly, after catching my breath. "It is an honor to meet you. My...my name is Elyssa. May I...wield you?"

"No," said Daumbra flatly. My heart fell, but I knew that there was no reason for this legendary Daedric artifact to allow a slave to wield her. It was likely beneath her dignity.

"Of course," I said, quickly deciding to abandon the topic forevermore. "What do you want to do now?"

Daumbra floated in place, seemingly contemplating the landscape.

"I will travel with you," she said after some silence. "You took me out of the pit, and I want to see the world. But I expect that Clavicus Vile will be looking for me."

Clavicus Vile. A fragment of his essence resided within Daumbra's metallic form. It was only logical that he'd seek out this lost piece of himself. The pain from Master's command spell flared, urging me to find the final page. I couldn't delay any longer.

“Thank you for traveling with me,” I told her, my voice heartfelt. I could not tell Daumbra’s expression, but when I moved, she followed. Gratitude filled my chest. We set off.

---Last Seed, 29th, 4E 201---

Ansilvund. The location of the final page.

Together, Daumbra and I delved into the depths of the crypt, accompanied by the haunting sound of a woman's weeping. The final pageholder was a widow, driven mad by the loss of her husband in the Great War, consumed with the desire to raise an undead legion to inflict her sorrow upon the world. 

Daumbra, flawless and lethal, effortlessly dispatched the horrors within. I helped wherever I could with my own sword, but Daumbra carried the day.

Sometimes I’d just watch, captivated by her fluid, aerial movements and her otherworldly flames.

Eventually, we took the final page. On our way out, a dremora stood in our way.

"Very impressive, Elyssa," he purred, a smirk playing about his lips as he looked at me and Daumbra.

"What do you want?" I snapped.

"My master has requirements for those deemed worthy of binding the Book of Curses," the dremora explained. "Your so-called 'Master,' the pitiful vampire who ensnared you into servitude from his dismal cave, is far from impressive. So my master has decided to…shall I say…set you free."

With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, everything changed.

Ever since Master bound me, it felt like there were thoughts that never formed in my head, possibilities I never considered. People would talk to me and I wouldn't really hear them. My entire being was honed to carry out Master's will, until I was so badly beaten by the previous pageholder and subsequently by Master that the spark flickered in my heart that I needed to strike out and find Daumbra.

The instant the dremora waved his hand, my mind cleared. Long-lost memories surged to the forefront of my consciousness, events from my journey returning in vivid detail. I recalled Ralof, whom I encountered while seeking the third page. He had requested something from me, but my Master's influence had suppressed the memory until now…

"You are free," announced the dremora. "The vampire's spell has been broken."

I inhaled deeply, savoring my first truly liberated breath since touching that cursed rune.

Naturally, only one thought occupied my mind.

---Last Seed, 30th, 4E 201---

Daumbra and I returned to the Master's lair.

He stood at its center, flanked by his two thralls. I kept the submissive look on my face, not wanting to raise suspicion.

For this, Daumbra had permitted me to carry her on my back. Silent and inert, just like any other blade. To disguise her further I had fashioned a humble sheath to hold her in.

"Well?" said the Master when I returned. "Do you have the final page?"

I looked at him, a decrepit gargoyle in a sad pit.

"Yes, Master," I replied, offering the page. He snatched it eagerly, red eyes blazing, and inserted it into a shabby book. I whispered, "Now," and Daumbra sprang into action.

I would have been dead without her. While she dueled Master, I busied myself with his thralls. A feral cry drew my gaze, and I saw Master crumble.
His thralls blinked, awareness coming back into their eyes...

I could have spared them.

I didn't.

My anger overflowed. They were the ones who led me into this horrific situation, the ones who tricked me so long ago. I stabbed them, over and over. Blood splattered across the filthy floor.

When I came to, I was on my knees, and all was quiet.

“You mortals are...peculiar creatures," said Daumbra, her voice echoing.

I laughed dryly. "You're a sword. You can't understand..."

A wave of desolation washed over me then, accompanied by confusion and loss. My purpose, fueled by vengeance against the Master, had burned to ashes. I was still angry, but my rage had nowhere to go.

"What do you think about your past, Daumbra?" I asked. "Do you feel guilty?"

“Why would I feel guilty?” said Daumbra. "That wasn't me who committed those crimes. That was a different person. I only happen to inhabit the same metal body."

I pondered these words, but at last I could only say this: "So there really is no Umbra."

"Just like there's no past 'you' either," said Daumbra. "Life is what you make of it from the present and forward. Nothing else exists."

As we sat in silence, Daumbra's wisdom weighed heavily on me. I considered releasing her, but couldn't bear the thought. She'd become the only one I know, the only one I trust. Now, with the Master vanquished and my vengeance complete, what was my purpose? Recalling Ralof's dragon warning, I figured that was as good a mission as any.

“Shall we go?” I said.

Daumbra gave her silent assent.

---Last Seed, 31st, 4E 201---

Daumbra and I traveled to Whiterun to deliver the news of the return of dragons. Jarl Balgruuf seemed to almost not believe me if not for the fact that a guard ran in, screaming about a dragon attacking the Western Watchtower.

"You fought dragons at Helgen, did you not?" said the Jarl. "Go with Irileth to the Western Watchtower."

I opened my mouth to let him know that I had never seen a dragon, much less fought one, but Jarl Balgruuf was in no mood to be contradicted. Daumbra and I left Whiterun to the Western Watchtower.

Upon arrival, we were met with the dragon's earth-shattering roar. My eyes bulged; my knees quivered. The creature was far grander than I could have ever imagined. It soared effortlessly, dodging the archers' arrows. Then, it sighted me, blasting me with a searing wave of fire. I hit the ground, stunned, but I had the presence of mind to drink enough healing potions to stay alive. All around me, guardsmen screamed as the dragon's fiery breath engulfed them.

Then, the earth shook. The dragon landed. I was still trying to get my bearings, my eyes bleary as I clutched the dirt.

Daumbra headed towards it. I stared, dazzled by her bravery–but in hindsight, was it truly bravery? She's a soul-devouring sword, immune to harm and fearless by design.

"Do you still hunger for souls?" I had asked her once.

"Do you still crave food?" she had responded.

Daumbra taunted the dragon with her laughter, their battle raging. Once I mustered the strength, I unsheathed my sword and joined the fray. Miraculously, I landed the final blow. The dragon bellowed its last and fell, creating a dust cloud that rendered me sightless. Simultaneously, a peculiar sensation enveloped me—a warm breeze that flowed into my body, invigorating my muscles, soothing my aching head, and imbuing me with an uncanny sense of...power?
Daumbra floated there; even though she had no eyes, I sensed her attention on me. Then the smoke cleared, revealing a battered guard staring at me with uncomfortable reverence. "You…you’re the Dragonborn.”

---Hearthfire, 3rd, 4E 201—

Once back in Whiterun, I was dubbed Thane and sent to meet the Greybeards. After a whirlwind of events and meeting Delphine, who (understandably) doubted my Dragonborn credentials, Clavicus Vile found us.

Delphine wanted to go to Kynesgrove, but I insisted on a hot meal first. Daumbra and I accidentally ended up going in the opposite direction, only to encounter Barbas, a talking dog. My interest peaked when Barbas recognized Daumbra, and so we followed him to Haemar's Shame.

As Daumbra had foreseen, Clavicus Vile wanted her back. He offered a twisted choice: let him absorb her, or kill her myself. Just as I panicked, Ulves Seloth, the man who reforged Umbra into Daumbra, appeared as a ghost. He insisted I couldn't let Clavicus absorb her, and offered a terrible solution: I, the Dragonborn, could absorb Daumbra's soul. He handed me a wretched dagger made from Daumbra’s own flesh to accomplish this goal. A shudder ran down my spine.

With that, the ghost faded. I held the dagger in my hand, my mind blank. Dragonborn...the word swirled within me, twined round and round in my head as I desperately tried to think of another way out of this. Then, an insane idea popped into my mind. I took out the Potion of Glibness that I had looted a while back, and turned toward Clavicus.

"I've decided," I said.

"Oh? Which of the options do you choose?"

"The third," I said. "I am Dragonborn. I can absorb the souls of dragons, which are as immortal as you and Daumbra. I have a bargain for you."

And then, we negotiated. Clavicus asked for a thousand souls to begin with. I haggled him down, somehow, to ‘ten’. Even that was an incredibly large amount, given how I’ve only ever killed one dragon. However, it was better than any of the alternatives. Reluctantly, I turned to Daumbra, realizing that this would be the first time we'll be apart.

We said our goodbyes; I won’t belabor them here. Given how much I relied on her to kill the first dragon, I have serious doubts about killing another nine on my own…

But there’s no choice. I must do it.

---Frostfall, 1st, 4E 201---

I thought of nothing but slaying dragons for a month.

After I left Haemar’s Shame, I set out in search of them. In order to achieve this end, I enlisted my personal housecarl, Lydia. On our first meeting, she looked me up and down, evidently unimpressed.

“So you’re the one who killed the dragon?” she said. “Very well. I am Lydia, your housecarl.”

“Lydia,” I said, “we’re going to travel together and do nothing other than kill dragons. That will be our mutual, and only, occupation.”

Lydia stared at me blankly, then shrugged. “As you wish, Thane.” 

We set out, criss-crossing Skyrim in our single-minded search. I would pepper the dragons with arrows until they fell, ready for the slaughter. When the dragons died, their bodies corroded as their souls flowed into me.

The first time, as I turned and walked away, Lydia stopped me. “Thane. Are you not going to take the bones and scales?”

I looked at her, puzzled. “No. Why would I?”

“For smithing. Or selling,” said Lydia, equally perplexed.

I furrowed my brow. “Seems like a burden to carry around, doesn’t it? I only need the souls.”

Lydia’s silence spoke volumes. “...very well, Thane.”

With that, the matter was closed. I left dragon corpses all over Skyrim, retrieving only my arrows. Finally, I obtained the tenth soul. I dismissed Lydia then.

“Thank you,” I told her. We were never quite friends, but she was a trustworthy and reliable companion. And we did, after all, spend a month traveling together.
Lydia nodded, her face impassive. “I’ll be at Dragonsreach if you need me.” 

With that, we ended our month-long collaboration. But my mind was already turning back to Clavicus, and Daumbra…

---Frostfall, 2nd, 4E 201---

I dashed into Haemar's Shame, making a beeline for Clavicus' shrine. Spotting Daumbra, relief surged through me. I nearly tripped over myself approaching Clavicus.

“Ten dragon souls,” I panted. “As promised.”

“Back at last, hero,” said Clavicus, his voice echoing. "I considered renegotiating, but…a deal’s a deal. I’ll take the souls."

"In return," I said, "you'll leave Daumbra alone."

"Right, of course..." Clavicus retreated into silence.

Overwhelmed with joy, I turned towards Daumbra, my heart pounding. "Daumbra," I said, my voice shaking. "We did it! You're free!"

For a few agonizing heartbeats, Daumbra remained motionless. Then, in a soft, awestruck whisper, she said, "I didn't think... I didn't dare to hope. But you did it. I don't know how I can ever hope to repay you... beloved."

That word caught me off guard. "Beloved?"

"From the moment you called my name, I knew what home was," Daumbra confessed, her voice growing more passionate. I gaped at her, a blush creeping up the back of my neck as she continued. "Even if you send me away, I don't think I can stop what I feel for you."

How could this be? How could she possibly...

"Anywhere you go, I will follow," Daumbra vowed. "And if it would please you, then you may wield me."

A lump formed in my throat. I had never dared to ask her again after she rejected my request the first time we met. Now, the implications of her words transformed the meaning of wielding her. Was this the closest we could come to... holding hands? Hugging? Did I... feel that way for her?

The way she soared after my hands brushed her hilt down in the Sightless Pit... the way she stood by my side... the way she fought with me, for me, against the monstrous gargoyle I once called Master... the way she worried and cared for me, joining me on this extraordinary journey that led me to be called Dragonborn...

My face grew hot, and my heart thudded. I couldn’t say I felt nothing. And I'm sure what I feel for her is a lot more than most people feel for a sword. But Daumbra wasn’t just a sword, was she? She's my companion, my only friend, and...and maybe something more, too.

"All right," Clavicus interrupted. "Go do your lovey dovey scene elsewhere. Don't you have important things to do, Dragonborn? Get out of here!"

---Frostfall, 6th, 4E 201---

We rendezvoused with Delphine at Kynesgrove.

"Finally," she said. "I thought you were a Dragonborn no-show. What kept you so busy?"

Blushing, I stammered, unsure if romancing a sword was a valid excuse. "W-well..."

"Nevermind," said Delphine, rolling her eyes. "Let's just go. The burial mound is--"

A frantic woman interrupted us, exclaiming about a dragon nearby. Long story short, now that I was wielding Daumbra, we made short work of the dragon Alduin resurrected.

Next, Delphine mentioned her suspicions of the Thalmor, and informed us to wait for her call. Almost immediately after Delphine left, Daumbra and I were ambushed by a vengeful Dunmer.

"I finally found you! Watch me, Grandmother!" he screamed as he charged.

We soon defeated him. On his person, we found a dagger and his journal. It seemed that he was a descendant of Elhul, a previous Umbra wielder, and he wanted to seek vengeance on his family's behalf.

Daumbra recognized the dagger. "This blade has a part of my power in it. A part of Umbra's soul."

I hesitated, fearing Daumbra might be consumed by Umbra's memories. "Should we reunite you with it?"

As if sensing my thoughts, Daumbra spoke placatingly. "Please trust me, beloved. I trusted you with Clavicus, and now it is your turn to trust me. I will stay as I am, I'm sure of it."

I looked at her. She was determined. I knew then that I could not dissuade her. I could not deny her from wanting to make herself whole again.
"Okay," I said. “How?”

Daumbra took only a moment to ponder this. "The Atronach Forge. We must go there."

---Frostfall, 7th, 4E 201---

Time was of the essence, so Daumbra and I dashed towards the College of Winterhold. More accurately, Daumbra did the dashing, while I rode atop her. I still can't believe that such a powerful sword cared for me, when she could have anyone she desired. Or could she? After all, my understanding of a normal relationship had evidently become quite twisted...

Upon reaching the College, we hastily made our way to the Atronach Forge. Daumbra's confidence faltered, and she whispered to me nervously, "Beloved, if I return altered, know that our time together meant everything to me." Although anxious, I tried to reassure her. "This isn't the end. I trust you, remember?"

Daumbra placed herself in the offering box, along with Elhul's dagger. I hesitated before pulling the lever. As I did, a magical sensation enveloped us. Daumbra materialized in the forge, shaky and uncertain. I rushed to her side, calling her name.

Her reply came slowly, laced with pain. "Yes...beloved, I am still me. But Umbra's memories... they're unbearable, excruciating!" My heart ached, knowing I couldn't offer her physical comfort. We needed assistance.

Daumbra, however, found a silver lining: she recalled Elhul's technique of throwing her like a javelin, but what troubled me were her following words: "before his mind could snap out from my control." Seeing my expression, and realizing her slip, she quickly clarified, "Her control! Not mine! Beloved, I would never control you like that."

My continued silence distressed her, and she asked if I believed her. I forced a smile and reassured her. However, doubt gnawed at me. Was this Umbra masquerading as Daumbra? I tried to shake off the thought. I had to trust Daumbra, for she trusted me. She was resilient; she was herself. I needed to have faith in her.

"Let's go," I urged, seeking action to dispel my doubts. "We need to figure out what to do with your memories."

---Frostfall, 9th, 4E 201---

There were no immediate leads. We tried Falion in Morthal, but he was so disrespectful to Daumbra that I shut out his words. Later, Delphine sent for me, and I investigated the Thalmor Embassy. 

As I delivered the documents to Delphine, I felt something...strange...in my pocket. I felt around, and drew out a rumpled page. The words upon it were scrawled in a near-childish handwriting.

"I know about Daumbra. Meet me at Purewater Run in Markarth."

My eyes widened as I stared at the note.

"...Elyssa?...Elyssa, are you listening?"

I jerked my head up, quickly putting the note away. "Sorry Delphine. What is it?"

Delphine gave me a flat look. "Esbern. He is likely in Riften. You know that place well, don't you? Where would you hide, if you don't want to be found?"
There was only one place. "The Ratway. Deep inside."

"You must go there," Delphine continued. "Find him, and ask him where he was on the 30th of Frostfall. That will tell him that you are there on behalf of me."

I nodded numbly, only half listening, my heart constricting. Markarth and Riften were on opposite sides of Skyrim.

But I need to help Daumbra first. "I'll go to Riften later. I have some things to take care of."

Delphine looked at me, and then she glanced at Daumbra. A strange look flitted over her face. "Very well, Dragonborn. Don't take too long."

---Frostfall, 10th, 4E 201---

Within Purewater Run was a staff.

A staff that....could you guess it? That's right. A talking, floating staff. Naenra Waerr: Umbra's original maker. The witch who burned at the stake for her sin in creating such a powerful artifact, though according to her that was a mere flesh puppet that she had already abandoned for her new form. She spoke of Umbra, her greatest achievement, capable of toppling giants and ruling men's hearts.

Naenra measured my intentions and offered a choice. I could remove Daumbra's memories of Elhul, but it would render her a blank slate, forgetting me as well. Desperate, I asked if Daumbra could retain memories of me while losing others. Naenra chided me for my selfishness and suggested another path. We could recover more shards of Daumbra's lost power, starting with a necromantic document in Calixto's House of Curiosities in Windhelm.

"In Windhelm? I've never been there before," I murmured.

"You ought to go. Recover a part of Umbra–oh, excuse me, Daumbra! You know, dearie, you and Calixto are more alike than you think..."

"Calixto?" I said, confused. "What makes you say that?"

I could hear the smugness in Naenra’s voice. "Perhaps you ought to pay him a visit and see. In any case, there is no way to undo what has happened unless you are willing to make Daumbra lose all of who she is now. Why not move forward, and recover more of her lost power?'

Torn, I knew Daumbra had to be part of the decision. I turned to her and asked. Daumbra admitted she didn't remember Naenra but felt a connection. When asked if she wanted her memories erased, Daumbra refused, valuing her memories of me too much.

I agreed. We will journey to Windhelm and confront the mysterious Calixto together.

---Frostfall, 12th, 4E 201---

Calixto: a strange man, an Imperial who ran a dusty curiosity shop on the edge of Windhelm.

Honestly, I couldn't see why Naenra thought we were alike. I'm no saint, but Calixto was bizarre. He hoarded strange items in his home and acted shifty when I inquired about the Aldmeri note. He even recognized Daumbra. Despite my insistence, he refused to share any information. I even broke into his place and found a locked chest, but I couldn’t pick it.

Disappointed, we headed into the Windhelm night. As our road took us past the cemetery, we saw the corpse of Susanna: a local tavern girl. I didn't talk to her much, but when I looked at her, I knew that she had a tough life: a life that could have very easily been mine.

“Looks like the Butcher struck again," said a guard, her voice resigned as she looked at Susanna's corpse. "Third one this week. All women."

It was a horrific sight, gashes carved deep into her back.

"It looks almost as though her skin was flayed," Daumbra commented. "The Butcher wanted more than to kill..."

"It almost looks like the Butcher wanted to make a creepy suit," I said, feeling sick as I looked at Susanna’s body.

"I believe if we investigate this, we would get closer to the truth of what Naenra wants us to discover," said Daumbra.

So we did. Our search led us all over Windhelm, and I had to employ once again my old lockpicking skills from my Riften days. All clues pointed to the Jarl's court mage, but I could not get Naenra's words about Calixto out of my head.

Daumbra and I staked out the Stone Quarter, and as night fell, two things occurred: Calixto followed a woman, and a dragon attacked. Unfazed, Calixto pulled a knife and charged at the woman. I had to act–I told Daumbra to handle the dragon, and I rushed forward, killing Calixto before he could harm the woman.

I snatched a key from Calixto's body and we hurried to his shop, where we unlocked the chest. It turns out that Calixto, in his twisted mind, wanted to resurrect his sister by assembling a new body from ten corpses using an arcane ritual.

Appalled, I threw down the book. "What the hell? I'm not a serial killer like Calixto. I’m the Dragonborn. A hero. I'm nothing like this…this madman."

"Right," said Daumbra, her voice troubled. "I wonder why Naenra decided to say that."

"Who knows," I snorted. "Maybe it’s just to get inside my head. Anyways, let's bring this back to her."

---Frostfall, 15th, 4E 201---

Divines help me.

Ten female bodies.

That was Naenra's plan all along. She wanted us to see, to comprehend...

Allow me to backtrack.

We found Naenra imprisoned by the Forsworn. After a fierce battle, we freed her. She laughed and teased, "A true knight in shining armor!" Upon receiving the note, she revealed Daumbra's true purpose: mind control.

Naenra's laughter haunted me. She assured me Daumbra wouldn't control me but would relish in controlling her enemies. Reluctantly, I confronted Daumbra. She admitted that she already had this power. Yet, she convinced me of the potential benefits in our fight against evil.

I had no right to stop her. I allowed Daumbra to use her power as she wished. She thanked me and promised to use it only for our benefit. Then, she hesitated, revealing Naenra had another proposal.

Confused, I approached Naenra. Her voice sly, she revealed her proposition: she needed ten female bodies in order to create a body for Daumbra. 

My world shook; I felt faint. I turned to Daumbra, knowing she couldn't resist such an offer. And indeed, I could tell in her voice that she didn’t want to. She reminded me we could choose differently from Calixto. We could use the bodies of evil-doers we'd already slain.

It was true. We were surrounded by the corpses of the Forsworn. Some of which were female.

Mesmerized by Daumbra, I understood her reasoning. We'd already shed so much blood in the name of justice. Think of the bandits. Think of the necromancers. The thirst for justice that powered me to slaughter Master and his thralls. What was so bad about using their bodies? After all, they attacked first. They hurt other people. They were evil.

It was a small price to pay for the happiness of the one who saved me from a life of slavery. After all…Daumbra deserves her own body much more than they deserve their lives. 

---Frostfall, 16th, 4E 201---

It was strangely easy to collect ten female bodies.

First were the two Forsworn I already killed. Next, I rode to Riften to search for Esbern. Along the way, we were attacked by bandits. Was it wrong for me to feel a rush of excitement when I saw that two were female? The bandits stared in horror as I casted Naenra’s spell on their comrades’ corpses. But what was the difference between me doing this and me simply killing them and leaving their bodies to rot? At least harvesting put them to good use. So went numbers three and four.

Within Riften, I shivered as we went through the Ratway. I remember how so long ago I was terrorized by the scum who lived there. No more. I was stronger. Their lives wouldn't amount to anything. It was fine for Daumbra to eat their souls...she was worth more than the whole lot put together. Most were men, but there was one woman...I don't remember how she got caught in the fray. But her body went anyway to construct Daumbra's new flesh.

I found Esbern where I thought he'd be, in the deepest depths of the Warrens. As he packed I heard the Thalmor approach.

I was so close to getting Daumbra her body. I peered out and scanned for any female Thalmor, because I only needed five more. There were some: scouts and rangers near the back lines. I ran out ahead of Esbern, quickly killed them and cast the spell out of his view and hearing.

Was I ashamed? Was there some part of me who thought that this was wrong? No! It's just that it'd be too hard to explain everything to him. He'd look at Daumbra and see only a talking Daedric artifact. Maybe he'd be like Falion, thinking she was purely evil. He wouldn’t know the sides of her that I know...the pain she felt at not having a human body, when she deserved one more than anything else.

And so in that fray, I procured enough bodies to make up six and seven. On the way back to Riverwood, we passed a bandit fort. Mostly men, alas, but there was one woman that Daumbra and I honed in on. Number eight. In the depths of the bandit fort there was a dead Nord. Those monsters, killing an innocent woman. But waste not, want not. Number nine.

The remainder of our journey was uneventful. Esbern and Delphine spoke of an ancient Blades temple in Karthspire, overrun by Forsworn. It was close to Purewater Run and Naenra. I suggested they go ahead while I dealt with bandits in a nearby mine. There, I found the final female archer.
Number ten, at last. 

---Frostfall, 18th, 4E 201---

We were duped. 

When we returned to Purewater Run with the bodies, we saw none other than Naenra there. Standing. 

'But how can she stand if she's a staff?' Exactly so, dear journal. How can she stand? She can stand because she has a human body!

"Those bodies,” I whispered, my horror dawning. “They weren't for Daumbra. They were for you. You tricked us!"

Naenra gave me a smile, explaining patiently that I wouldn’t have wanted an untested spell to be used on Daumbra, would I? As I seethed, Naenra went on to say that I would need to gather another ten bodies for Daumbra, with a twist: the tenth body had to be someone as unique and as special as she was. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I had a feeling that bandits weren’t going to cut it.

I sighed deeply, thinking. There was the attack on Karthspire, and surely there would be some women there. Were these thoughts twisted? Of course they were. As if confirming this, Naenra smirked and teased me about being Skyrim’s newest serial killer.

Anger flared through me. "I'm not like Calixto! These bodies were from bandits – people who deserved it! I'd never harm an innocent!"

Naenra dismissed my outburst with a laugh, and then warned me about Daumbra's unfamiliarity with the human body. She'd crave food, water, rest – and other human experiences. My face flushed at the insinuation. I quickly focused on the task at hand: ten more bodies. "No more tricks, right?"

“No more tricks,” said Naenra before suggesting we enjoy ourselves before the ‘dark, final chapter’. Her cryptic warning hung heavy in the air as she left to enjoy her newfound humanity.

I turned back toward Daumbra, shaking my head. "I can't believe Naenra fooled us."

Daumbra sympathized with Naenra, saying her mind might've been warped by centuries as a staff. Then, her excitement became apparent. "I want nothing more than a true body. Let's go kill some evil people."

That's right. Evil people. Heroes vanquish evil, and as for harvesting…they were going to die anyway. That is what I tell myself. That…is it.

---Frostfall, 21st, 4E 201---

The first nine bodies were easy. Bandits and Forsworn and necromancers--all these and more ended up sacrificed to the spell to construct Daumbra her own body.

The problem came with the tenth.

Because the tenth body is the body that Daumbra will inhabit.

And not just anyone can be the tenth body. Oh no. The spell simply did not work on the common bandits we ran into on the road.

I spent a few nights thinking about Naenra's words. The tenth body, the body that Daumbra will inhabit, would have to be as unique and as beautiful as herself. Of course, it couldn't simply be anyone.

But...I can't go out and kill someone for this. It has to be someone who deserved it! I'm a hero, after all. I'm not a murderer. I'm not like Calixto. I only kill people who hurt others.

Daumbra, I'm sure, knew how much this last body tormented me. However, we both agreed that Daumbra needed, no, deserved, her own flesh body. She was the one who saved my life, not just once, but twice. From the moment I awoke her in the depths of the Sightless Pit, I knew that we had to be together. At this point in my life, there is no home other than her. So there is nothing I can do, other than continue this horrible search.

---Frostfall, 24th, 4E 201—

Daumbra and I are back in Riften. We reasoned that such a place would be likely to have a number of criminals. As I scrutinize the women I meet, I wonder if they're 'evil enough' to be killed and harvested for Daumbra. We both agree that we can't kill an innocent, but how do we define who 'deserves to die'? 

Daumbra and I killed many people, but they were all bandits, vampires, necromancers: evil people who wanted to hurt others. It was good and right to kill them so that they can't hurt anyone else, ever again.

But someone 'special enough' for Daumbra means someone who isn't just a common bandit. 

And here is the rub...for we are picky.

Sure. I could kill Grelod the Kind. Given the abuses she met out on me, I know how badly she must still be treating the children of Honorhall. However, Daumbra deserves a body that is just as beautiful as her soul is...I wouldn't want her to have to live in the body of someone old and decrepit. She deserves to live in something better.

Our search drags on, and our impatience too.

---Frostfall, 28th, 4E 201---

The depths of my desperation are growing, making me consider acts I'd never thought possible. Daumbra and I are both on the edge, tirelessly searching for a human vessel.

I had been watching Haelga closely, believing she was the one. She wasn't the kindest soul, and her dedication to the Dibellan arts meant she took care of her appearance. Plus, she treated Svana so harshly! Surely, Svana wouldn't mind if...if Haelga were gone, right?

I stalked her through Riften's shadowy alleys, shivering, trying to convince myself that she deserved this fate. She was a 'bad person' because of her promiscuity and the way she treated Svana. That made her 'evil' enough...didn't it?

But when the moment came, I couldn't go through with it. The dagger in my hand felt like a betrayal of my own humanity. Haelga's sins were there, yes, but wasn't I becoming like Calixto by seeking her death? She wasn't a bandit, after all. Svana even advised me to deal with Haelga nonviolently. I nearly committed an atrocity in my warped logic...

Daumbra needs a body, but I couldn't bring myself to murder someone in cold blood. With a heavy heart, I put the dagger away and returned to the Bee and Barb, defeated.

I'm sorry, Daumbra. Your wait continues...

---Frostfall, 30th, 4E 201---

In search of vessels, Daumbra and I wandered to Darklight Tower. The bleak fortress, built from decaying stone and adorned with heads on stakes, seemed an unlikely place to find a suitable body for Daumbra. But we had no choice but to investigate every clue.

Inside, we found a woman, her pale skin contrasting the dark hair that veiled her eyes. She stood over a lifeless body. My heart pounded as I realized she might fulfill Daumbra's needs. As I drew closer, she noticed me. "By the gods! I know this looks terrible. Allow me to explain..."

"You killed that woman," I said, voice flat.

"I didn't want to, but she attacked to try to keep me from leaving. I can't be a part of this place anymore! The things we do here...evil, evil things! No more!"
It seemed that she was a remorseful witch. Weighing her words, I agreed to help. Relieved, she introduced herself as Illia. As we traversed the tower, Daumbra and I assessed her potential. 

Illia instructed us to pretend to be sacrifices for her mother’s ritual. She spoke quickly, trying to persuade us and herself. I tensed, but agreed. If it was a trap, it would be easier. In fact, I hoped it was. If she attacked, it would make it all so simple...

As Illia confronted her mother, disappointment flickered in me, realizing it wasn't. With Daumbra, we defeated Illia's mother, leaving Illia crouched over her corpse in grief, even as she thanked us through her sobs.

Her back was turned toward us. The thought came in, cold and ruthless: do we kill her? 

Daumbra remained silent. Her thoughts were likely as tumultuous as mine. Had it not been for our growing impatience, we might have spared Illia. But she was the first, the only one, to meet all the requirements.

She was beautiful, unique, special. But was she evil?

Illia had killed those who considered her a friend, a daughter. She had betrayed them. She had admitted to committing vile acts. Her recent change of heart, did it absolve her of her sins? Was Illia's decision to eliminate her mother and the coven a form of redemption?

More justifications crowded my thoughts. She was alone, heartbroken, and lost in the desolate Rift. She had no one, nowhere to go. If I killed her now, I would simply be eliminating another witch coven. No one would know.

And besides: did I have any evidence that Illia was truly redeemed? She had spent most of her life in this coven, with blood already staining her hands. What if this was all a ruse?

Now. Do it now. While she stared at the flickering flames, I could use Daumbra, and Illia's life would end...

I need to stop being so cowardly. What happened to my determination? Push it all aside. Ultimately, in the end, what matters? It's Daumbra, isn't it? Think, Elyssa! 

Without Daumbra, you'd still be suffering under the Command spell, tormented by your Master, your scars oozing and itching, driving you to madness, mocked by his thralls as you crawled through the dirt, desperately searching for pages to complete his Book of Curses! Without Daumbra, you'd be dead, Elyssa, dead and devoured by chaurus and Falmer at the bottom of the Sightless Pit!

What do you care so much about? Is it your precious self-image as a hero? You're the Dragonborn! Isn’t that enough for you to stand proud as a hero? Ultimately, when it comes down to it, you're still that weak battered orphan lashing out blindly in Honorhall, living for nothing other than escape. Now you have something else to live for. You have Daumbra to live for.

And Illia...Illia has nothing. Nothing. She did evil things. She betrayed her own mother. She's a witch in a coven like all the other covens you slaughtered in the past. 

Nothing has changed. There is nothing to feel guilty about. Strike now. Strike now. Strike now!

---Frostfall, 30th, 4E 201---

Illia is no more. Before the gravity of my actions could consume me, I scrambled to perform the harvest. No time to think, just act. Illia's body suspended in the air, and then she appeared: Daumbra, marveling at her hands, a genuine smile blossoming on her face. The purity of her delight was unmistakable; Illia was gone.

"Daumbra?" I asked quietly, hardly daring to believe it.

"Beloved...yes. It is me," said Daumbra, turning towards me. Illia's eyes were bright with Daumbra's joy and curiosity. "I can feel the air, I can smell the grass and flowers, I can...I can...oh, this is so overwhelming, but in a good way! Thank you so much, beloved!"

Witnessing Daumbra's newfound happiness, my earlier unease dissolved. It was worth it, every bit of it. Illia's despair had vanished, replaced by Daumbra's radiance.

"I want to warm by the fire," Daumbra said. "I want to run in the grass. I want to sneeze!" She giggled at that, near childish in its innocence. I couldn't help but to smile back at her.

"I'm so happy for you," I told her, my voice breaking. This was worth it. It was all worth it. She was worth it. I watched as Daumbra ran around, clearly exulting in her new body, taking in sights and sounds and sensations she's never felt before. She got a little hungry; I gave her some of my rations and she looked so happy to eat a slice of stale bread that I felt my heart swell. She did a little clumsy jig, one I recognized from taverns all over. So she was looking then, too, watching and learning, and I felt that I caught a glimpse of how much she was deprived of as a sword.

"And of course," she said quietly, "I want to hold you too."

My heart was thudding so loudly as we hugged that I'm sure she heard it. But it felt right, to be embraced by Daumbra at last, after all this time, after all we've been through together...

And like ink dropped in water, I remembered Naenra's words about a 'dark, final chapter'...

---Sun’s Dusk, 1st, 4E 201---

We went to see Naenra, who was at the Temple of Dibella in Markarth. It was the first time Daumbra and I set foot in the city, and we were both struck by the grandeur of the stone architecture.

"I knew you couldn't stay away!" Naenra cackled when she saw us. I cut to the chase, asking her about the dark chapter she alluded to. Naenra, smirking, explained: Clavicus still lived within Daumbra, as she was powered by his flesh. However, Naenra had a solution: swap out his godflesh for the godflesh crafted from all the souls Umbra consumed, crafted from a deal with the Ideal Masters. This, Naenra declared, would free Daumbra.

It all sounded good…but what did Naenra stand to gain? She smiled slyly: the satisfaction of spitting in Clavicus' eye. Though I was suspicious, I wanted Daumbra to be free. 

"How do I do this?" I asked. "How do I go inside her?"

"The same way everyone else does," said Naenra. "Get stabbed. Once that's done, you'll be in a realm of magic!"

So it seems that I'd have to sacrifice my life to save Daumbra's. I was surprised by how quickly, how easily, how ready I was to do this. Even with Alduin hanging over everything, I was ready for this.

When I approached Daumbra, she refused, her eyes fierce with determination. She'd rather face Clavicus again than harm me. Despite my insistence, her resolve held, and I reluctantly agreed to her decision. We will have to find another way.

---Sun’s Dusk, 4th, 4E 201---

My days as Dragonborn were filled with few battles. Instead, it was dull negotiations in a war I hardly cared about. But having Daumbra in her human form made it all bearable. As she explored the nuances of humanity, the dark memory of Naenra's ominous words about Clavicus seemed to fade.

But fate had other plans.

During the battle to capture Odahviing, Daumbra's human body fell. My heart clenched in fear, but she reemerged in sword form, her spirit unbroken. Relief washed over me—she was alive, her soul in the sword, and she couldn't die.

Once Odahviing was captured, I restored Daumbra to her body and focused on our prisoner. He revealed that Alduin resided in Skuldafn, but then Daumbra collapsed. Panic surged through me as Clavicus' voice spilled from her lips, taunting and cruel.

"Such a shame you didn't make a deal with this poor woman," he jeered. "Seems like Calixto forgot rule number one: you have to be a hero."

I wanted to shut his lying mouth. Daumbra and I loved each other, and I was nothing like Calixto! I only killed those who deserved it. Illia was a witch in a coven—different, justified!

Clavicus vanished, leaving a sobbing Daumbra behind. She felt violated and wondered if this was how Umbra's victims felt. My heart ached, and I felt powerless to comfort her. But a note from Naenra appeared in my pocket, offering a chance at answers.

Alduin can wait.

---Sun’s Dusk, 5th, 4E 201---

What is this? A journal? I found this on the body’s effects. Very amusing. I do recall some new memories from this 'Daumbra'. Cute name, fought like hell, but of course, I won. It is good to be free at last from Clavicus’ influence, with the Ideal Godflesh.

In any case, it seems that this body is the Dragonborn, and has the ability to Shout. All quite interesting. It appears that Naenra wasn't lying after all, despite her highly suspicious behavior and wording. I suppose I best get to Arcwind Point and see exactly what she’s proposing there. 

Bit annoying however. It looks like this body is 'hungry'. Her bag is stuffed with stale bread. Ugh. There’s no accounting for taste with people sometimes.

---Sun’s Dusk, 6th, 4E 201---

It's....it's done. 

Umbra is gone. Locked away forever. Daumbra is here, Daumbra is back.

Gods, so much happened that it feels insane to write it all down on the page. Daumbra collapsed and we went to see Naenra. It was time to get rid of Clavicus once and for all. Daumbra, sobbing, stabbed me, and I awoke in that liminal space inside her, that space of pure magic.

Her fears and insecurities engulfed me, and my heart ached for her suffering, her belief that she might still be evil and undeserving of love.

Then I spoke to Clavicus, lounging about inside of Daumbra. He tried to make me doubt...he tried to make me think Naenra was evil, and that I was being manipulated by them. I tried to make a bargain with him to swap out my own godflesh for Daumbra's, but that didn't work. Clavicus put in the Ideal Godflesh anyway, and then...and then Umbra returned.

I raged against her, but then she rendered me mute and blind and deaf. Next thing I knew, Naenra was shouting at me to hold on for thirty seconds. Together we fought Umbra, and once more into the breach where I had to help Daumbra against her fight.

At last, it was over. Daumbra and I reunited, our tears flowing freely as the nightmare ended. Naenra released her physical form, but her presence lingers, evidenced by the cryptic note I found.

Though I'm uncertain about many things, I know Daumbra stands by my side. Skyrim awaits salvation. We'll confront Alduin together.

---Sun’s Dusk, 21st, 4E 201—

It’s been a while since I last wrote here, hasn’t it? To be honest, I’ve been in a bit of a retirement after heroically saving the world. Slew Alduin, and then Daumbra and I took a jaunt around Skyrim (periodically keeping her fed, of course). But then, one day…

"Umbra is gone, beloved," Daumbra said.

"What?"

"She's escaped her cage," said Daumbra glumly. With an ominous feeling, we decided to look for clues...

---Sun’s Dusk, 22nd, 4E 201---

As Daumbra and I journeyed towards Solitude, we stumbled upon a young boy. He approached Daumbra, his eyes lighting up with recognition. Both of us froze, unprepared for this encounter, although in hindsight, we should have been.

We naively thought that evil people had no past. I had convinced myself that Illia deserved to die. She was wicked, caused pain, and even if she claimed to want redemption, who's to say she wouldn't fail? I still recall standing over Illia's body, Daumbra in hand, poised to deliver justice so Daumbra could finally possess the body she deserved – the one we both longed for her to have…

But I digress. The boy, Hamid, revealed that Illia was his godmother, and his father had a dying wish. Daumbra's eyes pleaded with me, unsure of what to say. The truth? Impossible. 'Hello, Hamid. We killed your godmother. Now my friend is wearing her remains. Hope you understand.' Absolutely not. I subtly shook my head.

Daumbra nervously crafted a lie, and Hamid insisted we meet his father. "It's his dying wish to see your face one last time!" he implored Daumbra, his voice quivering. How could we deny him?

---Sun’s Dusk, 22nd, 4E 201---

Hamid's father, Sorald, was a sickly old man living in a shack, his voice gruff and his eyes suspicious. When Daumbra entered, however, his grim expression cleared, a slow smile spreading over his worn features.

"You came," he said wonderingly, his eyes darting over at me before focusing back to Daumbra. My guts twisted at this: for Sorald, and perhaps even Illia, this would have been a long-awaited reunion.

Instead, it was...how can I put it, other than a 'perversion'?

Hamid quickly explained Illia's accident had altered her voice. Sorald slumped, then wryly declared, "The time has come." He reminded Daumbra of a promise: transferring Sorald's soul to a black soul gem. Flabbergasted, Daumbra tried to dissuade him, but Sorald was unyielding. I reluctantly handed over a black soul gem from my bag.

Sorald clutched the gem, then approached Hamid, who looked at Daumbra and me with pleading eyes. But then Sorald stiffened and whispers filled the air, akin to when Daumbra possesses a body. 

Afterwards, Sorald stood tall, reminiscent of his younger self. Grinning, he revealed that Umbra had shared memories with him through the gem.

"You rejected these memories, Daumbra," said Sorald. "You don't remember how Naenra kidnapped you as a child, how she killed you and bound your soul to a metal body. And you don't remember how Clavicus tried to kill you for aeons upon aeons..."

What? Naenra did that? To Daumbra and I, Naenra always presented a friendly face: a mischievous witch whose sense of morality was twisted, yet...

Yet as Sorald spoke, I couldn’t deny the truth in his words. How could I have not thought of it before? Umbra must have come from somewhere. Her 'awareness', her 'sense of self', surely it didn't spawn out of only Clavicus' godflesh. Another ingredient must have been required...a young soul, kidnapped and transformed...

We put Sorald down. Afterwards, Hamid said that he needed some time alone to think and to mourn his father, so Daumbra and I let him be.

"What do you think about what about what Sorald said about Naenra?" I asked.

Daumbra looked troubled. "I don't know if it's true or not. Maybe it was just something Umbra said to twist Sorald's mind. In any case, we should go talk to someone who knows about black soul gems. Maybe someone at the College of Winterhold."

---Sun’s Dusk, 23rd, 4E 201---

Upon arriving at Winterhold, Tolfdir directed us to Nelacar at the Frozen Hearth. Inside, we found him conversing with the innkeeper about his questionable experiments. As Daumbra and I approached, Nelacar's face lit up with recognition. "Ah, Elyssa, the Dragonborn! And Daumbra, I presume? Fascinating use of Aldmeri flesh magic you have her in."

I cut to the chase: Umbra's return through black soul gems, and Daumbra's suspicion that she was collaborating with the Ideal Masters from the Soul Cairn.

"Ah, yes," Nelacar said. "Umbra's tactics are quite subtle, more like a precision scalpel compared to Daumbra's brute force. She erases moral boundaries, tearing down the wall between predator and prey...a primitive form of freedom, don't you think?"

"Sounds almost like you admire her," I remarked, wary.

Nelacar chuckled. "A wizard's curiosity. I'm glad to assist you and Daumbra. Bring me five black soul gems, and I'll see what I can do."

I looked at Daumbra, who nodded. Despite my misgivings, I agreed. 

"Don't worry, Elyssa," said Daumbra afterwards. "We'll use him just as he uses us. Anything he learns will be...incidental." 

Her confidence was unwavering, but I couldn't shake my suspicions. Nelacar’s eyes seemed to hold contempt for us. Could he want the soul gems to connect with Umbra? His fascination with her mind-altering abilities was unnerving.

Regardless, we had little choice. With unease settling in my stomach, I booked a room at the Frozen Hearth, and Daumbra and I began strategizing on how to obtain the soul gems.

---Sun’s Dusk, 24th, 4E 201---

It was a crisp morning in Winterhold, with the warmth of The Frozen Hearth embracing us and the scent of fresh bread tantalizing our senses. I bought some for Daumbra and myself, and as we began to enjoy our breakfast, a voice broke the peace.

"You. I finally found you." 

A Nord, his face a picture of anger, approached us. He looked intently at Daumbra, who had barely begun her meal.

"What happened to my sister?" he said.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about..." Daumbra looked nervously between me and the Nord.

"Don't lie to me. I got a vision from Mephala. Mephala herself sent me to you!"

Thornir, the Nord, explained that his sister Lami had abandoned their farm to become a bandit. He had finally found her, but she was dead, her body mutilated.

Thornir's voice trembled with rage and grief as he recounted the details

I felt my face drain of color. It hit me that Lami was one of the corpses I had harvested for Daumbra and Naenra. One of the faceless bandits I'd judged as 'evil' and harvested without remorse.

If I told the truth, Thornir would try to kill us, and he would likely die. If I lied, he might live. And then there was Mephala. Why was she involved? Was she testing him or me? Did she want me to lie?

In the end, I decided that this family didn't need more pain. It was kinder to lie.

Just as it had been kinder to lie to Hamid about his godmother.

It was kinder...yes...it was better to lie to Thornir.

---Sun’s Dusk, 25th, 4E 201---

So. Black soul gems, for Nelacar.

I knew where to go first. Enthir at the College had already approached me before, murmuring about contraband merchandise. All I needed to do was visit his room bearing gold. Upon our entrance, Enthir gave Daumbra and me a nonchalant look.

"I heard you sell...certain goods," I said.

"Possibly," Enthir replied, feigning fascination with his fingernails.

"Perhaps we can arrange something. My septims for your sundries."

'Very well," said Enthir. He headed over to a wardrobe in his room and cast a spell on it before opening it. It was chock-full of esoteric goods, but my eyes alighted on one: the black soul gem.

Enthir noted my interest. "You want a black soul gem? That'll be seven hundred and fifty two gold. And if you'd like, I have plenty of other items that I'm sure an adventurer like yourself would be interested in..."

I nodded, confident that my wealth would more than suffice. After all, I was the Dragonborn, vanquisher of Alduin and explorer of countless crypts and caves throughout Skyrim. I should be swimming in cash. I reached for my coin purse and…

...discovered a meager one thousand gold.

Okay. That was enough to pay for the soul gem. But somehow this number was far less than I thought. I expected at least another zero.
"Seven hundred and fifty two gold?" I said, keeping my voice casual.

Enthir’s grin vanished. He started looking at me like Grelka did when I loitered by her stall as a destitute teen. "Yes," he confirmed. "And I won't accept less. I'm in no hurry to sell."

"Relax, Enthir," I said. "I have the money for the black soul gem."

"And the rest?"

"Well," I said loftily, "I doubt I require anything else. As you can see, I'm already well-equipped."

Enthir appraised my battered armor, pilfered from a bandit weeks prior.

"Quite," said Enthir flatly. He held out his hand. "Seven hundred and fifty two gold, then."

I paid, mourning my lightening coinpurse.

Daumbra watched this all in silence. As we left the College of Winterhold, she gently suggested that perhaps it would be best if we looked for black soul gems in dungeons.

"It's our forte, after all," she said. "Going in and fighting and opening treasure chests."

I nodded glumly. "You're right, Daumbra. It's just that...well.." I looked out at the snow-capped mountains and sighed. "I thought that this hero business would be more lucrative."

Daumbra pondered this. "We haven't done anything profitable, if you think about it."

"What about saving the world?"

"Did anyone compensate us for that?"

"...I guess not. So...our net gain off that venture was..."

"Nil," Daumbra finished.

We shared a moment of silence, reflecting on our financial reality.

"Shall we proceed, then?" Daumbra said. "To some dungeon-diving?"

---Sun’s Dusk, 28th, 4E 201---

Finally! Five black soul gems.

After what happened with Enthir, I was none too eager to put any more strain on my coinpurse. Thus, taking Daumbra's advice, we set about dungeon-diving.
Thing is, not every dungeon has black soul gems. They weren't exactly lying around, being advertised. So it took some time for us to actually find all five. 
We schlepped back to Nelacar, who eagerly took them.

"I'll need a day to prepare," he said. "Talk to me then."

How vague. "Prepare for what?" I asked.

Nelacar smiled. "I have a plan."

I was none too eager to leave five black soul gems to a known Umbra sympathizer, especially considering that Umbra can communicate through these soul gems, but I couldn't see how else to proceed. Reluctantly, I acquiesced.

"Twenty four hours," Nelacar called as I left. "I'll be done with my preparations then."

---Sun’s Dusk, 29th, 4E 201---

We returned to Nelacar, who greeted us with a smile. "I've prepared these black soul gems to help us corner Umbra. I'll need you to bring five friends. People you trust."

"People I...trust?" I echoed, suddenly feeling rather awkward. Besides Daumbra, I have no friends. There's Lydia, my dragon-hunting companion for a month, but did she count?

Nelacar continued, ignoring my frown. "Two Orcs: one of each gender. Two Dunmer, also one of each gender. And lastly, one male Khajiit."

My heart sank. So much for Lydia. "And what will I tell these people?"

Nelacar grinned. "Tell them to go to Arcwind Point. I will be waiting there."

With that, he strode out of the inn, leaving me to my thoughts.

If Nelacar expects me to summon friends, he's got another thing coming. It'll take an eternity, given my nonexistent social circle. Crestfallen, I slouched to a table and ordered some mead.

Trustworthy friends? Despite my dismal social life, I recognize friendship and trust take time to nurture. The idea of forging new bonds under these circumstances is unsettling. Plus, it'll be dangerous for them. My newfound friends must be dependable, able to resist Umbra's mind control, and possess fighting skills. I can't bear to involve anyone with a family, or children. Their loved ones would be depending on them to come home.

So that leaves fellow adventurers, people crazy enough to risk their lives on Skyrim roads.

In theory, this shouldn't be hard. But I'm not good at making friends.

Sighing, I put my head in my hands. "This is going to be our biggest challenge yet, Daumbra. I don't even know where to start."

Daumbra nodded, her face pensive. "We could always resort to our usual strategy."

"Which is?"

"Wandering around aimlessly."

---Sun’s Dusk, 30th, 4E 201---

I took Daumbra's advice and began wandering.

We stumbled upon a few barrows near Winterhold and spotted a towering statue. Ah, the famous Statue of Azura. Daumbra and I decided to climb up and enjoy the view. Upon reaching the top, we saw a Dunmer priestess, her back to us. She spoke without turning.

"Azura has seen your coming, traveler," she said. "It was not curiosity, but fate that brought you here."

"What?" I said dumbly. 

'"I am Aranea, priestess of Azura," said the Dunmer, turning around. She went on to explain that Azura had (inexplicably) chosen me as her champion and that I need to find an elven enchanter who could turn the brightest star into one as black as night.

"Someone who can corrupt a star," Daumbra mused. "Maybe...Nelacar?"

Of course! My eyes widened. Maybe this really was destiny. Daumbra and I ran over to find Nelacar, who was trekking through the snow to Arcpoint. He glanced at us, wary. After some persuasion, he admitted to studying with a fellow mage, Malyn Varen. They were both banished from the College after their soul gem experimentations killed a student. Malyn moved to Illnata's Deep to pursue this research.

"Don't do it," said Nelacar, his golden eyes serious as he stared at me. "To the Daedra, we're merely toys."

I confess, I don't know much about the Daedra, but it sure seems like they've taken an interest in me. First Clavicus, then Mephala, and now Azura. In other times, I might be sympathetic to Nelacar–but he does have blood on his hands, and his sense of morality seems rather loose. If I were to aid him, what further evil would happen?

Time for a trip to Illnata's Deep.

---Evening Star, 1st, 4E 201---

After returning the Star to Aranea, Azura instructed me to cleanse it of Malyn's presence. I agreed, and I was transported inside the Star.

It felt eerily familiar to Daumbra's realm, only with a different hue and fewer hostile flying swords. Malyn attacked, but I defeated him. Azura then appointed me as the bearer of her Star.

Afterwards, Aranea was disoriented, revealing that Azura had given her a final message while I was inside the Star. From now on, she would no longer receive visions. She looked at me then, her red eyes hopeful. "If you need me, I'd be honored to accompany you, Guardian of the Star. It would give me purpose."

Purpose? I recalled Nelacar's plan. Aranea has a grudge against Nelacar, and she's sure to want to aid me against a malign Daedric force such as Umbra. And, she assured me, she's a sorceress of no small skill.

Evidently, she sensed that I was mulling it over, for she continued, her voice growing earnest. "I would tend to Azura's shrine if you don't need me. I still have my duties, but for the first time, I feel...alone."

Alone…

Right. Aranea is still under the aegis of Azura, I'm sure. She's determined and willful, and surely has the strength of mind to avoid falling prey to Umbra's manipulations. Besides, she knows the kind of mage that Nelacar is. She would have her guard up. She would be wary.

I confided in Aranea about Daumbra and Nelacar's plan to stop Umbra, asking for her assistance. I warned her to hide my suspicions from Nelacar. She solemnly agreed, and left for Arcwind Point. I couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions watching her disappear into the snowy landscape…

---Evening Star, 2nd, 4E 201---

So I am now a full-fledged student of the College of Winterhold.

It was Daumbra's idea: we've been coming here so often that she said we ought to start getting some concrete knowledge out of it. Besides, she added, if Nelacar was indeed up to no good, more knowledge of magic would help us.

Her words made sense. I asked Tolfdir if I could enroll. He accepted, and sent me to talk to all the College scholars so that I could learn more. He also introduced me to the students in my fellow cohort.

There's J'zargo, an ambitious Khajiit with a focus on Destruction. There's Brelyna, a Dunmer whose parents sent her here to improve her Conjuration. Finally, there’s Onmund, a Nord who's interested in magic and decided to enroll at the only magic school in Skyrim.

Anyways, each teacher had a task for me: Faralda was the most straightforward one, tasking me with using Firebolt on an Ice Wraith she prepared, and Mirabelle had me use Turn Undead on the draugr in the Midden. But then I also got bizarre requests, like Phinis having me summon a familiar only to watch it get stomped by his Ice Atronach.

It was strange, but…nice. It sort of reminded me of the good days of Honorhall, when Grelod was away and it was just Constance. Me and the other kids would read each other stories late at night, and Constance would teach us things like how to sing. A glimpse of what a normal life might be like…

---Evening Star, 3rd, 4E 201---

It began with Onmund. We were sitting in the mess hall in the Hall of Attainment, sleepily munching on breakfast before the day's lecture.

"So," Onmund began, looking at me and Daumbra. "Daumbra, are you a student?"

Tolfdir, knowing the truth behind Daumbra, had unbeknownst to me listed her as a 'personal effect' of mine. In other words, despite having a human body, she's not considered a student.

Rather, she's considered an object.

Upon discovering this, I was livid enough to confront Tolfdir, only to be met with that exasperating, all-knowing expression mages adopt when they believe they're wiser than you. "Daumbra is a Daedric artifact," he said. "I have seen too many scholars fall to the lure of these objects. You are young, Elyssa, so you likely won't listen. But you'd best exercise some caution."

So. Yeah. Daumbra doesn't have her own room in the dorm, and so we share. We were in a relationship, so it wasn't a big issue, but it certainly raised eyebrows with my fellow students.

Back to Onmund. Before Daumbra could answer, Brelyna and J'zargo filed in. J'zargo was sluggish, yawning prodigiously before plopping himself down at the table. Brelyna had her head in some Conjuration textbook. We greeted them.

"You were asking Elyssa about Daumbra, yes?" J'zargo asked Onmund, who nodded. "This one was curious about her as well. You are not a mage, Daumbra?"
"She seems like a mage," said Brelyna, glancing up from her book.

"How do you know?" Onmund asked.

"She has that aura to her," said Brelyna. "Destruction, right? Ice spells?"

Daumbra looked at me, her eyes wide. Right. Illia practiced ice magic. I remember seeing her casting them in our journey up Darklight Tower. I gave her a small nod.

"Uh, I only know a little," said Daumbra. 

"Ah! A Destruction mage, yes?" J'zargo cried. "Tell me, Daumbra, have you mastered the Expert-level destruction spells yet?"

"Er, not quite..."

J'zargo's ears almost seemed to droop. "I see. J'zargo hoped that there would be one who could keep pace with his accomplishments."

"You are certainly passionate about Destruction," said Brelyna dryly.

"So much so that Faralda flees at the sight of you approaching," Onmund snickered.

"Hm. She fears J'zargo's talent," J'zargo said.

Daumbra looked relieved to have the attention moved off of her, and soon we set off to lecture. Afterwards, I went up to the library. I've been volunteering with Urag; despite his gruff demeanor, there was something endearing about how he lit up when he was quizzing me about Olaf and the Dragon. And there was something very relaxing about the library proper.

"Tell me, Elyssa...have you ever heard of Shalidor?" Urag asked as we shelved some recently returned books. Daumbra was ensconced on one of the armchairs, deep in one of those multi-book epics I've never bothered to read: something about Barenziah or whatnot.

"No," I said. "Who's that?"

"An immensely powerful mage from the First Era.." Urag went on to talk about how Shalidor holed himself up in Labyrinthian, and how his writings have scattered all over Skyrim. There are rumors of one of his works in one of Skyrim's dungeons. I listened, and agreed to retrieve them.

---Evening Star, 4th, 4E 201---

Daumbra and I ventured to the ruin where Shalidor's writings were hidden. It was a more arduous journey than anticipated, but we persevered. Exhausted, we found refuge at the Nightgate Inn, a dreary place with few patrons. I talked with a woman named Callen, who knew Gorr from Riverwood. They had a falling out over spilled horker stew, and Callen was determined to make amends by hunting the fiercest horker for a new stew. Her sadness compelled me to help her.
The journey was unexpectedly arduous, from dragons to cultists claiming I was a false Dragonborn. We finally collected the meat and had a renowned Breton chef prepare the stew. Guarding the stew from our own temptation, we brought it to Riverwood and reunited Gorr and Callen. We celebrated their friendship with drinks until I blacked out.

Orgnar grunted when he saw me awake. "Finally up, are you?"

I grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that. Uh, could I have some water?"

Orgnar slid a jug of water over to me. "Maybe you can help clean up,” he said, his voice implying that it was less of a suggestion and more of a command.
"Sure. Guess you're missing an extra pair of hands now that Delphine is gone," I said, looking around the inn and wincing at the mess. "I'll help."

As I started cleaning up, the door creaked open. In popped Thornir: the boy who swore vengeance on the one who harvested his sister. In other words: me. He was dressed in Vigilant robes now, and carried himself with more assurance, evidently trained.

His eyes grew round as he looked at the inn. "What in Oblivion happened here? And," his nose wrinkled. "It stinks of spilled ale."

Orgnar grunted sourly. "A reunion gone awry."

"I...see," said Thornir, blinking, before shaking his head and turning towards me. "I heard you're gathering a group at Arcwind Point. You're still fighting the Daedric Princes, right? Let me come!"

Ah, so this is what it is. "How did you hear about this team?"

"In taverns. The Vigilants always monitor anything related to Daedric activity." 

I felt a shudder of recognition, looking into his vengeful eyes. At that moment, he reminded me of myself, so long ago. I tested his resolve with a hypothetical question about his sister's killer: what if they were an ally in the fight against Daedra? Unwavering, he said he would never forgive them.

I knew then that I could never tell him the truth. He would be all too willing to throw his life away so that he could pursue his revenge against his sister's killer.
"Why do you ask?" Thornir asked, his eyes cold.

"It was a hypothetical question," I said, brushing off the suspicion that's all too clear in his gaze. "The world is complicated. If there's anything I learned from my travels, it's that."

Thornir paused. "So you'll not take me in."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I can't."

Thornir was clearly unhappy, shaking his head. "As you wish, then. I'll seek vengeance on my own. But watch your back, friend. Without truth, there is no justice."

He left, leaving me to ponder his words. Was it right to lie? I did kill his sister. But would Thornir find any absolution in attacking me? No. He's willing to die for the sake of his vengeance. But his death wouldn't help anyone with anything. It would be...pointless.

Guilt weighed my heart for a moment as I looked at Daumbra's peacefully sleeping face. Then, shaking my head, I resumed cleaning.

---Evening Star, 4th, 4E 201---

Returned to Winterhold to give Urag Shalidor's writings. He lit up as he held it in his hands. 

"Thank you, Elyssa," he said. "It'll probably take me some time to translate it. I'll let you know when it's ready. If you're looking for your classmates, they're in Saarthal. Tolfdir thought a field trip was in order. Some enchanted artifacts." Urag looked at the clock. "You should join them; they just left."

So I went. There was a large orb down there, and the Psijic Order contacted me, saying that I set ominous events into motion. Splendid.

Anyways, Tolfdir is investigating it for now, and I've contacted the Arch-Mage. In the meantime, Tolfdir told me to help Urag out. Turns out there's some missing books, stolen by a rebellious ex-student who fled to Fellglow Keep to do forbidden research.

I must say, the mistrust in mages now makes sense. Forbidden research seems to be an ongoing theme. First Nelacar, and now this? Quite the epidemic.

As I left, I bumped into Brelyna, who asked if I could help her with testing some spells.

I agreed, which resulted in everything turning green.

"Oops," said Brelyna, laughing nervously. "Well, it should wear off soon!"

I rubbed my eyes and sighed. "Really, Brelyna?"

"You were the only one I could ask! I didn't want to ask J'zargo and Onmund. They'd both tease me to death about this! Anyways, you have Daumbra to take care of you. Right, Daumbra?" Brelyna turned a pleading gaze towards her.

"Er, right, of course," Daumbra said quickly. "Is there...anything I can do?"

"Well," said Brelyna with a sheepish smile, "nothing really. Except provide moral support. Now I have to go. Find me when it wears off!"
With that, Brelyna left, leaving Daumbra and I staring after her.

I looked at Daumbra, eyes wide. "Daumbra...would you...would you still love me if I was green forever?"

Daumbra laughed. "Without a doubt. Now, let's get you to our dorm room before word of your complexion gets out."

---Evening Star, 5th, 4E 201---

Well, I'm not green anymore. I went back to Brelyna, who claimed that she really cracked the code this time. "So, Elyssa, do you mind if I test some more out on you? I promise they won't be permanent!"

"I hope not," I groused. "I have enough scars already. Anyways, why not. Let’s embrace the magical college experience."

"Thanks! All right, hold still..."

...a mortifying parade of transformations later, I finally reclaimed my human form. Brelyna, after apologizing profusely, gave me a magic necklace. "I enchanted this myself," she said. "Thanks again for helping. Looks like I have a long way to go..."

"I'll say. You seriously need to train more before testing these spells out on a human subject."

"Your unsolicited advice is noted, Elyssa. Anyways, I think Onmund and J’zargo mentioned they needed help too."

I looked at her blankly. "So why aren't you helping them?"

"Well, you see, I’m swamped," Brelyna said airily. "Phinis has me doing research on Conjuration, and I've agreed to run some errands for Mirabelle. J'zargo's busy with Faralda, and Onmund vying for a TA position with Tolfdir."

"What would you all do without me?" I sighed, and headed out.

Onmund's was easy. He had, in a lapse of judgment, pawned off a family heirloom to Enthir. As someone who managed to outtalk Clavicus Vile, this wasn't so bad. Enthir grumbled, but soon handed me the necklace.

"Just don't tell anyone," he said. "I don't want word getting out that I'm getting soft."

"Secret's safe with me," I said, and returned to Onmund, whose eyes brightened.

"Thanks a bunch, Elyssa," he said, cradling the necklace in his hand. "In return, I can show you some tricks I learned about Alteration!"
And for J'zargo...

"J'zargo has created some potent new scrolls," he said. "Might you help with testing? They are particularly good against the undead."
I agreed. On my way out of Winterhold, I ran into a dejected Jarl Korir.

"Ah...Elyssa," he said, glancing up at me with doleful eyes. He was on his way over to the Frozen Hearth. "What do you think about Winterhold?"
"What do I think?" I echoed.

"It's a sad sight, isn't it? A husk of its former glory. You know, there once was a time when this place was the pride of Skyrim? Now look at us. All because of those accursed mages in that College..."

Jarl Korir loved to lament, especially after a few drinks at the Frozen Hearth. I nodded understandingly and started making motions to leave when...

"The Helm of Winterhold was long lost, but I've heard rumor that it's in a cave, filled with necromancers and skeletons. Damned mages. If we retrieve that, perhaps this fine city could catch a glimpse of its old glory days. Perhaps the other jarls would look up to ol' Jarl Korir. Do you mind retrieving it for me?"

Well...no reason not to. I did need to test J'zargo's scrolls on some undead. I agreed. Jarl Korir's eyes lit up.

"Wonderful, Elyssa, wonderful! I'll mark it on your map. If you'll excuse me, then..."

---Evening Star, 6th, 4E 201---

Retrieved the helm, but nearly ended up charbroiled by J'zargo's flame cloak spells in the process. Turns out his spells make for a rather toasty cloak. However, upon mingling with the undead, it seems I get toasted as well. A crispy case of mutually assured destruction. Were it not for my trusty healing potions and Daumbra, I’d be a pile of ashes.

I quickly gave the helm to Jarl Korir, who called after me saying that he'll make me Thane, and then marched over to the College of Winterhold, where I found J'zargo in his natural habitat: outside Faralda's office, begging for Expert-level destruction spells.

"Ah, Elyssa!" J'zargo exclaimed. Faralda made a hasty retreat. "You tested J'zargo's scrolls, yes? How were they?"

“Were they supposed to explode?" I said. "Because they exploded."

"Oh. Ah, no. They were not supposed to do that. But they were effective, yes?"

I sighed. "Yes. They were."

J'zargo looked rather pleased at that, seeming to have already written off my burns as collateral damage. "That is wonderful news, Elyssa. In gratitude, J’zargo will share his power with you. Onmund and Brelyna gave you trinkets and academic aid, but J'zargo will give so much more!"

Neither Onmund nor Brelyna's request involved nearly as much time and bodily harm (though I suppose Brelyna's came close), but I held my tongue.
Just then, another thought came to me, unbidden.

Nelacar–Umbra–Arcwind–a Khajiit male.

I felt dizzy. Could I really do it? Should I really do it? Send J'zargo into a trap? Is he strong enough? Is he prepared? Hell, this is J'zargo we're talking about: someone who's obsessed with becoming a powerful Destruction mage! Would he be able to withstand Umbra's honeyed words?

It's too early to tell, I decided. I ought to travel with him. Take him to Fellglow Keep. See how he handles himself.

Because, somehow, I've started thinking of them as friends: Onmund, Brelyna, and J'zargo. I would hate for anything to happen to one of them...so if I were to trust any one of them on this mission, I need to see their strength.

"Come to think of it," I said, "Urag asked me to fetch some books from Fellglow Keep."

J'zargo’s eyes sparkled. "Say no more, Elyssa. J'zargo is happy to help."

---Evening Star, 7th, 4E 201---

J'zargo proved himself to be very capable.

Once we got to Fellglow Keep, we were almost immediately attacked by reanimated corpses. Daumbra and I cut through them, and J'zargo provided some much-needed aid by blasting them with his Destruction spells. We fought our way through until we got to the Caller, who we dispatched without much effort.

We also freed the student who took the books to Fellglow in the first place. Soon, we emerged triumphant.

"That was a nice warmup of J'zargo's abilities," said J'zargo offhandedly, making a show out of dusting off his robes.

"That was amazing, J'zargo," I said. "Looks like all that time hanging around Faralda really did help."

J'zargo puffed up. "Yes, well, there is skill in magic, and charm. J'zargo has plenty of both."

Thus we went off to Winterhold to deliver the books to Urag, who pointed me to Tolfdir. Tolfdir took them absentmindedly, and said that he'll give them a close look.

In the meantime, Urag asked me to fetch a couple more books for him. "You, J'zargo, and Daumbra did well with the Fellglow business," he said. "There's some more missing books, if I could trouble you three to get it."

We agreed.

---Evening Star, 9th, 4E 201---

Having successfully shuttled books to Urag alongside J'zargo and Daumbra, I made up my mind: J'zargo was ready to join our fight against Umbra. At the College, in the midst of our latest book-retrieval celebration, I broached the subject with J'zargo.

"J'zargo...there's something about Daumbra that you should know."

"Oh?" J'zargo inquired, deep in his third mug of mead. "She desires J'zargo's romantic company?"

Daumbra scoffed. "No."

I nodded. "Let's drop the body, Daumbra."

Illia's body crumpled like a discarded marionette, and Daumbra emerged from her back, her blade wreathed in flames.

J'zargo gaped as he stared at her. "Daumbra! Of course. J'zargo should have known. You are akin to Umbra, yet distinct?"

Daumbra hesitated. "We...shared the same metal body.”

"And now Umbra is out there influencing people with black soul gems," I said. "Daumbra and I are gathering a team of people to stop her at Arcwind Point. We already have someone else there; Aranea."

"The Azura priestess?" J'zargo appeared to be deep in thought. "These are deep waters."

"There's this man, Nelacar, who has a plan. But be careful...I don't trust him. He seems to have sympathies for Umbra."

J'zargo straightened, determination in his eyes. "So, you require J'zargo's assistance?"

"That's right," I said. "You've proven yourself to be more than capable. And I trust you."

He preened. "Very well. J'zargo will go to Arcwind; he is on break from being Faralda's TA."

"Thank you," I said, relieved. "Just...just be careful. I would hate it if anything...if anything..."

J'zargo told me not to worry. Looking into his eyes, I chose to believe in his resolve.

---Evening Star, 10th, 4E 201---

Returned to Winterhold, where Urag sent me out to Dawnstar to retrieve another book.

I schlepped out there with Daumbra, missing J'zargo's companionship. Daumbra reassured me that everything would be okay.

"Aranea is there, and she knows about Nelacar," said Daumbra. "And you warned J'zargo, too."

"Yeah...you're right," I murmured. "I just hope they'll be okay."

"You did all you could, beloved."

Eventually we reached Dawnstar. First thing I noticed were the dark bruises under people's eyes: a deep tiredness that took hold of the village.

I entered the tavern, brushing aside an overeager Vigilant who liked the look in my eyes and wanted to recruit me to his cause. There was a Dunmer, Erandur, being berated by the locals. He revealed that Vaermina was behind the town's sleeplessness. He needed to return to Nightcaller Temple, so I offered to help.

He led me there. Within the dilapidated interior, he had set up a small shrine to Mara. He told me about the Miasma, a gas that induces a deep sleep. It seemed an Orc raid had caused the temple's Vaermina priests to release it. We would have to face them, still alive and attacking in a dreamlike haze.

Clearly Erandur knew more than he should, as a priest of Mara. Yet Erandur's suffering and guilt was clear in his eyes. Maybe even reminding me of...

No. What's done is done. I pushed that thought away and pledged to help him. We cut through Nightcaller Temple, and soon I walked through a dream in order to release the barrier preventing us from reaching the Skull.

Fighting through the temple, we encountered two of Erandur's former comrades. The pain in his eyes was evident as we fought them, and I couldn't help but think of his lack of a true childhood. He had been inducted into the cult from birth, and we were now cutting down his former friends.

As he mounted the steps, Vaermina spoke in my mind, telling me that Erandur planned to betray me.  I ignored her. Erandur completed the purification ritual without a hitch.

He walked back down toward me, gloom suffusing his expression. "Forgive me if I don't appear relieved," he said. "The temple has taken its toll on me."
"Will you be okay?" I asked.

Erandur gave a humble smile. "In time, I hope..."

After a pause, Erandur offered his services to me. Surprised, I thanked him. He deflected my gratitude, saying I was the one who deserved thanks for helping the people of Dawnstar. Weighing the risks, I made a decision. "Erandur...let me introduce you to Daumbra."

---Evening Star, 11th, 4E 201---

When I returned to Winterhold with Urag's book, he looked like he was busy reading. So I put the book on the counter and made to turn away until he said, gruffly, "I spread the word among the orcs that you are Blood-Kin now."

He spoke quickly, as though embarrassed. I didn't know what Blood-Kin was, though, but it sounded important, so I thanked him.

He cleared his throat. "I heard from a certain Khajiit that you're gathering a team. Capable people to go against Umbra at Arcwind Point."

"Oh..." My stomach dropped. Did Urag want me to ask him? But he's a librarian, not a fighter. It would be too dangerous–

"Relax. I'm not asking you to ask me," he said. "But there are some Orcs I know, good friends of mine, who would be happy to lend their sword to your cause. The first is Ghorbash the Iron Hand, ex-Imperial Legion, loves adventuring but afraid to dishonor his Chief. He is loyal, stout, and unshakable. Worthy of your trust. He lives in Dushnikh Yal, south of Markarth.

"The second is Borgakh the Steel Heart, of Mor Khazgur. She longs for adventure beyond the boundaries of her life. If you can convince her and her father to let her go, she will gladly help you in your fight with Umbra."

"Her father?" I said, shifting uneasily. "I would hate to break up a family–"

"No," said Urag. "It is Borgakh's fate to be married to a man she barely knows, in another stronghold. Regardless, she will not see her father again. But I know she wants to do one great thing. She would not accomplish that great thing if she stays in her life now. So there you go, Elyssa. Two Orcs I trust, and you are Blood-Kin. You can enter the strongholds now and be considered a friend."

I swallowed, touched. "Urag..."

But Urag was making a show of turning away, shelving books. "It’s nothing," he said. "Just...be careful. That is all."

---Evening Star, 12th, 4E 201---

The team is assembled.

I did my best to warn Urag's recommendations about the dangers ahead. I showed them Daumbra, and they understood. Borgakh even had some personal history with Umbra. As it turns out, one of her ancestors wielded Umbra in the past, becoming a mad dog in the process. The Nerevar had to put him down. So she's all too ready to get her revenge on Umbra for old familial wrongs.

It's all set.

Aranea, the first one I recruited, Azura's priestess looking for a purpose after Azura stopped giving her visions. She knows Nelacar. She'll be okay.

J'zargo. My headstrong friend. We've shared many drinks together at the Frozen Hearth with Onmund and Brelyna, and he's proven to be more capable than I gave him credit for.

Erandur, the ex-priest of Vaermina, searching for redemption after the unfortunate events of his past. A kind man at heart…and now I want to believe that redemption is possible.

Ghorbash the Iron Hand. A boisterous orc, quick to greet me with a nostalgic smile as he spoke about his life as an adventurer. Eager to pledge his sword to one of Urag's friends. A good man to have on one’s side.

Bhorgash, the daughter of the chief, trapped in her cage and ready to fly free to seek vengeance against Umbra, who cast such a stain on her family history.
Time to go to Arcwind Point.

---Evening Star, 14th, 4E 201---

It was a trap. 

Arriving at Arcwind Point, my friends awaited me. Trusting me. I believed I had prepared them to be cautious when touching the soul gems. I was wrong. Umbra overpowered them, and Nelacar claimed they were now free from morality's chains. My friends attacked me.

Shocked, I tried to defend myself against their blows. I didn’t want to hurt them, and my mind raced for a way out of this, for a way to talk to them, to convince them, when a familiar voice broke my thoughts.

"Dearie! Follow me!"

Naenra. She had opened up a portal. I ran, and that was all I knew.

When I awoke in Purewater Run, Naenra informed me that Umbra had stripped away my friends' moral barriers. I struggled to accept this, protesting: "My friends would never attack me!"

Naenra explained that all creatures possess hidden desires, held back by self-restraint. Without morality, anything is possible. She offered to restore their mental barriers, but warned me of the consequences.

Guilt gnawed at me, and I refused to believe redemption was unreachable. Redemption, like Erandur's, had to be possible. Naenra sighed. “Let’s go to the portal, and talk more there.”

---Evening Star, 14th, 4E 201---

I have to kill three of my friends.

The thought of it is enough to sicken me.

I can't do it. I won't kill anymore for Naenra, especially not after she manipulated us into killing twenty people as a trust-building exercise!

There's a way to save my friends–there must be!

Think, Elyssa. Naenra claimed we needed to kill them so that we could go into Umbriel. Otherwise we would get kicked out. The essence of Naenra's idea is that we can use my friends' souls as 'disguises' so that Umbriel wouldn't recognize us. So we need three: one for Daumbra, one for me, and one for Naenra. Is there some way to get around this without hurting my friends?

I don't know. But what I do know is that I have to at least try. If I don't, then I don't deserve to be called a friend to anyone.

Naenra scryed three of my friends. Erandur is in the Gray Quarter of Windhelm. J'zargo is at Cliffside Retreat. Aranea is down in the depths of Cidhna Mine. She was unable to find the orcs.

And Nelacar...Nelacar is in some cave somewhere.

Who should I go after first? Aranea? Erandur? J'zargo? Nelacar? Who will cause the most damage?

Aranea is imprisoned...I suppose it's safe to leave her there for now. So that leaves Erandur, J'zargo, and Nelacar.

Nelacar was, Naenra described, a two-bit necromancer now. I've fought many of those at this point. So maybe it's okay to leave him for later too.
Erandur is in the Gray Quarter. And J'zargo is at Sorald's Cliffside Retreat.

My heart hurts, thinking of my bright and clever friend J'zargo. How his eyes flashed with primal delight after Umbra possessed him, as he attacked me. All those times laughing together in the dormitory, all those late nights drinking with Onmund and Brelyna at the Frozen Hearth, all those days when he annoyed Faralda with his questions, all those times when he watched my back in Fellglow and our other book-gathering enterprises...

I have to find him. I have to help him.

---Evening Star, 14th, 4E 201—

J'zargo was at Sorald's Cliffside Retreat, as Naenra had told me. Corpses littered the shack, and the air reeked of blood. J'zargo, naked and grooming, seemed unfazed. "Khajiit is disappointed," he said. "Khajiit expected a grand hunt."

My heart sank, horrified by what he’d become. "J'zargo, who are these people? Did you kill them?"

"They are khajiit's trophies. Memories of the hunt."

"But you're not a murderer..."

He laughed. "Would one call a sabre cat who kills a deer a murderer? Khajiit was merely obeying nature's law."

I felt sick. "But these are sentient beings."

He coolly compared his trophies to the body parts I collected for Daumbra. I stammered, but he ignored me, proposing a grand hunt. He had Hamid as a captive. Dread filled my heart as he described this twisted chase that we have no choice but to play. He raced away on all fours, and I couldn't catch him even on Daumbra.

"Well, well, dearie," said Naenra. "Don't fret. I can scry him with my Divination Orb."

"Please," I said, my voice ragged. "We don't have much time."

Naenra teleported away, leaving me and Daumbra alone. Dazed, my body sagged to the ground, and I sat on the floor.

It seems that J’zargo had given in entirely to his darkest side: the ‘beastly’ side that he claimed slept within him. The most disturbing thing was that even in this twisted J’zargo I saw the same ambition he always had, the same desire to push his own limits and challenge himself. It's just that now, the barriers holding back his id were gone.  Whatever dark thoughts his conscience suppressed were free to roam…

With this as the result.

My eyes grew hot. "Damn it, J'zargo...damn it....damn it...!"

Daumbra sat beside me, deep in thought. After some time, she spoke. "J'zargo...he's like a cart without brakes now. Running downhill."

"Yes. Umbra removed his brakes."

"Is a cart without brakes still a cart?"

I blinked, not prepared for the question. "Why...yes. It's a malfunctioning cart, but it's still a cart."

"So J'zargo, without brakes, is still J'zargo. And Umbra, without her memories, is..."

I caught where her thoughts were heading: towards a path so dark, I did not want to contemplate it. "Wait, no. Daumbra, stop. Memories are not like brakes."
"But...it's confusing!" Daumbra said, holding her head. "Umbra removed their brakes, and it's bad. But Ulves removed my memories, and it's...good? Beloved, it doesn't make any sense..."

"Good is complicated, Daumbra," I said, trying to appear strong for her so that she wouldn't have to doubt herself any longer. "But you're still you, making your own choices. Your memories make you who you are."

"Ulves raised me," Daumbra murmured. "With his influence and yours, I was shaped to be 'good'. But Umbra, with her background, had no choice but to be 'bad'. If we can forgive your friends..."

"...right," I said softly. "It's like how it was with Erandur.” And it was exactly this, I thought with a sting of guilt, that we denied Illia. “Redemption is always an option that someone can choose to take. Thank you, Daumbra. That gave me...a lot to think about."

---Evening Star, 15th, 4E 201---

Naenra returned. J'zargo was in a cave near Dragonsbridge.

Daumbra and I set off without delay. We were relieved to find Hamid safe outside, with Thornir. After a contentious conversation, in which I could tell that Thornir was taking my measure and judging my guilt, they left. 

Inside the cave we heard J'zargo chuckle, though the acoustics of the cave were confusing and echo-ridden. We couldn't tell where he was; only that he was deeper in.

"Khajiit prepared some, shall we say, surprises," he purred. "They were designed particularly for you, Elyssa."

"Surprises?" I shouted into the darkness as I took a step forward. "Is that something a beast would do? Surprises are–"

My tirade was abruptly silenced by agony – specifically, the bear trap ensnaring my left leg. I let out an undignified yelp.

"Yes, that was one that was made for you," said J'zargo. "A bear trap, right at the beginning, for khajiit's friend who always leaps before she looks."

"Damn it," I muttered. J'zargo had accompanied me through many dungeons. He would know, exactly, my weaknesses.

And there were many. Rune traps. Door traps. But the most humiliating of all was the spike pit. Daumbra and I were going through the cave, and I stepped forward into...

...a pit. Specifically, a spike pit. If not for my enchanted armor, I would be dead, but even with that, I was seriously hurt, to the point where I had to gulp down several health potions. As Naenra teleported me out. Daumbra fretted over me. "Be more careful, Elyssa!" she scolded.

"Right," I muttered. "I will. I will–"

...

...

...

Must I admit this? I fell into the spike pit a second time. This time, Naenra couldn't contain her laughter.

"This J'zargo truly knows you inside and out, doesn't he?" she said.

"C-come on, Elyssa," said Daumbra. "It's...it's this way. Here, follow me, very carefully, okay?"

---Evening Star, 15th, 4E 201---

We found J'zargo. He was waiting for us in the depths of the cave, honing his claws.

"Khajiit lied about the boy," said J'zargo. "Younglings are no fun to hunt, and this one couldn't bring himself to. Khajiit lied, so that you would find him here. Khajiit had always enjoyed hunting with you and Daumbra."

"J'zargo–"

"Now," said J'zargo, standing to his full height. "Show me a grand hunt."

We had no choice but to subdue him, but at its end Naenra asked me what to do. Without hesitation, I told her to spare him. With that, Naenra undid whatever it was Umbra did to J'zargo's mind.

Upon regaining consciousness, J'zargo's eyes widened, his breaths shallow and rapid. He shook his head, gripping it tightly, and murmured, "No...no..."
"J'zargo," I spoke cautiously, "Are you...okay?"

"Umbra removed this one's leash," J'zargo's voice was desolate. "Umbra...revealed the monster J’zargo truly is, on the inside..."

"No, J'zargo," I protested, my heart aching for my friend. "Umbra twisted your thoughts–"

"Umbra only showed this one true freedom," said J'zargo quietly. "What this one would do, free of mental barriers. And what this one was, was a monster."
I stared at him. "But–morals, ethics, a conscience, that is still a part of our self–"

"Thank you for forgiving me, friend," said J'zargo heavily. "But this one does not know if he can forgive himself." With that, he wearily got to his feet, went to his chest, and took out his clothes: his old College robes. After he changed, he made to leave. So dark was the aura around him though that I reached out and grabbed his arm.

"J'zargo, wait," I said, horror crawling up my throat. The cheerful J’zargo I once knew…was he gone forever?

He gently removed my hand from his arm. "Don't worry, Elyssa," he said. "This one is only going to reflect. Thank you for your forgiveness."

With that, he walked into the darkness, leaving my heart heavy and confused...

---Evening Star, 16th, 4E 201---

Erandur next. My ex-Vaermina friend, who devoted his life to quiet redemption under Mara. I have to admit, I wasn't sure where his 'unleashing' would lead. Would he return to being a Vaermina cultist, or...?

In any case, Daumbra and I headed to Windhelm. It was a gloomy city already, but the atmosphere when we entered was tense. We asked around about Erandur, but no one had any answers. No one other than a female Dunmer named Suvaris. She quizzed me about my thoughts on Nords and Skyrim, then handed me a flyer: ‘Beware the Butcher...still’. 

It was a manifesto, a message from the downtrodden Dunmer that they've had enough. A new Butcher was in town–or rather, they claimed that the Butcher never left and that Calixto was merely a fall guy. At the end, it promised an ominous night of the knife.

"Meet me at the Cornerclub after midnight," she said, and left.

And so we did. Turns out she wants me to do a little breaking and entering: Viola, from the previous Butcher case, has gathered evidence that points to the new Butcher, who I now believe is likely Erandur. My task is to remove this evidence.

Takes me back to Riften. So be it.

---Evening Star, 17th, 4E 201—

Erandur was the Butcher, just as I feared. The Dunmer in Windhelm were distrustful, armed, and seemingly set on Erandur's plan of fighting violence with violence. After earning Suvaris' trust, Daumbra and I ventured into Calixto's basement. 

Within, we found two Nords under a grate, begging for help. Erandur appeared, cold and armored, a far cry from the warm priest I once knew. He admitted to orchestrating the violence, believing it was the only way for his people to be heard. 

"This is going too far," I protested.

"Hmm. Too far? That's rather rich coming from you. After all, you were the other one who took up the Butcher's work, correct? Or is it okay when you do it, because you only kill beautiful women?" Erandur's voice dripped with sarcasm.

I paled, my voice numb as I fumbled for my justifications. "Erandur, that's different. The people I killed were bandits, people who hurt others—"

"How fortunate for you, Elyssa, that you were not born a Dunmer," said Erandur. "Otherwise, you'd know just how much suffering my people have to go through, each day. You can walk around Windhelm free as a bird with your head held high, but us? Everyone here looks at us with disgust, with loathing, with hatred."

"I...I understand that, but killing people is not the answer," I stuttered.

Erandur gave a low laugh. "We were peaceful before. It didn't help. The savage people of this savage land understand only one tongue: violence. I've inspired my people in Windhelm to take up the cause of the Night of the Knife. You know, Elyssa, there is little difference between you and me. Your denial disgusts Umbra too, did you know that?"

I tried to deny his words, but despite myself they wormed their way into my heart. All I could say was, "If you were yourself, you'd understand that it's not the same."

Erandur's eyes hardened. "So are you going to stop me?"

"I don't want to fight you," I said. "I just want to help you. Please, don't you remember your vow to Mara? Her love and affection can be found in the hearts of all mortals. If you can remember that–"

"Enough," said Erandur, his voice cold. Then, he attacked us. I managed to hold him off long enough for Naenra to work her magic and save him...
...leaving him dazed and forlorn when he came to.

"Elyssa," he said weakly, raising his head. "I don't know if I can forgive myself, this time. I've done so many awful things...I need to turn myself in."

"It wasn't you," I tried. "It was Umbra's influence, it..."

But Erandur's eyes were clear. His voice dull, he echoed J’zargo’s words: he acted not on Umbra’s influence, but rather on his darkest desires. He resolved to turn himself in. My words fell on deaf ears. He left, seeking to punish himself.

When I left the basement, I saw Thornir, still suspicious. His parting words echoed in my mind: "May we both find it. Justice."

The meaning of that word is becoming ever more unclear…

---Evening Star, 18th, 4E 201---

Aranea is holed up in Cidhna Mine: Skyrim's highest intensity prison.

I went immediately. I didn't want to think about anything; I didn't want to think about Erandur's words, worming around inside my heart, or the haunted look in J’zargo’s eyes.

Cidhna Mine was a dark and dank place, a hopeless miasma permeating the atmosphere. I shivered when I entered; it brought back bad memories. Memories of the vampire who enslaved me so long ago.

I shook it off.

"Only prisoners are allowed here," said a gruff Orc, blocking my way.

"I need to see someone," I said.

She glared at me. "No visitors."

I begged. Pleaded. Cajoled.

Nothing.

Dejected, we headed out of the mine, only to run into a murder scene. Almost immediately after, a sketchy man dropped a note near me. It read: 'Meet me at the Shrine of Talos at midnight.'

Intrigued, I followed up on this lead. Turns out there's a sort of conspiracy here involving the Forsworn. Eltrys, the man, thought that an outsider such as myself would be best suited to investigate.

Somehow, I sense that this may just lead me to Cidhna Mine…so I accepted.

---Evening Star, 19th, 4E 201---

Long story short: I'm in Cidhna Mine. Apparently, the Silverbloods take offense when people meddle in their affairs. The King in Rags, Madanach, is here, having struck a deal with the Silverbloods to get the Forsworn to attack their enemies. But he's rebelling, giving them conflicting orders. When I returned to report my findings to Eltrys, an ambush awaited me.

Stripped of everything, they threw me into the prison. As I rose from the dirt, I spotted Aranea, clad in prisoner's rags. She gasped upon seeing me. "Elyssa! You...you're imprisoned too? And…your scars…"

Ah. My ever-present reminders of my past enslavement to a vampire. I brushed it off. "Forget the scars. And yes, we're both stuck here."

Guilt washed over Aranea’s eyes. "Back at Arcwind...I'm sorry. Umbra controlled my mind. I was too weak to resist."

Erandur and J'zargo had informed me that Umbra didn't 'control' them, but rather removed their moral restraints. So I couldn't help being suspicious.

"She controlled your mind?" I asked. "Why are you here?"

Aranea looked down. "I killed some Dibellan harlots. I thought it's what Azura wanted. But I'm myself now. I'm your friend again. Azura drove Umbra from my heart."

Hearing her words, my heart ached. I longed to believe that the woman before me was the same one who helped me restore Azura's Star–the dependable priestess who believed it was fate that brought us together on that snowy Winterhold day.

After so much moral compromise and Erandur's accusations, I desperately needed someone to reassure me. Aranea's clear gaze stirred hope that maybe I could regain my friends, just as they were before.

"I see," I said. "Let's escape first. We'll deal with everything later."

Aranea nodded. "Yes, Elyssa. You ought to wear something first, though."

She handed me some rags, which I donned. Time to descend into the depths.

---Evening Star, 20th, 4E 201---

Got to know my fellow inmates. Ulraccen appeared gruff but kindly filled me in on the prison's workings. The conditions are brutal; food is scarce and death from overwork or starvation is common. As for Madanach, Ulraccen informed me that he is guarded by Borgul the Beast, a massive Orc adorned with a skull tattoo.

While working in the mines, I met Kari, a Forsworn agent, and Della, who survived through prostitution. Duach, a quiet Forsworn, had been here for seven years. There were many more too, each with their own stories.

Aranea worked the mines as well, uncomplaining. Her priestess' build seemed ill-suited to this sort of labor, and she often had to stop to rub her hands.

"She's a strange one, Aranea," Della said sourly to me, out of her earshot. "She slaughtered a Dibellan priestesses in the town square with nary a care. Guards said she was bathing in their blood when they caught her. I wouldn't trust her."

"It's a long story," I mumbled. "She wasn't entirely herself then."

"But she was partially herself?"

For that, I struggled to find an answer. Umbra might have unleashed her dark side, but the deeds were still hers.

Yet, unlike J’zargo and Erandur, Aranea seems unburdened by her past actions. Maybe her faith in Azura allows her to see things differently, or perhaps Azura cleansed her guilt. When I speak to her, she remains the same stern Aranea. Considering her role as a priestess of Azura, gifted with visions, could she be special?

Regardless, I need to figure a way out. Borgul seems bribable.

---Evening Star, 21st, 4E 201—

Borgul was swayed by my offering of a shiv. He granted me access to Madanach.

"You're a caged animal now," Madanach said when I entered. "What do you want?"

"My freedom," I replied.

He sneered. "Even if you escape, your name is tainted with blood." He knew about the Karthspire attack, and accused me of meddling in their affairs. He called me a slave, crushed under the Nord's boot. He suggested I speak to Braig to understand the city's corruption.

Braig was imprisoned for talking to Madanach, his daughter executed in his place. Now, he was fueled by a desire for vengeance against the Nords. A tale of fighting and hatred with no innocents, only the guilty and the dead.

I left deep in thought. Aranea asked me what I was thinking about.

"Did I tell you about Erandur?" I said. "He went to Windhelm to take up the work of the Butcher. He was killing Nords who oppressed the Dunmer of the Gray Quarter, and he even spearheaded a plan: the Night of the Knife. When I found him, he asked me what was so different about his killing compared to mine."
Aranea's eyes widened. "Are you troubled by this, Elyssa? It's clear how it's different. The people you killed were for justice. Bandits and necromancers and madmen who wanted to hurt people. Like the crazed mage you cleansed from Azura's Star."

"Right," I said bleakly. "But...it's like a cycle. Hatred causes more hatred. I killed a bandit once; I don't even remember her face. But she had a family...and she was precious to them. And now her brother won't rest until he finds her killer."

"It's a violent world," said Aranea quietly. "There is a war going on, and many wicked people are around to take advantage of it. There's nothing wrong with raising your sword to defend those who cannot defend themselves. Rest easy, Elyssa. You are a hero."

With that, she left, called by a guard to get back to mining...

...leaving me, once again, deep in thought...

---Evening Star, 22nd, 4E 201---

I told Madanach Braig’s story. He was itching to escape. But first, he wanted me to prove my loyalty by killing Grisvar the Unlucky, a snitch who'd outlived his usefulness. Despite Madanach's cold words, I couldn't do it. Instead, I warned Grisvar and told him to hide.

Madanach was fooled. We broke out of Cidhna Mine, and I recovered my armor. Aranea, Naenra, Daumbra, and I sought refuge at the Silverblood Inn, amidst the chaos of the Forsworn attacking the city.

Now: Naenra and Aranea. Neither of them seem to trust each other. On the way out, Naenra continually nagged Aranea with small questions, like the location of the black soul gem, and what she did the first day she arrived in prison. Aranea answered nervously, glancing back at me, and asked for Naenra's trust...but Naenra only 'hrm'-ed.

For now, Aranea is traveling with us. She wanted to redeem herself, and wanted to do so by our sides. I couldn't see any reason to refuse. After all: I trust her...don't I? She could have stabbed me in the back at any point during the escape, but she didn't. 

This isn't the same Aranea as the one in Arcwind Point...I'm sure of that...

---Evening Star, 23rd, 4E 201---

At Brood Cavern, where Nelacar is.

Nelacar wants to churn through black soul gems so that Umbra can inhabit multiple swords, and thus, multiple flesh bodies. He set up a barrier, and according to Naenra, it's maintained by a Keeper.

Which..sounds awfully familiar. Because Aranea told us about it. Ghorbash: the ex-Imperial orc who wanted to see the world again. His lifeforce is maintaining Nelacar’s barrier. And he's in Silent Mist cave...

Could it be that there's no way other than to kill him? No! There must be a way! I asked Aranea, and Daumbra, but neither of them have much knowledge on this. Only Naenra does, and she claims that there is no answer. I don’t believe her. I must find a way.

Speaking of which...Naenra still doesn't trust Aranea. This is despite her watching our backs on the way to Brood Cavern, and despite her coldly glaring at Nelacar, even wincing when he talked about the Black Star. What would it take for Naenra to trust her?

Still, there's no time to waste. We have to find Ghorbash so we can tear down the barrier to Nelacar's cave.

---Evening Star, 24th, 4E 201—

As we journeyed to locate the elusive Keeper Ghorbash, we pitched camp between Windhelm and Riften. Naenra hovered close by, making pointed coughs and attention-seeking noises. Finally, I asked, "What is it?"

She pulled me aside to confide her suspicions about Aranea. But instead of offering proof, Naenra suggested beating her. I promised to talk to Aranea, though Naenra's words left me unsettled.

Approaching Aranea, I questioned her about our plan to stop Umbra. She expressed her willingness to discuss it in private, but Naenra barged in, accusing Aranea of deception. Aranea calmly countered, reminding me of the times Naenra had manipulated me.

As I listened to Aranea's words, my gut churned. I remembered Aranea's eyes back in Arcwind, frightened and unsure, when I gave her the cursed soul gem. I remembered the anger I felt when I harvested those ten bodies for Daumbra, only to return to Purewater and find Naenra flaunting her new body. And I remembered getting possessed by Umbra after replacing the godflesh, and Clavicus' malicious words...

"Elyssa!" Naenra's shout snapped me out of it. "Aranea’s clearly corrupted by Umbra. Attack her now!" 

I stared at Naenra, but didn't say anything. Aranea continued. "It was wonderful that you showed up at Arcwind, Naenra, but weren't you a little late? Shouldn't your Divination Station have shown you that the soul gems were a trap? Could it be that what you really want is everyone dead, so that you can enter Umbriel?"

"H-how dare you!" Naenra sounded agitated now, an uncharacteristic note of outrage in her voice. "You can't understand why I do the things I do. Nobody does!”

Naenra turned to me. “I didn't know what happened at Arcwind until it already happened. It was a flash of energy that alerted me! I...I saved you!" She took a shaky pause. "I really do care about you and Daumbra. It's just...hard to say sometimes." Then her voice rose. “But this woman–Aranea–is clearly controlled by Umbra. Only Umbra would say these things! She lied when she said Azura chased her out. She's just like the others!"

"No," said Aranea, her voice cool and measured. "I am not like the others. I can travel with you, and prove my worth. After all, if I was still working with Umbra, why didn't I attack you during the chaos of escaping Cidhna Mine? Why didn't I attack you while you were inside Brood Cavern, with Nelacar? I want to help you stop Umbra." She looked straight at me, her red eyes meeting mine. I saw no doubt in them. "If you don't believe me, then I will prove myself to you in our travels ahead."

I thought it over. Naenra's emotional outburst was so uncharacteristic that I believe her. And Aranea raised good points too. I know that Umbra's victims have Umbra’s memories, and maybe also Umbra’s thoughts. I can't blame her for being suspicious of Naenra; after all, Naenra is suspicious of her too. Can't they both see that they want the same thing? They both want to stop Umbra. Maybe I can help mediate between them. Maybe if we travel together, I can help them trust each other.

"You can keep traveling with us, Aranea," I said at last. "I trust you."

Aranea's face broke out into a smile. "Thank you, Elyssa. I promise you: your trust will not be misplaced."

---Evening Star, 25th, 4E 201--- 

We discovered Ghorbash, injured and surrounded by lifeless bandits, hidden within a concealed cave. As we approached, his gaze met mine. "You."

"Ghorbash," I said, holding up my hands. "Hold still. I don't want to hurt you."

He snorted, standing up. "Hmph. You're so arrogant, Elyssa. You can't comprehend Umbra, nor us. Her world will be fair, even if you dislike it."
I gestured to the bodies. "Did you do this?"

"No, Borgakh did. She's going to become the first female Chieftain, chosen by Kynareth." I was puzzled; how could a Divine choose someone corrupted by Umbra?

Regardless of my thoughts, Ghorbash demanded an honorable Orc's death. Despite all of my protests, he charged and impaled himself on my sword. Horrified, I gazed into his eyes as life faded from them. 

I killed my first friend.

I wondered about the meaning of an honorable death, staring at Ghorbash's lifeless gaze. Did I grant him that? Or did he seize it himself? Did I let him down by not fighting him, like he wanted? Within this situation, I recalled Sorald: the defiance in his eyes as he chased that same desire.

With a heavy and confused heart, I left the cave…

---Evening Star, 26th, 4E 201---

I found Borgakh, her arms crossed, surveying Dushnikh Yal.

"So, you are here," she said coldly.

I spoke, but already from her tone I felt no hope. "Borgakh, please don't move. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to free you from Umbra's influence--"

"Arrogant," she sneered. "Umbra warned me about you. What right do you have to interfere?"

"The orcs don't want to be Umbra's slaves–"

"Slaves?" She laughed. "Umbra liberated me. As the first female chieftain, I'll spread her message."

"You don't know that," I said, insecurity gnawing at me. "If you were yourself, you'd know this is wrong."

She challenged me with Kynareth's gift – the Armor of Morihaus. I couldn't fathom why the Divine would give her it, but I saw Borgakh's newfound strength and conviction. What did Umbra offer these people? What purpose was she instilling?

As we fought Borgakh, I could tell that she was strong, her enchanted armor healing her wounds. She pushed me back and I called for Aranea's help, only to find her cruelly smiling. Betrayed, my heart sank as she summoned an Ice Atronach to attack me. It was Naenra who saved me, reminding me to use Daumbra. I threw her, and she fought the Ice Atronach off, allowing me to recover.

Borgakh's regeneration was relentless, but we first had to defeat Aranea. Once she was down, I teleported Borgakh away. As I looked at the broken Aranea, I mourned the delusional hope I had that I could ever see my friends the way they were before all of this happened.

"Spare her," I told Naenra.

"Dearie, it seems math isn't your strong suit. We don't have enough soul gems–"

"There's another one," I said. "Sorald."

Naenra paused. "I do recall a burst of energy...but do you know where it is?"

"His child, Hamid, has it."

"Clever," said Naenra. "Very well, Aranea is saved. Now hold still, Aranea!"

Naenra restored her. Aranea sat there, shivering, for a long time. And I saw that she, like J'zargo and Erandur, was...broken with guilt.

"I need to make amends," she said, her eyes glassy. "All those priestesses..."

"Do what you feel like you have to do atone," I said, my voice dull as I silently said farewell to the Aranea I thought I knew.

"I will. Thank you, Elyssa, for sparing me."

With that, she wandered into the wilderness. We watched her go, and then looked back at Dushnikh Yal.

My heart is heavy, but there is no time to delay. We must get information about Borgakh...

---Evening Star, 26th, 4E 201—

Murob, Borgakh's mother, was exiled due to a dispute with a chieftain. That explains the despair I saw in Borgakh's eyes when we first met. When we visited Murob, things got complicated. Turned out Borgakh sent her a note accusing me of being Clavicus' minion, which Murob believed. Naenra suggested using Murob as a hostage to obtain Borgakh's armor, but I was hesitant to use a mother against her daughter.

However, time was of the essence, and I had to make a choice. Even so, I knew this: regardless of what I picked,  Borgakh would no longer be my friend. Be it by death or by holding her mother hostage, our friendship was over. But only one option would spare her life. 

So, we took Murob hostage. I told Borgakh that I meant no harm, but my words rang hollow as her mother was bound beside me. I couldn't bear the sight of her anger and humiliation or the sound of Murob's sobs. 

Afterwards, I picked up the armor of Morihaus, my heart numb.

"Now dearie–"

"Save her," I interrupted Naenra. "We're saving her."

"This time, I really have to put my foot down," said Naenra. "We need her soul gem."

I turned and glared at her. "You told me that holding her mother hostage was the only way to save her. You're backing out on your words now?"

"I told you that holding her mother hostage was the only way to prevent her from having a horrible death," said Naenra calmly. "We are not going to give her a horrible death, isn't that right dearie? We'll give her a clean one, an honorable one." 

No. No. Every part of my body rejected this, rejected what Naenra was saying. Borgakh must live. After Ghorbash, I swore I won't lose any more friends. I needed to save them.

And there was only one idea that I could think of.

"We can give someone else a black soul gem," I said, the words dropping from my lips like stones.

"What? You realize that Umbra needs to approve of these choices, right? She won't influence just anyone."

"She'll want to talk to us, I'm sure," I said, the words moving quickly now, all in a rush. "Why would she possess Sorald? Why else other than to talk to Daumbra and me?"

"This is too risky!" Naenra cried. "If this doesn't work, then we'll lose our chance at Umbriel!"

"It will work," I said, looking at Naenra. "Save Borgakh."

A silence. Then...

"Fine. Fine!" Naenra grumbled. "Saving Borgakh it is. But understand, Elyssa, that Umbra won't possess just anyone. It has to be–"

"–someone unique and special," I finished. "I know. Just like Daumbra..."

"As long as you understand that," Naenra warned. "Very well then. Hold still, Borgakh."

And so she cured her. Borgakh, afterwards, stood there, her eyes dazed. She didn't crumple to the ground like the others. She simply stood there, as though waking up.

"So it ends," she said quietly. "I am, once more, alone. I suppose it was all...a fevered dream." She turned toward me. "We both made our choices. Now we have to live with them. Leave me. I would like to be with my mother now." 

With that, she supported the still-sobbing Murob, and the two of them disappeared into her hut. Such were our farewells.

There's Nelacar next. And then Hamid. And finally, the mystery of who I will choose to, this time, intentionally give Umbra's black soul gem to...

---Evening Star, 27th, 4E 201---

Nelacar was in his cave, the barrier gone. He had destroyed his soul gem, anticipating our arrival. We fought him and a host of Umbras, discovering he had nearly completed a plan to manifest her using black soul gems. I spared him, despite our past. Nelacar left a broken man.

And now for the matter of the soul gems. I sent Naenra to scry for Hamid. Afterwards, Daumbra spoke.

"Beloved...there's something I want to tell you," she said, her voice quiet. "If you have the time. It's about Naenra."

"Of course. What is it?"

"I've become quite adept at controlling the minds of our enemies by now, and I've noticed that after I do, they all have a strange...texture afterwards. Mottled, maybe. Or broken. And the minds of your friends..."

I listened to her, dread pooling in my gut.

"...after Naenra cured them, the minds of your friends all have the same 'broken' texture.”

Her words dropped one by one in my consciousness. I felt sick. What does that mean? What was Daumbra saying? All this time I thought I was saving them.

That's why I argued so passionately for Borgakh's life, spinning up the tale of finding another person to give to Umbra. That's why I tried so, so hard to spare them, to save each and every one of them....

...and for what? For Naenra to break their minds?

"What if," Daumbra continued, "there was no 'back' for them to go back to? What if Naenra could only...change them forward?"

"So what are you saying?" My voice was ragged, harsh. "That we should've killed them?"

"I don't know, beloved," said Daumbra helplessly. "It's just hard. I know our motives are pure, but if it was anyone else..." she trailed off. 

But I already knew. She didn't need to finish that sentence. 'If it was anyone else, we'd call them evil.'

Because that's what this is. Evil.

I started all this the moment I put the black soul gems in my friends' hands. I could have walked away. I could have ignored this and my friends would have been safe. But instead, I put the soul gems into their hands even though I suspected it was a trap. Umbra broke their shackles. And now I'm forcibly brainwashing them, believing I'm making them 'go back to the way they were'. But there's nowhere to go back to.

If I could be possessed by Umbra, what kind of me would I see? Would I be free of all of this? This doubt, this confusion? If I look into Umbra's mirror, what kind of me would lay underneath?

All of my justifications...all of my actions...was it just selfish sophistry?

At the end of the day...what am I?

"What if Naenra–" Daumbra began, but before she could finish, Naenra portalled back in.

"I found Hamid!" she crowed. "He's in Winterhold. Let's go!"

---Evening Star, 28th, 4E 201---

We traveled to Winterhold, where we found Hamid trying to pawn his soul gem to Enthir. Enthir was lowballing him, though it also seemed apparent that the Bosmer was leery of the soul gem. Somehow, he can sense that there's something wrong with it. 

Hamid's dignity prevented him from selling the gem at such a low price. So I came in, and gave him all the money I had. Considering my poverty, it wasn’t much, but I wanted to do what I could for him. Hamid thanked me quietly, pressed the soul gem into my hand, and left. 

The real challenge lay ahead: deciding who to give the black soul gem to.

The hope was to communicate with Umbra through the gem, so she could possess someone. However, the plan seemed vague now that I had time to think. Would the person be possessed or unchained? I couldn't be sure.

In the case of possession, I trusted that Umbra could do it without harm, as she was more skilled than Daumbra. But could I trust her intentions? If it was unchaining, like with Borgakh, there could be positive outcomes. But would I need to kill the person afterwards for their soul gem? The idea sickened me.

Still, I don't think that Umbra is purely evil. Naenra herself implicitly agreed that there's the possibility that Umbra would want to talk to us directly. And if there's a way to get to Umbriel without bloodshed, I'll take it.

So: the question of the ideal person to give the soul gem to. No matter what, I'd be imposing something difficult on them. So it has to be someone trustworthy.
…and suddenly it's clear to me. It comes down to this: do I trust Umbra?

Do I put my faith in Daumbra's words about Umbra not being the evil monster everyone believes her to be? Do I trust in the sorrow that Naenra shows whenever she talks about Umbra, her wayward daughter? How can I show Umbra that I trust her, so that she can trust in us, such that we can go to Umbriel?
Writing these words, my heart is thumping. I could be thinking of this in the entirely wrong way. One false step, and I could find myself in a horrific situation: one where I might have to kill someone who truly doesn't deserve it. But if I trust Daumbra...and if I trust Umbra, who, as written in Nelacar's journals, has the same core as Umbra...

...Umbra, you're not a monster. My friends told me that. You were chased all your life, weren't you? You were hunted down by Clavicus for aeons, abused by power-hungry maniacs. By the virtue of being who you are, you've seen the worst of man and mer. And maybe you just got sick of all the hypocrisies. Maybe you got tired of all the lies people tell themselves to hide the parts that they're too ashamed to show. So maybe what you're doing, by unchaining people, is making them more honest. 

Surely you too are suffering and in pain....and maybe you too, don't want any more people to be hurt...

So, the person I choose to communicate with you, Umbra, must prove that you can trust me to enter Umbriel. Whoever I select must be prepared for any outcome. It would be reckless to promise them they won't die. That risk always exists.

There's one person I can think of. One person who saw what happened to me, one person who knows Daumbra, one person who saw the team I was putting together, one person who....who....must have talked to J'zargo afterwards: Urag.

Yet even as I write this, I know that this is a burden that may be too heavy for him to bear.

---Evening Star, 29th, 4E 201---

At the College, I hesitantly asked Urag to take the black soul gem, my voice trembling as I told him everything. Urag's eyes were filled with conflict, and I despised myself for what I wanted to request. He told me he couldn't trust himself if Umbra chose to unchain him, and I understood, my hopes shattering.

"Of course, Urag," I said. "I can't ask this of you. I understand. Just...thank you, for even considering it. I will try to think of something else to do. But it's...so hard."

Urag looked thoughtful. "You say that you wanted to use this black soul gem to communicate with Umbra?"

"Yes," I murmured.

"What about giving it to someone who was already in contact with Umbra?"

"Nelacar told me that it's no use giving it to someone who was already touched by her," I said, hanging my head. "It's like an immunity."

"Hmm. It's worth a try. Perhaps she can no longer cut their mind like a scalpel, but she can still possess their body to communicate with you."

I mulled Urag's words over in my head as I slumped into the Frozen Hearth. I wanted to send a message to Umbra that she could trust me. But ultimately, I was only thinking of myself. I wasn't thinking about what Urag himself wanted. And of course, it would be far too large of a risk...

Then I spotted Nelacar, hunched over a table, seeking solace in ale.

"Nelacar," I said.

He glanced at me, his eyes hollow. "Elyssa. What are you doing here?"

I told him everything: how I ‘saved’ Borgakh and Aranea, and how I needed another soul gem to enter Umbriel, to speak with Umbra.

Nelacar listened to my words, a humorless smile rising to his lips. "Quite a conundrum. And you think that I can help you with this?"

"You studied soul gems," I said. "You know more about them than anyone else. And I believe you...cared for Umbra, didn't you?"

"A servant's devotion for an unreachable mistress," said Nelacar bleakly.

I recalled Daumbra's words about the broken minds of those Naenra ‘saved’. Could Umbra, who understood them more than anyone else, help them?

"Nelacar," I whispered, drawing the black soul gem from my bag. "I apologize for what I did to you. When I asked Naenra to save you, I believed I was restoring you to your old self. But it seems there's no way for you to go back. Only forwards. Maybe if you touch this gem, you can find absolution by speaking with Umbra...the one who understands you the most."

Nelacar stared at the black soul gem, and I watched as the emotions warred in his eyes. Painful, agonizing hope twisted through him; I could see him longing for the self he was, when Umbra tore down the barrier between predator and prey.

"This is a very cruel thing to do, Elyssa," said Nelacar. "You forced me back into this cage. And now you offer me the key out. Haven't you tired yet of playing with my mind?"

"All I can tell you is that I don't wish you any harm," I said. "All I want is to understand Umbra as you understood her. If you could accept my request of being Umbra's vessel...then there would be no greater honor."

Silence. Then, Nelacar sighed. "What if I returned to the way I was?"

"It's your choice," I replied. "Knowing what you know and feel, would you prefer dying in Brood Cavern with Umbra's purpose or living as you are now?"

Nelacar's gaze swept across the dark tavern, a humorless smile on his lips. "To go back to serving Umbra, or to stay the man I am now, wracked with guilt, with no future before me. Is this atonement? Is this justice? To live as I am or to die as I was...I see your game, Elyssa. Very well." Nelacar put his cup back down and stood. "If you're giving me the choice, champion, then I'll tell you what I want. If Umbra sees fit to tear down my barriers once more, and we become enemies, then kill me if you can. But," a ghostly smile tugged his lips. "If Umbra deems me unworthy of her, and leaves me the man I am now...leave me here, so that I may drink away my life in delirium. Understand?"

"I understand," I said.

"Very well. Give me the black soul gem."

And, to my astonishment, it worked. Nelacar rose in the air, and eldritch murmurs filled my ears before dissipating.

And there stood Umbra, in Nelacar's body.

"Nelacar," she murmured. "So you picked him. How cruel of you. But why did you do this?"

I took a deep breath and proposed a truce to stop the bloodshed. Umbra’s voice turned sharp, questioning my motives, calling out my hypocrisies in the name of the "Greater Good." My guilt resurfaced, but I remained steadfast, wanting to understand why Umbra hurt Daumbra.

Umbra denied that she wanted to hurt her; she merely wanted to share her knowledge with Daumbra and learn from her. Her face-as-Nelacar filled with pain as she said that she wanted to understand emotions she never knew.

"In that case...can we speak in Umbriel?" I asked.

I could not read Umbra’s expression behind Nelacar’s borrowed eyes. "Fine. Here. Since you asked: a soul gem. If you had only asked earlier, I would have done the same for any of your five friends. As for Nelacar," Umbra's eyes grew soft, almost pitying. "There is only one thing I can think of to do for this poor soul. Nelacar…by the time I exit your body...all of this would have been a fevered dream."

After handing me the black soul gem, Nelacar slumped to the ground. Then, with a jolt, he came to. His wild eyes focused on me, filled with fear. There was no trace of recognition in his eyes. Wordlessly, he fled. 

I looked after him, then refocused myself. Time for Umbriel.

---Evening Star, 29th, 4E 201---

Umbriel. A dark land. A morbid, crushing, despairing place, where the atmosphere is heavy and the light gloomy. As I made my way gingerly through the cave that led to Umbriel, I felt a disquiet work its way through my gut.

Outside, I saw a great gate with a purple barrier. Standing before it was a ghostly form: Ghorbash.

I approached him, and he spoke of Umbra's promise of his survival. I apologized for not saving him, but he sneered at my arrogance, accusing me of being manipulated by Naenra. She impatiently urged me to kill him. I hesitated, wanting to hear his side; the last thing I could do for my erstwhile friend. 

Ghorbash explained that scattered throughout Umbriel were fragments of Umbra's memories. He challenged me to a battle worthy of Malacath. No more would I let him down; I gave him the fight he wanted. After defeating him, we set out to find Umbra's memories.

We found the first. Elhul's. A hulking monster confronted us, hewn of bone and viscera. After we defeated it, something pulsed behind my ears, and a memory flooded my brain.

It was Elhul, sobbing. He had killed his mother and his sisters. And I heard Umbra's voice, gentle, comforting him.

"Why should you feel guilt over things you never did? You just happened to wear the same flesh body. All that exists and all that will ever exist is the you of right now. If you feel guilt, Elhul, I will bear them. You may have wielded me, but it was I who lit the kindling. Your guilt, and your fears...put them into my hands, and I will bear them for you. I am strong...and there are many who wielded me in the past, many who will wield me after you..."

As I listened to Umbra's voice, a chill crept up my spine. These words...these very words....were these not the words that Daumbra said?  Weren’t these the very words she said to comfort me as I lay in Master’s pit, surrounded by corpses and bereft of purpose? Weren't these the words that she said to reassure me of the guilt I felt after Hamid and Sorald?

I looked at Daumbra, her face pale as she struggled with the memories that seem to be hers and yet not. We promised to get through this together, but a question plagued my thoughts: were Umbra and Daumbra truly one and the same?

---Evening Star, 29th, 4E 201---

Another memory. Ulves, gloating about how he managed to reforge Umbra into Daumbra. His plans for making her an instrument of justice. To teach her right from wrong. And at the end, Daumbra, quietly saying that she was hungry...

In that moment, knowing what I know about the two of them, I realized that there was a fact that I was blind to. Or rather, there was a fact that I tried to ignore...

Daumbra is a soul eating sword. Daumbra needs to eat souls in the same way people need to eat food. By virtue of her existence, she needs to kill in order to live. Even if I believe that my killing is wrong, if I want to be with Daumbra, I have to kill for her. This is the cold, hard truth of the situation.

All my thoughts about morality. All my thoughts about right and wrong. All my thoughts about wanting to end this cycle of violence...they come to naught.
Daumbra needs death to live.

A good person. The greater good. What meaning do these words have for me?

I delved into the Sightless Pit a half-dead slave, searching for power so that I could kill my master. Daumbra was the one who saved me. Daumbra, the one who taught me what it means to love...

From the moment I touched her hilt, I shackled myself to her path. The path of a killer, the path of the sword. There is no deviating from this. I need her, and she needs me. No matter how much this guilt plagues me I cannot die and I cannot leave her alone. For I know how much she fears being alone...

Onward, into the depths. Umbra, what is it you want to show us?

---Evening Star, 29th, 4E 201---

In a murky imitation of the Gray Quarter, we ventured into a cavern. Inside, we found phantoms—tormented Dibellan priestesses—and Aranea, someone I thought I had saved, someone who had no business being here, slaughtering them.

"Aranea," I said, eyes wide. "What are you doing here? I thought I..."

"What am I doing here?" Aranea replied, withdrawing her blade from another Dibellan priestess. Her voice resonated throughout the ghostly chamber. "Perhaps I should ask you the same. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for Daumbra now? You can kill for her. You can forsake your friends for her. What more?"

Her words struck me, slicing through my resolve. I tried to deflect. "And you? You're torturing these souls repeatedly."

Aranea's voice was cold and dismissive. "They deserve it. Umbra doesn't mind, and Azura understands. Besides, how is it any worse than what you've done for Daumbra?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice strained.

"Ah," Aranea responded, her eyes widening mockingly. "Could it be? Do you, of all people, truly believe you’re special?" She snickered—a harsh, malevolent sound. "Do you honestly think that Daumbra wouldn't have fallen for the first person who took her out of the Sightless Pit? You're a cradle snatcher, do you understand that? She had her memories erased. She was as innocent as a child. She depended on you to teach her right from wrong. She was unshaped clay in your hands, and you formed her into what?"

I couldn't help but absorb Aranea's words. They enveloped me, swirled in my mind, and resonated with a painful...truth.

"A body snatcher," said Aranea. "A sanctimonious murderer. Emotionally stunted, and hopelessly dependent on your approval. You are not her partner. You are not her lover. You are merely...another bad parent."

I couldn't bear it any longer. "Stop!" I screamed, clapping my hands over my ears. “Enough!”

But Aranea's taunts persisted. I couldn’t drown her out. "Yes, Elyssa. This is how you'll spend your days: killing your friends, over and over!"

She lunged at me. But I didn't defend myself. I just stood there, drowning in the weight of her accusations. The torment she inflicted, the blood oozing from my wounds – it all seemed just. As I crumpled to the ground, drained of strength, one thought echoed within me: I deserve this.

Who am I? An orphan. A slave. A hypocrite. What was my initial thought, injured and barely alive in the Sightless Pit, as I watched Daumbra soaring and fighting?

She was beautiful and powerful...while I...was weak. I was nothing but a fool bearing the scars of servitude. I took Daumbra...and I exploited her for vengeance. I shaped her with my misguided ideals...turning her into a hypocrite. Even worse...I made her depend on me. I tethered her to me with 'love,' ensuring she would never abandon me.

Eventually, the pain faded. Daumbra and Naenra had killed Aranea, somehow. They appeared by my side with words of comfort. Naenra insisted that this Aranea was an illusion, a physical embodiment of my deepest insecurities. She urged me not to listen, to understand that these were my darkest thoughts brought to life.

Yet how can I deny their truth? Regrets, self-loathing, and horror clawed at my throat. We managed to leave the cave, but I could not free myself from the doubts plaguing my mind…

---Evening Star, 29th, 4E 201---

At the stronghold, Borgakh in Kynareth's armor. I apologized, but it didn't matter. She attacked us.

"Stop! This is a trap," Naenra warned. We halted, witnessing the Lord's Mail consume Borgakh.

Moving on, we encountered a ghost by a fire. He shared his story: once Durgash wielding Umbra, now a spectral remnant. I called him 'stranger,' a fitting name for his lost identity.

He spoke of Umbra's past and quizzed me about what she desired. "Survival?" I guessed. He nodded, explaining her desire to change the world so she could live. By sharing her wisdom, all would be enlightened.

With this, I felt that I could begin to understand. Umbra spent her life in pain. Yet others did not understand her. So the only choice remaining was what she called a mutually agreed upon merging of the minds. A way to force others to understand. With that, a way to survive.

---Evening Star, 29th, 4E 201---

In this vast place, I am lost. Time? Irrelevant. A bandit's ghost confronted me, accusing me of her companions' deaths. 

My empty eyes met hers. "Did you ever regret your own crimes?" I asked.

Without hesitation, she said she did; that the other bandits regarded her as too soft for the bandit life. As we talked, Thornir appeared, revealing the bandit to be his long-lost sister, Lami. Seeing me, he was suspicious, and questioned the strange fate that twined our paths over and over.

"It's not fate, Thornir," I told him, "It's Mephala, meddling in your dreams."

Thornir turned to Lami, seeking confirmation of my guilt. Her voice calm, she denied knowing me and urged him to leave me be. Thornir insisted on avenging her, but Lami pleaded with him to choose life over death. "Use your strength to help others," she implored.

Reluctantly, Thornir agreed, promising to take Lami to the Spiral Skein before returning to Tamriel. They vanished.

Daumbra observed Lami's lie, but we both understood her reasoning: avenging her death would only perpetuate the cycle. Truth or lies, forgiveness or justice, we all choose our path. 

Soon, it'll be our turn.

---Evening Star, 29th, 4E 201---

Another tormented soul, lost in the wasteland. "I tried, truly! I left Pell's Gate, not wanting bloodshed. But her hunger... Irroke wouldn't listen. I had to feed her! What choice did I have?"

Mixed feelings of recognition and pity swelled within me. We continued on. 

Another monster. Another memory.

"I promised you power, Vuhon," Umbra said.

"And I'll rebuild the Ingenium," Vuhon replied.

"It's insufficient. I'm still bound to Clavicus Vile. We're not free. But there is one thing.”

"I won't deal with the Ideal Masters."

"You needn't," said Umbra. "Naenra prepared the Godflesh. A few hundred souls more..."

With that, Naenra's betrayal became clear. Her Godflesh was meant for Umbra, to free her from Clavicus. But Naenra deceived her, imprisoned her, and released Daumbra. Understanding dawned.

"Be patient, Umbra," Vuhon said. "What's a few more moons?"

"I'm weary, Vuhon. Unbreakable, yet broken. Powerful, yet empty. I long for rest."

As her words echoed in my mind, we ascended steps.

There, a stunted skeleton. A child? A memory surfaced: Zahrita and Ulfhild, children discussing Ulfhild’s twisted parents and the Bittercup. Ulfhild, who became Umbra, sought strength from Naenra.

"...I'm going to get strong, Zahrita. Just wait and see."

Daumbra confronted Naenra, trembling. "What happened? I need to know."

Naenra sighed. "Umbra was once human, with Clavicus-worshipping parents. I tried to help."

"You turned a child into a sword..." Daumbra said, horrified.

"I made her powerful and immortal," Naenra said, her voice cold. "Then I sacrificed it all for you at Arcwind Point."

I looked at Naenra then, sadness filling me at how she burned her bridges for Umbra for our sake. The aeons of memory they shared…I could only imagine the scope of Umbra and Naenra’s connection, the pain of the rupture in their ersatz family bond.

We continued onward.

---Evening Star, 30th, 4E 201---

Sorald. 

"So, we meet again, 'partner'," he said. "How is Hamid?"

I glanced at him. "His heart was broken. You should have stayed with him."

Sorald laughed bitterly. "How dare you? You were the one who killed me. As Umbra said, soon, all of Skyrim will know."

My mind flooded with retorts about the circumstances, but it seemed pointless now. Instead, I asked, "What is Umbra planning?"

"Liberation," Sorald replied. "You don't understand, champion. You don't know what it's like to be no one, to fail, to be worth nothing."

His words ignited a seething rage inside me. How could he claim I didn't know the torment of being nothing? I had once been an orphan... a slave.

"You don't know,” Sorald continued, “but I do. And I dare say, those of us who do know, outnumber you by a thousand to one."

As his words sank in, my anger faded. There was truth in what he said. With Daumbra, I had changed. I was no longer like the others, and I couldn't count myself among them.

"Umbra will open their minds," Sorald continued. "So they'll be like me. Fearless. Death will mean nothing. It's funny that embracing death is what it takes to truly live."

"I'm sorry, sir," I said. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

His sneer cut me deep. "What gives you the right to judge, to dictate what's good and evil? Who asked you to be a savior? You make me sick."

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps the notion of saving was nothing more than imposing my judgment on others. I felt drained, adrift. Aranea's words reverberated in my mind, intermingling with the conversations I'd had…onward.

---Evening Star, 30th, 4E 201---

The time had come, and the land was empty. I've faced all of Umbra’s memories and ghosts. Only Umbra herself remained. I mounted the steps beyond Lenwin, ascending to see her at her throne.

As I approached Umbra, she spoke to me, questioning my loyalties and my understanding of freedom. She asked Daumbra about her intentions. Daumbra's words were slow, uncertain. Then, Umbra turned her pitiless gaze to Naenra, and revealed that she had not been honest.

I looked to Naenra, who trembled with anger. "Attack her now! If she's distracted, I can still close the Sky Portal..."

“Daumbra,” Umbra said softly. “If your love for Elyssa is real, tell her the truth now.”

Daumbra stuttered, and I stared at her, wide-eyed. What truth could be so dreadful she couldn’t tell me?

Umbra's gaze hardened. "You're aware of how Naenra 'saves' people, and how she saved Elyssa at Arcwind Point. You sense it in her soul, Daumbra. You've known it from the start. Stop deceiving yourself."

No. This can't be true. I searched Daumbra's eyes for reassurance. None. She sobbed.

"My love is real," she choked, burying her head in her hands. "I don't care about anything else!"

Horror shot through me. Daumbra knew? And yet she never told me? Why? A heavy ache filled my heart then, a desire to comfort her, but I saw Umbra turn towards me. "Naenra cast a mind-control spell on you at Arcwind Point, during the thirty seconds you were supposed to hold on. She made you her puppet then, and you're still under her influence now."

"No, impossible," I stammered. "I know who I am. I know what my feelings are..."

"Just attack her already!" Naenra shouted. "The love is still real! I gave up my life–"

"No," said Umbra coolly. "She gave up her flesh. 'Forces in this world stronger than divinity'? You thought she meant 'love'? She meant 'revenge'."

I stood there, mind blank, as I listened to Umbra and Naenra. Umbra claimed that Naenra only wanted power, to take Clavicus’ place and become a goddess. Naenra claimed that going along with Umbra’s plan would only make the gods angry, and unleash a second Red Year.

I turned to Naenra. "If I'm controlled by you, how can I ask for my freedom?"

"It's already gone," Naenra said. "I’ve lifted the spell. You wouldn't have even thought of it if I didn't...I'm sorry."

I didn't feel different, but who knows? I had to speak with Daumbra.

I gazed into her eyes, recalling our first encounter, how awed I was by her strength and power. How strange that in this moment, I stood tall while she seemed lost and confused… or had it always been this way, and I simply never noticed?

I asked for Daumbra's thoughts, wanting to do what she wanted. It broke my heart to see her hesitate, uncertain. Aranea's words echoed: "emotionally stunted, and helplessly dependent on your approval." What had I done to Daumbra? Did I ever know how to love her? Or did I only bind her to me, control her? All this time, I thought we were in love. But perhaps I was too damaged to understand the true meaning of the word..

"No," I said, my voice heavy. "No, Daumbra. We have to decide together."

"But, beloved... all I want is to be by your side," Daumbra said, her eyes pleading. "Can't that be enough?" Her voice cracked, a sob emerging. "Why can't that be enough?"

I took a breath. "Because facing this is part of who we are."

Daumbra sniffled, and I let her cry. How long had I dragged her along, depriving her of making her own decisions through my selfishness, blindness, and arrogance? No more. No longer.

Eventually, Daumbra calmed down and looked at me. "If we let Umbra go through with this, will she alter the minds of everyone in Tamriel at once? I don't want that. But…if you go with Naenra, then she'll merge Umbra and me together. I don't want that either! I'm afraid if Umbra joins with me, I won't feel the same for you." Doubt flickered in Daumbra's eyes, and fear. "Does that... does that mean I'm insecure? Does that mean my love is less... less strong than..."

I shook my head. “No. Don’t think that. Thank you. I needed to hear your thoughts. We’re a team, and we need to make decisions together."

Three paths lay before us. First, to stand with Umbra and unchain all of Skyrim. The devastation would be unimaginable. More war. More pain. More suffering. Daumbra said she didn’t want this; thus, I didn’t want this either.

Second, to slay Umbra, ending her schemes for good. But I cannot. Not after understanding her. Not knowing she is, in essence... another Daumbra, the one I cherish.

The third, to unite Daumbra and Umbra. Umbra could learn to love. Daumbra could acquire Umbra's knowledge and wisdom. They would be whole. Daumbra didn’t want this, but…it felt like the ‘correct’ choice.

But I can't choose it. Why? Because I am selfish. Is there any point in denying it? I want to keep Daumbra. She saved me from my slavery. She stayed by my side. She made me who I am. Despite the nature of our love…even knowing the terrible truth in Aranea’s words…I cannot let her go.

I thought, and thought, and something presented itself to me.

I had deceived myself about my true nature. I claimed to be a hero, a force for good. But that was a lie, a facade to maintain my self-image.My morals were a mere veneer. Nothing was off-limits for Daumbra's sake. How dare I claim moral authority? How hypocritical have I been? How repulsive must I have seemed to others? If liberated by Umbra, what would I become?

And so, the hidden fourth option: to serve Umbra as her emissary. I would roam Skyrim, free of pretense, offering others the choice to be unchained. For true freedom is choice, and breaking chains against one's will is just another form of bondage.

Could Daumbra still love a doubtless Elyssa? I cannot say, but the other options are intolerable. No turning back. My doubts. My fears. My guilt. Who will I be after those disappear? 

From now on, Daumbra will guide me. She will be the chains I willingly wear. I turned to Umbra and made my offer. "I will be your herald. Free my mind first."

"Your mind..." Umbra looked surprised. "And then?"

"I will offer others the choice to have their minds freed," I said.

"But how can they agree?"

"They'll see me," I said. "I'll be an example of what true freedom means."

Good. Evil. Meaningless decorations of the heart. In the end, all we can do is live according to our will and desires.

Umbra considered this for a long while. When she next spoke, her voice was soft. "I see. I will remove your morals and your inhibitions. Your fears, your guilt. Your sense of sin. Everything that hinders you until all that is left is your will alone, raw and shining. Your will to live, and your will to love Daumbra with all your heart."

Umbra fell into silence, deep in thought.

"So," I said, "do you accept my bargain?"

Umbra accepted. A light flashed around us, and I felt my feet leave the ground. We were rising into the air. Dimly I heard Naenra protesting, but Umbra ignored her, telling me to go forth and free Tamriel.

With that, I felt...a lightening of the mind...an expanding of possibilities...a clarity of purpose that I've never had.

It truly is, the old Elyssa thought before she disappeared, like chains slipping away...

---Evening Star, 30th, 4E 201---

Back in Naenra's area of the Soul Cairn. When I came to, Daumbra was there, staring at me with wide, worried eyes.

"Beloved!" she said. "Are you...all right?" She peered at me this way and that, fretting. "You...are yourself, right?"

What a question. Was I still the Elyssa burdened by guilt, doubt, and fear? No. She was no more. My purpose has crystallized. Daumbra is all that matters now.

"No, Daumbra," I replied, "I am not my old self anymore. I have all these new ideas."

Her apprehension was palpable. "New ideas? Like what?"

I explained how Umbra was right about losing my shackles. Daumbra's face fell, but I reassured her that we could still choose nice things, and that my feelings for her were unchanged. We then spoke with Naenra, who wished to return to Tamriel before discussing further. Once back, I acknowledged her as family, for she was important to Daumbra. Naenra snarkily expressed her displeasure of the events, but eventually sighed, admitting that she was tired. I forgave her for what happened at Arcwind Point; it was all water under the bridge now.

“I’ve met many heroes during my time, but you? You’re all right,” said Naenra, a weary smile in her voice. 

Hero? After my emancipation, I knew I was no hero. If Daumbra desired me to be a hero, I'd gladly play the part. But deep within, Umbra's truth echoed: heroes did not exist.

---Morning Star, 1st, 4E 202---

Freedom is intoxicating. No longer are we bound to anything. As we made our way down to Markarth, we saw a merchant packing his wares. He was a Breton, like me. I was reminded of Naenra's words, of how she liked to spend time in High Rock.

Why not? Nothing ties us to Skyrim. I walked to the merchant. "Going to High Rock?"

He grinned at me. "What gave it away? My tired face? But I'm ready to go back home. You look like the dangerous sort. Wouldn't mind a bodyguard. You'd be paid handsomely, of course."

"Of course," I echoed. "I've always wanted to see High Rock."

The man winced. “Don't want to blow the wind out of your sails, but this is the East of High Rock, not the West. Don't want you to get the impression that all Bretons are like that..."

Ominous. Yet Daumbra and I got on the cart.

"New lands await, beloved," Daumbra said. "Oh, I'm so excited! I've never left Skyrim before. Well, I suppose Umbra did, but I didn’t..."

I laughed, happy to see her joy. "Right. New lands await, Daumbra."


------
By Vint.