Odahviing

"Oda! you look terrible! what happened?" She asked him worriedly, already rushing over with healing spells in hand.

[Odahviing grumbles and barely stirs from the curled up position he's laying in, contemplating his newest anxieties, to glance at the newcomer. Another one of the Dovahkiinne? He barely remembers this one, despite her obviously forward behaviour, so he supposes they didn't get to Skuldafn in her original kalpa: he used to get a grasp of what kind of person a Dovahkiin is, by the time they flew together. He grumbles further at the idea of having been left trapped in some of the kalpas that converged to the one he's now into.

He also grumbles more at the upcoming healing spell. How humiliating, to receive so much magicka from mortals these days... he is a mostly magical being himself!]

Nurcie, was it? You better be clear on which part is yours and which is mine, or I'd eat everything.

I'm not sure what a single potion would do for me, but it shouldn't hurt.

Yes, I suppose mortal ailments take precedence... and I'm remembering the pets. I don't appreciate that before I am on more casual speaking terms, and the wizard was quite stubborn about my scales... but that shall be forgiven, because this is a good trunk.

[He finishes it at the same time as the meat disappears, and he looks around her to see how the progress is going.]

A shame, mortals could craft that terrible shout, yet could never make one to make themselves sprout wings...

"I'm not one to really pay attention to time." She offered. I think I just wandered in trying to take a short cut through the mountains. Again, The fact that I can't fly is a tragedy. " she told him lightly as she finally pulled out her own food and sat down.

A perfectly adequate amount of food, Dovahkiin.

[He pauses to chew a pesky bone, before he shuffles closer to the feast and, as a result, to Nurcie.]

"Oda! you look terrible! what happened?" She asked him worriedly, already rushing over with healing spells in hand.

[Odahviing grumbles and barely stirs from the curled up position he's laying in, contemplating his newest anxieties, to glance at the newcomer. Another one of the Dovahkiinne? He barely remembers this one, despite her obviously forward behaviour, so he supposes they didn't get to Skuldafn in her original kalpa: he used to get a grasp of what kind of person a Dovahkiin is, by the time they flew together. He grumbles further at the idea of having been left trapped in some of the kalpas that converged to the one he's now into.

He also grumbles more at the upcoming healing spell. How humiliating, to receive so much magicka from mortals these days... he is a mostly magical being himself!]

Nurcie, was it? You better be clear on which part is yours and which is mine, or I'd eat everything.

I'm not sure what a single potion would do for me, but it shouldn't hurt.

Yes, I suppose mortal ailments take precedence... and I'm remembering the pets. I don't appreciate that before I am on more casual speaking terms, and the wizard was quite stubborn about my scales... but that shall be forgiven, because this is a good trunk.

[He finishes it at the same time as the meat disappears, and he looks around her to see how the progress is going.]

A shame, mortals could craft that terrible shout, yet could never make one to make themselves sprout wings...

"Oda! you look terrible! what happened?" She asked him worriedly, already rushing over with healing spells in hand.

[Odahviing grumbles and barely stirs from the curled up position he's laying in, contemplating his newest anxieties, to glance at the newcomer. Another one of the Dovahkiinne? He barely remembers this one, despite her obviously forward behaviour, so he supposes they didn't get to Skuldafn in her original kalpa: he used to get a grasp of what kind of person a Dovahkiin is, by the time they flew together. He grumbles further at the idea of having been left trapped in some of the kalpas that converged to the one he's now into.

He also grumbles more at the upcoming healing spell. How humiliating, to receive so much magicka from mortals these days... he is a mostly magical being himself!]

Nurcie, was it? You better be clear on which part is yours and which is mine, or I'd eat everything.

I'm not sure what a single potion would do for me, but it shouldn't hurt.

Yes, I suppose mortal ailments take precedence... and I'm remembering the pets. I don't appreciate that before I am on more casual speaking terms, and the wizard was quite stubborn about my scales... but that shall be forgiven, because this is a good trunk.

[He finishes it at the same time as the meat disappears, and he looks around her to see how the progress is going.]

"Oda! you look terrible! what happened?" She asked him worriedly, already rushing over with healing spells in hand.

[Odahviing grumbles and barely stirs from the curled up position he's laying in, contemplating his newest anxieties, to glance at the newcomer. Another one of the Dovahkiinne? He barely remembers this one, despite her obviously forward behaviour, so he supposes they didn't get to Skuldafn in her original kalpa: he used to get a grasp of what kind of person a Dovahkiin is, by the time they flew together. He grumbles further at the idea of having been left trapped in some of the kalpas that converged to the one he's now into.

He also grumbles more at the upcoming healing spell. How humiliating, to receive so much magicka from mortals these days... he is a mostly magical being himself!]

Nurcie, was it? You better be clear on which part is yours and which is mine, or I'd eat everything.

I'm not sure what a single potion would do for me, but it shouldn't hurt.

"Oda! you look terrible! what happened?" She asked him worriedly, already rushing over with healing spells in hand.

[Odahviing grumbles and barely stirs from the curled up position he's laying in, contemplating his newest anxieties, to glance at the newcomer. Another one of the Dovahkiinne? He barely remembers this one, despite her obviously forward behaviour, so he supposes they didn't get to Skuldafn in her original kalpa: he used to get a grasp of what kind of person a Dovahkiin is, by the time they flew together. He grumbles further at the idea of having been left trapped in some of the kalpas that converged to the one he's now into.

He also grumbles more at the upcoming healing spell. How humiliating, to receive so much magicka from mortals these days... he is a mostly magical being himself!]

Nurcie, was it? You better be clear on which part is yours and which is mine, or I'd eat everything.

I'm not sure what a single potion would do for me, but it shouldn't hurt.

"Oda! you look terrible! what happened?" She asked him worriedly, already rushing over with healing spells in hand.

[Odahviing grumbles and barely stirs from the curled up position he's laying in, contemplating his newest anxieties, to glance at the newcomer. Another one of the Dovahkiinne? He barely remembers this one, despite her obviously forward behaviour, so he supposes they didn't get to Skuldafn in her original kalpa: he used to get a grasp of what kind of person a Dovahkiin is, by the time they flew together. He grumbles further at the idea of having been left trapped in some of the kalpas that converged to the one he's now into.

He also grumbles more at the upcoming healing spell. How humiliating, to receive so much magicka from mortals these days... he is a mostly magical being himself!]

"Oda! you look terrible! what happened?" She asked him worriedly, already rushing over with healing spells in hand.

[Odahviing grumbles and barely stirs from the curled up position he's laying in, contemplating his newest anxieties, to glance at the newcomer. Another one of the Dovahkiinne? He barely remembers this one, despite her obviously forward behaviour, so he supposes they didn't get to Skuldafn in her original kalpa: he used to get a grasp of what kind of person a Dovahkiin is, by the time they flew together. He grumbles further at the idea of having been left trapped in some of the kalpas that converged to the one he's now into.

He also grumbles more at the upcoming healing spell. How humiliating, to receive so much magicka from mortals these days... he is a mostly magical being himself!]

[Odhaviing is just about to fly above Crow’s cabin for a quick check, when his name is shouted. As usual, he pivots where he’s needed, but there is no trepidation in the powerful motions of his wings: it seems like it’s one of the troublemakers, this time, and he’s calling near Solitude. If issues will ensue, they will likely be due to their shared efforts.

The hinges screech, and the large chamber beyond echoes its cries. Then silence, uninterrupted by his practiced steps. With a low stance and Auriel's bow in hand, he feels nigh-invincible; but something is odd. Missing.

He advances to the short flight of stairs, almost hiding behind one of the symmetrical pillars and brazier holders, where the sarcophagus rests. Holding his breath, he looks up to see if it's still sealed...

It's not. But beyond it... the metallic stench of spilled blood.

He pauses at the top of the stairs, taking cover while he looks forward. He can see the throne, the basins where he had once spilled Hevnoraak's essence to summon and banish him; as many other Dragonborn have done, doubtlessly. It is also not the source of the smell.

One step forward, and he finds it.

A figure... or rather, pieces of a figure leaning on the opposite side of the sarcophagus. Tattered dragon priest robes are poorly draped above a broken torso, separated from its limbs, opened in several spots, most of its blood splattered on the stone below. Were some of the wounds bite marks? The head is... also detached, tossed a little further, battered and with no protection in sight.

The lifeless face doesn't have a mask, but it doesn't take much imagination to guess his target was already gone.

Lurendil takes a breath. The carnage doesn't bother him, he's done worse; but he doesn't understand. Would one of the Dragonborn do this? Was it... someone else? Are they still around?

He nervously moves his free hand to cast Detect Life.

Nothing.

Detect Undead?

...also nothing. Why would there be no undead in a Nordic Ruin...?

...Already butchered. And there are no draugr in there... again.

As he gets closer, not even bothering to lower his stance, the sarcophagus comes into view. It's open.

Step after step, he notices the skull keys in their place too. The guardians must have been disposed of again. All that's left to see is whether Otar has been dismembered too...

No, there are no scattered chunks of flesh this time. Another robed body without a mask, however, is burnt to a crisp. One could still see the edges of the malachite cover, protecting the head with its enchantments before it was removed.

He lets out a dispassionate sigh. Explaining to the other Dragonborn that one dragon priest is missing, and two others were betrayed by a supposed ally won't exactly make his track record shine... he could just turn away immediately, but it's worth seeing if the killer is still nearby.

Detect Life... nothing.

Detect Undead...

His stomach cramps.

Rushing in from the Crypts and the Canal, is a blur of energy he has never seen the likes of before.

Are all the draugr in the Ruin about to attack at once?!

How could draugr disappear from their former court, if they were not just destroyed? Maybe they were so distraught at the fate of their priest, they left? Or... did someone else try to control them? At least a few arrogant figures of the dragon cult had tried stealing draugr from a different court, and that usually resolved in frenzied and agitated rebels. Would Faaskaalmir know of that, if he was, in fact, responsible for Hevnoraak's third death? Had he lived long enough to see those episodes?

As if on cue, nearly breathless screeches resound behind him. He turns, and is met with... an army?!

Enough draugr to fill half an ancient city are stumbling from the mountains, up the stairs, clanking their axes on their shields and preparing their ice spells. Where did they come from?! How did he mistake them for... anything else?!

Odahviing turns to face them, unfurls his wings, and roars in their direction. He used to be one of their gods, his sight alone should have them cower in fear... but they are, in fact, frenzied.

They lost their priest. They lost their eternal purpose.

As their arrows and projectiles start flying towards him, he has no time to spare any respect.]

[That is Odahviing's voice. Is the dragon in danger?! Never mind the draugr, he must go help him!

Lurendil casts Muffle and Invisibility, then turns on his heels and runs.

Down the stairs, up the stairs, turn around, turn again... thank Y'ffre for his speed! He gains considerable distance from the pursuers, and by the time he is out of the door...]

Odahviing?!

[The scene in front of him is worse than he expected: while many undead are already burned, burning, and falling apart, many more are charging, unleashing arrows and ice darts, and summoning Frost Atronachs.

The Dovah is already bleeding from multiple blows.]

Fus Ro Dah!

[He forcefully creates space in front of the other, already loosing arrows with the speed and accuracy that make him worthy of being called a Jaqspur, targeting other archers and mages as long as the distance allows them to be his main focus. As soon as the dragon behind him wheezes in recognition, he barks the only strategy he can think of:]

More from the door. You. I kill these.

[Odahviing growls in understanding, before he shuffles to the entrance, prepares to burn or chomp on the upcoming adversaries, and lets his posture slump closer to the ground.

Gods... he really is hurt. All Lurendil wants to do is to cast his strongest Restoration spells on the Dovah, but his hands and attention can't waver for a single moment. Why did he really have to come alone with him?! Why did he agree?!

By Bormah, it hurts. Everything hurts.

The draugr from within the ruin start rushing to the door, and it is not difficult to meet them with a stream of fire and teeth...

Some still manage to hit, still. So do projectiles from behind... past the Bosmer's own shouts, arrows, and slashing swords and spells when they get too close.

...How... humiliating... to be defended by a mortal...

...No... an ally... a friend...

...a... Dovahkiin...?!

While burning blood runs down his scales and his vision blurs at the edges, panic sets in. They are allies, friends... but... they can annihilate each other completely. That's one of the reasons Alduin can't make peace with their existence, isn't it? What if...

The draugr within start retreating, seeing their peers can't breach the Dovah's defence.

Except an overlord with a big, big greatsword... right into his palate, while his teeth bite into their skull.

...He...

He lets out a scream of pain, while his body starts to fail him. He has to... he has to fly away...

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shout, shoot, stab, slash, shoot, shoot, shout... a quick fire spell for good measure... repeat. He can't afford anything else, despite how handy a couple of atronachs could be. They all keep coming, his Dismay shout didn't work, maybe he can throw in a...

The fine hair on his nape raises when he hears that horrible sound from Odahviing. One he has heard from so many dragons before... but never from a friend.

Cold sweat runs through his body. He knows what comes next. He can't let it happen.]

Wuld Nah Kest!

[He launches himself down the platform, landing straight onto a group of draugr, and once again, he runs. Swords and axes bash into his armour, but he doesn't care, anything to get away from the dragon before his soul...

A larger draugr steps into him at just the right time to make him trip. He's not far enough... No, NO!!

With a scream, he launches at the undead to tear his throat open with his teeth. It's too late. Odahviing is going to be dead. He's going to be dead!! It's all their fault!! It's all his fault!!

With the newfound fury, he slashes madly at everything around him, screeching instead of shouting, twirling instead of slashing... until enough of a clearing is carved, and he can cast Fire Storm too.

When he's done, and those still standing finally retreat, Lurendil collapses to his knees and wheezes. Too drained to heal himself. Too winded to cry. Too horrified to look up at the large skeleton on the platform above.

Why... WHY?!]

...

[...but... why? Really?

Is...

The booming noise? The whirling in his head? The strange lights raising from the remains, and seeping into his bones with ancient knowledge?

It doesn't happen.

The Bosmer heaves as he stands on shaking legs, and he slowly, carefully climbs the stairs. Ready to flee if that were to change. Ready to...

Odahviing lays motionless in front of the door, bloody, broken, with nothing in his eyes and vapour on his scales, as his hot remains turn cold. That's... that's a dead creature. No doubt about it, but... he can't really be dead, can he?! He would... his soul would be leaving now, wouldn't it? That's not possible! That's the first thing he learnt about being Dragonborn, a Dragonborn absorbs dragon souls!

The Bormer stumbles, and doesn't bother getting up; he crawls to the corpse instead. He unfastens and throws his gauntlets aside, and grabs his horns as tightly as he can, pulling himself closer to the head that's so still...]

Odahviing?! Please, say something!

[Nothing. He's dead but he's not. What... what can he do?! He forces what little magicka he has recovered into a healing spell... nothing changes.]

Please...

[His hands slide down to the dragon's cheeks, and he holds on his skull as if that's going to bring him back. It won't.]

...

[So many ideas whirl in his head. Most of them awful and useless. He doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to fix this. Doesn't know if this can even be fixed.

...Until he remembers someone who, maybe, can.

With a few deep breaths, he lifts his head just enough to shout, and calls the only one who can bring his friend back.]

Al Du In !

(It wasn't until a distinct shift quaked in her chest, leaving a sudden emptiness in a space that once held her end of a torn connection, that he realised his soul had been trying to warn her of something dire, something he could have prevented, a loss that would plague the depths of his heart. He was no stranger to grief, but this... This was incapacitating. It seemed to scrape at his hollow insides, shoveling any remnants of hope and peace from him like flesh from a gourd, and she did not even know what she had lost.)

(Then he heard his name, distinctly called from the mortal plane. It was terrified, distant, yet clear in each syllable, shouted in the voice of that one dovahkiin... Lurendil, his name was. Alduin remembered him, was fond of him even, but did not know why he would call upon her so soon. As his focus drifted to the scene around Lurendil in search of context, he felt a wisp of dragonic energy near the dragonborn, the remnants of a fallen brother; a powerful one, too. He did not have to wonder who it was. He knew that soul, had seen it before it had a body to inhabit. Yet it took him a moment to process the fact that that body was even capable of death.)

(Finally, the realisation of what he has lost grasped at his wings and forced them into frenzied flight towards the summons. She prayed from her sunken heart that she was wrong; "please, father, if ever you have cared for the life you created, let me be wrong. Let Odahviing be alive and well, even if it means I must suffer for it." All that he could think of was the deep rooted terror she felt at the idea of losing her brother just after she had found him, and the desperation for just a bit more time, for just one more happy memory of him.)

(She had to be wrong. He couldn't stand the thought of being right.)

(But there, outlined by drab stonework that insulted his radiant crimson scales, she saw him, bloodied and broken. A being with an inner world so vibrant and full, so considerate and courageous, laid motionless upon the carvings of mortals. His friend who had grown to loathe him, who had seen him through the worst of times, who she had sung to on stormy nights and held closer than any other. The dovah that he had taken under his wing after Akatosh's betrayal and vowed to protect for all of time was dead.)

(Her conscience didn't consider or register the dovahkiin beside the body, the way the dovah's form remained intact when it should've been sucked into the bosmer's. She only processed the smell of her kin's blood, the sight of his lifeless eyes, the stillness of his scales, and the way the colour seemed to drain for the world in his mourning.)

(Alduin's form moved without thought or sense beyond the ringing in his ears and the ache in his chest as he pulled Odahviing's body into her wings, tucked him under her snout and stared into empty space. A faint and high pitched whine rang from her throat, a quiet yet harsh cry for her fallen kin that seemed to cut through the whispering wind for all that would hear his grief.)

She wouldn't come. Nobody could undo his mistakes. He deserved pain and grief and unchanging judgement for causing his friend's death.

He closed his eyes, and let his head slide against the cooling scales until his antlers scraped against the motionless horn. It was unbearable. Dov were not supposed to die, to keep being so recognizable when their essence was gone, to be... the closest thing he had left to elder family members, and be gone too, to leave him alone again. He had never recognised Akatosh's mercy in the destruction of a dragon's form, after their ultimate defeat. He never... he never wanted to see it again. Not with Odahviing. Not with any Dovah.

The winds turned, carrying a presence he was supposed to fear and loathe. Lurendil's body flinched on its own accord, a reflex to defend a finite creature from something so imposing and powerful, but a timid pang of hope clutched his chest as he fell back on his heels...

A flame that was snuffed, by a display of sorrow so abysmal, it could shake the entirety of the Aurbis and shatter time itself.

It was real. It was all real...

He shut his eyes again, and tears finally flowed through his shaking lashes, while his bloodied hands clutched the hair at the base of his antlers. He was ready to scream, to beg, to do anything as long as Odahviing could fly again... but for a long while, he did nothing.

(She had been a terrible caretaker, hadn't she? Berating, unpredictable, emotional, selfish. He had always been aware of it, but only now did he realise how deeply he was to blame for it all.)

(Odahviing left because Alduin was making him miserable. There was no one else to blame for that, and now one of her closest friends was lost, a soulless corpse bled out on the stone. All because of a war she started with the claim that it was for her family, for beings like him.)

(Time had become immeasurable by the time he spoke through her guilt and grief, low and hoarse, body unmoving.)

At the same time, that meant Odahviing's soul was still there, somewhere, untouched. The overwhelming grasp in his gut loosened, even if just barely.

He took a deep breath, and broke his stiffened lashes apart to look upon Alduin.]

...I don't know. I didn't... want to... but I never chose to do it...

[His voice shook. That sounded like an excuse... but it wasn't. The rush from a slain Dovah's soul was exhilarating, and served his drive for power well... the first times. He hadn't needed it any more, after his own fated battle; but the ambushes had never stopped, and neither had the grasping of ancient souls. Or more precisely... he hadn't felled a Dovah in a while, but surely...

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it, all he wanted was...]

...Please... bring him back. He doesn't deserve... this... I will... stop fighting if... if that's what you want... for him to live...

You do not need to beg me to revive my own family, dovahkiin. Rok fent lahney.

(The whiplash of returning a soul to its body so soon after one's death would be difficult to quell, but it was possible to ease, if the one reviving them had the skill and strength. The effort of doing so would take a lot out of her, and while she's in that weakened state, Odahviing could very well take the opportunity to kill him and end the war with a single strike. It would be simple, easy, and well within his rights. Alduin recognises this, and he knows that it would be wiser and easier to leave Odahviing to die, but his mind is made up. She would die a thousand deaths before allowing one of her brothers to die in front of her, especially one she loves as much as Odahviing.)

Slen Tiid Vo.

Then, it remembered. It had a home. It had a purpose. At some level... it mattered, and golden threads of swirling essence surrounded it, beckoning it as they commanded it to follow. There was no ambiguity in the herald's will, but it knew all it had to do was to be carried, a plume of smoke in the breeze.

Backward and backward, it flowed to the source, and started recognizing himself.]

[Consciousness stirs behind Odahviing's eyes, while the chill that had seeped into his bones is vaporized by the fire beneath his scales. With a jerk and a breath, the stench of blood and charred undeath bids him welcome, and so does the metallic tang of rust and steel in his mouth. He sees black, his wings cannot unfurl... what happened?

Somewhere nearby, is a familiar presence he cannot pin down yet, small and impermanent yet fearsome; he knows he cares for it, like all of those whose nature is similar, yet a hint of terror in their regard still echoes in his mind. And above, someone so powerful, so unending...

The Dovah tries to free himself, screeches, and trashes in recognition. Alduin is on him, when he's weak, scared, and no longer obeying her. A Dovahkiin, the fated opponent, is nearby. Did the World Eater attack them? Is he trying to kill them both? Is she trying to feed his soul to his own ally, to prove some sort of point? Why would his big brother do this? How could she?!

Odahviing roars and chomps down wherever he can, hoping that's enough to make Alduin hesitate, stagger, get away... anything, so both of them can flee, so the Dragonborn can use their terrible shout and save them... but when a mortal's voice comes through, it's not for a fight.]

Odhaviing! Drem! Faasnu los, Nid Tahrovin til los...

(Though the crushing weight of Alduin's exhaustion remains present, it becomes inconsequential as he registers the fact that Odahviing is alive, and is replaced by a cleansing relief that settles his aching wings. He silently thanks his father the divines a million times over, her affection refusing to waver even with the accompaniment of her brother's deafening roars and violent thrashing. Alduin does nothing to fight Odahviing off as she slips in and out of sleep, even as her scales split and bleed beneath the the force of his maw, even though he can feel the hatred seeping from the younger dovah's bones.)

The mortal hands on his leg, cold and frail with exhaustion, regain a name and a history. With a glance, he remembers that Dovahkiin, from the first sharp-toothed grin of a captor, to the frenzied Thu'um of a dear ally failing to protect him. He... he thought he was about to be gone, forever removed from the Aurbis, turned into a mindless echo of knowledge and power somewhere in Lurendil's soul... Dovahkiinne usually don't know how to prevent their hunger from consuming their kin... yet, he is still here. Alduin brought him back.

How? Did the Bosmer call his fated enemy for him...? Was a bargain made? Did the mortal give up his power to save him? No, it can't be... the World Eater lies weakened, barely there. She did it all on her own and is paying the price. Why? How is he supposed to win the war he started, if he cannot fight on?

His fear and anger turn to pain, and a wail echoes in his throat while his snout finds the bleeding tears he's caused and presses on them. She is still a sworn adversary... but she's also his sister, still. He doesn't want him to suffer, especially after what he's just done. If the Dovahkiin were to order him to finish the job now... how could he do it?]

[But Lurendil is uninterested in war tactics. He moves off from Odahviing's leg to rest against his side, while his own terror and grief melt into a blend of incomprehensible agitation, gratitude, and guilt; he can only keep the turmoil at bay by pushing his arms against the dragon, in an uneffective but desperate hug, away from Alduin's maw.]

[The mortal is spent. Odahviing is still adjusting. Alduin is... not doing good, now. If she helped him... despite everything... it's only fair he tries to do the same.]

(But there was an urgency in Odahviing's shout that could not be ignored, and Kogandremaaz knew that he would not be called upon unless the situation was desperate. And of course, there was that feeling of dread that had been settling in Kogan's stomach, and he no longer felt that the alcohol was to blame.)

(His spectre appears, appearing reluctant for a moment until he recognises the scent of blood, of gore that he had only smelled once in his life thousands of years ago, yet he recognises it instantly. He sees the form of his father, bloodied and broken, laying tiredly in the dust, and horror settles deep in his gut. It was all too similar to how he had been after hours of gruesome battle and years of bitter war, before his son had buried his sword to its hilt in his skull. He remembers her final words in clarity; how she asked him not to dwell on her loss, insisted with her full heart that she had never hated him, that she had remained proud of him in all his defiance and treachery, even after he had taken away everything that she held dear.)

(Through grief and terror, he runs to Alduin, kneels and holds her jaw as if trying to keep her life force contained within her body, chest heaving with panic. He knows that he won't die, yet still, the fear of what could happen to him now consumes Kogan. With a shaking voice, he soothes Alduin in dovahzul.)

Drem, bormah. Zu'u het. Su'um; zu'u fent pruzah, vaat.

(With a low purring whine, his father leans into his arms before allowing his trembling form to go limp again. After a heaving sigh of relief, Kogandremaaz turns to Odahviing as rage brews where his panic had settled. He hisses in accusation, assuming the worst in place of the context he's missing.)

He and Alduin had not fallen out all at once, being captured and making a deal with the Dovahkiinne had just been the excuse for their disagreements to emerge more clearly; but while he had been complicit in her fated downfall every time, he had never wanted to harm her himself. He knew he would not be gone when the Dragonborn did it, and that's... different, right? And what does he mean, "rip up his soul"? All he did was speak his mind, trying to get her to understand her errors, hoping it would help her recognise she was not having the effect she desired, move on, see the possibilities ahead, and see a world for both Dov and Joorre without terror was possible...

But none of that matters. Alduin's blood is fresh on his own fangs. What good are intentions and excuses, when suffering is achieved instead? That's the same thing he keeps accusing the other not to care about. He doesn't have an answer. All he does is lower his head in shame.]

[From his side, instead, Lurendil's shaking voice tries to defend him once again, after failing so terribly earlier.]

...Odahviing died. Alduin brought him back. He... you didn't know what was happening, for a moment... did you?

Nid. But it does not surprise me that she did so.

(He watches Odahviing's shame, heart twisting at the sight. It had been thousands of years since they spoke, and though Kogandremaaz is usually very forgiving, his grudges are deeply sewn and are never truly left in the past. Still, he feels some sympathy for the dovah, knowing how it feels to harm someone you care for so deeply. He's in no place to judge, after all; he has hurt Alduin so much more than Odahviing ever could, and did he not still hold love for his father?)

I assume you had a reason for summoning me? Or did you simply wish for me to live through the worst moments of my life once again?

Mu kos sahloaan. Vomindok wah vokri Bormahiil Haak.

[Admitting ignorance, weakness, and defeat is another blow to his suffering body and mind, but it doesn't matter. He can whine about it... tomorrow, if time will be merciful. Whenever she is safe.

With another weak grumble, he lowers to the ground, making a show of standing back; his eyes find the others,s hoping he can do anything to make things right for his mother.]

(With a sigh, he summons a collection of restorative potions in a plume of smoke. It takes significantly less energy than healing them with magic, and though Odahviing can't use them on his own, there's more than enough to give Lurendil the strength to heal them both. As he speaks, switching to dovahzul as a show of respect and good will, his voice takes a genuine and caring tone.)

Ni vomindok Fez nol Hi.

[Kogandremaaz's tone is noted, though it's odd to receive. They both know what happened, when he was alive; and if forgiveness is a rare and fickle display among mortals, dragon blood makes it that more difficult; but he understands where it's coming from, while he holds her head, doing what little he can to support his weakened and wounded father. While coupled with supposed ulterior motives, his own care shows through in a barely perceptible vibration under his breath.]

Zu'u hind Hi maltiid Ek Vokri fah zol paaz Krif.

[Lurendil reaches the potions, and immediately picks one up; he would normally be more careful, despite his tolerance to poison, but whatever sense of normalcy has no place in this interaction. Before he takes it, he also reiterates, with no embellishments he's too tired to afford:]

[Odhaviing is just about to fly above Crow’s cabin for a quick check, when his name is shouted. As usual, he pivots where he’s needed, but there is no trepidation in the powerful motions of his wings: it seems like it’s one of the troublemakers, this time, and he’s calling near Solitude. If issues will ensue, they will likely be due to their shared efforts.

The hinges screech, and the large chamber beyond echoes its cries. Then silence, uninterrupted by his practiced steps. With a low stance and Auriel's bow in hand, he feels nigh-invincible; but something is odd. Missing.

He advances to the short flight of stairs, almost hiding behind one of the symmetrical pillars and brazier holders, where the sarcophagus rests. Holding his breath, he looks up to see if it's still sealed...

It's not. But beyond it... the metallic stench of spilled blood.

He pauses at the top of the stairs, taking cover while he looks forward. He can see the throne, the basins where he had once spilled Hevnoraak's essence to summon and banish him; as many other Dragonborn have done, doubtlessly. It is also not the source of the smell.

One step forward, and he finds it.

A figure... or rather, pieces of a figure leaning on the opposite side of the sarcophagus. Tattered dragon priest robes are poorly draped above a broken torso, separated from its limbs, opened in several spots, most of its blood splattered on the stone below. Were some of the wounds bite marks? The head is... also detached, tossed a little further, battered and with no protection in sight.

The lifeless face doesn't have a mask, but it doesn't take much imagination to guess his target was already gone.

Lurendil takes a breath. The carnage doesn't bother him, he's done worse; but he doesn't understand. Would one of the Dragonborn do this? Was it... someone else? Are they still around?

He nervously moves his free hand to cast Detect Life.

Nothing.

Detect Undead?

...also nothing. Why would there be no undead in a Nordic Ruin...?

...Already butchered. And there are no draugr in there... again.

As he gets closer, not even bothering to lower his stance, the sarcophagus comes into view. It's open.

Step after step, he notices the skull keys in their place too. The guardians must have been disposed of again. All that's left to see is whether Otar has been dismembered too...

No, there are no scattered chunks of flesh this time. Another robed body without a mask, however, is burnt to a crisp. One could still see the edges of the malachite cover, protecting the head with its enchantments before it was removed.

He lets out a dispassionate sigh. Explaining to the other Dragonborn that one dragon priest is missing, and two others were betrayed by a supposed ally won't exactly make his track record shine... he could just turn away immediately, but it's worth seeing if the killer is still nearby.

Detect Life... nothing.

Detect Undead...

His stomach cramps.

Rushing in from the Crypts and the Canal, is a blur of energy he has never seen the likes of before.

Are all the draugr in the Ruin about to attack at once?!

How could draugr disappear from their former court, if they were not just destroyed? Maybe they were so distraught at the fate of their priest, they left? Or... did someone else try to control them? At least a few arrogant figures of the dragon cult had tried stealing draugr from a different court, and that usually resolved in frenzied and agitated rebels. Would Faaskaalmir know of that, if he was, in fact, responsible for Hevnoraak's third death? Had he lived long enough to see those episodes?

As if on cue, nearly breathless screeches resound behind him. He turns, and is met with... an army?!

Enough draugr to fill half an ancient city are stumbling from the mountains, up the stairs, clanking their axes on their shields and preparing their ice spells. Where did they come from?! How did he mistake them for... anything else?!

Odahviing turns to face them, unfurls his wings, and roars in their direction. He used to be one of their gods, his sight alone should have them cower in fear... but they are, in fact, frenzied.

They lost their priest. They lost their eternal purpose.

As their arrows and projectiles start flying towards him, he has no time to spare any respect.]

[That is Odahviing's voice. Is the dragon in danger?! Never mind the draugr, he must go help him!

Lurendil casts Muffle and Invisibility, then turns on his heels and runs.

Down the stairs, up the stairs, turn around, turn again... thank Y'ffre for his speed! He gains considerable distance from the pursuers, and by the time he is out of the door...]

Odahviing?!

[The scene in front of him is worse than he expected: while many undead are already burned, burning, and falling apart, many more are charging, unleashing arrows and ice darts, and summoning Frost Atronachs.

The Dovah is already bleeding from multiple blows.]

Fus Ro Dah!

[He forcefully creates space in front of the other, already loosing arrows with the speed and accuracy that make him worthy of being called a Jaqspur, targeting other archers and mages as long as the distance allows them to be his main focus. As soon as the dragon behind him wheezes in recognition, he barks the only strategy he can think of:]

More from the door. You. I kill these.

[Odahviing growls in understanding, before he shuffles to the entrance, prepares to burn or chomp on the upcoming adversaries, and lets his posture slump closer to the ground.

Gods... he really is hurt. All Lurendil wants to do is to cast his strongest Restoration spells on the Dovah, but his hands and attention can't waver for a single moment. Why did he really have to come alone with him?! Why did he agree?!

By Bormah, it hurts. Everything hurts.

The draugr from within the ruin start rushing to the door, and it is not difficult to meet them with a stream of fire and teeth...

Some still manage to hit, still. So do projectiles from behind... past the Bosmer's own shouts, arrows, and slashing swords and spells when they get too close.

...How... humiliating... to be defended by a mortal...

...No... an ally... a friend...

...a... Dovahkiin...?!

While burning blood runs down his scales and his vision blurs at the edges, panic sets in. They are allies, friends... but... they can annihilate each other completely. That's one of the reasons Alduin can't make peace with their existence, isn't it? What if...

The draugr within start retreating, seeing their peers can't breach the Dovah's defence.

Except an overlord with a big, big greatsword... right into his palate, while his teeth bite into their skull.

...He...

He lets out a scream of pain, while his body starts to fail him. He has to... he has to fly away...

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shout, shoot, stab, slash, shoot, shoot, shout... a quick fire spell for good measure... repeat. He can't afford anything else, despite how handy a couple of atronachs could be. They all keep coming, his Dismay shout didn't work, maybe he can throw in a...

The fine hair on his nape raises when he hears that horrible sound from Odahviing. One he has heard from so many dragons before... but never from a friend.

Cold sweat runs through his body. He knows what comes next. He can't let it happen.]

Wuld Nah Kest!

[He launches himself down the platform, landing straight onto a group of draugr, and once again, he runs. Swords and axes bash into his armour, but he doesn't care, anything to get away from the dragon before his soul...

A larger draugr steps into him at just the right time to make him trip. He's not far enough... No, NO!!

With a scream, he launches at the undead to tear his throat open with his teeth. It's too late. Odahviing is going to be dead. He's going to be dead!! It's all their fault!! It's all his fault!!

With the newfound fury, he slashes madly at everything around him, screeching instead of shouting, twirling instead of slashing... until enough of a clearing is carved, and he can cast Fire Storm too.

When he's done, and those still standing finally retreat, Lurendil collapses to his knees and wheezes. Too drained to heal himself. Too winded to cry. Too horrified to look up at the large skeleton on the platform above.

Why... WHY?!]

...

[...but... why? Really?

Is...

The booming noise? The whirling in his head? The strange lights raising from the remains, and seeping into his bones with ancient knowledge?

It doesn't happen.

The Bosmer heaves as he stands on shaking legs, and he slowly, carefully climbs the stairs. Ready to flee if that were to change. Ready to...

Odahviing lays motionless in front of the door, bloody, broken, with nothing in his eyes and vapour on his scales, as his hot remains turn cold. That's... that's a dead creature. No doubt about it, but... he can't really be dead, can he?! He would... his soul would be leaving now, wouldn't it? That's not possible! That's the first thing he learnt about being Dragonborn, a Dragonborn absorbs dragon souls!

The Bormer stumbles, and doesn't bother getting up; he crawls to the corpse instead. He unfastens and throws his gauntlets aside, and grabs his horns as tightly as he can, pulling himself closer to the head that's so still...]

Odahviing?! Please, say something!

[Nothing. He's dead but he's not. What... what can he do?! He forces what little magicka he has recovered into a healing spell... nothing changes.]

Please...

[His hands slide down to the dragon's cheeks, and he holds on his skull as if that's going to bring him back. It won't.]

...

[So many ideas whirl in his head. Most of them awful and useless. He doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to fix this. Doesn't know if this can even be fixed.

...Until he remembers someone who, maybe, can.

With a few deep breaths, he lifts his head just enough to shout, and calls the only one who can bring his friend back.]

Al Du In !

(It wasn't until a distinct shift quaked in her chest, leaving a sudden emptiness in a space that once held her end of a torn connection, that he realised his soul had been trying to warn her of something dire, something he could have prevented, a loss that would plague the depths of his heart. He was no stranger to grief, but this... This was incapacitating. It seemed to scrape at his hollow insides, shoveling any remnants of hope and peace from him like flesh from a gourd, and she did not even know what she had lost.)

(Then he heard his name, distinctly called from the mortal plane. It was terrified, distant, yet clear in each syllable, shouted in the voice of that one dovahkiin... Lurendil, his name was. Alduin remembered him, was fond of him even, but did not know why he would call upon her so soon. As his focus drifted to the scene around Lurendil in search of context, he felt a wisp of dragonic energy near the dragonborn, the remnants of a fallen brother; a powerful one, too. He did not have to wonder who it was. He knew that soul, had seen it before it had a body to inhabit. Yet it took him a moment to process the fact that that body was even capable of death.)

(Finally, the realisation of what he has lost grasped at his wings and forced them into frenzied flight towards the summons. She prayed from her sunken heart that she was wrong; "please, father, if ever you have cared for the life you created, let me be wrong. Let Odahviing be alive and well, even if it means I must suffer for it." All that he could think of was the deep rooted terror she felt at the idea of losing her brother just after she had found him, and the desperation for just a bit more time, for just one more happy memory of him.)

(She had to be wrong. He couldn't stand the thought of being right.)

(But there, outlined by drab stonework that insulted his radiant crimson scales, she saw him, bloodied and broken. A being with an inner world so vibrant and full, so considerate and courageous, laid motionless upon the carvings of mortals. His friend who had grown to loathe him, who had seen him through the worst of times, who she had sung to on stormy nights and held closer than any other. The dovah that he had taken under his wing after Akatosh's betrayal and vowed to protect for all of time was dead.)

(Her conscience didn't consider or register the dovahkiin beside the body, the way the dovah's form remained intact when it should've been sucked into the bosmer's. She only processed the smell of her kin's blood, the sight of his lifeless eyes, the stillness of his scales, and the way the colour seemed to drain for the world in his mourning.)

(Alduin's form moved without thought or sense beyond the ringing in his ears and the ache in his chest as he pulled Odahviing's body into her wings, tucked him under her snout and stared into empty space. A faint and high pitched whine rang from her throat, a quiet yet harsh cry for her fallen kin that seemed to cut through the whispering wind for all that would hear his grief.)

She wouldn't come. Nobody could undo his mistakes. He deserved pain and grief and unchanging judgement for causing his friend's death.

He closed his eyes, and let his head slide against the cooling scales until his antlers scraped against the motionless horn. It was unbearable. Dov were not supposed to die, to keep being so recognizable when their essence was gone, to be... the closest thing he had left to elder family members, and be gone too, to leave him alone again. He had never recognised Akatosh's mercy in the destruction of a dragon's form, after their ultimate defeat. He never... he never wanted to see it again. Not with Odahviing. Not with any Dovah.

The winds turned, carrying a presence he was supposed to fear and loathe. Lurendil's body flinched on its own accord, a reflex to defend a finite creature from something so imposing and powerful, but a timid pang of hope clutched his chest as he fell back on his heels...

A flame that was snuffed, by a display of sorrow so abysmal, it could shake the entirety of the Aurbis and shatter time itself.

It was real. It was all real...

He shut his eyes again, and tears finally flowed through his shaking lashes, while his bloodied hands clutched the hair at the base of his antlers. He was ready to scream, to beg, to do anything as long as Odahviing could fly again... but for a long while, he did nothing.

(She had been a terrible caretaker, hadn't she? Berating, unpredictable, emotional, selfish. He had always been aware of it, but only now did he realise how deeply he was to blame for it all.)

(Odahviing left because Alduin was making him miserable. There was no one else to blame for that, and now one of her closest friends was lost, a soulless corpse bled out on the stone. All because of a war she started with the claim that it was for her family, for beings like him.)

(Time had become immeasurable by the time he spoke through her guilt and grief, low and hoarse, body unmoving.)

At the same time, that meant Odahviing's soul was still there, somewhere, untouched. The overwhelming grasp in his gut loosened, even if just barely.

He took a deep breath, and broke his stiffened lashes apart to look upon Alduin.]

...I don't know. I didn't... want to... but I never chose to do it...

[His voice shook. That sounded like an excuse... but it wasn't. The rush from a slain Dovah's soul was exhilarating, and served his drive for power well... the first times. He hadn't needed it any more, after his own fated battle; but the ambushes had never stopped, and neither had the grasping of ancient souls. Or more precisely... he hadn't felled a Dovah in a while, but surely...

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it, all he wanted was...]

...Please... bring him back. He doesn't deserve... this... I will... stop fighting if... if that's what you want... for him to live...

You do not need to beg me to revive my own family, dovahkiin. Rok fent lahney.

(The whiplash of returning a soul to its body so soon after one's death would be difficult to quell, but it was possible to ease, if the one reviving them had the skill and strength. The effort of doing so would take a lot out of her, and while she's in that weakened state, Odahviing could very well take the opportunity to kill him and end the war with a single strike. It would be simple, easy, and well within his rights. Alduin recognises this, and he knows that it would be wiser and easier to leave Odahviing to die, but his mind is made up. She would die a thousand deaths before allowing one of her brothers to die in front of her, especially one she loves as much as Odahviing.)

Slen Tiid Vo.

Then, it remembered. It had a home. It had a purpose. At some level... it mattered, and golden threads of swirling essence surrounded it, beckoning it as they commanded it to follow. There was no ambiguity in the herald's will, but it knew all it had to do was to be carried, a plume of smoke in the breeze.

Backward and backward, it flowed to the source, and started recognizing himself.]

[Consciousness stirs behind Odahviing's eyes, while the chill that had seeped into his bones is vaporized by the fire beneath his scales. With a jerk and a breath, the stench of blood and charred undeath bids him welcome, and so does the metallic tang of rust and steel in his mouth. He sees black, his wings cannot unfurl... what happened?

Somewhere nearby, is a familiar presence he cannot pin down yet, small and impermanent yet fearsome; he knows he cares for it, like all of those whose nature is similar, yet a hint of terror in their regard still echoes in his mind. And above, someone so powerful, so unending...

The Dovah tries to free himself, screeches, and trashes in recognition. Alduin is on him, when he's weak, scared, and no longer obeying her. A Dovahkiin, the fated opponent, is nearby. Did the World Eater attack them? Is he trying to kill them both? Is she trying to feed his soul to his own ally, to prove some sort of point? Why would his big brother do this? How could she?!

Odahviing roars and chomps down wherever he can, hoping that's enough to make Alduin hesitate, stagger, get away... anything, so both of them can flee, so the Dragonborn can use their terrible shout and save them... but when a mortal's voice comes through, it's not for a fight.]

Odhaviing! Drem! Faasnu los, Nid Tahrovin til los...

(Though the crushing weight of Alduin's exhaustion remains present, it becomes inconsequential as he registers the fact that Odahviing is alive, and is replaced by a cleansing relief that settles his aching wings. He silently thanks his father the divines a million times over, her affection refusing to waver even with the accompaniment of her brother's deafening roars and violent thrashing. Alduin does nothing to fight Odahviing off as she slips in and out of sleep, even as her scales split and bleed beneath the the force of his maw, even though he can feel the hatred seeping from the younger dovah's bones.)

The mortal hands on his leg, cold and frail with exhaustion, regain a name and a history. With a glance, he remembers that Dovahkiin, from the first sharp-toothed grin of a captor, to the frenzied Thu'um of a dear ally failing to protect him. He... he thought he was about to be gone, forever removed from the Aurbis, turned into a mindless echo of knowledge and power somewhere in Lurendil's soul... Dovahkiinne usually don't know how to prevent their hunger from consuming their kin... yet, he is still here. Alduin brought him back.

How? Did the Bosmer call his fated enemy for him...? Was a bargain made? Did the mortal give up his power to save him? No, it can't be... the World Eater lies weakened, barely there. She did it all on her own and is paying the price. Why? How is he supposed to win the war he started, if he cannot fight on?

His fear and anger turn to pain, and a wail echoes in his throat while his snout finds the bleeding tears he's caused and presses on them. She is still a sworn adversary... but she's also his sister, still. He doesn't want him to suffer, especially after what he's just done. If the Dovahkiin were to order him to finish the job now... how could he do it?]

[But Lurendil is uninterested in war tactics. He moves off from Odahviing's leg to rest against his side, while his own terror and grief melt into a blend of incomprehensible agitation, gratitude, and guilt; he can only keep the turmoil at bay by pushing his arms against the dragon, in an uneffective but desperate hug, away from Alduin's maw.]

[The mortal is spent. Odahviing is still adjusting. Alduin is... not doing good, now. If she helped him... despite everything... it's only fair he tries to do the same.]

(But there was an urgency in Odahviing's shout that could not be ignored, and Kogandremaaz knew that he would not be called upon unless the situation was desperate. And of course, there was that feeling of dread that had been settling in Kogan's stomach, and he no longer felt that the alcohol was to blame.)

(His spectre appears, appearing reluctant for a moment until he recognises the scent of blood, of gore that he had only smelled once in his life thousands of years ago, yet he recognises it instantly. He sees the form of his father, bloodied and broken, laying tiredly in the dust, and horror settles deep in his gut. It was all too similar to how he had been after hours of gruesome battle and years of bitter war, before his son had buried his sword to its hilt in his skull. He remembers her final words in clarity; how she asked him not to dwell on her loss, insisted with her full heart that she had never hated him, that she had remained proud of him in all his defiance and treachery, even after he had taken away everything that she held dear.)

(Through grief and terror, he runs to Alduin, kneels and holds her jaw as if trying to keep her life force contained within her body, chest heaving with panic. He knows that he won't die, yet still, the fear of what could happen to him now consumes Kogan. With a shaking voice, he soothes Alduin in dovahzul.)

Drem, bormah. Zu'u het. Su'um; zu'u fent pruzah, vaat.

(With a low purring whine, his father leans into his arms before allowing his trembling form to go limp again. After a heaving sigh of relief, Kogandremaaz turns to Odahviing as rage brews where his panic had settled. He hisses in accusation, assuming the worst in place of the context he's missing.)

He and Alduin had not fallen out all at once, being captured and making a deal with the Dovahkiinne had just been the excuse for their disagreements to emerge more clearly; but while he had been complicit in her fated downfall every time, he had never wanted to harm her himself. He knew he would not be gone when the Dragonborn did it, and that's... different, right? And what does he mean, "rip up his soul"? All he did was speak his mind, trying to get her to understand her errors, hoping it would help her recognise she was not having the effect she desired, move on, see the possibilities ahead, and see a world for both Dov and Joorre without terror was possible...

But none of that matters. Alduin's blood is fresh on his own fangs. What good are intentions and excuses, when suffering is achieved instead? That's the same thing he keeps accusing the other not to care about. He doesn't have an answer. All he does is lower his head in shame.]

[From his side, instead, Lurendil's shaking voice tries to defend him once again, after failing so terribly earlier.]

...Odahviing died. Alduin brought him back. He... you didn't know what was happening, for a moment... did you?

Nid. But it does not surprise me that she did so.

(He watches Odahviing's shame, heart twisting at the sight. It had been thousands of years since they spoke, and though Kogandremaaz is usually very forgiving, his grudges are deeply sewn and are never truly left in the past. Still, he feels some sympathy for the dovah, knowing how it feels to harm someone you care for so deeply. He's in no place to judge, after all; he has hurt Alduin so much more than Odahviing ever could, and did he not still hold love for his father?)

I assume you had a reason for summoning me? Or did you simply wish for me to live through the worst moments of my life once again?

Mu kos sahloaan. Vomindok wah vokri Bormahiil Haak.

[Admitting ignorance, weakness, and defeat is another blow to his suffering body and mind, but it doesn't matter. He can whine about it... tomorrow, if time will be merciful. Whenever she is safe.

With another weak grumble, he lowers to the ground, making a show of standing back; his eyes find the others,s hoping he can do anything to make things right for his mother.]

[Odhaviing is just about to fly above Crow’s cabin for a quick check, when his name is shouted. As usual, he pivots where he’s needed, but there is no trepidation in the powerful motions of his wings: it seems like it’s one of the troublemakers, this time, and he’s calling near Solitude. If issues will ensue, they will likely be due to their shared efforts.

The hinges screech, and the large chamber beyond echoes its cries. Then silence, uninterrupted by his practiced steps. With a low stance and Auriel's bow in hand, he feels nigh-invincible; but something is odd. Missing.

He advances to the short flight of stairs, almost hiding behind one of the symmetrical pillars and brazier holders, where the sarcophagus rests. Holding his breath, he looks up to see if it's still sealed...

It's not. But beyond it... the metallic stench of spilled blood.

He pauses at the top of the stairs, taking cover while he looks forward. He can see the throne, the basins where he had once spilled Hevnoraak's essence to summon and banish him; as many other Dragonborn have done, doubtlessly. It is also not the source of the smell.

One step forward, and he finds it.

A figure... or rather, pieces of a figure leaning on the opposite side of the sarcophagus. Tattered dragon priest robes are poorly draped above a broken torso, separated from its limbs, opened in several spots, most of its blood splattered on the stone below. Were some of the wounds bite marks? The head is... also detached, tossed a little further, battered and with no protection in sight.

The lifeless face doesn't have a mask, but it doesn't take much imagination to guess his target was already gone.

Lurendil takes a breath. The carnage doesn't bother him, he's done worse; but he doesn't understand. Would one of the Dragonborn do this? Was it... someone else? Are they still around?

He nervously moves his free hand to cast Detect Life.

Nothing.

Detect Undead?

...also nothing. Why would there be no undead in a Nordic Ruin...?

...Already butchered. And there are no draugr in there... again.

As he gets closer, not even bothering to lower his stance, the sarcophagus comes into view. It's open.

Step after step, he notices the skull keys in their place too. The guardians must have been disposed of again. All that's left to see is whether Otar has been dismembered too...

No, there are no scattered chunks of flesh this time. Another robed body without a mask, however, is burnt to a crisp. One could still see the edges of the malachite cover, protecting the head with its enchantments before it was removed.

He lets out a dispassionate sigh. Explaining to the other Dragonborn that one dragon priest is missing, and two others were betrayed by a supposed ally won't exactly make his track record shine... he could just turn away immediately, but it's worth seeing if the killer is still nearby.

Detect Life... nothing.

Detect Undead...

His stomach cramps.

Rushing in from the Crypts and the Canal, is a blur of energy he has never seen the likes of before.

Are all the draugr in the Ruin about to attack at once?!

How could draugr disappear from their former court, if they were not just destroyed? Maybe they were so distraught at the fate of their priest, they left? Or... did someone else try to control them? At least a few arrogant figures of the dragon cult had tried stealing draugr from a different court, and that usually resolved in frenzied and agitated rebels. Would Faaskaalmir know of that, if he was, in fact, responsible for Hevnoraak's third death? Had he lived long enough to see those episodes?

As if on cue, nearly breathless screeches resound behind him. He turns, and is met with... an army?!

Enough draugr to fill half an ancient city are stumbling from the mountains, up the stairs, clanking their axes on their shields and preparing their ice spells. Where did they come from?! How did he mistake them for... anything else?!

Odahviing turns to face them, unfurls his wings, and roars in their direction. He used to be one of their gods, his sight alone should have them cower in fear... but they are, in fact, frenzied.

They lost their priest. They lost their eternal purpose.

As their arrows and projectiles start flying towards him, he has no time to spare any respect.]

[That is Odahviing's voice. Is the dragon in danger?! Never mind the draugr, he must go help him!

Lurendil casts Muffle and Invisibility, then turns on his heels and runs.

Down the stairs, up the stairs, turn around, turn again... thank Y'ffre for his speed! He gains considerable distance from the pursuers, and by the time he is out of the door...]

Odahviing?!

[The scene in front of him is worse than he expected: while many undead are already burned, burning, and falling apart, many more are charging, unleashing arrows and ice darts, and summoning Frost Atronachs.

The Dovah is already bleeding from multiple blows.]

Fus Ro Dah!

[He forcefully creates space in front of the other, already loosing arrows with the speed and accuracy that make him worthy of being called a Jaqspur, targeting other archers and mages as long as the distance allows them to be his main focus. As soon as the dragon behind him wheezes in recognition, he barks the only strategy he can think of:]

More from the door. You. I kill these.

[Odahviing growls in understanding, before he shuffles to the entrance, prepares to burn or chomp on the upcoming adversaries, and lets his posture slump closer to the ground.

Gods... he really is hurt. All Lurendil wants to do is to cast his strongest Restoration spells on the Dovah, but his hands and attention can't waver for a single moment. Why did he really have to come alone with him?! Why did he agree?!

By Bormah, it hurts. Everything hurts.

The draugr from within the ruin start rushing to the door, and it is not difficult to meet them with a stream of fire and teeth...

Some still manage to hit, still. So do projectiles from behind... past the Bosmer's own shouts, arrows, and slashing swords and spells when they get too close.

...How... humiliating... to be defended by a mortal...

...No... an ally... a friend...

...a... Dovahkiin...?!

While burning blood runs down his scales and his vision blurs at the edges, panic sets in. They are allies, friends... but... they can annihilate each other completely. That's one of the reasons Alduin can't make peace with their existence, isn't it? What if...

The draugr within start retreating, seeing their peers can't breach the Dovah's defence.

Except an overlord with a big, big greatsword... right into his palate, while his teeth bite into their skull.

...He...

He lets out a scream of pain, while his body starts to fail him. He has to... he has to fly away...

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shout, shoot, stab, slash, shoot, shoot, shout... a quick fire spell for good measure... repeat. He can't afford anything else, despite how handy a couple of atronachs could be. They all keep coming, his Dismay shout didn't work, maybe he can throw in a...

The fine hair on his nape raises when he hears that horrible sound from Odahviing. One he has heard from so many dragons before... but never from a friend.

Cold sweat runs through his body. He knows what comes next. He can't let it happen.]

Wuld Nah Kest!

[He launches himself down the platform, landing straight onto a group of draugr, and once again, he runs. Swords and axes bash into his armour, but he doesn't care, anything to get away from the dragon before his soul...

A larger draugr steps into him at just the right time to make him trip. He's not far enough... No, NO!!

With a scream, he launches at the undead to tear his throat open with his teeth. It's too late. Odahviing is going to be dead. He's going to be dead!! It's all their fault!! It's all his fault!!

With the newfound fury, he slashes madly at everything around him, screeching instead of shouting, twirling instead of slashing... until enough of a clearing is carved, and he can cast Fire Storm too.

When he's done, and those still standing finally retreat, Lurendil collapses to his knees and wheezes. Too drained to heal himself. Too winded to cry. Too horrified to look up at the large skeleton on the platform above.

Why... WHY?!]

...

[...but... why? Really?

Is...

The booming noise? The whirling in his head? The strange lights raising from the remains, and seeping into his bones with ancient knowledge?

It doesn't happen.

The Bosmer heaves as he stands on shaking legs, and he slowly, carefully climbs the stairs. Ready to flee if that were to change. Ready to...

Odahviing lays motionless in front of the door, bloody, broken, with nothing in his eyes and vapour on his scales, as his hot remains turn cold. That's... that's a dead creature. No doubt about it, but... he can't really be dead, can he?! He would... his soul would be leaving now, wouldn't it? That's not possible! That's the first thing he learnt about being Dragonborn, a Dragonborn absorbs dragon souls!

The Bormer stumbles, and doesn't bother getting up; he crawls to the corpse instead. He unfastens and throws his gauntlets aside, and grabs his horns as tightly as he can, pulling himself closer to the head that's so still...]

Odahviing?! Please, say something!

[Nothing. He's dead but he's not. What... what can he do?! He forces what little magicka he has recovered into a healing spell... nothing changes.]

Please...

[His hands slide down to the dragon's cheeks, and he holds on his skull as if that's going to bring him back. It won't.]

...

[So many ideas whirl in his head. Most of them awful and useless. He doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to fix this. Doesn't know if this can even be fixed.

...Until he remembers someone who, maybe, can.

With a few deep breaths, he lifts his head just enough to shout, and calls the only one who can bring his friend back.]

Al Du In !

(It wasn't until a distinct shift quaked in her chest, leaving a sudden emptiness in a space that once held her end of a torn connection, that he realised his soul had been trying to warn her of something dire, something he could have prevented, a loss that would plague the depths of his heart. He was no stranger to grief, but this... This was incapacitating. It seemed to scrape at his hollow insides, shoveling any remnants of hope and peace from him like flesh from a gourd, and she did not even know what she had lost.)

(Then he heard his name, distinctly called from the mortal plane. It was terrified, distant, yet clear in each syllable, shouted in the voice of that one dovahkiin... Lurendil, his name was. Alduin remembered him, was fond of him even, but did not know why he would call upon her so soon. As his focus drifted to the scene around Lurendil in search of context, he felt a wisp of dragonic energy near the dragonborn, the remnants of a fallen brother; a powerful one, too. He did not have to wonder who it was. He knew that soul, had seen it before it had a body to inhabit. Yet it took him a moment to process the fact that that body was even capable of death.)

(Finally, the realisation of what he has lost grasped at his wings and forced them into frenzied flight towards the summons. She prayed from her sunken heart that she was wrong; "please, father, if ever you have cared for the life you created, let me be wrong. Let Odahviing be alive and well, even if it means I must suffer for it." All that he could think of was the deep rooted terror she felt at the idea of losing her brother just after she had found him, and the desperation for just a bit more time, for just one more happy memory of him.)

(She had to be wrong. He couldn't stand the thought of being right.)

(But there, outlined by drab stonework that insulted his radiant crimson scales, she saw him, bloodied and broken. A being with an inner world so vibrant and full, so considerate and courageous, laid motionless upon the carvings of mortals. His friend who had grown to loathe him, who had seen him through the worst of times, who she had sung to on stormy nights and held closer than any other. The dovah that he had taken under his wing after Akatosh's betrayal and vowed to protect for all of time was dead.)

(Her conscience didn't consider or register the dovahkiin beside the body, the way the dovah's form remained intact when it should've been sucked into the bosmer's. She only processed the smell of her kin's blood, the sight of his lifeless eyes, the stillness of his scales, and the way the colour seemed to drain for the world in his mourning.)

(Alduin's form moved without thought or sense beyond the ringing in his ears and the ache in his chest as he pulled Odahviing's body into her wings, tucked him under her snout and stared into empty space. A faint and high pitched whine rang from her throat, a quiet yet harsh cry for her fallen kin that seemed to cut through the whispering wind for all that would hear his grief.)

She wouldn't come. Nobody could undo his mistakes. He deserved pain and grief and unchanging judgement for causing his friend's death.

He closed his eyes, and let his head slide against the cooling scales until his antlers scraped against the motionless horn. It was unbearable. Dov were not supposed to die, to keep being so recognizable when their essence was gone, to be... the closest thing he had left to elder family members, and be gone too, to leave him alone again. He had never recognised Akatosh's mercy in the destruction of a dragon's form, after their ultimate defeat. He never... he never wanted to see it again. Not with Odahviing. Not with any Dovah.

The winds turned, carrying a presence he was supposed to fear and loathe. Lurendil's body flinched on its own accord, a reflex to defend a finite creature from something so imposing and powerful, but a timid pang of hope clutched his chest as he fell back on his heels...

A flame that was snuffed, by a display of sorrow so abysmal, it could shake the entirety of the Aurbis and shatter time itself.

It was real. It was all real...

He shut his eyes again, and tears finally flowed through his shaking lashes, while his bloodied hands clutched the hair at the base of his antlers. He was ready to scream, to beg, to do anything as long as Odahviing could fly again... but for a long while, he did nothing.

(She had been a terrible caretaker, hadn't she? Berating, unpredictable, emotional, selfish. He had always been aware of it, but only now did he realise how deeply he was to blame for it all.)

(Odahviing left because Alduin was making him miserable. There was no one else to blame for that, and now one of her closest friends was lost, a soulless corpse bled out on the stone. All because of a war she started with the claim that it was for her family, for beings like him.)

(Time had become immeasurable by the time he spoke through her guilt and grief, low and hoarse, body unmoving.)

At the same time, that meant Odahviing's soul was still there, somewhere, untouched. The overwhelming grasp in his gut loosened, even if just barely.

He took a deep breath, and broke his stiffened lashes apart to look upon Alduin.]

...I don't know. I didn't... want to... but I never chose to do it...

[His voice shook. That sounded like an excuse... but it wasn't. The rush from a slain Dovah's soul was exhilarating, and served his drive for power well... the first times. He hadn't needed it any more, after his own fated battle; but the ambushes had never stopped, and neither had the grasping of ancient souls. Or more precisely... he hadn't felled a Dovah in a while, but surely...

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it, all he wanted was...]

...Please... bring him back. He doesn't deserve... this... I will... stop fighting if... if that's what you want... for him to live...

You do not need to beg me to revive my own family, dovahkiin. Rok fent lahney.

(The whiplash of returning a soul to its body so soon after one's death would be difficult to quell, but it was possible to ease, if the one reviving them had the skill and strength. The effort of doing so would take a lot out of her, and while she's in that weakened state, Odahviing could very well take the opportunity to kill him and end the war with a single strike. It would be simple, easy, and well within his rights. Alduin recognises this, and he knows that it would be wiser and easier to leave Odahviing to die, but his mind is made up. She would die a thousand deaths before allowing one of her brothers to die in front of her, especially one she loves as much as Odahviing.)

Slen Tiid Vo.

Then, it remembered. It had a home. It had a purpose. At some level... it mattered, and golden threads of swirling essence surrounded it, beckoning it as they commanded it to follow. There was no ambiguity in the herald's will, but it knew all it had to do was to be carried, a plume of smoke in the breeze.

Backward and backward, it flowed to the source, and started recognizing himself.]

[Consciousness stirs behind Odahviing's eyes, while the chill that had seeped into his bones is vaporized by the fire beneath his scales. With a jerk and a breath, the stench of blood and charred undeath bids him welcome, and so does the metallic tang of rust and steel in his mouth. He sees black, his wings cannot unfurl... what happened?

Somewhere nearby, is a familiar presence he cannot pin down yet, small and impermanent yet fearsome; he knows he cares for it, like all of those whose nature is similar, yet a hint of terror in their regard still echoes in his mind. And above, someone so powerful, so unending...

The Dovah tries to free himself, screeches, and trashes in recognition. Alduin is on him, when he's weak, scared, and no longer obeying her. A Dovahkiin, the fated opponent, is nearby. Did the World Eater attack them? Is he trying to kill them both? Is she trying to feed his soul to his own ally, to prove some sort of point? Why would his big brother do this? How could she?!

Odahviing roars and chomps down wherever he can, hoping that's enough to make Alduin hesitate, stagger, get away... anything, so both of them can flee, so the Dragonborn can use their terrible shout and save them... but when a mortal's voice comes through, it's not for a fight.]

Odhaviing! Drem! Faasnu los, Nid Tahrovin til los...

(Though the crushing weight of Alduin's exhaustion remains present, it becomes inconsequential as he registers the fact that Odahviing is alive, and is replaced by a cleansing relief that settles his aching wings. He silently thanks his father the divines a million times over, her affection refusing to waver even with the accompaniment of her brother's deafening roars and violent thrashing. Alduin does nothing to fight Odahviing off as she slips in and out of sleep, even as her scales split and bleed beneath the the force of his maw, even though he can feel the hatred seeping from the younger dovah's bones.)

The mortal hands on his leg, cold and frail with exhaustion, regain a name and a history. With a glance, he remembers that Dovahkiin, from the first sharp-toothed grin of a captor, to the frenzied Thu'um of a dear ally failing to protect him. He... he thought he was about to be gone, forever removed from the Aurbis, turned into a mindless echo of knowledge and power somewhere in Lurendil's soul... Dovahkiinne usually don't know how to prevent their hunger from consuming their kin... yet, he is still here. Alduin brought him back.

How? Did the Bosmer call his fated enemy for him...? Was a bargain made? Did the mortal give up his power to save him? No, it can't be... the World Eater lies weakened, barely there. She did it all on her own and is paying the price. Why? How is he supposed to win the war he started, if he cannot fight on?

His fear and anger turn to pain, and a wail echoes in his throat while his snout finds the bleeding tears he's caused and presses on them. She is still a sworn adversary... but she's also his sister, still. He doesn't want him to suffer, especially after what he's just done. If the Dovahkiin were to order him to finish the job now... how could he do it?]

[But Lurendil is uninterested in war tactics. He moves off from Odahviing's leg to rest against his side, while his own terror and grief melt into a blend of incomprehensible agitation, gratitude, and guilt; he can only keep the turmoil at bay by pushing his arms against the dragon, in an uneffective but desperate hug, away from Alduin's maw.]

[The mortal is spent. Odahviing is still adjusting. Alduin is... not doing good, now. If she helped him... despite everything... it's only fair he tries to do the same.]

(But there was an urgency in Odahviing's shout that could not be ignored, and Kogandremaaz knew that he would not be called upon unless the situation was desperate. And of course, there was that feeling of dread that had been settling in Kogan's stomach, and he no longer felt that the alcohol was to blame.)

(His spectre appears, appearing reluctant for a moment until he recognises the scent of blood, of gore that he had only smelled once in his life thousands of years ago, yet he recognises it instantly. He sees the form of his father, bloodied and broken, laying tiredly in the dust, and horror settles deep in his gut. It was all too similar to how he had been after hours of gruesome battle and years of bitter war, before his son had buried his sword to its hilt in his skull. He remembers her final words in clarity; how she asked him not to dwell on her loss, insisted with her full heart that she had never hated him, that she had remained proud of him in all his defiance and treachery, even after he had taken away everything that she held dear.)

(Through grief and terror, he runs to Alduin, kneels and holds her jaw as if trying to keep her life force contained within her body, chest heaving with panic. He knows that he won't die, yet still, the fear of what could happen to him now consumes Kogan. With a shaking voice, he soothes Alduin in dovahzul.)

Drem, bormah. Zu'u het. Su'um; zu'u fent pruzah, vaat.

(With a low purring whine, his father leans into his arms before allowing his trembling form to go limp again. After a heaving sigh of relief, Kogandremaaz turns to Odahviing as rage brews where his panic had settled. He hisses in accusation, assuming the worst in place of the context he's missing.)

He and Alduin had not fallen out all at once, being captured and making a deal with the Dovahkiinne had just been the excuse for their disagreements to emerge more clearly; but while he had been complicit in her fated downfall every time, he had never wanted to harm her himself. He knew he would not be gone when the Dragonborn did it, and that's... different, right? And what does he mean, "rip up his soul"? All he did was speak his mind, trying to get her to understand her errors, hoping it would help her recognise she was not having the effect she desired, move on, see the possibilities ahead, and see a world for both Dov and Joorre without terror was possible...

But none of that matters. Alduin's blood is fresh on his own fangs. What good are intentions and excuses, when suffering is achieved instead? That's the same thing he keeps accusing the other not to care about. He doesn't have an answer. All he does is lower his head in shame.]

[From his side, instead, Lurendil's shaking voice tries to defend him once again, after failing so terribly earlier.]

...Odahviing died. Alduin brought him back. He... you didn't know what was happening, for a moment... did you?

[Odhaviing is just about to fly above Crow’s cabin for a quick check, when his name is shouted. As usual, he pivots where he’s needed, but there is no trepidation in the powerful motions of his wings: it seems like it’s one of the troublemakers, this time, and he’s calling near Solitude. If issues will ensue, they will likely be due to their shared efforts.

The hinges screech, and the large chamber beyond echoes its cries. Then silence, uninterrupted by his practiced steps. With a low stance and Auriel's bow in hand, he feels nigh-invincible; but something is odd. Missing.

He advances to the short flight of stairs, almost hiding behind one of the symmetrical pillars and brazier holders, where the sarcophagus rests. Holding his breath, he looks up to see if it's still sealed...

It's not. But beyond it... the metallic stench of spilled blood.

He pauses at the top of the stairs, taking cover while he looks forward. He can see the throne, the basins where he had once spilled Hevnoraak's essence to summon and banish him; as many other Dragonborn have done, doubtlessly. It is also not the source of the smell.

One step forward, and he finds it.

A figure... or rather, pieces of a figure leaning on the opposite side of the sarcophagus. Tattered dragon priest robes are poorly draped above a broken torso, separated from its limbs, opened in several spots, most of its blood splattered on the stone below. Were some of the wounds bite marks? The head is... also detached, tossed a little further, battered and with no protection in sight.

The lifeless face doesn't have a mask, but it doesn't take much imagination to guess his target was already gone.

Lurendil takes a breath. The carnage doesn't bother him, he's done worse; but he doesn't understand. Would one of the Dragonborn do this? Was it... someone else? Are they still around?

He nervously moves his free hand to cast Detect Life.

Nothing.

Detect Undead?

...also nothing. Why would there be no undead in a Nordic Ruin...?

...Already butchered. And there are no draugr in there... again.

As he gets closer, not even bothering to lower his stance, the sarcophagus comes into view. It's open.

Step after step, he notices the skull keys in their place too. The guardians must have been disposed of again. All that's left to see is whether Otar has been dismembered too...

No, there are no scattered chunks of flesh this time. Another robed body without a mask, however, is burnt to a crisp. One could still see the edges of the malachite cover, protecting the head with its enchantments before it was removed.

He lets out a dispassionate sigh. Explaining to the other Dragonborn that one dragon priest is missing, and two others were betrayed by a supposed ally won't exactly make his track record shine... he could just turn away immediately, but it's worth seeing if the killer is still nearby.

Detect Life... nothing.

Detect Undead...

His stomach cramps.

Rushing in from the Crypts and the Canal, is a blur of energy he has never seen the likes of before.

Are all the draugr in the Ruin about to attack at once?!

How could draugr disappear from their former court, if they were not just destroyed? Maybe they were so distraught at the fate of their priest, they left? Or... did someone else try to control them? At least a few arrogant figures of the dragon cult had tried stealing draugr from a different court, and that usually resolved in frenzied and agitated rebels. Would Faaskaalmir know of that, if he was, in fact, responsible for Hevnoraak's third death? Had he lived long enough to see those episodes?

As if on cue, nearly breathless screeches resound behind him. He turns, and is met with... an army?!

Enough draugr to fill half an ancient city are stumbling from the mountains, up the stairs, clanking their axes on their shields and preparing their ice spells. Where did they come from?! How did he mistake them for... anything else?!

Odahviing turns to face them, unfurls his wings, and roars in their direction. He used to be one of their gods, his sight alone should have them cower in fear... but they are, in fact, frenzied.

They lost their priest. They lost their eternal purpose.

As their arrows and projectiles start flying towards him, he has no time to spare any respect.]

[That is Odahviing's voice. Is the dragon in danger?! Never mind the draugr, he must go help him!

Lurendil casts Muffle and Invisibility, then turns on his heels and runs.

Down the stairs, up the stairs, turn around, turn again... thank Y'ffre for his speed! He gains considerable distance from the pursuers, and by the time he is out of the door...]

Odahviing?!

[The scene in front of him is worse than he expected: while many undead are already burned, burning, and falling apart, many more are charging, unleashing arrows and ice darts, and summoning Frost Atronachs.

The Dovah is already bleeding from multiple blows.]

Fus Ro Dah!

[He forcefully creates space in front of the other, already loosing arrows with the speed and accuracy that make him worthy of being called a Jaqspur, targeting other archers and mages as long as the distance allows them to be his main focus. As soon as the dragon behind him wheezes in recognition, he barks the only strategy he can think of:]

More from the door. You. I kill these.

[Odahviing growls in understanding, before he shuffles to the entrance, prepares to burn or chomp on the upcoming adversaries, and lets his posture slump closer to the ground.

Gods... he really is hurt. All Lurendil wants to do is to cast his strongest Restoration spells on the Dovah, but his hands and attention can't waver for a single moment. Why did he really have to come alone with him?! Why did he agree?!

By Bormah, it hurts. Everything hurts.

The draugr from within the ruin start rushing to the door, and it is not difficult to meet them with a stream of fire and teeth...

Some still manage to hit, still. So do projectiles from behind... past the Bosmer's own shouts, arrows, and slashing swords and spells when they get too close.

...How... humiliating... to be defended by a mortal...

...No... an ally... a friend...

...a... Dovahkiin...?!

While burning blood runs down his scales and his vision blurs at the edges, panic sets in. They are allies, friends... but... they can annihilate each other completely. That's one of the reasons Alduin can't make peace with their existence, isn't it? What if...

The draugr within start retreating, seeing their peers can't breach the Dovah's defence.

Except an overlord with a big, big greatsword... right into his palate, while his teeth bite into their skull.

...He...

He lets out a scream of pain, while his body starts to fail him. He has to... he has to fly away...

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shout, shoot, stab, slash, shoot, shoot, shout... a quick fire spell for good measure... repeat. He can't afford anything else, despite how handy a couple of atronachs could be. They all keep coming, his Dismay shout didn't work, maybe he can throw in a...

The fine hair on his nape raises when he hears that horrible sound from Odahviing. One he has heard from so many dragons before... but never from a friend.

Cold sweat runs through his body. He knows what comes next. He can't let it happen.]

Wuld Nah Kest!

[He launches himself down the platform, landing straight onto a group of draugr, and once again, he runs. Swords and axes bash into his armour, but he doesn't care, anything to get away from the dragon before his soul...

A larger draugr steps into him at just the right time to make him trip. He's not far enough... No, NO!!

With a scream, he launches at the undead to tear his throat open with his teeth. It's too late. Odahviing is going to be dead. He's going to be dead!! It's all their fault!! It's all his fault!!

With the newfound fury, he slashes madly at everything around him, screeching instead of shouting, twirling instead of slashing... until enough of a clearing is carved, and he can cast Fire Storm too.

When he's done, and those still standing finally retreat, Lurendil collapses to his knees and wheezes. Too drained to heal himself. Too winded to cry. Too horrified to look up at the large skeleton on the platform above.

Why... WHY?!]

...

[...but... why? Really?

Is...

The booming noise? The whirling in his head? The strange lights raising from the remains, and seeping into his bones with ancient knowledge?

It doesn't happen.

The Bosmer heaves as he stands on shaking legs, and he slowly, carefully climbs the stairs. Ready to flee if that were to change. Ready to...

Odahviing lays motionless in front of the door, bloody, broken, with nothing in his eyes and vapour on his scales, as his hot remains turn cold. That's... that's a dead creature. No doubt about it, but... he can't really be dead, can he?! He would... his soul would be leaving now, wouldn't it? That's not possible! That's the first thing he learnt about being Dragonborn, a Dragonborn absorbs dragon souls!

The Bormer stumbles, and doesn't bother getting up; he crawls to the corpse instead. He unfastens and throws his gauntlets aside, and grabs his horns as tightly as he can, pulling himself closer to the head that's so still...]

Odahviing?! Please, say something!

[Nothing. He's dead but he's not. What... what can he do?! He forces what little magicka he has recovered into a healing spell... nothing changes.]

Please...

[His hands slide down to the dragon's cheeks, and he holds on his skull as if that's going to bring him back. It won't.]

...

[So many ideas whirl in his head. Most of them awful and useless. He doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to fix this. Doesn't know if this can even be fixed.

...Until he remembers someone who, maybe, can.

With a few deep breaths, he lifts his head just enough to shout, and calls the only one who can bring his friend back.]

Al Du In !

(It wasn't until a distinct shift quaked in her chest, leaving a sudden emptiness in a space that once held her end of a torn connection, that he realised his soul had been trying to warn her of something dire, something he could have prevented, a loss that would plague the depths of his heart. He was no stranger to grief, but this... This was incapacitating. It seemed to scrape at his hollow insides, shoveling any remnants of hope and peace from him like flesh from a gourd, and she did not even know what she had lost.)

(Then he heard his name, distinctly called from the mortal plane. It was terrified, distant, yet clear in each syllable, shouted in the voice of that one dovahkiin... Lurendil, his name was. Alduin remembered him, was fond of him even, but did not know why he would call upon her so soon. As his focus drifted to the scene around Lurendil in search of context, he felt a wisp of dragonic energy near the dragonborn, the remnants of a fallen brother; a powerful one, too. He did not have to wonder who it was. He knew that soul, had seen it before it had a body to inhabit. Yet it took him a moment to process the fact that that body was even capable of death.)

(Finally, the realisation of what he has lost grasped at his wings and forced them into frenzied flight towards the summons. She prayed from her sunken heart that she was wrong; "please, father, if ever you have cared for the life you created, let me be wrong. Let Odahviing be alive and well, even if it means I must suffer for it." All that he could think of was the deep rooted terror she felt at the idea of losing her brother just after she had found him, and the desperation for just a bit more time, for just one more happy memory of him.)

(She had to be wrong. He couldn't stand the thought of being right.)

(But there, outlined by drab stonework that insulted his radiant crimson scales, she saw him, bloodied and broken. A being with an inner world so vibrant and full, so considerate and courageous, laid motionless upon the carvings of mortals. His friend who had grown to loathe him, who had seen him through the worst of times, who she had sung to on stormy nights and held closer than any other. The dovah that he had taken under his wing after Akatosh's betrayal and vowed to protect for all of time was dead.)

(Her conscience didn't consider or register the dovahkiin beside the body, the way the dovah's form remained intact when it should've been sucked into the bosmer's. She only processed the smell of her kin's blood, the sight of his lifeless eyes, the stillness of his scales, and the way the colour seemed to drain for the world in his mourning.)

(Alduin's form moved without thought or sense beyond the ringing in his ears and the ache in his chest as he pulled Odahviing's body into her wings, tucked him under her snout and stared into empty space. A faint and high pitched whine rang from her throat, a quiet yet harsh cry for her fallen kin that seemed to cut through the whispering wind for all that would hear his grief.)

She wouldn't come. Nobody could undo his mistakes. He deserved pain and grief and unchanging judgement for causing his friend's death.

He closed his eyes, and let his head slide against the cooling scales until his antlers scraped against the motionless horn. It was unbearable. Dov were not supposed to die, to keep being so recognizable when their essence was gone, to be... the closest thing he had left to elder family members, and be gone too, to leave him alone again. He had never recognised Akatosh's mercy in the destruction of a dragon's form, after their ultimate defeat. He never... he never wanted to see it again. Not with Odahviing. Not with any Dovah.

The winds turned, carrying a presence he was supposed to fear and loathe. Lurendil's body flinched on its own accord, a reflex to defend a finite creature from something so imposing and powerful, but a timid pang of hope clutched his chest as he fell back on his heels...

A flame that was snuffed, by a display of sorrow so abysmal, it could shake the entirety of the Aurbis and shatter time itself.

It was real. It was all real...

He shut his eyes again, and tears finally flowed through his shaking lashes, while his bloodied hands clutched the hair at the base of his antlers. He was ready to scream, to beg, to do anything as long as Odahviing could fly again... but for a long while, he did nothing.

(She had been a terrible caretaker, hadn't she? Berating, unpredictable, emotional, selfish. He had always been aware of it, but only now did he realise how deeply he was to blame for it all.)

(Odahviing left because Alduin was making him miserable. There was no one else to blame for that, and now one of her closest friends was lost, a soulless corpse bled out on the stone. All because of a war she started with the claim that it was for her family, for beings like him.)

(Time had become immeasurable by the time he spoke through her guilt and grief, low and hoarse, body unmoving.)

At the same time, that meant Odahviing's soul was still there, somewhere, untouched. The overwhelming grasp in his gut loosened, even if just barely.

He took a deep breath, and broke his stiffened lashes apart to look upon Alduin.]

...I don't know. I didn't... want to... but I never chose to do it...

[His voice shook. That sounded like an excuse... but it wasn't. The rush from a slain Dovah's soul was exhilarating, and served his drive for power well... the first times. He hadn't needed it any more, after his own fated battle; but the ambushes had never stopped, and neither had the grasping of ancient souls. Or more precisely... he hadn't felled a Dovah in a while, but surely...

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it, all he wanted was...]

...Please... bring him back. He doesn't deserve... this... I will... stop fighting if... if that's what you want... for him to live...

You do not need to beg me to revive my own family, dovahkiin. Rok fent lahney.

(The whiplash of returning a soul to its body so soon after one's death would be difficult to quell, but it was possible to ease, if the one reviving them had the skill and strength. The effort of doing so would take a lot out of her, and while she's in that weakened state, Odahviing could very well take the opportunity to kill him and end the war with a single strike. It would be simple, easy, and well within his rights. Alduin recognises this, and he knows that it would be wiser and easier to leave Odahviing to die, but his mind is made up. She would die a thousand deaths before allowing one of her brothers to die in front of her, especially one she loves as much as Odahviing.)

Slen Tiid Vo.

Then, it remembered. It had a home. It had a purpose. At some level... it mattered, and golden threads of swirling essence surrounded it, beckoning it as they commanded it to follow. There was no ambiguity in the herald's will, but it knew all it had to do was to be carried, a plume of smoke in the breeze.

Backward and backward, it flowed to the source, and started recognizing himself.]

[Consciousness stirs behind Odahviing's eyes, while the chill that had seeped into his bones is vaporized by the fire beneath his scales. With a jerk and a breath, the stench of blood and charred undeath bids him welcome, and so does the metallic tang of rust and steel in his mouth. He sees black, his wings cannot unfurl... what happened?

Somewhere nearby, is a familiar presence he cannot pin down yet, small and impermanent yet fearsome; he knows he cares for it, like all of those whose nature is similar, yet a hint of terror in their regard still echoes in his mind. And above, someone so powerful, so unending...

The Dovah tries to free himself, screeches, and trashes in recognition. Alduin is on him, when he's weak, scared, and no longer obeying her. A Dovahkiin, the fated opponent, is nearby. Did the World Eater attack them? Is he trying to kill them both? Is she trying to feed his soul to his own ally, to prove some sort of point? Why would his big brother do this? How could she?!

Odahviing roars and chomps down wherever he can, hoping that's enough to make Alduin hesitate, stagger, get away... anything, so both of them can flee, so the Dragonborn can use their terrible shout and save them... but when a mortal's voice comes through, it's not for a fight.]

Odhaviing! Drem! Faasnu los, Nid Tahrovin til los...

(Though the crushing weight of Alduin's exhaustion remains present, it becomes inconsequential as he registers the fact that Odahviing is alive, and is replaced by a cleansing relief that settles his aching wings. He silently thanks his father the divines a million times over, her affection refusing to waver even with the accompaniment of her brother's deafening roars and violent thrashing. Alduin does nothing to fight Odahviing off as she slips in and out of sleep, even as her scales split and bleed beneath the the force of his maw, even though he can feel the hatred seeping from the younger dovah's bones.)

The mortal hands on his leg, cold and frail with exhaustion, regain a name and a history. With a glance, he remembers that Dovahkiin, from the first sharp-toothed grin of a captor, to the frenzied Thu'um of a dear ally failing to protect him. He... he thought he was about to be gone, forever removed from the Aurbis, turned into a mindless echo of knowledge and power somewhere in Lurendil's soul... Dovahkiinne usually don't know how to prevent their hunger from consuming their kin... yet, he is still here. Alduin brought him back.

How? Did the Bosmer call his fated enemy for him...? Was a bargain made? Did the mortal give up his power to save him? No, it can't be... the World Eater lies weakened, barely there. She did it all on her own and is paying the price. Why? How is he supposed to win the war he started, if he cannot fight on?

His fear and anger turn to pain, and a wail echoes in his throat while his snout finds the bleeding tears he's caused and presses on them. She is still a sworn adversary... but she's also his sister, still. He doesn't want him to suffer, especially after what he's just done. If the Dovahkiin were to order him to finish the job now... how could he do it?]

[But Lurendil is uninterested in war tactics. He moves off from Odahviing's leg to rest against his side, while his own terror and grief melt into a blend of incomprehensible agitation, gratitude, and guilt; he can only keep the turmoil at bay by pushing his arms against the dragon, in an uneffective but desperate hug, away from Alduin's maw.]

[The mortal is spent. Odahviing is still adjusting. Alduin is... not doing good, now. If she helped him... despite everything... it's only fair he tries to do the same.]

[Odhaviing is just about to fly above Crow’s cabin for a quick check, when his name is shouted. As usual, he pivots where he’s needed, but there is no trepidation in the powerful motions of his wings: it seems like it’s one of the troublemakers, this time, and he’s calling near Solitude. If issues will ensue, they will likely be due to their shared efforts.

The hinges screech, and the large chamber beyond echoes its cries. Then silence, uninterrupted by his practiced steps. With a low stance and Auriel's bow in hand, he feels nigh-invincible; but something is odd. Missing.

He advances to the short flight of stairs, almost hiding behind one of the symmetrical pillars and brazier holders, where the sarcophagus rests. Holding his breath, he looks up to see if it's still sealed...

It's not. But beyond it... the metallic stench of spilled blood.

He pauses at the top of the stairs, taking cover while he looks forward. He can see the throne, the basins where he had once spilled Hevnoraak's essence to summon and banish him; as many other Dragonborn have done, doubtlessly. It is also not the source of the smell.

One step forward, and he finds it.

A figure... or rather, pieces of a figure leaning on the opposite side of the sarcophagus. Tattered dragon priest robes are poorly draped above a broken torso, separated from its limbs, opened in several spots, most of its blood splattered on the stone below. Were some of the wounds bite marks? The head is... also detached, tossed a little further, battered and with no protection in sight.

The lifeless face doesn't have a mask, but it doesn't take much imagination to guess his target was already gone.

Lurendil takes a breath. The carnage doesn't bother him, he's done worse; but he doesn't understand. Would one of the Dragonborn do this? Was it... someone else? Are they still around?

He nervously moves his free hand to cast Detect Life.

Nothing.

Detect Undead?

...also nothing. Why would there be no undead in a Nordic Ruin...?

...Already butchered. And there are no draugr in there... again.

As he gets closer, not even bothering to lower his stance, the sarcophagus comes into view. It's open.

Step after step, he notices the skull keys in their place too. The guardians must have been disposed of again. All that's left to see is whether Otar has been dismembered too...

No, there are no scattered chunks of flesh this time. Another robed body without a mask, however, is burnt to a crisp. One could still see the edges of the malachite cover, protecting the head with its enchantments before it was removed.

He lets out a dispassionate sigh. Explaining to the other Dragonborn that one dragon priest is missing, and two others were betrayed by a supposed ally won't exactly make his track record shine... he could just turn away immediately, but it's worth seeing if the killer is still nearby.

Detect Life... nothing.

Detect Undead...

His stomach cramps.

Rushing in from the Crypts and the Canal, is a blur of energy he has never seen the likes of before.

Are all the draugr in the Ruin about to attack at once?!

How could draugr disappear from their former court, if they were not just destroyed? Maybe they were so distraught at the fate of their priest, they left? Or... did someone else try to control them? At least a few arrogant figures of the dragon cult had tried stealing draugr from a different court, and that usually resolved in frenzied and agitated rebels. Would Faaskaalmir know of that, if he was, in fact, responsible for Hevnoraak's third death? Had he lived long enough to see those episodes?

As if on cue, nearly breathless screeches resound behind him. He turns, and is met with... an army?!

Enough draugr to fill half an ancient city are stumbling from the mountains, up the stairs, clanking their axes on their shields and preparing their ice spells. Where did they come from?! How did he mistake them for... anything else?!

Odahviing turns to face them, unfurls his wings, and roars in their direction. He used to be one of their gods, his sight alone should have them cower in fear... but they are, in fact, frenzied.

They lost their priest. They lost their eternal purpose.

As their arrows and projectiles start flying towards him, he has no time to spare any respect.]

[That is Odahviing's voice. Is the dragon in danger?! Never mind the draugr, he must go help him!

Lurendil casts Muffle and Invisibility, then turns on his heels and runs.

Down the stairs, up the stairs, turn around, turn again... thank Y'ffre for his speed! He gains considerable distance from the pursuers, and by the time he is out of the door...]

Odahviing?!

[The scene in front of him is worse than he expected: while many undead are already burned, burning, and falling apart, many more are charging, unleashing arrows and ice darts, and summoning Frost Atronachs.

The Dovah is already bleeding from multiple blows.]

Fus Ro Dah!

[He forcefully creates space in front of the other, already loosing arrows with the speed and accuracy that make him worthy of being called a Jaqspur, targeting other archers and mages as long as the distance allows them to be his main focus. As soon as the dragon behind him wheezes in recognition, he barks the only strategy he can think of:]

More from the door. You. I kill these.

[Odahviing growls in understanding, before he shuffles to the entrance, prepares to burn or chomp on the upcoming adversaries, and lets his posture slump closer to the ground.

Gods... he really is hurt. All Lurendil wants to do is to cast his strongest Restoration spells on the Dovah, but his hands and attention can't waver for a single moment. Why did he really have to come alone with him?! Why did he agree?!

By Bormah, it hurts. Everything hurts.

The draugr from within the ruin start rushing to the door, and it is not difficult to meet them with a stream of fire and teeth...

Some still manage to hit, still. So do projectiles from behind... past the Bosmer's own shouts, arrows, and slashing swords and spells when they get too close.

...How... humiliating... to be defended by a mortal...

...No... an ally... a friend...

...a... Dovahkiin...?!

While burning blood runs down his scales and his vision blurs at the edges, panic sets in. They are allies, friends... but... they can annihilate each other completely. That's one of the reasons Alduin can't make peace with their existence, isn't it? What if...

The draugr within start retreating, seeing their peers can't breach the Dovah's defence.

Except an overlord with a big, big greatsword... right into his palate, while his teeth bite into their skull.

...He...

He lets out a scream of pain, while his body starts to fail him. He has to... he has to fly away...

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shout, shoot, stab, slash, shoot, shoot, shout... a quick fire spell for good measure... repeat. He can't afford anything else, despite how handy a couple of atronachs could be. They all keep coming, his Dismay shout didn't work, maybe he can throw in a...

The fine hair on his nape raises when he hears that horrible sound from Odahviing. One he has heard from so many dragons before... but never from a friend.

Cold sweat runs through his body. He knows what comes next. He can't let it happen.]

Wuld Nah Kest!

[He launches himself down the platform, landing straight onto a group of draugr, and once again, he runs. Swords and axes bash into his armour, but he doesn't care, anything to get away from the dragon before his soul...

A larger draugr steps into him at just the right time to make him trip. He's not far enough... No, NO!!

With a scream, he launches at the undead to tear his throat open with his teeth. It's too late. Odahviing is going to be dead. He's going to be dead!! It's all their fault!! It's all his fault!!

With the newfound fury, he slashes madly at everything around him, screeching instead of shouting, twirling instead of slashing... until enough of a clearing is carved, and he can cast Fire Storm too.

When he's done, and those still standing finally retreat, Lurendil collapses to his knees and wheezes. Too drained to heal himself. Too winded to cry. Too horrified to look up at the large skeleton on the platform above.

Why... WHY?!]

...

[...but... why? Really?

Is...

The booming noise? The whirling in his head? The strange lights raising from the remains, and seeping into his bones with ancient knowledge?

It doesn't happen.

The Bosmer heaves as he stands on shaking legs, and he slowly, carefully climbs the stairs. Ready to flee if that were to change. Ready to...

Odahviing lays motionless in front of the door, bloody, broken, with nothing in his eyes and vapour on his scales, as his hot remains turn cold. That's... that's a dead creature. No doubt about it, but... he can't really be dead, can he?! He would... his soul would be leaving now, wouldn't it? That's not possible! That's the first thing he learnt about being Dragonborn, a Dragonborn absorbs dragon souls!

The Bormer stumbles, and doesn't bother getting up; he crawls to the corpse instead. He unfastens and throws his gauntlets aside, and grabs his horns as tightly as he can, pulling himself closer to the head that's so still...]

Odahviing?! Please, say something!

[Nothing. He's dead but he's not. What... what can he do?! He forces what little magicka he has recovered into a healing spell... nothing changes.]

Please...

[His hands slide down to the dragon's cheeks, and he holds on his skull as if that's going to bring him back. It won't.]

...

[So many ideas whirl in his head. Most of them awful and useless. He doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to fix this. Doesn't know if this can even be fixed.

...Until he remembers someone who, maybe, can.

With a few deep breaths, he lifts his head just enough to shout, and calls the only one who can bring his friend back.]

Al Du In !

(It wasn't until a distinct shift quaked in her chest, leaving a sudden emptiness in a space that once held her end of a torn connection, that he realised his soul had been trying to warn her of something dire, something he could have prevented, a loss that would plague the depths of his heart. He was no stranger to grief, but this... This was incapacitating. It seemed to scrape at his hollow insides, shoveling any remnants of hope and peace from him like flesh from a gourd, and she did not even know what she had lost.)

(Then he heard his name, distinctly called from the mortal plane. It was terrified, distant, yet clear in each syllable, shouted in the voice of that one dovahkiin... Lurendil, his name was. Alduin remembered him, was fond of him even, but did not know why he would call upon her so soon. As his focus drifted to the scene around Lurendil in search of context, he felt a wisp of dragonic energy near the dragonborn, the remnants of a fallen brother; a powerful one, too. He did not have to wonder who it was. He knew that soul, had seen it before it had a body to inhabit. Yet it took him a moment to process the fact that that body was even capable of death.)

(Finally, the realisation of what he has lost grasped at his wings and forced them into frenzied flight towards the summons. She prayed from her sunken heart that she was wrong; "please, father, if ever you have cared for the life you created, let me be wrong. Let Odahviing be alive and well, even if it means I must suffer for it." All that he could think of was the deep rooted terror she felt at the idea of losing her brother just after she had found him, and the desperation for just a bit more time, for just one more happy memory of him.)

(She had to be wrong. He couldn't stand the thought of being right.)

(But there, outlined by drab stonework that insulted his radiant crimson scales, she saw him, bloodied and broken. A being with an inner world so vibrant and full, so considerate and courageous, laid motionless upon the carvings of mortals. His friend who had grown to loathe him, who had seen him through the worst of times, who she had sung to on stormy nights and held closer than any other. The dovah that he had taken under his wing after Akatosh's betrayal and vowed to protect for all of time was dead.)

(Her conscience didn't consider or register the dovahkiin beside the body, the way the dovah's form remained intact when it should've been sucked into the bosmer's. She only processed the smell of her kin's blood, the sight of his lifeless eyes, the stillness of his scales, and the way the colour seemed to drain for the world in his mourning.)

(Alduin's form moved without thought or sense beyond the ringing in his ears and the ache in his chest as he pulled Odahviing's body into her wings, tucked him under her snout and stared into empty space. A faint and high pitched whine rang from her throat, a quiet yet harsh cry for her fallen kin that seemed to cut through the whispering wind for all that would hear his grief.)

She wouldn't come. Nobody could undo his mistakes. He deserved pain and grief and unchanging judgement for causing his friend's death.

He closed his eyes, and let his head slide against the cooling scales until his antlers scraped against the motionless horn. It was unbearable. Dov were not supposed to die, to keep being so recognizable when their essence was gone, to be... the closest thing he had left to elder family members, and be gone too, to leave him alone again. He had never recognised Akatosh's mercy in the destruction of a dragon's form, after their ultimate defeat. He never... he never wanted to see it again. Not with Odahviing. Not with any Dovah.

The winds turned, carrying a presence he was supposed to fear and loathe. Lurendil's body flinched on its own accord, a reflex to defend a finite creature from something so imposing and powerful, but a timid pang of hope clutched his chest as he fell back on his heels...

A flame that was snuffed, by a display of sorrow so abysmal, it could shake the entirety of the Aurbis and shatter time itself.

It was real. It was all real...

He shut his eyes again, and tears finally flowed through his shaking lashes, while his bloodied hands clutched the hair at the base of his antlers. He was ready to scream, to beg, to do anything as long as Odahviing could fly again... but for a long while, he did nothing.

(She had been a terrible caretaker, hadn't she? Berating, unpredictable, emotional, selfish. He had always been aware of it, but only now did he realise how deeply he was to blame for it all.)

(Odahviing left because Alduin was making him miserable. There was no one else to blame for that, and now one of her closest friends was lost, a soulless corpse bled out on the stone. All because of a war she started with the claim that it was for her family, for beings like him.)

(Time had become immeasurable by the time he spoke through her guilt and grief, low and hoarse, body unmoving.)

At the same time, that meant Odahviing's soul was still there, somewhere, untouched. The overwhelming grasp in his gut loosened, even if just barely.

He took a deep breath, and broke his stiffened lashes apart to look upon Alduin.]

...I don't know. I didn't... want to... but I never chose to do it...

[His voice shook. That sounded like an excuse... but it wasn't. The rush from a slain Dovah's soul was exhilarating, and served his drive for power well... the first times. He hadn't needed it any more, after his own fated battle; but the ambushes had never stopped, and neither had the grasping of ancient souls. Or more precisely... he hadn't felled a Dovah in a while, but surely...

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it, all he wanted was...]

...Please... bring him back. He doesn't deserve... this... I will... stop fighting if... if that's what you want... for him to live...

You do not need to beg me to revive my own family, dovahkiin. Rok fent lahney.

(The whiplash of returning a soul to its body so soon after one's death would be difficult to quell, but it was possible to ease, if the one reviving them had the skill and strength. The effort of doing so would take a lot out of her, and while she's in that weakened state, Odahviing could very well take the opportunity to kill him and end the war with a single strike. It would be simple, easy, and well within his rights. Alduin recognises this, and he knows that it would be wiser and easier to leave Odahviing to die, but his mind is made up. She would die a thousand deaths before allowing one of her brothers to die in front of her, especially one she loves as much as Odahviing.)

Slen Tiid Vo.

Then, it remembered. It had a home. It had a purpose. At some level... it mattered, and golden threads of swirling essence surrounded it, beckoning it as they commanded it to follow. There was no ambiguity in the herald's will, but it knew all it had to do was to be carried, a plume of smoke in the breeze.

Backward and backward, it flowed to the source, and started recognizing himself.]

[Consciousness stirs behind Odahviing's eyes, while the chill that had seeped into his bones is vaporized by the fire beneath his scales. With a jerk and a breath, the stench of blood and charred undeath bids him welcome, and so does the metallic tang of rust and steel in his mouth. He sees black, his wings cannot unfurl... what happened?

Somewhere nearby, is a familiar presence he cannot pin down yet, small and impermanent yet fearsome; he knows he cares for it, like all of those whose nature is similar, yet a hint of terror in their regard still echoes in his mind. And above, someone so powerful, so unending...

The Dovah tries to free himself, screeches, and trashes in recognition. Alduin is on him, when he's weak, scared, and no longer obeying her. A Dovahkiin, the fated opponent, is nearby. Did the World Eater attack them? Is he trying to kill them both? Is she trying to feed his soul to his own ally, to prove some sort of point? Why would his big brother do this? How could she?!

Odahviing roars and chomps down wherever he can, hoping that's enough to make Alduin hesitate, stagger, get away... anything, so both of them can flee, so the Dragonborn can use their terrible shout and save them... but when a mortal's voice comes through, it's not for a fight.]

Odhaviing! Drem! Faasnu los, Nid Tahrovin til los...