The Silencer

Chapter 16

4E, 196

"What is she, Nazir?" The woman's voice tore through the air, sharp and cutting, just like the blades she surely wielded. Her brown hair framed a face twisted in fury, and her deep red armor—a haunting reflection of the blood she had undoubtedly spilled—seemed to pulse with the heat of her rage. Her eyes, wide with a mix of trepidation and something darker, bore into me as if I were a creature from the depths.

Nazir, standing beside me like a shield against her wrath, tried to speak, his voice a calming murmur, "Astrid, please—"

But the woman—Astrid, I learned—would not be swayed so easily. She cut him off with a venomous hiss, "Something is wrong with that girl." There was an edge to her words that I could not understand then. Now, looking back, her tone seemed heavy with the weight of her then new role as the leader of the Falkreath Sanctuary.

Nazir's plea was softer this time, almost as if he were speaking to himself, "She means no harm... For the Father, Astrid, look at her!" His words wrapped around me like a fragile barrier, but even I could feel the desperation in them.

Astrid's eyes roved over me, taking in every detail, every scar and bruise, as if she was trying to piece together the puzzle of who, or what, I truly was.

I remember the way the shadows twisted and writhed under the flickering torchlight. The skulls embedded in the walls were the worst of it—those empty, hollow eyes watching my every move, silently judging, as if they knew I didn't belong.

I stood there in the remnants of my Thalmor uniform from the day of the trial, the fabric burned and torn, still stiff with dried blood. It clung to me like a second skin, a grim reminder of the horrors I had endured. Yet, despite its ragged state, I couldn't help but think I looked better than the first time Nazir had found me—barely more than a ghost of a girl, hanging on to life by a thread.

Thanks to him and Festus, I had been able to eat, to sleep, to cling to the edges of survival. They had given me a chance, pulled me back from the edge, but the scars of that ordeal were still etched into my flesh. I had managed to clean myself in the cold waters of the nearby lake but the bruises that marred my neck and the side of my face were refusing to fade.

Under the dim light of the hall, they stood out like dark stains on my pale skin, a testament to the violence I had survived. Every time I caught sight of them in a reflective surface, they reminded me of the pain, the fear, the helplessness.

The farm.

I could feel Astrid's eyes lingering on those bruises, but there was no pity in her gaze, only a cold, calculating assessment, as if she was weighing my worth—or my danger—to the Brotherhood.

"I had no other choice." Nazir pressed, his voice tight, as he opened his hand in a gesture of frustration.

"Well, you had options." Festus's voice cut through the dimly lit hall, emerging from the shadows with a disapproving glare, his arms crossed in a judgmental way. Nazir stiffened at the sanctimony in his tone, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes.

"Shut up, old man." Nazir snapped, his patience fraying. "You know the state we found her in. Have you forsaken all mercy?"

"Mercy?" Astrid's voice was sharp, almost a hiss, as she turned her steely gaze on Nazir, then on me. "We don't do mercy." Her words were cold, cutting through the air like a blade.

"If you can't accept her," Nazir hissed, his voice steady as his gaze swept across the faces of his comrades, finally resting on Astrid, "then I'll leave. This isn't a family." His words hung in the air like a challenge, daring anyone to oppose him.