Dreams of Ash and Snow

Wrong time, wrong place

When the shadow of gold lingers

And the waters run red

When the sky is torn and shattered

And the dread settles deep

The dark storm flies

From ash and embers

With a gaze of fire

And blades of ice

Warriors of gold will rise again

From their sharp woven prison

As the creatures of metal and mind

Stir within their ancient fortress

***

The air smelt of ash and snow. The distinct smell hovered around Kyra, reminding her of home. She must be close.

The coldness was sharp in her nose as she breathed in. The crisp quality of the iciness could only be found here - in Skyrim. Despite the time that had passed, it felt as familiar as ever.

Quickening her pace in anticipation, she shrugged her pack further onto her shoulders and took note of the gradual change in the surrounding nature. Snow started to dot the ground - the product of last night's gentle fall - and blue mountain flowers grew like weeds, their vivid colour stark against the grass.

Blue mountain flowers only grew in Skyrim - she knew that. They were perfectly adapted to the brittle coldness of the mountains and despite their delicate appearance, their roots were extensive and deep-rooted. She had tried to pull one up as a child, curious about the flower in a way that only toddlers can be. But no matter how much she tugged, the plant remained stubbornly in the ground until her father had taken pity on her and used his spade to force it out. Later, her mother had taught her about how the flower managed to draw up water through the roots and how it was necessary for life - for all life. She remember being shocked at that. It had seemed a strange idea that everything was reliant on such a simple thing as water.

Voices caught her attention. She paused, hand hovering over her sword in caution as her fingers twitched. Chances were, it was a simple traveler like her. But by now, she knew not to make such assumptions - it could as easily be a bandit or necromancer.

She edged her way to the side of the path, taking cover in the dappled shade shed by the trees. With careful steps, she moved towards the source of sound.

A flicker of artificial blue caught her eye - clothing, perhaps?

She ducked behind a rotting tree stump just as two armoured figures emerged from the trees - soldiers. One was male, the other female. They were talking in low undertones and although they didn't seem to be particularly aggressive, she wasn't taking any chances. She probably could defeat them if forced into it, but she didn't want to step into her old home cloaked in blood and violence. That was how she had left - she was determined that things would go differently this time.

She became aware of a presence behind her an instance before a twig snapped. She started to whirl round, muscles tensing and hand reaching for her swords, but the contact of metal against her throat stilled the motion. The ghosting touch was as cold as ice.

"Place your hands on your head," a male voice said.

Internally cursing herself for letting her guard down, she let the hilt of her sword slip through her fingers and did as she was told.

"Stand up and face me. No sudden moves, mind." The voice spoke again and she turned around, the weapon swaying against her throat. The polished edge nicked her skin slightly and she felt a trickle of blood form.