Chapter one: The man with no face.

Blizzards. If one word was used to describe the northern corners of Skyrim that one word would be the first thing to enter anyone's head, more so for the populace of Winterhold which, in the opinion of the figure riding upon the deep black furred horse, was the snowiest hold in the province, seeing as there were no walls or large buildings to deflect the blistering winds. The man riding the black steed trotted casually into the boundaries of the small village, going unnoticed due to it being mid-night, looking over the less than substantial hold capital; on his right sat the jarl's longhouse, an imposing and large building that served as the home of the hold's governing bodies; to his left was the inn, known as The frozen hearth, a large structure that served as the past time for pretty much everyone in the village after eight, the place where many would go to drown their sorrows and drink away what little coin they had; further into the village sat the other source of business, a general store called Birna's Oddments, a rundown and struggling shop that was barely making enough coin to scrape by; lastly the home of Kraldar sat, a lonely building of simple stonework and thatch roofing that did little to guard the occupant from the foul weather outside. The rest of the buildings were little more than ruins that had been created by the great collapse, an event that pulled most of Winterhold into the sea nearly one-hundred years ago, leaving only the college intact. The approaching rider didn't care much for political schemes and shows of power throughout rival holds but personally he felt Winterhold was a sort of 'limbo hold' as it was weak due to the lack of strategic strengths, no wall, few guards and a pretty poor hold as a whole but at the same time, it was home to the best spell casters in all of Skyrim, giving it a great deal of power over other holds.

The college of Winterhold; the mysteries that surrounded the place were legendary and few did not know of the stories, rumours and intrigue that surrounded the place. As the dark person dismounted his horse and made his way up the gentle slope and under the great arc that represented the beginning of college grounds, he paused to appreciate the magnificent architecture that was the centre of arcane study of Skyrim, it stood alone and proud atop a great chunk of rock, a large, far from intact bridge attaching it to the rest of Winterhold, wells of pure magical essence lighting the way. The college itself was a masterpiece of presence, visual appeal and functionality; the tree wings, the hall of attainment, home of the apprentices, the hall of countenance, home of the more capable wizards and hall of the elements, which served as the lecture hall, practise room and study hall all in one, atop this was the Arcanaeum and atop that the Arch-mage's quarters.

It was to this building the man in armour and mask was headed towards, specifically the hall of the elements, as according to the newly made master wizard Tolfdir, another 'anomaly' had arisen and none of the mages there knew anything about it, so, begrudgingly, the Arch-mage had opted to comply with the old man's request and go down to investigate. As the man strode over the ice covered bridge with an impossible balance, he did a routine and habitual inventory; the armour he wore was of the finest quality, if a bit rough around the edges, consisting of plated dragon bone, complex carvings chiselled into it over a long, painstaking period of around six months. The carvings consisted of patterns of flame going down along the sides of the chest plates and along the abdominal, a dragon's skull hidden in the patterns. On the middle of the chest piece the Akavir symbol for shout rested, all of these carvings were filled with the enchanted ice element known as Stalhrim. The armour also had pieces of the Arch-mages robes incorporated into the design, the poncho and hood draped over the heavy armour, a satchel bag hanging off the right shoulder. The joints and the parts of his body not covered by the dragon plate were protected by the ebony mail of Boethiah, the armour's creator had taken from the artefact. Many straps, clasps, belts and buckles covered the back and waist of the armour, holding phials of potion and poison, throwing knives, small pouches of ingredients, lock picks, scrolls and a fairly new invention, courtesy of the mage making his way to his college, called ash screens, a small sphere like shape containing the ashes of Morrowind and a soul gem shard with an explosion charm placed on it, used to create a diversion or blinding screen. Useful in a tight spot. The boots and gauntlets followed suit of the armour save the Stalhrim patterns, instead simply having the fire and jagged ice carvings bare. The protection the armour offered was powerful and the enchantments that powered it were the only thing that bettered that factor; the gauntlets made the wearers hands faster, stronger and steadier, allowing for more powerful and accurate strikes in most forms of weaponry; the boots were muffled and gave the strength of a mammoth; the armour plates gave a magically enhanced healing factor and be rid of lactic acid build up faster than normal; the Stalhrim granted and empowered an already powerful resistance to frost and ice damage granted by the Nord blood that ran through the wearer's veins making the wearer almost immune to frost damage; the shadow black mail kept the poisoning and shrouding effect; the Arch-mage robes gifted the Nordic mage with their powerful magic bolstering enchantment, which when coupled with the jagged sapphire encrusted gold ring, that gave a much larger pool of magicka and increased its regeneration, making the already powerful mage that much more deadly. His mask, a masterpiece of crafting and enchanting consisting of ebony and dragon bone, created in the fires of the skyforge when lit by dragon fire it held no equal in its power; it granted a resistance to half of all magic thrown at its master, increased their stamina reserves, made their skin harder to attacks and further increased their pool of magicka attributes by half of what they originally were and finally made their voice stronger and soothed the pains that came after using it. It took the form of a mix of all the dragon priest masks that there were; the carved patterns of the average mask's forehead are present; the tusks of Konahrik sat below the eyes; the mouth piece shared by Zahkriisos, Dukaan and Ahzidal covered the wearer's jaws; and the menacing eyes of Miraak would gaze at the one who looked upon the headgear. The distinguishing face protection of the last Dragonborn was known as Sizaanluft or 'lost face' as dubbed by its owner a man who was more than he appeared to be, the Dovahkiin, the Arch-mage of the college of Winterhold, harbinger of the Companions, listener of the Dark brotherhood, master of the thieves guild, thane to all of Skyrim, hero of Solstheim, lord of the Volkihar vampire clan and champion hunter of the Dawnguard, the man who's deed are known by all and his face known by none; Remus-The Featureless. Remus had taken extreme lengths to conceal his face from the public eye, be it a hood, sticking to the shadows or, as he had most recently taken to, wearing the masks of dragon priests.

As the Dragonborn strode through the courtyard of the college, giving a moment's glance at the statue of the mage who founded the place, Shalidor, moving quickly on to the hall of the elements once inside the difference was made evident quickly; the chilling winds left the warriors body alone and the warmth of the college replaced it almost as soon as he passed through the boundaries of the great hall. He walked through the open gates into the round hall that was the main feature of the lowest floor of the hall of the elements and stood in the door way.

'Well, I hadn't expected that'was the most powerful and esteemed wizard of the college's first reaction. Before him stood most every mage in the college; Tolfdir standing at the back of the small army of minds rubbing his chin in thought, no doubt keeping an eye on everyone and making sure they're all safe; the three apprentices J'zargo, Onmund and Brelyna sat in a neat row, looking up at the anomaly, looking down at their note books and scribbling away; Arniel Gane paced around the object in the centre of the room, apparently having being pulled away from his 'secret work', while he muttered to himself and made his own notes; the other senior mages had gathered in one side, talking to each other, glancing up and going back to their discussions, Remus could pick up the words 'disaster', 'oblivion' and 'gate'. The Dragonborn made his way over to the apprentices, his silence impossible for someone of his size, and looked over their shoulder at their work, none of them noticing him. J'zargo had opted to sketch in his book, his paw strikingly skilled around a picture; he had captured perfectly the image of this oddity, the white, what appeared to be marble looking, curve reaching around three meters high, the archway itself, little more than a roughly chiselled chunk of white rock that seemed to have been cut by an imbecilic that had stumps for hands, the white arc housed a bright yellow portal of some kind, the bright light almost blinding around the edges and a dark shad of orange towards the centre, the very middle having, what appeared to be burnt into the portal opening, a black symbol the Dragonborn did not recognise; it was a circle, an 'S' shape cutting it into two equal portions, the left half had a sun at the top, another circle with eight fire like point coming off of it, the sun like shape was in the fore-ground of fore wavy segments that covered the whole of the left segment. On the right side there was an exaggerated crescent moon at the bottom, the moon had a flowing star like pattern around it, the rest of the segment being blank. Moving on to the dunmer of the trio, Brelyna, who had gone down a more traditional note taking route, the well-honed eye sight granted by the Dovahsos, dragon blood, allowing him to see her small handwriting.

The door, or portal as seems more accurate, is defiantly of another plane. The craftsmanship of the arc is rugged and clumsy but that is not what takes my interest. The door or portal seems to be radiating magicka; much like the eye of Magnus had once done, as described by the master wizard, though in this case even I can feel a regular pulsing of sorts every two and a half minutes. The strange seal on the opening is like nothing I have ever seen before…a sun and moon, the latter of which does not seem to resemble either of our own, I have a theory about what this could mean; balance, harmony maybe coordination. Anything else would not make sense, at least not in our meaning of this sort of image.

Straightening up again and looking over Onmund's notes, which proved to be pretty much the same, he made his way over to the arch and took a good long look over it. Everyone in the room noticed him now and gave small greetings; the senior mages nodded and waved, Gane grunted and muttered something about 'interruptions', the apprentices gave a vocal welcoming's and Tolfdir walked up to him held his hand out to greet him in a hand-shake.

"Arch-mage, it's good to see you" was Tolfdir's welcome as he gripped the younger man's hand.

"I have a name Tolfdir" Remus replied, never being too fond of being called by his titles, his voice was deep and had a metallic tone to it, similar to Miraak's when he wore his mask, though was unmistakably more friendly "but all the same drem yol lok" he greeted in return his voice rumbling the room as his Thum'um seeped through the draconic, his voice sounding remarkably similar to Paarthurnax when he spoke the tongue of the Dovah. The Dragonborn looked back over the doorway/portal "do we know what this is?"

"None" the old man had a sudden look of defeat on him "we've not a thing on this. It's fascinating but we have no records of anything of its ilk, besides the oblivion portals but, as you can see, it looks nothing like an oblivion portal."

"Not all oblivion portals look the same" Gane comments.

"True but I have the feeling that this is not a gateway to oblivion, for one daedra aren't coming through" the Dragonborn argues, before he looks around looking for something "Miraak?"

"Upstairs with Urag, looking though the college archives for answers about…whatever this is" Tolfdir replies before giving a lengthy sigh "I doubt they'll find anything though" he admits. Without another word the last Dragonborn goes to seek the first, heading for the college's library, in a state of calm that told everyone in the room he didn't care much for this new 'discovery'. It was true that he'd taken the title, though he preferred to call it being handed over to him because no one else would want it, as after the rather noticeable disaster that was the eye of Magnus incident, an undeniable shitstorm was on the horizon and putting the Dragonborn in charge of the college was the Psijic monk's way of keeping things calm. It had worked but at the price of Remus having to do stuff like this. After taking the stares two at a time and pushing silently through the door to the Arcanaeum, he was met by a most amusing sight; pandemonium would be the best word to describe it, books were flung by a hand hidden by one of the curving walls in a violent and frustrated fashion, while others floated gently towards the direction they were being thrown from, most likely the result of a telekinesis spell, all the while the show being watched by an amused Urag gro-shub, occasionally shouting out a 'be careful' or 'watch what you're doing', although it was unlikely that he would interfere considering that the one throwing his books around had numerous dragons at his beck and call.

"Unslaad krosis" Miraak spits in frustration as he goes through yet another book with nothing useful in it "Sindungahvon" useless "a portal none have seen before, a library nil se Onikaan" void of knowledge. The ancient Dragonborn suddenly noticed the new presence in the room "wo til?" Who's there?

"Fahdon Zeymah" a friend, brother "Miraak, I thought you would have had enough of book after your time with Mora" Remus comments as he strides over. The first grunts as he clasps fore-arms with his self-proclaimed brother.

"Maybe, but this miiraak, this portal has picked my interest." The Arch-mage shakes his head, amused, before looking through some of the books the green robe clad nord had gone through. Putting them back on the shelves he looks back a Miraak as he tosses another book over his left shoulder, still annoyed at the lack of information on the anomaly down stairs. As Remus half-heartedly skims through the tomes he reminisces about his time in Skyrim with his newly discovered brother. After the events of the black books on Solstheim and facing the first Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha, Remus had absorbed Miraak's soul. Unbeknownst to him, or even Hermaeus Mora at the time, Miraak's soul was more…potent than the average dragon soul, thus it manifested over a course of three weeks, each day more torturous than the last, as a completely separate being gained power within the Dragonborn's very being, when finally on the twenty-second day, Remus woke up to find that the pain had gone…and Miraak was lying on the ground besides him. As it turned out Miraak had been about to take over Remus's body but Akatosh himself, it seems, intervened binding the two, having them guide and teach each other until their count of days were up. He never did offer an explanation. Thanks to the dragon god of time's influence however, Skyrim, and indeed all of Tamriel, had two Dragonborn to protect the land. It also meant that Remus could better get to know the first of his kind and surprised was the only real word for his reaction; the loss against him in their dual had sent Miraak into a sort of…depression but then, knowing you now had to spend the rest of your life with the one who had killed you would have that effect on you, his rather sever hit to the pride turned the once powerful and fiercely independent dragon priest of allegiance and guidance, into nothing more than an awkward battlemage that did as he was told and followed Remus around like a pet dog…or dragon, only really coming out of his shell when he fought, that being the only thing he did in his state of post-traumatic stress, the thing that did snap him out of his month long trance was what really caught Remus's notice though; it was during an errand that Remus was running for Delvin, something about a shop owner fencing goods in Windhelm and not cutting the guild in, where they came across a girl called Sofie, an orphan who made a living selling flowers, who Remus had come across once or twice in his visits to the hold capital, speaking with her and donating coin but when he crossed her path with the mentally and emotionally inept Miraak in tow…

"Hi there" the girl who may as well have been the Nordic embodiment of innocence says to tall, intimidating form of the dragon priest Miraak. Said Dovahkiin looks down at the small freezing child.

"Hello" he replies, dumbly. Remus looks on with a bemused expression on his face.

"You wanna buy some flowers?" The last Dragonborn was grateful for the face concealing mask he wore as he struggled to hold down the laugh threatening to escape. His whole mood changes, however, when Miraak gets down to one knee and looks at the girl properly at eye level.

"Why are you out here girl, where is your monah, mother and your bormah, your farther."

"My mother died when I was little" she explains, apparently un-phased by the use of draconic, "and my papa was a soldier in the stormcloak army. One day he left and never came back" she tells the masked man, tears welling up towards the end of her tail. What happened next would always stay in Remus's memory; Miraak stayed silent for a good, long fifteen seconds, which may as well have been the rest of the fourth era for how long it felt, he puts his right hand on the girls arm in a comforting fashion then, faster than anyone could react, he pulls the girl, who seems just as shocked as the master thieves guild, into a one handed hug.

"I know your pain kiir, child. I too grew up without parents." The last statement causes the Dragonborn to blink, he hadn't been on the best of grounds with his parents when he had left them for Skyrim, they had wanted him to join the imperial legion and fight off the, as his empire backing parents had called them, 'traitorous bastards'. He'd always wondered what they'd have thought when they found out he was Ulfric's most formidable general. Personal history aside, it had never occurred to Remus what Miraak's past might have been like, nor had ever crossed his mind that although the man was fiercely independent, to a degree that Remus had assumed he had no sexual orientation, he might of liked some company now and then. Though if the last thing he said would stay in his memory, the next thing was the equivalent of being branded, with all the skill and subtlety of a drunken giant.

"It is hard, living alone at a young age" he paused as though he was considering something "you need not do so any more goraan gein, young one…"

"Wh-what do you mean" the girl asks, eyes wide.

"What I mean is" he paused, steeled himself "if you so desire I would" another pause, a long steadying breath "take…you in." The answer was given in the form of the girl returning Miraak's embrace, full force, and all the last Dragonborn could do was smile at the scene before him, thanking the divines that someone had gotten through to his brother.

Remus was pulled from his thoughts by a loud, ground rumbling 'DANM' from Miraak's direction, no doubt marking the end of their fruitless search.

"We're taking this investigation back to the arch" Miraak declares.

"I'm surprised you're involved in this at all, I thought you'd want to stay with Sofie." Miraak reaches up and moves his hands behind his face, pulling down the hood and removing the mask he kept there and ran a hand over his face, still trying to calm his, rather vile, temper.

"I wanted to but Teldryn, Serana and even Silas insisted I get out more." Remus grunted in response. Now lacking his mask, Miraak's seldom seen face was revealed; he had a sharp jaw line with a black stubble running across the jawline, he had a small nose that always reminded Remus of a dragon with a small bump on his face, his eyes were pitch black and had an 'all seeing' quality about them, the grey hair on his head was thick, long, unruly and wrapped in a simple ponytail, reaching down to his upper back. The first Dragonborn looked over to the last "must you always look like you're about to invade Cyrodiil single handily brother?" Remus took a look over himself and laughed.

"Perhaps, but then why have weapons if you don't use or carry them?" The Dragonborn was, admittedly, ridiculously well-armed, asides from the assortment of throwing knives, poisons and ash screens, he had an unusually large arsenal on his person; on his right hip two katanas, made of a dragon's bone, imbedded with Stalhrim, the hilt crafted from ebony and wrapped in black leather, made to match the armour Remus wore, they had no real enchantment, instead allowing the wilder to channel spells through the blade, which for the Arch-mage of Winterhold was a powerful enchantment indeed. Resting on top of the crossed dual scabbards sat a leather sash in which Windshear, the scimitar of the winds, rested. On his lower back the Dawnbreaker and the Nightingale short blades sat, hilts either side of his waist. A dwarven crossbow, the bow compacted against the stock lay above the two short swords, a quiver of twenty bolts atop the scabbards. Auriel's bow was placed on his back the string over his chest and the golden limbs of the weapon over a quiver of sun-hallowed arrows. On top of the god's weapon sat the two-handed katana of Mephala, the ebony blade, the weapon of a daedra. The left hip of Remus's armour was home to a daedric axe, the blade small and the weapon light and fast, a tomahawk, the weapon of certain tribes of Hammerfell, the blade of woe and three daggers of ebony metal. Atop the ebony blade three staves sat; the Wabbajack, the staff of Magnus and the stave of the Dragonborn, a staff that looked identical to a dragon priest's staff only forged from black ebony wood of trees of the Deadlands, capable of channelling any spell its wielder could cast, bypassing the need to use the mage's reserves of magicka. In his left boot Mehrune's Razor was sheathed.

"Ah, Dragonborn welcome back" Tolfdir calls over.

"Tolfdir" Remus and Miraak say at once.

"You've both arrived just in time."

"For what" the last asks. As the words leave his mouth a pulse seeps through his body, a pressure over his entire body, concentrated on his face and right finger.

'Must be the pulse of magicka Brelyna noticed, concentrated on the magicka enchants' Remus mentally noted.

"Do you have any idea where this miiraak leads" Miraak requests.

"Well, I didn't think it safe nor wise to just walk in ther- wait, Arch-mage, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Remus walks straight over to the arc, pausing in front of it, before passing straight through.

What met the Dragonborn was a completely white and featureless area, the glow as pure as virgin snow keeping an odd quality of blinding light but also being bearable to the Dovahkiin's eyes. He heard steps in front of him, though not human steps; they sounded like…hoof steps? The Arch-mage's left and right hands dart for weapons, both clutching one of the dragon bone katanas, the left weapon's blade held below his fist, the right above the fist.

"Who goes there" he demands of the void. His reply comes in the form of a black out-line, a silhouette in the shape of…a horse? That said, certain aspects look off; for one, this equine had what appeared to be a horn on its head, the animal was tall and had a body shape that looked like it had been pampered most of its life, the mane and tail seemed to flow in a wind that ether didn't exist or Remus couldn't feel it.

"I could ask you the same thing" the horse replies.

'Wait what? Yeah, of course the horse speaks.'

"Where am I?" The horse, or whatever it is, looks around itself before answering.

"In a space between the worlds we both reside in." Remus's left eye goes half-lidded.

"What" he asks, unbelieving of this equine's words. The horse seems to gain an annoyed quality.

"You are in a space you should not be occupying, biped" the horse, who seems to have a woman's voice, tells him sternly. The Dragonborn takes no notice of her threats.

"And who are you?" She stands a little straighter.

"I am Princess Celestia, co-ruler of Equestria" Remus almost laughs "who and what are you?"

"My name is Remus The-Featureless, the Dragonborn" he gets no visual or audial reaction, likely because she doesn't know what one is "body of a mortal, soul of a dragon?"

"I get it" the princess loses her 'regal' tone "I suggest you leave this place, before it becomes impossible." Remus narrows his eyes, if only because he knows she's right. Loitering for a second he turns and leaves without another word, sheathing his weapons as he goes back through the portal, questions in mind but with no desire to answer them, especially if it meant being stuck here.

Immerging through the portal once again, Miraak and Tolfdir go straight up to him barraging him with questions.

"Are you alright?"

"What was over there?"

"Do you remember us?"

"Do you remember yourself?"

"I'm fine, a white room and a horse, you're the first Dragonborn, you're the master wizard of the college of Winterhold, I'm the Dragonborn of the forth era. Stop asking me questions, the pair of you."

"Just one more Zeymah, what's that?" Miraak leans to the side slightly, pointing his finger at a point behind Remus. The motion catches his attention and he follows his gesture, turning and looking behind him. His eyes widen at what he sees. Golden, sky blue, dark orange and red swirls leaking from his feet and body, a sight he'd seen around fifty times throughout his life, a sight that he had grown all too familiar with. It was a soul being ripped from its person. His soul. The Dragonborn doubled over, remembering what Miraak had once asked him.

"Do you think it hurts? Having your soul ripped out like that."

Yes it hurts, by the god's dose it hurt, like being burned alive, frozen to death, ripped apart by a hurricane, beaten to death by a giant and the whole experience being stretched over three days all at once. Now he was experiencing it for himself he could only feel pity for all the dragons he had slain. The pain he felt suddenly intensified, a roar of pain ripping from his throat as his flesh and muscles were burnt from his skeleton, flaking away in a golden light as he felt his being get pulled into the void he had just been in.

"Brother, BROTHER, REMUS" Miraak bellow as he watches his brother get taken away from him by an unknown force. The last drops to his knees as his leg muscles disintegrate; he manages to raise his head and look Miraak in the eye through both their masks.

"Ahkrin Miraak" courage Miraak, were the Dragonborn's final words before he passed from Nirn.

All's Miraak could do, was stare. He could not comprehend what he just seen, one second his brother had been making comments as though everything was normal, the next…

"W-what happened" Tolfdir whispered to no one in particular, most likely because no one would know the answer. Miraak took a step forwards, then another and another, until he was next to the still figure of his brother.

'He's not dead, he can't be, no he was just…knocked out by something, yeah that's it, no problem.'

He reached down and pulled his hood back revealing the brown tight leather straps, similar to the mask clasps of his old cultist's masks, slowly and tenderly he released the buckles one by one until he had loosened it enough to remove the mask. Once he took it away from his face he let out a horrified groan, falling onto his back-side in complete misery, holding his own face in his left hand and keeping his grip on Sizaanluft tight in his right hand. Tolfdir moved towards the two Dovahkiin with fearful movements, he spotted the ivory white bone where flesh and hair should have been, the old wizard put a sympathetic hand on Miraak's shoulder, he shrugged it off and turned his gaze to the old man. Tolfdir couldn't see the masked man's face but he knew that he was wearing a gaze that a dragon would cower under.

"Fetch his family" he ordered. Tolfdir nodded and jogged out. As he sat there he struggled to get a hold on his thoughts; a part of him was ripping apart the whole of Tamriel in his rage, another part of Miraak was asking himself why he was not taking advantage of this situation, stealing his armour and weapons, taking the influence and power across the whole of Skyrim and beyond that the dragon in him felt was rightfully his but it was the simple fact that now he was gone, it was only now Miraak could see how much he meant to him, he'd defeated him but treated him like an equal, shown him the ways of the modern world. He'd been his brother. Miraak stood up, barring the way between his brother and any who would do his corpse harm, snapping his right arm to the side, tendrils grew from beneath his robe's sleeves, forming a deep green blade.

"No one will approach until Serana, Teldryn and Silas have paid their respects." The mages and apprentices gulped and nodded, not wanting to get on the Dragonborn's bad side when he was in a bad mood.

Three hours past.

Tolfdir returned with four people in tow; the first was the dashing daughter of Coldharbour, the female vampire by the name of Serana; the second was a dark elf, clad in chitin armour, save the helmet that was pulled off of his head as he entered the room and tossed carelessly to the side in panic; the third and fourth came at once, one of them was a giant, clad in ebony armour, a sword of the same make on his belt. He went by the name Ebony warrior, though his birth name was Silas blackblade, a warrior on equal standing as Remus. The forth one to enter the hall of the elements ran straight up to Miraak, she grabbed his leg and buried her face into it as she wept, as Miraak, her adoptive father, placed his gloved hand on her head as he watched Serana, Remus's lover, hold his remains and cry to herself. Silas approaches Miraak.

"I always thought it would be one of us to fall first."

"He hasn't fallen."

"What do you mean 'hasn't fallen' Miraak?"

"In my gut, I just don't think he's dead, I can't explain it."

"I admit it; it does seem unlikely that he would fall off of the battlefield."

"But, uncle Remus isn't moving and aunt Serana…" Sofie observes poking a hole in their unrealistic hopes. Miraak looks down at the girl he had come to adore, reaches down and picks her up. The three of them watch as Serana cries her eyes out over the skeleton of her dead lover, Teldryn had retired to sitting against one of the pillars, holding his grey features in his hands. For a good two hours the only sounds were of Serana's grief given sound. Miraak couldn't shake the feeling though, the unexplainable feeling that was a person's gut feeling, the feeling that Remus hadn't died, but simply moved on to a better place.