The walls of Riften loomed above us, shadowed by the darkening sky, their cold stones catching the last rays of sunlight. The group had been quiet for most of the journey, each of us weighed down by our own thoughts, by the bloodshed behind us; the pillagers, the vampires and the uncertain road ahead.
We haven't got the chance to properly take a rest, maybe that's why most of us haven't spoken a word right after we left that vampire lair.
Finally, we reached the gates, I caught sight of the guards, their uniforms unmistakable. Stormcloaks. I felt a familiar knot twist in my stomach—a mix of unease and something darker. These men had likely done more than follow orders; they'd taken pleasure in their cruelty, especially against those who had no means to fight back, and those who were not Nords.
Nikolai, as always, was the first to react.
"What's the meaning of this?" His voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp as the daggers strapped to his belt. His eyes flashed dangerously, and I could see the tension in his stance, a predator sizing up his prey. His hand twitched toward the hilt of his weapon, just a subtle gesture, but I knew it well enough to understand what it meant.
The Stormcloak guard didn't flinch. He leaned lazily against his spear, as though Nikolai were nothing more than an insect buzzing at his ear. "Entrance fee. Hundred septims." He smirked, glancing at the rest of us. "Each."
Nikolai stepped forward, his shoulders taut with barely restrained fury. His mouth curled into something between a snarl and a sneer. I could almost hear the blood rushing through his veins, hot and relentless, like a storm about to break.
"We're not paying a damn thing," he growled, his voice low and venomous. His fingers itched for violence, and I knew, if given the chance, he'd have the guard on the ground in moments, blade to his throat. And while I didn't doubt Nikolai's skill, bloodshed is unnecessary. A huge amount of bounty will be given to Nikolai if I let him do as he pleases.
I stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Nikolai's arm, feeling the heat radiating from him. He stiffened at my touch but didn't pull away. His eyes flicked to mine, stormy and wild, and I met them with a calmness I didn't entirely feel.
"Let me handle this," I whispered, keeping my voice level, though my heart thrummed unsteadily. I could sense the others behind us—Jordis's eyes narrowed in silent frustration, Belrand's hand on his sword hilt, Aldis and Titus watching, waiting for whatever would happen next. I had to prevent it from becoming a massacre.
What would happen if I didn't intervened on time, I thought it was only Nikolai who will eliminate anyone without even thinking about the bounty that will put in each of our heads.
Nikolai hesitated, but after a long moment, he stepped back, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the tension in his neck. He gave me a curt nod, though the fire in his eyes has not dimmed. "Fine," he muttered, "but they're not worth the trouble."
I turned to the guard, offering him a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Hundred septims, was it?" I asked, my voice smooth, a velvet promise rather than a threat. "Quite a steep price for a city that claims to welcome all." My fingers idly played with the coin purse at my belt, though I had no intention of paying. "Isn't there something we can do to… reconsider that fee?"
The guard raised an eyebrow, the lazy smirk faltering just slightly. I could see him thinking, weighing his options. "Aye, well…" he started, his bravado slipping. He glanced nervously at Nikolai, whose gaze hadn't left him, like a wolf watching its prey. "Maybe there's some leeway, for the right sort."
I leaned in closer, dropping my voice low enough for only him to hear. "You don't want me to tell this to the Maven Black-Briar? Can't you recognize someone from the Guild?" There was a flicker of something behind his eyes—fear, or perhaps self-preservation. "Now, open the gate."
Without another word, he waved to the other guards, and the massive gates of Riften creaked open.
As soon as we stepped through, Nikolai's voice hissed in my ear. "I guess you used your trump card huh? Maven."
I glanced at him, my lips curving into a smirk. "Someone's doing their research."
He scoffed, shaking his head, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—approval, perhaps, or maybe just relief that we hadn't spilled blood. Not yet.
After what we witnessed in that village—the burned houses, the lifeless bodies of the innocents—I could feel the familiar cold rage simmering beneath my calm exterior. The Stormcloaks, their cruelty laid bare for all to see, were no better than the Thalmor. My instincts screamed to take action, to watch them reduced to nothing but smoldering embers. But vengeance, I've learned, requires patience. A misstep would only turn the tide against us. Still, if given the chance… if only for a moment, I'd let the shadows consume them, leaving nothing but ash in my wake.
The others followed close behind, silent as we made our way through the streets. The tension that had hung in the air at the gates had lessened, but I could still feel it, crackling like a live wire. Jordis walked beside me, her gaze darting from shadow to shadow, her hand resting on her sword's hilt, ready for anything. Belrand had fallen back slightly, keeping an eye on the alleys, while Aldis and Titus moved a few inches away behind us.
Nikolai remained close, his presence a constant, simmering storm at my side. He didn't speak, but I could feel the question hanging between us, unasked but loud enough.
"You did well," I said finally, breaking the silence.
He glanced at me, his brow furrowed. "I'm not one for subtlety. Not after learning how foul these Stormcloaks are."
I smiled, a little more genuine this time. "No, you're not. But sometimes it's not about the blade at your side, Nikolai. It's about knowing when to use it."
His expression softened, just a fraction, and he nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."
But then, we came across it—what Riften is infamous for.
Two guards stood by a merchant's stall, their eyes gleaming with greed as they cornered a hapless shopkeeper. One guard reached out, snagging a bag of coins from the man's shaking hands, while the other whispered something, and the man nodded quickly, fear dancing across his face like a rat caught in a trap.
Nikolai's breath hitched beside me. I didn't have to look at him to know what he was feeling. I could sense the heat radiating off him, his fists clenching and unclenching like a wolf on the verge of sinking its fangs into its prey. His jaw was locked tight, his gaze fixed on the guards, and I knew the thought that flashed through his mind.
His fingers twitched towards the hilts of his daggers, and I stepped closer, blocking his view for a heartbeat. "Not now, Nikolai," I whispered, my voice steady, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing inside him. I didn't meet his gaze. If I did, I'd only be feeding the fire. "Stay calm."
Nikolai's dark eyes flared with fury. His nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge, and his breath came out in short, ragged bursts. "They're scum," he spat, barely above a whisper. "They deserve worse than death for this."
I could feel the tension crackling between us, the same tension that had nearly boiled over at the gates. His anger was always a blade's edge away from bloodshed. But now wasn't the time for recklessness.
"Deserving or not, killing them now would only make things worse," I said, keeping my voice low, but there was a steel in it I knew he'd recognize. "We're here for something bigger than this." My eyes flicked back to the guards, who were still harassing the merchant. "Let me handle it."
His face twisted, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if every word I spoke was an unbearable restraint. For a moment, I thought he might push past me, act on his anger, but he stood still, his gaze hard. "They don't deserve to live," he muttered, almost to himself.
I turned fully to face him now, my eyes locking with his. "We can't burn every rat's nest we pass, Nikolai. Patience. Our target is more dangerous than them."
He glared at me, his fury dancing just beneath the surface, but then, ever so slowly, he exhaled, his shoulders lowering, just a fraction. "Fine," he growled, though his hand remained too close to his daggers for comfort.
Without another word, I moved past him, walking straight towards the guards with deliberate, measured steps. The air around us seemed to shift, the tension thickening as the guards noticed my approach. One of them, a burly man with a sneer plastered across his face, glanced up, his eyes narrowing. He gave a short laugh, as though a woman walking toward him was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
"Something you need, lass?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery.
I stopped a mere foot away, my eyes cold and unwavering as they met his. "You're frightening the good citizens of Riften," I said, my voice carrying just enough authority to make the smirk fade from his face. "And I believe you've taken something that doesn't belong to you."
The guard blinked, his bravado faltering as his hand subconsciously rested on the pouch of coins. "And who do you think you are?" His voice wavered ever so slightly.
I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper that only he could hear. "Someone who knows where your secrets are buried. And someone who isn't afraid to dig them up."
His eyes widened ever so slightly, the color draining from his face as if the shadows themselves had reached out and touched him. He stammered, glancing nervously at his companion, who shifted uncomfortably under my gaze.
"W-we were just… following orders," the guard muttered, his confidence crumbling like brittle parchment. He tossed the coin pouch back at the shopkeeper, who caught it with trembling hands. "Go on," he said, gesturing to the other guard, "Let's move."
The two guards hurried away, their heads lowered, their pride shattered. I watched them go, the silence stretching in their wake, thick and heavy like a shroud.
As I turned back to the group, Nikolai was watching me, his lips pressed into a tight line. His gaze softened, but only slightly, the fire still burning behind his eyes. "You didn't have to let them walk away," he muttered.
"No," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "But sometimes letting someone walk away is more dangerous than killing them outright."
Nikolai didn't respond, but I could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes. Perhaps not agreement, but understanding nonetheless.
We continued toward the Guild's secret entrance, the weight of the city's corruption hanging heavy around us, but for now, we had a mission. There would be time for these kinds of matters later.
The dim lantern light flickered off the stone walls of the Ragged Flagon as we entered, the familiar scent of damp and mildew wrapping around us like an old cloak. But something was wrong. The Guild should have felt like home, a sanctuary from the dark world outside, but this—this felt foreign. The air was thick with tension, and an unsettling silence hung over the place. I scanned the room, looking for a face, any face, that I recognized. But there were none.
Instead, I was met with the unfamiliar sight of strangers—new bloods—lingering near the shadows, wearing the armor of the Guild. Where were the veterans, the ones who had bled for this place? My heart sank, and I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. Something had shifted since I'd been gone, something I hadn't seen coming. I gripped the bow at my side just a little tighter, my fingers itching for the comfort of an arrow.
We moved silently through the room, the others behind me—Nikolai, Belrand, Jordis, Aldis, and Titus—keeping their usual sharp-eyed vigilance. But I knew they felt it too. Nikolai's gaze burned holes into the back of the heads of the strangers who dared wear the armor of my Guild.
At the end of the room sat a figure at the Guild Master's table, her silhouette cutting through the dim light like a blade. As we approached, she stood—a woman in full Thieves Guild armor, but her posture, her aura, didn't belong. The insignia gleamed on her chest, but it felt hollow. Empty. She couldn't be… no. I knew who the Guild Master was. I knew the man who had helped me avenge Gallus, who had stood with me before Lady Nocturnal. This imposter couldn't claim his place.
"Welcome back to the Guild," she said, her voice cold and authoritative, like she had earned her right to that chair. "I'm the Guild Master now."
Her eyes landed on me, and I saw a flicker of recognition, but she gave nothing away. Her expression remained rigid, a mask hiding whatever lay beneath. But her eyes—those eyes were calculating, waiting for something, for me to make the first move.
I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, a flood of memories—Gallus, the betrayal, Mercer, everything. But it wasn't the time for sentimentality. The woman in front of me was a threat. I took a slow, deliberate step forward, my eyes narrowing, searching her face for answers.
"Guild Master?" I said quietly, letting the words slip out like a blade being drawn from its sheath. "Strange. I seem to recall the Guild Master being someone else… someone who's actually earned the title."
The room felt like it held its breath, waiting. The woman's lips curled into a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Times change, Karliah," she said, her voice oozing confidence, though I could sense the cracks beneath it. "You've been gone a long time."
I tilted my head slightly, assessing her. The swagger, the forced calm—she was new, but not as secure in her position as she wanted to be. And she knew exactly who I was. That much was clear.
My eyes swept the room again. None of the original members—no Brynjolf, no Vex, no Delvin. Only these new faces, shadows of what the Guild used to be. I exchanged a look with Nikolai. His face, usually impassive in moments like these, was a mask of simmering fury, his knuckles white as they hovered near his daggers. The others, too, shifted uneasily. We'd stepped into something dangerous.
Without a word, I gave him the look—the one we'd used too many times before when things were about to take a turn. His hand moved instinctively to his weapons, the blades catching the dim light as they slid out of their sheaths with the unmistakable sound of metal readying for war.
The others followed suit—Belrand drawing his sword, Jordis gripping the handle of her shield, Aldis and Titus shifting into position. The air grew thick with the anticipation of violence, and I could feel the pulse of adrenaline start to rise in my veins.
The woman's smile faltered for the briefest of moments, and I caught the flicker of fear in her eyes before she steeled herself. "You don't want to do this," she said, her voice hardening, but there was something off, something she was trying to hide.
"I don't," I replied coolly, pulling my bow off my shoulder and notching an arrow, the familiar tension of the string a comfort against the unknown. "But if you're here to take what isn't yours, I won't hesitate to make sure you leave with nothing."
The Guild had always been a place of shadows, of subtle moves and unseen hands. But now, it seemed, there would be no avoiding the storm brewing in this room.
The tension in the room felt like a drawn bowstring, ready to snap at any second. I kept my eyes on the woman before us, every instinct telling me something was off. She stood there, defiant, wearing the armor of the Guild, claiming a title she had no right to. This was not the face of the Guild Master I knew. Pyeath Shadowthorn had earned his place, fought through fire and shadow to stand as the Guild's leader, and I would not be swayed by the audacity of this imposter.
"Where is Pyeath?" I asked, my voice sharp as the dagger at my side, cutting through the growing tension in the room.
The woman held her ground, her expression unflinching, but I could see the flicker of something in her eyes—uncertainty. "I am Pyeath Shadowthorn," she insisted, her voice firm but lacking the weight behind it. She lifted her chin slightly, as if trying to convince herself of her own words.
Behind me, I could feel Nikolai's growing agitation, the air around him crackling with barely-contained fury. I knew that look—the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes burned with a fire that was always just under the surface. He stepped forward, his presence commanding, the sound of his boots echoing in the stillness of the room.
"We know who Pyeath is," Nikolai said, his voice low and dangerous, like the growl of a predator about to pounce. His gaze locked onto the woman's, and for a moment, it felt like the room itself held its breath. "You are not him."
The woman's facade wavered. I saw her eyes darting between us, calculating, searching for something. She raised her hand, signaling to the others. The tension in the room shifted abruptly as the members of the Guild hesitated, then slowly began sheathing their weapons. The room remained on edge, but the imminent threat of violence retreated, leaving only questions.
Then, without a word, the woman reached up and pulled back her hood. Nikolai's breath caught, and I saw his expression shift from confusion to recognition, his brow furrowing deeply.
"Kylie?" His voice was rough, disbelief laced in his words.
The woman, Kylie, let out a slow breath, her gaze softening slightly as she met Nikolai's eyes. "It's been a long time, Nikolai," she said, her tone no longer one of authority but of familiarity—an old friend finally dropping the mask.
I looked between them, the weight of the moment settling in. Kylie—maybe one of Nikolai's co-workers, transported here to Skyrim like him. What twisted fate had brought her to this place, into this world of shadows and thieves?
"I never thought I'd see you again," Nikolai muttered, still processing the revelation.
Kylie smiled faintly, a trace of weariness in her eyes. "A lot has changed since that night, the storm… and then all of a sudden I find myself in this world," she said, her voice quieter now, more human. "Pyeath… he's my husband."
The revelation hit like a punch to the gut, but before I could speak, a figure emerged from the shadows—familiar, welcome. Brynjolf, the veteran thief, stepped into the light, his eyes locked onto mine. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin, the kind that always preceded trouble.
"Well now, if it isn't Karliah," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze sweeping over our group. "You've brought quite the company with you."
"Brynjolf," I breathed, relief flooding through me at the sight of a friendly face. "What's going on here?"
The other veterans of the Guild—Vex, Delvin, Rune—began to reveal themselves, stepping out from the shadows as if they'd been watching this whole time. I should have known. The Guild was never without its layers of deception, and this was no different.
Brynjolf's expression sobered, and he glanced at Kylie before turning back to me. "We've been expecting trouble," he said, his voice lowering as though sharing a secret. "The Dark Brotherhood's been making moves. We had reason to believe they were targeting Pyeath. So, we set this little arrangement up to protect him. Kylie's been standing in for him, while we watch the shadows for any sign of the Brotherhood."
The weight of his words sank in. The Dark Brotherhood—always lurking, always dangerous. They had been after Pyeath, and the Guild had prepared for their strike.
"And you thought it wise to keep this from me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, though I couldn't keep the edge of amusement out of my voice.
Brynjolf shrugged, that ever-present grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "Didn't want to risk the word getting out. No one can know who's really pulling the strings, aye?"
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The danger was far from over, but at least now, I knew the truth. And I had allies, ones I could trust.
Nikolai, though still tense, relaxed slightly beside me, his hand falling away from his daggers. "So this was all just… a ruse?" he asked, his voice still carrying a hint of frustration.
Kylie nodded. "We had to be sure. We've been watching you since you arrived, waiting to see if you were the threat we were preparing for."
"Well," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips as I lowered my bow. "Now that we're all friends again, I think it's time we talked about how to deal with the real threat."
Brynjolf's grin widened. "Aye, lass. Let's."
The tension hung in the air like a blade poised for a swift strike. I could feel the weight of everyone's gaze, the expectation crackling around us like static before a storm. I crossed my arms, feeling the familiar itch of impatience creeping in. "But how did you know that Pyeath was being targeted?" I pressed, my voice steady but laced with urgency. "And where is Pyeath?"
Before anyone could respond, a shadow shifted in the corner of the room, drawing my attention. My heart raced as I caught a glimpse of movement. The air shifted again, as if the shadows themselves had conspired to reveal their secret. And then, stepping out from behind the cloaked figures, he emerged—a presence that commanded the room.
Pyeath Shadowthorn.
He was a Bosmer, tall and lithe, with the grace of a dancer and the poise of a predator. His hair, a deep chestnut brown, framed a face that was both rugged and refined, sharp features softened by the warmth in his emerald green eyes. The mix of Nordic and silver armor he wore hugged his frame snugly, each piece enchanted to be lightweight, allowing him to move with an agility that made him almost ethereal. The silver gleamed faintly, reflecting the dim light of the lanterns like a whisper of moonlight caught in steel.
"Pyeath," I breathed, relief washing over me like a cool stream on a hot day.
He met my gaze with a steady look, a flicker of recognition warming his expression. But that warmth was short-lived, replaced by a grave seriousness that stole the breath from my lungs. "Karliah," he said, his voice smooth but edged with tension, "That was some way to return eh?."
But there was something more urgent in his tone. I could sense it, a weight pressing down on him. "What is it?" I asked, my heart racing anew.
"It was Erik who tipped us off weeks ago," he replied, his voice low and urgent. "He warned us that the Dark Brotherhood was targeting individuals from the Legion, but my name was in it too. I knew I had to be on guard, but…" He paused, the words hanging in the air like a dagger waiting to fall.
"But what?" I pressed a chill running down my spine.
He looked at me, his green eyes fierce but troubled, and I could see the conflict playing out across his face. "But I didn't expect them to come so soon. Everyone, prepare for batt—"
Before he could finish, a sudden crash echoed from the entrance, the sound of boots thundering on stone, breaking the moment like a fragile glass. The unmistakable clatter of metal followed, and my heart dropped as I recognized the footfalls of the Dark Brotherhood.
"They're here!" I shouted, instinctively reaching for my bow, my senses heightening to a razor's edge.
Pyeath's eyes widened, the green depths turning into stormy seas. "We need to move, now!"
As I turned to rally our group, the unmistakable voices of assassins echoed behind us. The weight of impending danger settled upon us, and the chill of dread clawed at my insides. I could see the glint of blades reflected in the flickering light, shadows creeping forward like the tendrils of a nightmare.
The last thing I heard before chaos erupted was Pyeath's voice, steady but urgent, a rallying cry for what lay ahead. "We fight for the Guild. We fight for our lives!"