The jagged cliffs of the Reach loomed under the crimson twilight, the wind carrying whispers of old magic through the air. From her vantage point, the High Hagraven watched with keen eyes as Kael slaughtered the Forsworn warriors below. Her gnarled fingers gripped the edge of her staff as she observed the battle unfold. He was powerful—far more powerful than she had anticipated. Even with the blessing of Mehrunes Dagon, her kin fell before him like wheat before the scythe.
Then she felt it. The surge of Daedric energy twisting and writhing in the air as Mehrunes Dagon himself reached into the mortal plane. The souls of the fallen Forsworn were dragged into the abyss, fueling the Prince of Destruction. The High Hagraven trembled as the presence of Dagon pressed upon her mind.
"You have failed me," the voice boomed through her consciousness, shaking her to her very core.
"Great Dagon," she whispered, bowing her head. "He is stronger than we anticipated. But we can still—"
"Do not grovel," Dagon snapped, his voice searing into her like molten fire. "You will do as I command. Gather the remaining Forsworn. Perform the rituals. I will have my avatar."
"Yes, my Prince!" she cried, eyes burning with manic devotion. "The Reach shall be drenched in blood. He will suffer!"
Dagon's presence withdrew, but the command remained. The Hagraven turned her gaze to the distant horizon, where dark plumes of smoke curled into the sky. More rituals were already taking place. More Forsworn were embracing the power offered to them, their bodies infused with the unholy might of Mehrunes Dagon. Soon, their numbers would swell once more, and their vengeance would be complete.
———————
Kael returned to Markarth under the pale morning light. The city walls, once a symbol of security, now felt more like the edge of a battlefield. The refugees he had saved were safe inside, and as he walked through the gates, he saw some of them huddled together, their faces still stricken with fear but alive. That was what mattered.
He made his way to Understone Keep, his boots echoing through the cavernous halls as he gave his report to Jarl Igmund. The conversation was brief—Kael had seen too much, done too much, to linger on formalities. The Forsworn were still a threat, now more than ever, and the Reach was not safe.
The next morning, he left the city behind, heading deep into the wilds once again. The crisp mountain air did little to settle his mind. His mission was clear—find the Forsworn, stop them before they could bring ruin upon Skyrim. Yet something else pulled at him, a strange force leading him further into the Reach.
His search led him to the remnants of an old shrine, half-buried in rubble, its stone carvings worn by time. The symbols on its cracked surface were unlike any he had seen before, not belonging to any known Aedra or Daedra. Amid the broken columns, Kael spotted a note, resting upon a small pile of blackened ash.
With a wary glance, he picked it up. The moment his fingers touched the parchment, he recognized the handwriting.
"You're going to need the help. Head north of here to the Dwemer ruin Bthardamz. The workshop holds what you need. Try not to die."
Kael exhaled sharply, rolling the note between his fingers. The man who had sent him to Skyrim—his unseen benefactor—was still watching. And apparently, he thought Kael needed more power.
Without hesitation, Kael adjusted his gear and set off towards Bthardamz.
———————
The entrance to Bthardamz was as foreboding as any Dwemer ruin Kael had encountered—massive golden brass doors carved with intricate geometric designs, towering over him like an ancient sentinel. The stone surrounding the entrance was angular and rigid. Large pipes jutted out from the ruin's surface, hissing with occasional bursts of steam. Moss and lichen clung to the cracks in the metal plating, nature's slow reclamation of the Dwemer's once-great empire.
Kael approached cautiously, the cool mountain air shifting as he neared the doors. A faint metallic tang lingered in the air, the scent of rust and oil mixed with the dampness of the ruins. With a grunt, he pushed against the towering doors, their ancient mechanisms groaning under the weight of centuries. Dust cascaded from the hinges as the entrance yawned open, revealing the dark abyss beyond.
Inside, the ruin stretched into the shadows, illuminated only by the occasional flickering of ancient Dwemer lanterns. The walls were lined with intricate engravings of gears and schematics, their once-brilliant golden surfaces dulled by time. Kael burned tin, heightening his senses as he took his first careful steps inside. The air was thick, damp with condensation dripping from overhead pipes. The echoes of his own footsteps bounced off the cold metallic walls, giving the illusion of unseen figures moving just out of sight.
Steam hissed from cracked valves, creating an eerie, rhythmic exhale that filled the silence. Pools of murky water had collected in depressions where the stone had crumbled, their stagnant surfaces rippling slightly as he moved past. Enormous bronze gears, long frozen in place, loomed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the cavernous halls.
Kael moved deeper into the ruin, his every step measured and silent as he navigated the winding halls of Bthardamz. The air grew heavier the further he traveled, thick with an acrid, unnatural stench that burned at the back of his throat. He slowed his pace, burning tin to heighten his senses, and immediately recoiled as he detected something deeply wrong in the atmosphere.
A greenish fog clung to the floor in sluggish swirls, seeping from the numerous Dwemer pipes that jutted out from the walls like iron veins. It was unnatural, almost alive, and it set his nerves on edge. Whatever had happened here, it wasn't just the work of time and decay. Something—someone—was still using these ruins for their own purposes.
The first sign of trouble came when he caught movement ahead. Shapes slithered through the mist, their forms hunched and unnatural. Kael ducked behind a broken pillar, peering through the gloom.
He had heard whispers of them from travelers before—worshipers of Peryite, the Daedric Prince of pestilence. Once ordinary people, now twisted into something barely human. Their skin was marred with lesions, their bodies gaunt and wracked with disease. They moved sluggishly but with unsettling purpose, their ragged breaths carrying an eerie wheeze. Some dragged weapons behind them, rusted but still deadly, while others carried small pouches filled with unknown substances.
Kael exhaled slowly, steeling himself. He had no quarrel with them, but he knew better than to expect reason from Daedra-touched zealots. He shifted his stance, reaching for additional steel reserves in case he needed to make a quick retreat.
He didn't get the chance.
One of the Afflicted paused, sniffing the air like a beast catching a scent. Its head snapped toward Kael's position, hollow eyes locking onto him with unnerving precision. It let out a guttural rasp, lifting a trembling hand—and then vomited a stream of thick, green bile.
Kael barely had time to react. He steel-pushed himself backward, flipping over a pile of debris as the corrosive liquid splattered against the stone where he had stood moments before. The air filled with the sizzling sound of acid eating through rock. He gritted his teeth. If that had hit him directly, it would've been a problem.
The other Afflicted reacted instantly, their sluggish forms springing to life. They surged forward, some raising rusted weapons while others prepared to unleash their sickly projectiles. Kael drew his sword in one smooth motion, steel-pushing off the ground to launch himself at the closest enemy.
His blade sliced clean through the first Afflicted's arm, but the zealot barely reacted, continuing to claw at him with its remaining limb. Kael flared pewter, driving a knee into its chest and sending it sprawling. Another charged from the side, swinging a jagged blade at his ribs. Kael twisted mid-air, steel-pushing off a fallen Dwemer plate to reposition himself above his attacker. As he landed, he brought his sword down in a brutal arc, severing the enemy's head from its shoulders.
A second later, a choking cloud of green mist erupted around him.
Kael cursed, burning iron to pull himself backward, narrowly avoiding the cloud of noxious fumes. The Afflicted were using their own bodies as weapons, expelling their sickness in ways that defied reason. If he wanted to get through this without suffering the same fate, he'd need to change tactics.
Swallowing a steel bead, he flared the metal.
In an instant, the battlefield shifted. Every weapon, every piece of armor, every scrap of metal embedded in the ruins around him became a tool for his will. Kael pushed, sending a wave of metal outward. The Afflicted were caught in the storm—blades ripped from their hands, shattered gears and bolts hurtled through the air, impaling them like jagged spears. A rusted Dwemer cog the size of his torso slammed into one unfortunate zealot, crushing him instantly.
The survivors staggered, their frail bodies barely able to withstand the assault. Kael wasted no time. He dashed forward, cutting down the remaining zealots with swift, merciless efficiency. Within moments, the chamber was silent once more, save for the soft hiss of steam escaping from cracked pipes.
Going deeper into the ruin, it wasn't long before he ran into more resistance. Automatons. Their glowing eyes flickered to life as their ancient sensors detected movement. The air filled with the mechanical whirring of gears and the clicking of weapons preparing to strike. Kael cursed under his breath as a Dwarven Sphere unfolded from its casing, twin blades extending from its sides as it rolled toward him with deadly precision.
He flared steel, pushing off a metal beam on the ceiling, launching himself out of the automaton's reach. But then, he felt something—the inner gears.
An idea struck him. Instead of merely pushing on the exterior metal, he burned steel with precision, focusing his Allomantic power on the intricate internal mechanisms. With a violent push, the automaton's inner gears shifted out of alignment. The construct shuddered violently, its movements jerky and unnatural before it collapsed in a heap, its own systems sabotaged from within.
More automatons approached. This time, Kael used the same method—pushing on the delicate metal filaments deep within their bodies, causing catastrophic failure. One by one, they fell, disabled before they could even engage.
Deeper into the ruins, Kael found what he was looking for.
The Dwemer workshop was eerily preserved. The forge in the center of the chamber was cold, but the various workstations still held remnants of unfinished projects. Crates filled with decayed materials sat against the walls, untouched by looters who feared the ruin's lingering dangers.
At the far end of the room, locked inside a reinforced chest, he found it.
A metal unlike any he had seen before—dark as night, with veins of silver threading through its surface.
A small plaque beside the chest provided a faded inscription:
Voidiron (25% Iron + 75% Ebony)
Without proper tools to shape the metal into beads, he had to improvise. Taking out a dagger, he began shaving thin slivers from the Voidiron ingot, gathering the delicate shavings into a small pouch. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do until he could refine it further.
With his supply ready, Kael took a cautious breath and swallowed a small shaving of the metal, immediately burning it to test its Allomantic properties.
The moment he burned the Voidiron, he felt an unnatural pull—not just toward metal, but toward darkness itself. Shadows stretched toward him, pooling around his feet as if drawn by an unseen force. He tested a pull on a nearby piece of Dwemer scrap metal, and as it lurched toward him, so did the darkness, swirling unnaturally in his direction. He was cloaked in a veil of shifting shadows, making his form harder to distinguish in the dim light.
He exhaled, letting the metal burn away, and the shadows dissipated, retreating to their natural state. A hidden advantage. This could make him nearly invisible in the right conditions.
Next, he took some more shavings and tapped into it, attempting to store something within. The moment he willed his essence into the metal, his body felt insubstantial. He stared at his hand as his fingers became faint, translucent, like smoke drifting through air. He exhaled sharply, reaching for a solid surface. His palm passed through the stone wall beside him. For a brief moment, he had no physical form.
He stopped storing into the metal, and the solidity of his body returned in an instant.
Kael clenched his fist, his mind racing. If he could store his tangibility, he could phase through objects, slip past barriers, evade attacks that would otherwise strike true.
The potential was staggering.
He grinned to himself, tucking the ingot safely into his belt. Whatever was coming next, he would be ready. And with this new power, his enemies wouldn't even see him coming.