4E 201, Hall of Vigilants
Keeper Carcette
The letter still rested on the long stone table in her chamber, partially crumpled from how tightly she'd been gripping it earlier.
The Stormcloaks wanted an alliance.
Carcette paced across the prayer hall of the Hall of Vigilants, the sound of her boots echoing across the marble floors as snow lashed against the narrow windows.
The Stormcloaks had arrived unannounced, requesting an audience with the Keeper of the Hall. The leader of the group, a younger nord named Marros, was respectful in his words—but Carcette had seen the fire in his eyes. The same fanatic fire she'd seen in old crusaders who'd lost the path, their zeal turned to blind rage.
They carried with them a letter, the words practically burned on the parchment.
"To Keeper Carcette, in faith and fire—
The time has come to stand with Skyrim. The Empire has abandoned the True Sons. Your Vigilants know the truth of the Daedra, the threat of corruption, the rot festering within the Empire's rule.
We ask the faithful of Stendarr to stand against the false Empire and its elven masters.
Let us reclaim it together.
—Frokmar Banner-Torn, Stormblade of the Pale"
She'd read it three times now. Each time, her brow furrowed deeper.
The Vigilants had never involved themselves in politics. Their swords were forged not for kings or thrones, but for those who trafficked with Daedra. The storm was coming, Carcette knew that, but dragging the Vigilants into the civil war?
It wasn't that she didn't understand their position. The Empire had betrayed its own faith when it outlawed Talos worship. The White-Gold Concordat was nothing short of a noose handed over to the Thalmor. The Vigilants had felt the slow, growing choke of elven interference for years. Temples shuttered. Priests exiled. Old tomes destroyed.
However, she also wasn't blind to the fact that Ulfric's civil war was only making things worse. The only people to gain something with the Stormcloak rebellion are the Thalmor, for they are the only ones whose forces would remain untouched while the Stormcloaks and the legions continue bleeding the other.
She shook her head. It didn't matter in the end. The Vigil's mission wasn't to police the squabbles of men. Their charge came from Stendarr himself.
To fight the Daedra.
To protect the innocent.
To purge the profane.
And now, while cults of Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon were growing bolder with each passing season, the Stormcloaks wanted them to turn their hammers and spells on fellow mortals.
Carcette closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Stendarr, give me patience…"
The door creaked open behind her.
"Keeper," came a voice—one of the junior Vigilants. A Redguard boy, newly sworn, still shivering and uncomfortable in the cold. "There are riders on the road. Headed straight for us."
She looked up, frown deepening. "More Stormcloaks?"
He shook his head. "Hard to tell. Snow's coming down thick. But…" He hesitated, squinting out the window. "One of them looks like they're wearing our robes."
Carcette raised an eyebrow. 'Could it be Tyranus? The man has gone quiet ever since his mission in Markarth.'
She moved to the window, brushing aside the frost-rimed curtain. Visibility was poor, the wind howling across the landscape like some great wolf. But there—emerging through the white haze—two riders approached.
One of them, she saw immediately, was a giant of a man. Ebony-black armor gleamed even through the storm, and a massive warhammer rose behind his shoulders like a steel pillar. He seemed to be laughing at something, head tilted back, his voice carried faintly even through the wind.
But it wasn't him her eyes locked onto.
It was the rider beside him.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She didn't wait.
Carcette turned from the window and ran for the doors, side stepping over a junior Vigilant on her way out. She pushed through the front gate. The cold hit her instantly, biting deep into her bones, but she didn't feel it.
Outside, the snowstorm howled like a wild beast.
But there—standing at the foot of the stone steps—were the riders.
The Nord dismounted first, shaking snow from his cloak with a grin, then looked up toward the Hall with the ease of someone who wasn't easily impressed. He was older, scarred, and looked like he could knock down a bear with a single punch. Ebony plate covered him head to toe, and that warhammer—how did he carry something that size?
But none of that mattered to her.
Kiera dismounted slowly, brushing snow from her sleeves. She pulled back her hood, letting her white hair fall around her shoulders. Amber eyes, the same molten-gold shade as Carcette's own, met hers.
Years had passed.
Carcette opened her mouth, but only one word came out:
"...Kiera?"
Her daughter gave her a sheepish smile.
"Hey, mom. It's been a while."
…
Kiera Fendalyn
The warmth of the Hall's interior had always felt different than any other place in Skyrim. Even with the wind howling just beyond the stone walls and the snow sticking to her boots, Kiera felt something close to home as the firelight danced along the stained-glass windows.
It had been years since she'd last stood here.
"Come," her mother said softly, the corners of her lips curved upward in a rare, gentle smile. "We'll talk inside."
They sat near the fire at a heavy wooden table, mugs of spiced tea steaming between them. Gerron stood nearby, arms crossed, his massive warhammer resting against the wall. He remained respectfully quiet—though clearly intrigued by the old relics and Vigilant tomes scattered about the chamber.
Kiera set her cup down. "There's a lot I need to tell you, Mother."
Carcette nodded. "Then tell me. All of it."
And so she did.
She spoke of Helgen, of the dragon attack, of her escape to Riverwood. She told her of the dragons in Whiterun. Of High Hrothgar and the Greybeards, and the voice that now stirred within her soul. She recounted the draugr-infested tombs, the battles with beasts of frost and fire, and the ancient walls that breathed power.
"I am the Dragonborn."
Carcette said nothing at first, simply studied her with that hawk-eyed gaze she used on all wayward acolytes. It was Kiera's mother's way: stern, focused, deliberate. Then, a slow nod.
"I had suspected as much when word came from Whiterun," Carcette said, her voice calm. "But it is good to hear you say it."
"You're not angry?"
Her mother chuckled. "Why would I be angry? I am your mother, Kiera. And I'm the Keeper of the Vigilants. I know what burdens can do to a person." She reached across the table and gently touched Kiera's hand. "But I also know you. You've never been one to run from duty."
She gave her a small smile—wry, but warm.
"You always stood between others and danger. Whether it was a schoolyard bully or a rabid skeever during your first field patrol. You protect. That's your nature."
Carcette leaned back and folded her arms.
"Being Dragonborn is no different than being a Vigilant. The only thing that changes... is the enemy. You once hunted daedra. Now you're facing dragons."
Kiera let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling tighter around the tea mug. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"No," Carcette said softly. "But not once have you said you wouldn't do it."
That made Kiera smile.
The moment passed, and Carcette's face turned grave. "But you need to know what's happening in Skyrim."
Gerron stirred.
"Deadric cults are crawling out from the shadows like cockroaches," Carcette continued. "We burn one nest, another appears somewhere else. They've grown bolder. Blood rituals, sacrifices… Some claim they're just bandits running from the war. But I know better."
Kiera frowned. "Are they organized?"
"Not in the way we'd fear. Not yet. But there's a pattern forming. And the most troubling rumor we've heard... is that of the Mythic Dawn."
Kiera stiffened. "The cult of Mehrunes Dagon?"
Carcette nodded grimly. "Long thought extinct after the Oblivion Crisis. But whispers in the underground say otherwise. No concrete proof. Not yet. But if they are returning... we must be ready. I've already dispatched my best to investigate. If we confirm their presence, we'll strike."
It was then Gerron stepped forward, arms uncrossing. "Speaking of cults," he said, his deep voice echoing softly in the stone hall, "what do you know about vampires?"
Carcette raised an eyebrow. "You encountered some?"
Gerron nodded. "In a cave just north of Riften. They disguised it as a Skooma den , but it was a front. A whole coven down there, and they were organized. I heard them whispering about a place—Dimhollow Crypt. They were trying to keep it quiet, like it was important."
Carcette frowned deeply. "Though not all vampires serve Molag Bal, the ones that do often form cult-like structures. Organized covens are rare—and dangerous. And Dimhollow Crypt... I've heard the name before. Some ancient ruin here in the Pale, I think."
"There was a leader," Gerron added. "Named Venarus. Called himself a scholar. He was trying to create something he called a bloodspring. Ever heard of it?"
Carcette went quiet as she wracked her brain. It certainly sounded familiar.
"We have tomes of ancient vampire lore from before the Second Era," she said. "But nothing I've read ever mentions that term." She stood, hands folded behind her back. "Still, it sounds like something worth investigating."
Then she turned sharply to Gerron.
"You've fought them. You survived their coven. You understand what we're dealing with."
Gerron straightened slightly, catching on to her tone.
"I'd like to request for you to spearhead the investigation," Carcette said. "I know you're not a Vigilant, but you seem capable and Kiera calls you a friend. Go to Dimhollow. Find out what they're doing and stop them if you can. I'll assign Vigilant Tolan to accompany you. He's one of our most seasoned members."
There was a long pause. Then Gerron gave a single, firm nod.
"Alright," he said. "I'll help."
…
4E 201, Dawnstar
Calixto
The cold didn't bother him. It never had.
Calixto hid his face beneath his hood, boots crunching in the frostbitten snow as he strode through the waking streets of Dawnstar. The sea air was sharp, tinged with brine and smoke, and the sky overhead brooded with clouds the color of ash.
While Dawnstar was considered to be one of the major cities in Skyrim, it paled in comparison to Windhelm. Calixto sneered as he eyed the broken tower that was situated atop the hill that overlooked Dawnstar.
The walls that surrounded the city weren't massive, though clearly well made with whitewashed stone. Hold guards could be seen patrolling the battlements as well as the streets in their white brigandines and round shields that depicted the star sigil of the Pale.
Despite the lacking visuals, Calixto couldn't deny the clear wealth that was present amongst the populace. Dwanstar was the capital of the Pale and is known for its rich mines and harbor. With plenty of trade going through, there was no doubt that Dawnstar was among the richer half of the Skyrim holds.
Though as he walked through the streets, Calixto furrowed his brow at the sight of the cityfolk. They all looked miserable, the hollow eyes, the hunched shoulders, the limp gait. Miners, sailors, traders... all of them walking corpses under the guise of daily life. Even the guards wore weariness like a second cloak, their gazes dull, their movements sluggish.
'So... the nightmares are real,' he mused.
He'd heard of them, of course. Dreams that left people screaming in their sleep, waking soaked in sweat with the taste of sulfur on their tongues. The Daedric Prince Vaermina's influence, perhaps—but that was not Calixto's concern.
The owner of the House of Curiosities in Windhelm and secretly the Butcher—the serial killer that had been plaguing Windhelm—was here for only one reason.
Silus Vesuius was a known fanatic to the Mythic Dawn cult, having been obsessed with their history. He's the only man Calixto suspected to know the way of fixing the Mehrunes Razor and get the dagger to gain its full power.
It was truly only a stroke of luck that allowed Calixto to find it. It was on one of his regular jaunts outside of the walls of Windhelm when he found a small handle sticking out of a pile of snow. Curious and intrigued, he dug it out, only to find the famed artifact of Mehrunes Dagon in his hands.
His gloved hand brushed against the concealed dagger beneath his robes, nestled in its crude wrappings. He could feel it pulsing faintly, like the heartbeat of something long buried. Calixto had spent sleepless nights studying it, tracing the jagged edges, deciphering the sigils that shimmered beneath the surface. There was power here. Ancient, terrifying, and incomplete.
But not for long.
A set of posters had led him here. A museum, devoted to the Mythic Dawn, curated by none other than Silus Vesuius.
Calixto smiled when he found the house he was looking for. The house was quite isolated, far from the hustle and bustle of the city due to Silus' infamous reputation. The man didn't even try to hide it, with Mythic Dawn banners hanging from the walls of the house.
A man stood outside, sweeping snow from the patio. Dark-skinned, with a sharp jawline and eyes too bright for the Pale's gloom. He looked up, smiling with the enthusiasm of someone starved for company.
"Good day," Silus greeted. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Calixto merely looked at him before replying. "I was told you know things on the Daedric cult known as the Mythic Dawn."
Silus smiled at him. "It's been a long time since I have met anyone who wishes to know about that. Most people would rather forget about them, ignoring the significant impact they had created in history. Had the Mythic Dawn not existed, the Septim Empire wouldn't have collapsed and the world would be much different than the one we live in now. But I digress, this isn't a topic meant to be talked about in public, please come in."
Calixto followed Silus into his home and he could see that the man lived quite a simple life. There was a small bed and some furniture; but the main take away were display cases which held historical items that Calixto assumed were connected to the Mythic Dawn in some way.
"Have a good look around, there are a lot of things in here about the Mythic Dawn. I found many of them in old hideouts of the Cult."
Calixto did so, first looking at some robes in a display case.
"Those robes were worn by the members of the Mythic Dawn during their ceremonies and rituals. My readings say that they were dyed red using the blood of sacrificed victims."
There were other objects here, to which Silus continued education. The four large tomes which were the Commentaries of the Mysterium Xarxes, a few weapons that were held by some of the more notorious members of the cult. But it was the final case that Calixto finally found what he was looking for. The Scabbard of Mehrunes Razor.
"Ah, the Mehrunes Razor. This is just the scabbard for it you see. See the symbol in the center? That's the mark of an Oblivion Gate, one of the symbols of the Mythic Dawn and their leader, Mehrunes Dagon. That stone fragment is part of the the pommel stone which was broken when the Razor was shattered."
Calixto had heard enough and he looked at Silus. "Can you restore the power of the Razor?"
"Restore the power?" Silus questioned back, eyes widening in shock. "To do that, you would need all of the pieces, and—"
"I have them right here." For the first time since finding it, Calixto pulled out the dagger in front of someone else. Silus went slack jawed.
"Incredible, to think I could gaze at a complete set with my own eyes." He shook his head. "The legends say that only Mehrunes Dagon himself could repair the Razor to full strength. To contact him, we need to go to his shrine. There is an abandoned one just a few leagues west of here in the hills."
"I'll meet you there then." Calixto smiled as he left Silus to prepare for the journey.
…
AN: There we go! A pretty big chapter that sets up plenty for the future. I'm sure everyone realizes where Gerron's Dimhollow Crypt plotline is heading towards. Serana, Kiera, and Gerron will be the sort of main trio of characters that we follow while everything continues on around them.
Now, Calixto is a fun one. When I outlined my plans for this fic, I wanted a plot to revolve around the Mythic Dawn. Calixto being the POV for it was unexpected, but I thought it could be fun to flesh out a previously one off character in Skyrim.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 28 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!