The tent was quiet.
No wind stirred the canvas. No distant screeches echoed through the ruins. Even the ever-present hum of Valyria seemed muted, as if the land itself had decided to hold its breath.
Gadriel sat cross-legged atop his bedroll, spine straight, hands resting loosely on his knees. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and deliberate. Each breath in was measured. Each breath out was controlled. His body was perfectly still.
His mind, however, was not.
Thoughts drifted through him like fog—memories, impressions, half-formed questions. Faces he had met. Places he had walked. Worlds he had saved and then left behind. Skyrim. Dragons. The end of Alduin. The silence that followed.
What am I doing now?What am I supposed to do?
He lingered in that mental space for a long while, letting the thoughts rise and fall without grasping at them. Reflection had always been easier for him in stillness. In battle, everything was simple. In peace, things became complicated.
Eventually, he exhaled slowly through his nose.
Nothing came.
No revelation. No sudden clarity. Just the same empty horizon stretching endlessly ahead.
Gadriel opened his eyes.
"…Figures," he muttered.
He unfolded himself from the bedroll and stood, rolling his shoulders once before stepping out of the tent. The morning light had grown stronger since the day before, spilling across broken stone and twisted metal like a pale imitation of hope.
He looked out over the ruins one last time.
"It's time I leave this place," he said quietly. "Valyria no longer has anything for me. Not really."
His gaze drifted toward the distant cityscape where stone men still wandered, half-mad and forgotten.
"Even if I fixed them all… then what? Traveling with a couple of them would be easy enough but all of them... "
The question lingered unanswered.
Gadriel turned and walked toward Kaelan.
The dwarven centurion stood near the camp's edge, motionless, as if waiting. Steam hissed softly from his joints as he shifted to face Gadriel's approach.
"Kaelan," Gadriel said. "We need to talk."
Kaelan lowered his massive head to meet Gadriel's gaze and nodded once. "I am listening."
"We'll be leaving very soon," Gadriel said plainly. "But I can't have you traveling beside me like this. If anyone even sees you—"He shook his head. "You can imagine how that would go."
Kaelan remained silent, but the faint whir of his internal mechanisms slowed.
"So," Gadriel continued, "I think the best option is to remove the crystal containing your soul from this body."
Kaelan's shoulders shifted. A jet of steam vented from his head in what was, unmistakably, an attempt at a sigh.
"…Very well," Kaelan said. "Though I will admit—it does not sound pleasant."
Gadriel allowed himself a small smile. "Perfect. Now turn around."
Kaelan complied, carefully lowering himself into a kneeling position. Gadriel stepped behind him.
With careful movements, Gadriel opened the compartment in Kaelan's back and withdrew the soul crystal. The gem pulsed faintly in his hand—steady, intact.
He slipped it into his magic bag without ceremony.
The centurion went still. Completely.
Gadriel stared at the now-empty mechanical body for a moment, arms crossed, brow furrowed.
"…Can't just leave you here," he muttered.
An idea struck him.
"Oh," he said softly. "Right."
Gadriel reached into his bag and withdrew a staff he hadn't used in a very long time—the Staff of Shalidor. Its surface shimmered faintly, runes etched deep into ancient wood, humming with restrained power.
He frowned slightly.
"I always forget I still have this thing," he said to no one in particular. "Probably because I hate using it."
He braced the staff in one hand and grasped the centurion's metal frame with the other. Drawing in a deep breath, Gadriel began channeling his mana.
The staff flared to life.
Greenish-blue light spilled from its head, washing over the ground. Space itself began to bend and warp around him, air rippling as if reality were being folded inward.
With a sudden lurch—
The world vanished.
Gadriel reappeared in a dimly lit room.
Dust-coated wooden floors creaked beneath his boots. The air smelled old—stale, untouched for years. Greenish-blue light leaked through narrow windows, casting strange shadows along the walls of what appeared to be a modest living room.
Gadriel staggered forward.
"—hah—!"
He barely caught himself before collapsing into a nearby chair, gasping for breath. His limbs trembled, vision blurring as exhaustion slammed into him all at once.
He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Damn it…" he breathed. "It's even worse than I remember."
Without hesitation, he reached into his bag and pulled out a blue potion, uncorked it, and drank. Cool energy flooded his veins as his mana slowly replenished. Moments later, he followed it with a green potion, warmth spreading through his muscles as his stamina returned.
Gradually, the shaking stopped.
Gadriel let out a long, relieved sigh and sank deeper into the chair.
"…Much better."
His eyelids grew heavy.
Sleep claimed him quietly.
And somewhere beyond that fragile rest, a new path waited to be chosen.