Night had fallen. Brelyna stole softly into the courtyard.
In the spray rising from the Well of Magicka, the titanium-alloy light armor she wore reflected a dim sheen, like ancient silk flowing in the dark.
At the railing of the northern colonnade, two people were already waiting for her.
They, too, were armored—one in heavy plate, the other in a sleek, close-fitting suit of scale. Faint magical radiance seeped out between the plates.
"Master Brelyna."
The first to greet her was Onmund. A hand axe hung at his waist, a round oak shield was slung across his back, and a pair of horns jutted from the sides of his helmet—the classic image of a Nord warrior. Only the best among the warriors had the right to dress like that.
The other simply nodded to Brelyna without speaking. His scale armor fit as snugly and finely as fishskin, with a cloak thrown over it.
Brelyna's own armor had long, cold, elegant lines. Its protection was close to Onmund's heavy plate, but it was lighter and far more agile.
At a glance, the three of them hardly looked like mages at all.
Meeting like this, they were a little embarrassed.
"Nice… outfits," Onmund managed, dryly.
J'zargo stroked his cloak. The Khajiit's sharp claws couldn't so much as snag the strange fabric. He could feel the enchantments woven into it; anyone who owned this cloak would find it easy to melt into the shadows. But what he cared about most was Skyl's enchanting. Magicka glowed through every thread of the cloak. The spell-structure was flawless—no wasted soul energy, no magical overflow.
The Khajiit mage gave a heartfelt sigh. "Master Skyl's enchanting is without equal."
Brelyna didn't disagree. She'd seen magical items as numerous as the water in a river and the trees in a forest, but very few pieces of gear could even be mentioned alongside these.
"Master Skyl's talent is beyond question. And his craftsmanship is just as refined."
Onmund nodded. "I've never even heard of a metal like this. It channels magic well and it's tough yet light."
They flattered the gear for another sentence or two, then ran out of things to say. As mages now forced to play the roles of warrior, rogue, and archer, their feelings were… complicated.
Brelyna sighed. "Master Skyl really is a rare magical genius. It's just a shame that—"
The three of them looked at one another and smiled. Just a shame he's so cautious.
At that moment, a young voice cut in from the side, making them all jump.
"Everyone's here. Getting used to the equipment?"
It was Skyl. He wore a plain robe and an apothecary's backpack, clearly going in light. Of everyone present, he was the only one who actually looked like a mage.
"These are wonderful magic items. I'll be careful with them, try not to damage anything," Onmund said, sounding nervous.
Skyl waved a hand. "They're gifts. Do whatever you like with them."
He'd made this gear in the Tower of Tomes in about five minutes—Transfiguration plus Enchanting. The raw materials had been nothing more than a pile of pebbles and a few grand soul gems. The soul gems were the only real expense; that special crystal could store soul energy, and soul energy was essential for making enchanted gear and magic circles.
"Master Skyl, I've asked a few senior members about the Midden," Brelyna said, a little helpless. She really liked the equipment he'd given her, but she still had to put up a token defense for the dignity of mages. "There's nothing very dangerous down there. We don't really need to be this cautious."
Skyl gave her a strange smile. "Better to be careful. Oh, one last question before we head out."
He glanced over the three of them.
"No one wants to back out, right? Because the Midden is actually pretty dangerous. Hm? No one backing out? All right, then. Let's go."
He pulled up the hatch. The wooden ladder leading to the Midden was revealed beneath it. As the "warrior," Onmund went down first, looking thoroughly unwilling, followed by J'zargo, then Skyl, with Brelyna bringing up the rear.
It was like climbing down into a deep well. The ladder to the Midden was damp and icy, the shaft narrow and confining. After descending a while they reached the permafrost layer; the cold felt like invisible claws trying to rake their way into their organs. Fortunately, the gear they wore had thick, warm padding inside.
They had grumbled about it at first, but now all three of them were quietly grateful for the armor Skyl had provided.
The ladder seemed to stretch on without end. After quite some time, Onmund said, "I can see the floor."
When they finally reached it, they realized it was only a rocky ledge jutting out from the shaft wall; there was still a long way down, with more ladder waiting.
After this repeated two or three times, J'zargo couldn't help grumbling. "If we hold meetings here, Master Skyl, the attendees will be fewer than blue butterflies in a desert."
"Which is exactly why we need to remodel the place."
When they all reached the true bottom, Skyl placed his palm against the shaft wall beside the ladder.
"Master Skyl, what are you doing?" Brelyna asked.
"Remember that other system of magic I mentioned, the one that doesn't follow natural philosophy?" Skyl spoke softly, barely above a whisper. His voice wandered through the deep passageways of the dungeon, faint yet carrying a hollow echo.
"Yes. You were talking about the Nords' Way of the Voice, and the Dwemer's tonal engineering, weren't you?" Onmund answered quickly.
"No. I don't know those two systems. I'm talking about another kind of magic."
Skyl slapped his hand hard against the rock and shouted, "Extend—Stairway of Ascent!"
Under the three mages' horrified gaze, the hard, frozen earth and granite began to ripple like flowing water. The shaft became like a giant's throat, starting to writhe. Thousands of tons of stone rumbled backward, ancient strata glowing and shifting like the spread of a peacock's tail. The shaft walls widened, and layer after layer of spiral steps thrust themselves out from the rock.
The whole process was slow, but utterly relentless. The world around them shook. At a single sentence from the one called Skyl, the things of the natural world bowed to his will and changed their very shape.
Brelyna lifted her head to stare up into the black shaft overhead. She raised the glowing sphere of light in her hand and let it float upward like a hydrogen balloon, illuminating the spiraling steps as they climbed and climbed, like the bumps on a music-box cylinder. A grand, silent rhythm seemed to resonate in her chest.
"What… kind of magic is that?"
Dripping with sweat and panting, Skyl sat down on the ground. "Uh… give me a second." He fished potions and alchemical draughts out of his pack and downed them one after another. In moments, he was refreshed again.
Onmund grabbed his hand, excited. "Master Skyl, can I learn this?"
"I'm afraid not. You're a Muggle."
"A… Muggle?"
"Yes. You don't have the talent for magic—I mean, for this particular kind of magic."
"That's… a real shame."
J'zargo laced his clawed fingers together and leaned closer. "J'zargo is no Muggle. J'zargo wants to learn!"
"No. You're a Muggle too."
Brelyna shrugged. "No need to say it. I'm a Muggle as well."
Skyl nodded. Her shoulders slumped a little.
"The road of magic is open," he said. "Some things look impossible only because our eyes are still too dull to see the world's splendor. As long as we keep walking the path of knowledge, one day we'll see the vistas we once longed for."
"Master Skyl, will you lead us to see those vistas?" J'zargo asked, eyes full of hope.
"…I will," Skyl said after a brief silence. "I'm not stingy about sharing. But not everyone is destined to keep pace with me."
At the time, none of the three heard the hidden edge in that statement. They simply assumed it was Skyl's pride, keeping others at arm's length.