Before crossing over, Skyl had been an educator, but he had no interest in being a babysitter.
If it were simply minding children, he wouldn't think much of it, but the Finger Maiden was a grown woman. Every now and then, when Skyl caught sight of her tranquil sea-blue eyes, his heart would give a faint skip. That came from a basic respect for beauty, and from the entrancing purity about her that unsettled his thoughts.
Admitting the Finger Maiden's charm was no difficulty; looking so delicate and helpless, she would stir the protective urge in many men. But Skyl had no intention of playing any sort of romance game with an amnesiac woman.
To talk of love in such an unequal relationship could lead to nothing but gratifying the upper hand's nasty, selfish desire for control. It would be far too hypocritical besides, dressing things up in the name of love while treating the resurrected Finger Maiden as private property, a living doll and nothing more.
The Finger Maiden no longer suited the Lands Between; she simply could not survive in that cruel prison. As a commoner, she had yet to meet the requirements to join The Tower of Tomes. As a Muggle, she couldn't stay at Hogwarts either. That left only Winterhold, or finding some place for her in the Muggle world.
By comparison, the Finger Maiden seemed more interested in modern society.
Out of respect for humanity as a whole, and in keeping with his professional instincts as an educator, Skyl decided to stay with the Finger Maiden for a while, giving her the information she needed to live and grow, teaching her the basic knowledge and skills of survival, and helping her grow into a well-rounded person. This kind of assistance from the strong to the weak was the key to humanity's rise above the cruel natural world. Even as a god, Skyl did not like "Yahweh", that wrathful, cruel deity of the Old Testament.
(Skyl: God is a bit too extreme.jpg)
One day, after finishing a lesson on Earth's history, they strolled along London's damp streets. Skyl helped her get used to the city: how to take a taxi, where to go to eat, how to count change, how to buy food and clothes, and so on.
The Finger Maiden held out her reddened, frozen hands as if showing off some handmade craft, gazing at Skyl with calm, hopeful eyes. "Cold," she said.
"From here on, you need to try making friends with strangers," Skyl told her.
"Friends? Like Skyl?"
"More or less. As a human being, you have to make friends, you have to engage with others, at the very least you have to work. Otherwise you won't be able to survive."
"Survive?"
"That's right, survive. This world is just as cruel. You have to keep the worst from happening to you."
They walked along the Thames. The dirty, grey water rolled with the stench of industrial pollution, and the Finger Maiden covered her nose. Skyl showed her the homeless sleeping rough, the corpses in the rubbish heaps, the groaning wounded on hospital beds, the numb faces, the dull eyes, the sighs of despair.
"When I first arrived here, I was penniless and faced the same kind of plight. I'm showing you all this so you understand that no matter what, you must keep living. Life is precious; death is terrifying."
The Finger Maiden nodded. "I don't want death."
"Then learn how to survive and protect yourself. Learn how to work, how to make friends. I am not going to look after you for your whole life."
After teaching her the basic, essential life skills, Skyl arranged a Muggle identity for the Finger Maiden—from birth certificate to educational records, personal bank account, driver's license, passport, the full set—and then left her to live on her own in London.
"Will you come back again?" the Finger Maiden asked, standing at the door of the Baker Street flat as she said goodbye to Skyl, her expression as lost as a child leaving home for the first time.
"Over the next six months, I'll come by whenever I have time. Oh, and don't forget to keep a diary. If you remember anything, write it down right away. I'll make regular deposits into your bank account, so spend money when you need to, and don't starve yourself just because you live alone. Do your best to find a job that pays your way. If after half a year you still can't live independently, I'll take you to Winterhold."
She nodded.
Skyl had barely gone a little way from the flat when he slipped into a nearby alley and called out the house-elf Gally.
"Gally, I've got a task for you… Protect her from the shadows, and don't let her notice you're there, all right?"
"As you command, master," Gally said, bowing deeply.
Once the Finger Maiden was settled, Skyl returned to the Lands Between.
The sky above the Chapel of Anticipation was always choked with clouds, dim as though a storm were forever on the verge of breaking. Far to the north, the Erdtree still stood tall and radiant, a golden pillar propping up the heavens.
Skyl strolled across the plaza.
Because he had left the Lands Between, the timeline here had reset. The Grafted Scion he had frozen in ice was back in its original state; everything before was emptiness and dream. It had never been frozen, and its life force still burned strong.
The Grafted Scion leapt from behind Marika's statue, rising lightly into the air before crashing down in front of Skyl. The impact rocked the ruins and sent dust billowing. Its handsome young head threw back and loosed a savage roar that blasted the grit from the air.
The hulking creature's body was the size of a mid-sized pickup truck. It had three fully usable arms and could wield a shield and twin blades at once, balancing offense and defense. Fast on its feet and monstrously strong, it was a formidable foe to contend with.
Skyl stood amid the howling wind, a dim shield coating his body and blocking the currents of air. His cloak did not so much as flutter.
"Interesting graft-work," he remarked, staring at the warped body hidden beneath the Scion's long drapery. He paid no attention at all to the sharp straight sword probing above his head like a serpent's tongue, letting it fall and hack at will against his magical shield. Every bit of impact was absorbed; not even his robes were scratched.
The Grafted Scion's mind had been heavily damaged by the grafting process, yet it was not a mindless beast. Realizing that physical attacks could not pierce Skyl's defense, it backed off at once and, through an ancient prayer-rite, wreathed its twin swords in holy radiance.
"Are you quite finished?"
The answer Skyl received was a fierce, lightning-fast thrust.
The wind keened, and pale droplets of water were squeezed from the air by the shockwave of the blade's motion. The strike, just shy of the sound barrier, was sheathed in dazzling holy gold, like a shaft of dawn breaking from the sun as it leapt over the horizon.
Skyl did not dodge or shy away; the straight sword drove in dead-center.
Where the point struck, his magical shield rippled sharply.
The wash of holy light made the ripples race faster.
One blade fell, and the other followed, twin swords hammering down in alternation like a terrifying rainstorm. Each thrust landed on the exact same point, displaying the Scion's exquisite swordsmanship and superb control.
Skyl's figure blurred within the violent waves shuddering across the shield.
No ferocity can last forever. After a frenzied fourteen-hit flurry, the Scion's assault faltered from exhaustion.
The tiny ripples on the magical shield slowly smoothed out.
The man had not moved an inch.
Even the monster felt a dull despair, a baffled helplessness.
Skyl looked down and saw that on the chest of his wizard's robe, a grain-of-rice-sized tear had appeared, its fraying edge gleaming faintly with gold.
So in the end, it hadn't managed to block every last bit of the energy's impact. This shield still had room for improvement.
Skyl raised his head to meet the handsome noble youth's gaze, then extended his hand, palm leveled at the Grafted Scion.
[Extreme Magic: Pulse Electromagnetic Storm]
A blue-violet ring of current rose from his palm, charging to full power in an instant before bursting into a blaze of white-hot light. The colorless, shapeless electromagnetic pulse had already ripped through the Grafted Scion. Fine sparks blossomed one after another across its surface, and its hulking body bloomed like a spring mountainside.
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