The Finger Maiden's soul was far more vivid and full than it had been right after her resurrection. Other than that, there was no difference at all.
Skyl closed his eyes and reached into her soul. The sensation was like touching ice.
"Hello, Skyl." The Finger Maiden's voice sounded beside his ear. "Is my soul interesting?"
"The fact that you'd even say that is proof enough that it's interesting," Skyl replied. His consciousness sank slowly, pushing deeper and deeper into her memory-construct, until he crossed an invisible boundary and reached her consciousness-form.
He looked around. The consciousness-form was like a stretch of deep space—strings of thought floated there in silent suspension, drained of vitality. And at the very deepest point of that vast darkness, self-awareness was a star.
Sometimes Skyl wondered: if the universe itself were a soul, would every star be one of its strings of thought?
Maybe that was the truth. Or maybe it was just a wizard's wild fancy.
"I know what you're thinking," the Finger Maiden laughed softly. "So you're the sort who likes to daydream."
"Yeah. I've never denied it." Skyl drew his thoughts back in, then used Occlumency to shut everything out, sealing away every wandering idea. He stared at the Finger Maiden's self-awareness—the star-body of nothingness.
"Do you see any problems?" she asked.
"No. Everything's fine." Skyl opened his eyes, stuffed her soul back where it belonged, then cast a Restoration spell to ease the discomfort that came from having one's soul pulled out.
The Finger Maiden murmured, "So you don't know everything either."
"The mysteries of the soul—I'm only a beginner," Skyl said bluntly. Even with the Tower of Tomes supporting him, he didn't dare call himself all-knowing. Knowledge had no end; it could be gathered without limit. And the more you learned, the more clearly you saw how shallow you still were.
"You should rest," Marika said, guiding Skyl to the guest room.
It was a small bedroom—simple, warm, and barely decorated. There was only the soft bed, and on the nightstand an old enamel lamp. She said she'd found it at a flea market for five pounds. The light it gave off was a strange blue; it was far more comfortable to turn on the orange-yellow ceiling lamp instead.
"Do you want me to wake you tomorrow?" Marika leaned against the doorway. Her chestnut hair was still damp, and near the roots there was a faint hint of gold.
"Let me wake up naturally," Skyl said. "It's summer break. If I can't sleep in, what kind of holiday is it?"
He really did sleep until noon. By then, Marika had already gone out to work. Breakfast waited on the table: black-pepper fried eggs and toast.
Skyl heated it up with magic, made himself a cup of tea, and filled his stomach. Then he stared at the empty sitting room for a while, and only then did it finally feel like summer break.
That kind of doing-nothing mood felt exactly right—something every overworked office drone missed with all their heart.
But Skyl, in the end, couldn't stay idle.
According to the plan, he still had to go to Winterhold.
He remembered his agreement with Dumbledore, and thought: perfect. While it's summer, he can take the old man to another world and let him broaden his horizons.
Kaia the owl delivered the letter into Dumbledore's hands, and that very night he arrived in London via Floo Powder.
"Skyl—you have no idea how happy I was when I got your letter." Dumbledore knocked on the door, smiling like Father Christmas. He greeted Skyl, then nodded politely to Marika. "Dumbledore, at your service."
Skyl invited him to eat, joking, "So one letter from me can summon the greatest wizard of our age. That spell is more useful than any other magic."
Dumbledore was the kind of old man people couldn't help but like—calm, gentle, humorous, powerful. In youth he'd been graceful and charming; in age he carried a scholarly air. Marika chatted with him happily, and the evening couldn't have gone better for host or guest.
After dinner, Skyl opened a portal. Dumbledore's eyes lit up as he stepped through, almost impatient. Any spellcaster ought to keep curiosity toward the unknown, and on that point Dumbledore didn't seem old at all. Besides, he'd been a Gryffindor—an adventurer's blood still flowed in him.
Marika sat by the table and waved goodbye to Skyl.
"Goodbye," she said with a smile.
…
Winterhold.
The sky in Sun's Height (July) was so clear it hardly seemed real.
With spring's ice and snow melting and the roads thawing, refugees displaced by the war streamed into the rebuilt city. They filled the streets and brought manpower to industry—and, naturally, disorder as well.
Thankfully, the Watchers covered the skies. With those tireless machines observing every corner of the city, any violation of the public order ordinances issued by the Winterhold council would be reported at once to the nearest guard patrol and College mage.
In Winterhold's central square, more than a dozen bodies still hung on display—telling everyone who came to live here that no matter what you were planning, you'd better not provoke the city's rulers.
The liveliest part of the city was the northern harbor. Fleets of fishing boats went out and returned every day, bringing in tons of catch. Sailors, fishermen, and laborers crowded the docks, and the once-quiet Frozen Hearth finally saw a true springtime of business. The empty bottles consumed over a single summer could fill Winterhold's main street.
Automatic trawling nets designed by the College mages greatly increased the fishing fleet's capacity. The fresh seafood was processed in a food factory at the port—roasted, dried, salted, and turned into all kinds of long-lasting provisions.
The East Empire Company took a liking to Winterhold's cheap seafood. Orders poured in, and it had become Winterhold's largest source of revenue.
Kliman was now the captain of Winterhold's guard. He no longer had to patrol the streets like he used to, or stand watch atop the walls. His duties weren't even especially busy, because city management was handled by the College mages. As sheriff, Kliman's daily work consisted of attending meetings, writing task reports, and signing off on official documents.
He put most of his energy into training new recruits—and he had plenty of time to spend with his family.
Around noon that day, he was dozing in his office when he suddenly heard a bleak, ancient dragon's roar. The Winterhold badge on his person began to vibrate, and the Watchers patrolling the sky sounded an emergency alert.
"Dragon attack! Dragon attack! Everyone leave the streets immediately! Leave the streets immediately!"
Kliman didn't have time to put on armor. He grabbed a shield and charged outside. Looking up, he saw an oddly shaped speck in the southern sky—nothing like any bird.
Witnessing a dragon attack was utterly terrifying.
The sound it released was deep and long, like thunder lingering in the air. Even old stone walls trembled faintly for it. The earth itself answered the dragon's call—they were born kings of the sky.
"Form up!" Kliman bellowed. "All soldiers, prepare for battle!"
Dragon terror was spreading across Skyrim. Winterhold might be remote, but it couldn't escape. The horror of dragons, heard again and again from the mouths of wandering refugees, had finally descended over Winterhold's heads.
Another long dragon roar split the air. It spread its vast wings and closed in fast. In a few heart-stopping seconds, the dragon's shadow expanded—from a tiny speck at the horizon to a colossal monster.
It had two legs and two wings, with a long, slender neck and tail. Flying overhead, it looked like a solemn cross in the sky.
Winterhold's streets had already been cleared. Guards converged toward the dragon's approach.
Kliman met up with the College mages. Mage Brelyna and the others clustered around a familiar figure.
"Skyl! When did you get back?"
"Kliman, my old friend—we'll catch up in a moment. I didn't expect to return and immediately run into a dragon attack." Skyl nodded to him with genuine delight, then turned to Dumbledore. "Professor, before we tour Winterhold… mind if we slay a dragon first?"
Dumbledore laughed warmly. "I knew it. This is going to be a very interesting journey."
Because I'm very unhappy, I've decided that from now on I'll wish everyone happiness every day—sooner or later, your happiness will make its way back to me.
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