After the banquet dispersed, Skyl came to the rooftop terrace on the top level of the College's cloistered arcade.
Here, he laid out a magic circle to open a portal to Oblivion.
Oblivion was the void outside the Mundus plane. If you compared the world to an egg, the mortal realm would be the yolk, and Oblivion the egg white. The Daedric Princes' realms of Oblivion were like solitary islands floating in that ocean of white.
As for the Gates of Oblivion, the College's relevant records were pitifully scarce. The craft of traveling Oblivion had, throughout history, only ever been mastered by a handful of greats—and those greats were often too proud and solitary, preferring to take their knowledge into the grave rather than pass it on. That fracture in learning kept the art perpetually on the brink of being lost, waiting for someone to dig it back out again.
Each realm of Oblivion was like a massive dark star in space. By using relativistic effects—measuring the bending of starlight—Skyl could infer a realm's spacetime coordinates. Compared to the traditional methods of mental attunement or hunting for naturally occurring portals, which was like searching for a needle in the sea, this was vastly more reliable.
No wonder people said knowledge changed fate.
Skyl had already more or less confirmed which Daedric Prince each realm corresponded to. The denizens of those realms tended to have distinctive local traits, so by summoning natives, you could often tell who they served just by their physical characteristics.
Back when he was studying, he'd also tried summoning Dremora. This intelligent race that dwelled in Oblivion possessed powerful bodies, excellent combat and spellcasting techniques, and a temperament that was generally cold and cunning—making them favored servants of many Daedric Princes. Having a "friendly" exchange with them also often let you pick up bits of gossip and odd anecdotes about the Princes.
Because of celestial motion, the coordinates of an Oblivion realm were not always fixed. The paths those dark stars traced were even harder to predict, which meant that every so often, Skyl had to recalculate the spacetime coordinates all over again.
Tonight was no exception. First he set up the portal array to open the Gate of Oblivion, then he used a precision filtering lens to observe the patch of sky near the Lady constellation. Compared with his observations from last year's Evening Star (December), the target realm's position had deviated by three arcminutes (one arcminute being one-sixtieth of a degree). For the infinitely vast Oblivion, never mind three arcminutes—an error of even half an arcsecond would be magnified into an immeasurable distance.
Once you entered Oblivion, every system of logic and every physical dimension would fail. Therefore, all calculations had to be done in the mortal realm. This was an adventure with only success or failure—no chance to correct anything midway.
The mages who came to see him off stood at the terrace's edge. Everyone present was a professional who knew exactly what they were looking at; they all understood what a glorious, legendary thing it was to travel Oblivion. For a time, they held their breath in silence, the atmosphere solemn and reverent.
Aranea, as a devotee of Azura, had never set foot in a divine realm either. To say she wasn't envious would be a lie, but she couldn't bring herself to ask outright, so she could only stare, longing written plainly in her eyes.
Skyl finished tuning the coordinates, nodded to the onlookers, and then opened the Gate of Oblivion.
It was an enormous purple, spherical vortex. Magicka surged into spiraling streams, and at the heart of the sphere a profound shadow unfolded. Taken as a whole, it looked like a star, with unmistakable layered structure.
Skyl stepped through—and arrived in Azura's realm of Oblivion.
In an instant, a riot of brilliance flooded his entire field of view.
He looked around, unable to stop himself from admiring it. Beneath a sky shimmering with flowing color, upon land where fragrant grasses and strange blossoms bloomed in abundance, dawnlight and twilight blazed along the eastern and western horizons. All things were veiled in a gorgeous, dreamlike haze.
Vast plains stretched beyond sight. In the distance stood a majestic silver palace, and towering trees that reached the heavens. He was in a valley between two peaks; waterfalls scoured down the cliff faces, throwing rainbows into the air before crashing thunderously into a deep pool of blue-violet below. A river like a ribbon of silver wound onward.
Gentle beasts and birds wandered across the world. Azura's faithful and her chosen raced over the soft grasslands atop herds of blue-antlered deer. Before the palace, the clustered city buildings were lavishly adorned with immense quantities of silver, and everywhere lay elven artworks that inspired awe. Beautiful, graceful men and women either strolled through fountain squares or read beneath the shade of trees.
This place was called Moonshadow—the most beautiful of realms. No visitor failed to linger, unwilling to leave. There were even legends that its splendor was so dazzling it could blind the eyes.
Skyl rose into the air and flew toward the Silver City in the distance. At the city's entrance, tall Chimer (the un-cursed form of the Dark Elves) guards called out loudly, "Honored outsider, the Lady awaits your visit in the Rose Palace. You may tour the Silver City as you please, but do not commit any dangerous acts."
If he were a player in a game, stepping into a place like this would mean immediately visiting the weapon shop and looting supplies. Skyl treated it as travel. He truly liked the scenery here—far more than any tourist spot on Earth.
He wandered along the city's main thoroughfare. The citizens all wore clear, radiant smiles: some in small groups plucked at instruments and sang, others used brushes and carving knives to capture the landscape.
"Hello." A passing little Dark Elf girl, holding a huge bundle of freshly picked blue roses, naturally handed Skyl a bouquet. "Be happy, outsider."
Skyl crouched and looked at her. "How did you come to be here?"
"Because I died. Red Mountain erupted, and volcanic ash buried the city." The little girl shrugged. "Lady Azura took me in—me and my family."
Skyl nodded quietly.
Most of this city's inhabitants were faithful who had already experienced death. Because of that, they carried peace within them. The utopian feeling of the Silver City might well have been shaped in contrast to the misfortunes of the living world.
After suffering the greatest sorrow, every second that followed became a gift of the divine.
He continued on, welcomed with warmth at every turn. The citizens shared homemade food and drink, handed out crafts, and hosted small art exhibitions. Skyl followed local custom: when someone offered food, he ate; when someone invited him to dance, he accepted with a smile.
"Where are you headed, stranger?"
"To the palace of roses—to meet the monarch of this realm."
Skyl approached the Rose Palace. Tier upon tier of silver steps rose like stacked mirrors, and the golden-orange glow of dawn and dusk danced across their frost-bright surfaces. High above, the great doors opened. From within, gilded, radiant silks spilled forth under holy light, unfurling into an inexhaustible river. The god's attendants welcomed the guest with soft songs and chanting; in the air fell a rain of light like fine white feathers. Pegasi that could step into the sky halted before him, bending their knees and lowering their bodies to invite Skyl onto the saddle.
He chuckled. If Hagrid were here, seeing this horse, he'd definitely start swooning again.
An old, established deity like Azura truly understood spectacle. The Tower of Tomes had none of this pageantry. You could call it simplicity, or you could say he simply didn't understand a god's grandeur. The difference between a new god and an old god showed itself in every detail.
Skyl mounted the pegasus, and it carried him before Azura's throne.
Upon a throne embraced by roses sat Azura, breathtakingly beautiful. She appeared in the form of a Dark Elf: lavender skin finer than soft silk, eyes like two dazzling pigeon-blood rubies.
Azura raised her hand, and the ground swelled into a throne level with her own—an acknowledgment that Skyl stood as her equal.
"Outsider, I have long awaited this meeting." The Goddess of Dawn and Dusk spoke with a voice like a hundred birds in song. "In this endless, repeating cycle—this ancient dream without conclusion—you have brought the brilliance of a new world, so that we gods, blind though we are, may yet hope for freedom."
"Please, call me Skyl." On the back of Skyl's throne, a portal opened to the Tower of Tomes. The divine power of the Eye of Magnus became a ribbon of light that stretched from the doorway, winding around Skyl's body.
"Skyl, you need not be so cautious. I would be your friend, not your enemy. When you came to this world, we were already watching you. Hermaeus Mora paid the price for arrogance—that was the consequence of his own foolishness. Your soul is protected: it cannot be touched, and it cannot be gazed upon."
"I should thank Mora. If not for him, I'd likely still be groping forward in the dark along the road of magic."
Azura laughed brightly. "Ah, Mora—he truly had it coming."
"Let's return to the point, Lady Azura. You invited me as a guest, so I doubt you only wished for idle conversation."
With a gentle wave, Azura opened the palace's dome. The divine dais rose into the sky, overlooking the Silver City and the vast plane of Moonshadow. All living things lay beneath them, like cattle and dust.
"Skyl—tell me. As you see it, what do you think of my realm?"
"It's beautiful. There is no paradise like this in the world."
"Then you may take it." Azura pointed to the sky, then to the earth. "All things above and below, in all directions—everything. Living beings and faithful alike. I gift them all to you."
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