Chapter 24 – Yearn For
Long story short, after Astrid and Delphine learned that Esbern was hiding somewhere deep within the Ratway beneath Riften, they wasted no time. The two moved swiftly through the maze-like tunnels—damp stone walls dripping with cold water, muffled voices echoing from far-off corners, and the dim light of torches flickering against the narrow passages. The air carried the heavy stench of mildew and rusted metal, but neither of them slowed down. They knew the Thalmor would not be far behind.
Sure enough, when they reached the old hideout where Esbern was rumored to be staying, the sound of hurried footsteps and sharp Elven commands reverberated through the tunnels. Several Thalmor agents had already begun their search, their golden armor gleaming menacingly in the darkness.
Astrid and Delphine struck fast. Steel clashed, arrows whistled through the stale air, and blasts of magic lit up the cramped corridors. They fought through the narrow halls with urgency burning in every movement. Had they arrived even a few minutes later, Esbern would almost certainly have been dragged away in chains.
They found him behind a heavy wooden door—an elderly Nord with a weathered face, a long white beard, and eyes sharp enough to cut through despair. He clutched an old staff for support, yet the moment he recognized Delphine, the tension on his shoulders softened.
Delphine stepped forward with a trembling smile, her voice filled with warmth she rarely showed.
"Esbern… by the gods. It's really you."
For a moment, the years seemed to peel away from them. They had once stood side by side as Blades—warriors against dragons and protectors of the realm—and seeing each other again stirred both relief and sorrow for everything they had lost. Despite his age, Esbern still radiated a quiet strength. Astrid could feel a faint aura around him, the magical residue of someone who had lived his entire life studying and mastering arcane arts.
Even now, he could channel conjuration with practiced ease and summon fire spells that would put many younger mages to shame. Firebolt, Flame Atronach—he still commanded them as naturally as breathing.
But Delphine cut their reunion short with urgency. She introduced him to the Dragonborn and immediately pressed him for answers about Alduin's return, about the dragons rising from their graves, and about the prophecies he once guarded.
Esbern's expression tightened. His voice lowered to a near whisper as he glanced around the damp walls.
"No… not here. These tunnels are not safe. Too many ears. Too many shadows."
He shook his head firmly. "We speak of this in Riverwood." And he grab a book.
Delphine exchanged a tense look with Astrid, understanding the weight behind his caution. Without wasting another second, they guided Esbern through the twisting tunnels and back toward the exit. Every step echoed with the thought that the world was changing—and that the answers they needed were finally within reach.
During the carriage ride back to Riverwood, the world around them seemed strangely calm—too calm. The rhythmic clatter of the wooden wheels against the dirt road echoed steadily, mixing with the soft snorting of the horse. Evening light spilled across the forest, painting the trees gold and casting long shadows that swayed gently with the breeze. The scent of pine drifted in, crisp and cool.
Astrid sat beside Esbern, her curiosity simmering. She kept glancing his way—at his weathered hands resting atop his staff, at the deep wrinkles lining his face, each one carved by years of running, hiding, and surviving. Finally, she leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but eager.
"So, Esbern… you're like Delphine? One of the last members of the Blades?"
Esbern let out a tired breath. His fingers tapped lightly on the staff, a habit that made him seem both thoughtful and anxious.
"I wasn't the last when I saw Delphine," he said, his voice low and rough with age, "but yes… we hid because of the Thalmor's hunt."
His eyes drifted toward the treetops as if imagining decades of shadows chasing him. Astrid noticed the tension in his jaw—the bitterness of someone who had lived too long running from the same enemy.
But then Esbern straightened his back slightly, stroking his beard as if correcting himself. He didn't want to appear fragile or helpless.
"If I wanted," he said, puffing out his chest a little, "one or two—maybe even three—Thalmor would be no problem for me."
He raised three fingers proudly. "But ten or twenty? Even the strongest would fall."
His tone carried stubborn pride, and Astrid could see a faint spark in his eyes—an ember of the warrior he once was.
Delphine, holding the reins at the front of the carriage, bursted into laughter.
"Ha! You old ass," she teased, glancing back with a smirk. "You still boast so much. If I reach your age, I'll be planning my retirement."
Esbern's brow twitched. He turned sharply toward her, outrage and disbelief flickering across his face.
"How disrespectful," he snapped, pointing a shaky finger at her. "You should show some respect."
Delphine only chuckled again, shaking her head. The horse's reins creaked as she adjusted them, and the carriage rolled on.
Esbern huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. But the irritation slowly faded from his features. Instead, a heavy silence settled over him. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and his gaze fell to his lap.
"How could I retire," he murmured, almost to himself, "when the World-Eater Alduin has returned…?"
The words drifted into the air like a cold wind, and even the forest seemed to grow quieter, as if listening. The cheerful warmth of the earlier conversation dissolved, replaced by a tension that wrapped around all three of them—an unspoken understanding of the threat rising in the world.
Riverwood finally came into view—but the moment the familiar outline of the village appeared between the trees, Astrid's stomach twisted. Something was wrong.
A thin column of smoke drifted into the sky—too thin to be a wildfire, too steady to be a simple cooking fire. It was the kind of smoke left behind after destruction. The smell carried on the wind, faint but unmistakable: burnt wood… and something metallic, like scorched iron.
Astrid leaned forward on the carriage bench, her eyes widening.
"Delphine… look!"
Before Delphine could respond, a sudden gust of wind blew against them—violent, unnatural. It whipped Astrid's hair back and sent loose dust swirling through the air. And in that moment, a strange shimmer of light—pale and spiritual—shot toward her. The energy slammed into her chest like a warm pulse, and she felt it sink into her skin, drawn into her very core.
Her breath hitched.
"This… this is—"
Her voice trailed off, but Delphine understood enough. Her eyes flew wide with alarm.
"Hold on!" Delphine snapped, panic tightening her voice. She lashed the reins, and the horse neighed sharply, hooves tearing up the path as it broke into a full sprint.
Esbern grabbed the side of the carriage to steady himself.
"He-hey! Why are you doing that?!" he shouted, startled by the sudden acceleration.
Astrid's heart hammered so loudly it drowned out everything else—the rushing wind, the wheels rattling violently over rocks, even Esbern's confusion. Her voice came out strained, trembling with fear.
"Faster, Delphine! Please—faster! We're almost there!"
The horse ran like a creature possessed, its breathing loud and labored, its mane whipping violently as the carriage flew down the dirt path. Trees blurred past them, their shadows flickering over the trio like dark warnings.
Then—
SKREECH—
Delphine yanked the reins. The horse reared with a sharp cry, and the entire carriage jolted to a stop, nearly throwing all of them forward.
A massive tree lay fallen across the road, its trunk split and blackened as if struck by an enormous blast of fire. Ash coated the bark like grey frost. Smoke still curled from its edges.
Delphine's face tensed.
"No… this looks like—"
She didn't finish. All three of them shared the same chilling thought.
A dragon.
Astrid didn't hesitate. She jumped down before the carriage even fully stopped, boots skidding on dirt as she pushed herself forward.
"Astrid, wait!" Delphine shouted, scrambling to grab her arm. "Don't rush in! What if there's another dragon?! What if bandits are still around?!"
Astrid yanked her arm free, her voice cracking under the weight of fear and desperation.
"Then what?!" she cried, turning her head just enough for Delphine to see the raw panic in her eyes. "Will you just leave the villagers in danger?!"
She took off again, her breath uneven, legs pumping hard as she sprinted toward Riverwood.
"And what if… what if Alex is there?!"
Her voice broke on his name—fear, worry, and longing blending into one painful sound. The wind tore at her cloak as she ran, her hair flying behind her like a banner of panic. Each step hit the ground with frantic intensity, as if every heartbeat screamed the same desperate plea:
Let him be safe… let him be safe…
Astrid ran with everything she had. Her legs burned, her lungs screamed, but she didn't slow down for even a heartbeat. Panic tightened her chest so painfully it felt like a blade pressing against her ribs. Her hair whipped wildly behind her, the wind stinging her eyes—but none of it mattered. All she could hear was the frantic pounding of her heart and Delphine's old words echoing mercilessly in her mind:
"This world is cruel. Either you die or he does—
…yet you still haven't confessed your feelings."
The memory made her throat tighten. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself faster, desperation clawing at her from the inside.
When Astrid finally reached the edge of Riverwood, she froze.
The village she knew—the warm smell of wood, the quiet chatter of villagers, the peaceful river flowing behind the houses—was gone.
Now, thick smoke drifted through the air. Houses were charred black, some still smoldering. Fences lay broken. Roofs had caved in. Tools, baskets, clothes—everything was scattered across the ground as if people had fled in terror.
But the worst part was the silence.
No cries.
No voices.
No movement.
Just… nothing.
Astrid's breath hitched. Her legs trembled. She scanned the ruins with wide, fearful eyes, trying to comprehend what she was seeing—but terror hollowed her from the inside out.
Alex… where are you?
She stepped forward slowly, each footfall heavy and unsteady, her boots crunching over burnt wood and ash. Her mind flooded with memories—Alex pulling her to safety, Alex smirking arrogantly after helping her, Alex promising he'd risk everything for her life.
Her heart squeezed painfully.
Don't let that promise be the last thing he ever said… Please…
The road ahead was cracked and ruined, deep claw marks carved into the earth. She stumbled over a broken stone, her body feeling light—too light, as if she wasn't fully in herself anymore. Her chest felt hollow, her breaths thin and shaky.
Then—
Footsteps.
A faint shuffling sound.
Astrid jerked her head toward the noise. Someone lay collapsed near a fence, half-hidden by shadows. She sprinted toward him, knees hitting the dirt as she slid beside the body.
"Hey! Hey—are you alright?!" she asked, voice breaking.
She shook the man's shoulder. The smell of alcohol hit her immediately—heavy and sour. His face was red, his breathing loud and sloppy. He was just drunk.
Not injured.
Not dead.
Not Alex.
Her relief lasted only a second before fear swallowed it again.
She stood abruptly, heart racing. Then it hit her—
The Sleeping Giant Inn.
She ran. Faster than before. Her boots kicked up dirt and ashes behind her as she darted down the ruined street.
She passed several villagers lying around the inn—drunk, unconscious, even snoring. Children were playing with sticks nearby, completely unharmed. It made no sense. Nothing made sense.
But she didn't see him.
Her heart hammered so hard she felt dizzy.
She sprinted up the wooden stairs two steps at a time and burst toward the door. Her trembling hand pushed it open—
And everything stopped.
Her eyes—cold, empty, lifeless just seconds ago—suddenly widened, flooding with a desperate, breath-stealing hope. It wasn't just surprise. It wasn't just relief.
It felt like something inside her chest had shattered—then burst into light.
Her lungs expanded sharply, like she had been drowning this entire time and had finally broken the surface. The suffocating tightness squeezing her heart… snapped.
Like chains breaking apart.
Like someone had finally let her breathe again.
There—standing inside the dim, warm glow of the inn—was the only person she had prayed to see.
Alex.
Alive.
Safe.
Real.
Her vision blurred instantly with tears. The room, the lights, the shadows—all of it melted away until only he remained, clear and solid before her.
She didn't think.
She couldn't think.
Her body moved before her mind caught up—an instinct deeper than fear, deeper than logic, driven entirely by raw emotion.
Astrid let out a broken, trembling gasp and lunged toward him. She crashed into him with a force that carried every second of terror she had held inside. Her arms wrapped around him so fast, so tightly, as if trying to anchor herself to reality.
Her fingers curled into his clothes—gripping, clawing—terrified he might slip through her grasp, terrified this was an illusion, terrified he might disappear the moment she loosened her hold.
She didn't hear the startled murmurs rising around them.
She didn't hear the floorboards creak beneath her boots.
She didn't hear Delphine's soft sigh of relief or Esbern's quiet muttering in the doorway.
All of those sounds faded into nothing.
All she felt was heat.
His heat.
The warmth of him pressed against her, soaking into her freezing soul like a fire finally thawing the ice in her veins. That warmth filled the emptiness inside her—the hollow, gnawing terror that had been consuming her since she saw the smoke over the village.
Her breath trembled against his shoulder.
Her lips quivered.
When she finally spoke, her voice emerged more fragile than she had ever let him hear—raw, hoarse, breaking apart mid-syllable.
"I… I don't want to lose you…"
The words came out like a confession ripped straight from her heart. A plea. A truth she could no longer keep buried.
She felt him stiffen in surprise for half a second—but she held him tighter, desperate, clinging with a strength born from pure fear. Tears spilled over her cheeks in a hot, unstoppable stream, soaking into the fabric of his shoulder as she pressed her face into him.
Her entire body trembled violently—not from weakness, but from the aftermath of everything she had feared.
The smoke.
The silence.
The ruins.
The thought of him lying somewhere among them.
She had imagined the worst.
She had felt it in her bones.
And now, holding him, the weight of that fear broke inside her, leaving her shaking in his arms.
In that moment—within the circle of his warmth—everything else disappeared.
The ruined village outside…
The lingering smoke in the air…
The echo of dragon fire on the wind…
The terror of nearly losing him…
All of it washed away like ash in the rain.
Astrid felt nothing but him.
Nothing but relief so powerful it almost hurt.
Nothing but gratitude so fierce it made her chest ache.
Because the one person she cared for most—
the one she thought she might never see again—
was here.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Still safe in her arms.
And she held him as if she would never, ever let go again.
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