Chapter Text
1
To Rainne, Dimhollow was everything its name implied.
Unsurprisingly, both dim and hollow.
Merely an indistinguishable aperture carved into the craggy face of one of the many mountains that comprised the Skyborn Range - an expanse of mountains delineating the southern and eastern borders of Hjaalmarch from Whiterun Hold.
The narrow maw yawned open, revealing a vast, echoing cavern. Colossal, shimmering pillars of fused stalactites and stalagmites rose like crystalline sentinels, their surfaces glittering with mineral deposits under the faint light from scattered torches. Toward the rear right of the expansive cave perched a defiant man-made structure, as if the cavern had the audacity to grow around it over centuries, rather than the more plausible occurrence of it collapsing into the ground during a quake. Flickering torchlight glinted from the narrow arrow slit of a window high up on the canted wall, casting a ghostly glow that warred with the sparse, wispy beams of hazy light seeping through fissures in the vaulted ceiling of the cave. Due to the meager illumination, the uneven terrain, treacherous with scattered patches of hoarfrost and glassy pools of meltwater, was scarcely visible.
An underground river carved a deep ravine in the cavern, dividing the entrance from the rest of the cave. Its roaring waters almost drowned out the voices of two vampires who were lamenting their dull assignment and growing hunger - a well-placed arrow through the heart solved both issues.
Her breath billowed out in vaporous clouds, dissipating into the cold, stagnant air of the crypt as Rainne navigated the labyrinth of chambers and serpentine corridors. Despite her youth, the relentless chill penetrated her thick cloak, light leather armor and thin garments beneath, numbing her skin and stiffening her joints. With every inhale, the frigid air seared her lungs, carrying the unmistakable scent of damp earth and decay that she had encountered in numerous crypts - more than she would care to acknowledge. Only here there seemed to be a coppery tang below the surface. Faint in some areas and stronger in others. Despite her less acute senses compared to elves, her Breton heritage gave her a significant advantage over her Nord and Imperial counterparts due to distant elven ancestry.
She shifted her vice-like grip on her bow, flexing out her numbed fingers before curling them back around the familiar leather-wrapped wood once more. Her footfalls echoed—frost, dirt, and debris crunching beneath her boots—betraying her presence and making her wince with each step. The deeper she ventured, the more she became consumed by the worry of being discovered.
A subtle disturbance in the air snared her attention, near imperceptible as a crypt-moth’s wingbeat, yet it triggered alarm bells in her head all the same. By stepping back, she blended with the pillar’s shadow, seeming to be part of the stone. The rock’s chill against her back proved oddly comforting, anchoring her and sharpening her senses to a fine point, just as the overpowering metallic tang of fresh blood commingled with the cloying sweetness of decay flooded her nostrils. The air grew thick with the fetid stench of rotting meat left to fester in the scorching summer sun. It coated her tongue and clung to the back of her throat, threatening to make her gag. She reached instead for the quiver at her hip, nocking an arrow in readiness as she watched and waited.
From the nearby passageway, two female vampires emerged. Their pallid, almost translucent skin gleamed in the dancing firelight of the torch one of them held aloft. The wavering flames etched eerie shadows across their delicate features, accentuating the sharp angles of their cheekbones and jaws. Despite their ethereal appearances, their crimson eyes burned with rapacious hunger. With preternatural grace, they glided into the center of the chamber, movements fluid and all but soundless. One turned to the other, nostrils flaring as it sampled the stale air of its surroundings.
“Did you hear that?” it whispered.
Its companion tilted its head, pausing to listen. “Hear what?”
Rainne scarcely breathed for fear they would detect the expansion of her lungs. Her heart thundered wildly in her chest.
“I thought I heard something,” the first insisted, sniffing at the air again.
The other vampire shook its head, dismissive. “You’re imagining things. Nothing living would have made it past the others, nor venture this far into a crypt infested with Draugr.”
“Perhaps,” the first murmured, though its tone conveyed its doubt as it scanned over the dark alcoves.
Before the thing’s eyes could alight upon her hiding spot, Rainne snapped her bow up and loosed the arrow she had readied at the nearer vampire. Without hesitation, she drew another and released it at the second creature, anticipating its trajectory and adjusting her aim accordingly.
Caught unaware, the creatures crumpled to the crypt floor, their now lifeless forms collapsing amidst the scattered debris before Rainne let out another breath.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins, magnifying all of her senses as she scanned her surroundings for any other threats. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, probing for hints of movement as she focused intently on sounds other than her own breaths and the wild rhythm of her heart. Only silence greeted her and she released a relieved sigh before cautiously emerging from her hiding place.
She’s learned to bide her time while traversing the corridors, permitting the Draugr and the occasional frost spider to eliminate any vampires or death hounds that crossed her path before she dispatched any remaining threats with a well-placed arrow. It was almost amusing how these so-called Lords of the Night struggled against mere remnants and beasts, their arrogance no match for their incompetence. This moment was the closest she had come to being discovered since entering Dimhollow.
Making her way past the bodies of the two vampires, she snuffed out the torch with her boot before exiting the chamber and reflected on Isran’s orders. She’d been deployed, along with Sorine and Agmaer, to rendezvous with an old Vigilant named Tolan after the distraught man had come begging for their aid. But Tolan, hungry to avenge his fallen comrades, ventured inside without waiting for them. By the grace of the Divines, they arrived in time to save him—if only just.
She convinced Sorine and Agmaer to transport the grievously wounded man to the nearest healer in Dawnstar, while she continued the search for the artifact he claimed the vampires sought. The grizzled Vigilant had been far from pleased to be following orders from one who had never been a member of the order, much less someone he considered little more than a child. Though, arguably, Rainne had not been a child for some years now and had spent much of both her childhood and the span since under Isran’s tutelage, rebuilding the Dawnguard and training tirelessly to hunt vampires with a merciless sort of enthusiasm.
The severity of Tolen’s injuries left him devoid of the strength to challenge their decision. A fortunate turn of events for him, because Rainne seldom took kindly to contradiction, and Sorine, as her closest friend, was known to staunchly defend her. Tolen might have suffered graver injuries had he dared to protest. Unencumbered without her companions to protect, Rainne traversed the perilous catacombs freely, following her instincts without caution or hesitation, in a way she would not have dared had the others been with her.
A short distance from her encounter and another arrow spent in the largest frost spider she’d ever seen, Rainne entered a small antechamber illuminated by guttering torches that cast eerie shadows on the walls. Two massive stone gargoyles stood guard at the open archway opposite; their grotesque visages twisted into baleful snarls. Though inert objects, their lifeless eyes seemed to track Rainne’s every movement as she looked around the chamber. She almost felt them daring her to continue.
The meager torchlight exposed patches of moss-eaten walls adorned with faded frescoes beneath, depicting scenes from some obscure ancient Nordic legend or another. Stories Rainne had never found interest in. Time had nearly erased them, but fragments of the epic tale remained faintly discernible. The chipped image of a colossal dragon dominated much of the scene, its charcoal scales shimmering with preternatural luster against the verdant backdrop. Its garnet eyes appeared to gaze through the mists of time itself, boring into her with unsettling intensity. It soared through the painted firmament on outstretched wings, talons extended and poised before a swirling tempest and jagged peaks that seemed vaguely familiar. Rainne’s breath snagged in her throat as she studied the mural. Even as she marveled at the artistry, she could not evade the uncanny sensation of being watched by something primordial and formidable.
An inexplicable shiver slithered down her spine, raising the fine hairs on her arms. She tightened her grip on the bow, trying in vain to shake off the creeping unease. Legends regarding such creatures flooded her mind - tales of their involvement in ancient prophecies foretelling destruction and rebirth. Nord children were reared on such tales. She had heard her share, despite not being a Nord and having an Imperial as her guardian. Isran had never been one for fiction. Yet now, confronted with the ominous depiction, she questioned the validity of such myths. Doubts swelled within her, supplanting her long-time rejection of such fanciful things.
The tomb-like stillness of the chamber shattered with a sudden shrill voice that ricocheted off the unforgiving stone. Rainne’s heart lurched at the unexpected noise, and she spun around in alarm, bow aimed toward the vacant archway between the two gargoyles. Beyond the portcullis, heated voices could be heard locked in dispute.
Amidst the muffled shouts and demands, one name rang out clearly—“Adalvald”. Rainne’s mind raced, recalling hearing this name in hushed whispers between Tolan and Isran back at the fort. Easing the tension on her bowstring, Rainne crept out onto the balcony overlooking two vampires—a male and a female—and their thrall standing over an elderly man on his knees, his wrists bound before him. The fraught argument unfolded between the old man and the male vampire.
A brief moment saw her contemplating intervention as the desperate pleas of the injured old man reached her, tempting her to vault over the railing and emulate Tolan’s foolhardy heroics. Yet the sight of the two vampires and the hulking thrall towering over their frail captive dispelled such fancies. Self-preservation prevailed, though an icy fist squeezed around her heart as the faintest voice chided her for her cowardice. She averted her eyes, unable to bear witness to the final act of savagery about to unfold. The sickening crunch of splintering bone and the vampires’ malicious laughter echoed in her ears, drowning out all other sounds save for the ceaseless drip-drip-drip of water.
Rainne forced herself to focus on the unyielding chill of the stone under her trembling fingertips, wrestling with control of her galloping thoughts. Furious at the vampires for existing, for extinguishing another innocent life. Like her mother. Her brother. At herself, for doing nothing to intervene. For being a coward. Again. But before it could consume her, choke her, she forced herself to breathe. Inhale, to the count of four. Hold to seven. Exhale to eight. And repeat. Slow. Deliberate. Measured. Isran’s teachings from her childhood, when everything was fresh, and anything would trigger the panic and anger.
Once she found her center, in control again, she returned to watching the two vampires as they marched across an ancient stone bridge, their heated quarrel renewed, the echoes bounding off the cavern’s far walls. The thrall shuffled behind them, mute and impassive.
The ancient structure sprawled over a gaping chasm, its arches bearing the etchings and scars of countless centuries. It led to a sweeping circular dais, the pitted stone’s face bearing traces of arcane markings from an era long forgotten. Majestic arches framed the perimeter, their grandeur demarcating an imposing circle that hinted at some former role as a gathering place of great import. In its prime, it may have been an amphitheater where significant events took place under star-kissed skies — now interred far beneath the soil of Tamriel.
Within the exterior colonnade, a smaller inner ring of arches cast elongated shadows that danced in the wan light of iron braziers, their flames a strange eerie violet. Each one positioned at uneven intervals around the circle, creating a strange pattern as violet flames followed along in grooves in the floor. As she watched, the trio entered the dais. Rainne crept forward, senses heightened as she sought out just the right opening to make her move.
The name ‘Lokil’ slipped from the female vampire’s lips in a plaintive whimper, drifting across the cavern to Rainne’s concealed perch. She attuned her hearing to the nuances of their exchange, absorbing every detail for anything that might expose their agenda or hint at the dynamics at play. Who orchestrated the attack on the Vigilants? What were these vampires searching for? Any scrap that could prove advantageous to the Dawnguard.
Their discussion revealed a quest for an unnamed prize intended for one the male called ‘Harkon’—a name uttered with such reverence it seared itself into Rainne’s memory. Despite years of exhaustive study with Isran, she was sure she had never encountered the name previously. As she nestled into a recess of a colossal stalagmite, ensconced in the deepest crevice that afforded an unobstructed view, two more unfamiliar names wafted up from below, devoid of the weight and significance of ‘Harkon’. But names to file away anyhow.
The thrall, patrolling the outer circle, met a swift, silent end as one of Rainne’s arrow found its mark with unerring accuracy. He collapsed, his lifeless body crumpling to the ground, unnoticed by his masters as they bickered nearby.
Long ago, remorse at ending a thrall’s life had shifted to resigned acceptance that a quick death could sometimes be a mercy - a kindness compared to their fate. To be trapped in a state of undeath, controlled and exploited by vampires, devoid of any selfhood or purpose… it was worse than death — worse even, Rainne presumed, then being turned into a vampire.
The thrall’s death bought her precious time.
Approaching the bridge, she listened intently to the vampires’ words.
“It is our responsibility to find the prize and deliver it to Lord Harkon,” Lokil’s voice reverberated through the cavern as he spoke, nasal and grating. “And I will not return without it.”
The female vampire’s derisive tone faded to a fawning whisper. “Of course, Lokil. Lord Harkon will be most displeased if we fail him.”
Their urgent conversation dwindling to hushed murmurs as they scoured the shadowy dais.
Spying a window of opportunity as the female neared firing range, Rainne drew back her bowstring, took aim, and exhaled. The silence ruptured with a sharp twang; her arrow sailed true, piercing its target’s heart. The female vampire crumped, never realizing what happened before hitting the ground.
Rainne watched as Lokil’s body stiffened, his hunter’s nature seizing control in the face of imminent threat. His eyes, burning like coals in the gloom, swept over the cavern. The atmosphere turned electric with suspense as he raised his voice, a mocking edge tingeing his words. “Come out, come out.” He strode back across the stone bridge, the rasp of metal on leather accompanying him as he unsheathed his blade.
Rainne’s pulse quickened as she weighed her limited options. The creature’s enhanced senses could pinpoint her location if he drew much nearer, and engaging him in close combat would be a daunting proposition. She nocked another arrow, willing her hands to be steady despite the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her mind raced, contemplating the prospect of confronting an immortal being renowned for its immense strength and blinding speed—a myriad of ways it could go horribly awry. But years of rigorous training kept her focused on the moment, moving more on instinct than anything else.
As Lokil paused beside Adalvald’s remains, his eyes prowled over the staircase and onto the balcony far above Rainne’s secluded niche. Her heart thundered as she watched him, a white-knuckled grip on her bow. She inhaled and as she released the breath, let the arrow fly. It struck Lokil in the chest, forcing him to stagger backward. But he did not fall. Instead, his smoldering ember eyes found her hiding spot.
With a sneer twisting his lips, he growled, “Found you.”
More by fortune than speed, she managed to evade his initial attack, feeling the violent displacement of air as his razor-sharp claws scythed through where she had just been, hearing them sheer off chunks of stone. The sharp crack echoed through the cavern.
She parried his next strike with her bow, the impact jarring her bones. Sweat strung her eyes as she strained against his inhuman strength. A growl rumbled from Lokil’s throat, his fangs glinting in the dim light. With a vicious sweep, he tore the bow from her grasp, sending it clattering to the ground.
Rainne dove in the opposite direction, her body moving on instinct. Her fingers closed around the hilts of the twin daggers at her belt, the familiar weight offering a flicker of hope. She rolled to her feet, muscles coiled. Lokil’s eyes gleamed with predatory hunger as he stalked towards her.
Survival became all that mattered.
While evading Lokil’s relentless advances, her daggers blurred like quicksilver. She ducked beneath a swipe that would have taken her head, the displacement of air ruffling her hair. Seizing the moment, Rainne darted in close. Her blade found a soft spot behind Lokil’s knee, sinking deep.
A snarl of pain echoed off the cave walls. But even as black blood oozed from the wound, Rainne watched in horror as the gash began to close. Lokil’s healing was too swift, her efforts barely slowing him down.
She retreated, chest heaving. Each breath felt like shards of glass shredding her lungs, the taste of copper on her tongue. Her limbs trembled with exhaustion. One mistake, one moment of weakness, and it would all be over.
As they circled each other, Rainne’s gaze darted to the treacherous ledge nearby. Loose gravel shifted beneath her feet, threatening to betray her footing. An idea formed, born of desperation and the primal will to survive.
She stumbled, a calculated falter in her step. Lokil’s eyes widened when he sensed weakness. Her heart thundered in her chest as she allowed him to drive her back, step by agonizing step, leading him toward the precipice, fatigue, and desperation giving way to cunning strategy. Or, perhaps, a crackbrained strategy that would ensure her death. She would find out soon enough as she whispered a hasty prayer to Stendar for his protection. Either her plan would work, or this cave would become her tomb.
Lokil lunged forward, falling for Rainne’s ruse. She pivoted, her muscles coiling like a spring. Time slowed as she grasped his arm, using his momentum against him. With a swift twist, she hurled him towards the edge. But Lokil’s reflexes were quicker. His fingers latched onto her cloak, yanking her off balance. Her stomach lurched as she teetered on the brink. For a heartbeat, she hung suspended between solid ground and open air.
Then they plummeted.
Wind whipped past her face as they plunged into the darkness. Her breath caught in her throat, panic clawing at her chest. The icy waters of the underground lake rushed up to meet them.
The cold enveloped Rainne, shocking her system. Water filled her nose and mouth as she thrashed, trying to orient herself. The current tugged at her limbs, threatening to sweep her away. Lokil’s iron grip remained locked on her cloak, dragging her deeper.
Her lungs burned, screaming for air. Her fingers scrabbled at her throat, desperately trying to unclasp the cloak. But the clasp refused. But in the murky depths, his enhanced strength counted for less. The water’s resistance slowed his movements, giving Rainne a fighting chance. She twisted, bringing her knee up hard into Lokil’s stomach. Bubbles erupted from his mouth as he grunted in pain.
She slashed out with the sole dagger she’d managed to hold on to in the fall and felt the blade connect. More bubbles exploded around them as Lokil thrashed. His grip loosened for a split second.
It was all she needed.
Rainne wrenched free, kicking hard. Her head broke the surface, and she gasped, sweet air flooding her starved lungs. But there was no time to savor it. She dove back under, dagger at the ready.
Lokil’s pale form materialized out of the gloom, fangs bared in a snarl. She struck again and again, her movements slowed by the water but fueled by desperation. Red clouds billowed around them with each hit.
Her muscles screamed for oxygen. Spots danced at the edges of her vision. Just a little longer…
Lokil’s attacks grew weaker, his movements sluggish. Rainne pressed her advantage, hacking and slashing with renewed fury. She wouldn’t let him recover. Couldn’t. It was him or her, and Rainne refused to die in this watery tomb.
With a violent gasp, she broke the surface a second time. Frigid air assaulted her battered lungs, burning with each ragged breath. She fought to stay afloat, her sodden clothing dragging her down with a punishing weight. Every stroke toward the shore sent waves of pain through her already exhausted muscles.
Her fingers scraped against rock and she clawed her way onto the outcropping, each movement a battle against bone-deep fatigue. Even the sharp little rocks that cut into her palms seemed insignificant compared to the overwhelming exhaustion now that the adrenaline had run out. Collapsing onto the unforgiving surface, violent shivers wracked her body as the chill penetrated her leather armor.
But she lived.
She’d survived.
She won.
A bubble of laughter escaped her lips, growing into a cascade that echoed through the cavernous space. The sound mocked the shadows of Dimhollow and the piles of corpses left in her wake. She’d done it - defeated a master vampire. Lokil’s prowess surpassed any bloodsucker she’d faced before, yet she’d sent him to a watery grave.
She could not wait to regale Sorine and Aegmar. Isran would never believe her. Durak would be… well, he was already green, but he’d be envious.
As her laughter subsided, Rainne cautiously pushed herself up. Every muscle screamed in protest. She winced, cataloging the mosaic of cuts and bruises that decorated her body. She made her way up the uneven outcropping and swept her eyes across the shadowed cavern. Spotting her bow discarded near the bridge, she wasted no time in reclaiming it. The familiar weight and balance of the weapon bringing a surge of comfort.
With cautious steps, she made her way across the ancient bridge to the pedestal that had engrossed the two vampires before she had interrupted. It stood solemn vigil in the chamber’s heart, its dark, veined surface awash in the eerie violet glow from the braziers. Hewn from rugged yet artfully carved stone, lavishly engraved with an intricate web of symbols spiraling up its sides. She edged closer, her breath catching. Depictions of celestial alignments and mythical creatures were etched into the pedestal’s surface, each carving thrumming with latent power. Each sigil thrummed with latent power, as if imbued with a slumbering energy waiting to be awakened.
The top of the pedestal appeared curiously smooth and unmarked. She traced her fingertips over the cool, polished surface. A faint, pulsing energy emanating from it. The moment her palm made contact, a hidden mechanism triggered with an ominous click. Excruciating pain erupted in her hand as a concealed spike shot upward, impaling her palm and trapping her in place. She gritted her teeth, vision blurring with pain. Warm blood spilled from the wound, running down the pedestal’s face in precise grooves, disappearing into tiny openings that seemed to devour it.
The spike retracted as quickly as it appeared, and Rainne fell to her knees, gasping for air. Her blood triggered something deep within the chamber. A low hum reverberated through the air, sending shivers down her spine.
As she fought to regain her composure, she watched in awe as the pedestal sank into the floor with a grinding protest. Ancient stone mechanisms, long dormant, groaned to life, reshaping the dais into a massive staircase. A towering black monolith rose from the center, its glassy obsidian surface covered in pulsating glyphs.
“Seriously?” Rainne muttered under her breath.
She circled the monolith, her injured hand cradled against her chest. The ‘prize’ Lokil spoke of, the ‘artifact’ mentioned by Tolan, it had to reside within the stone. Her eyes combed every inch of the polished surface, searching for any clues or hidden openings. Her uninjured fingertips skimmed the cool obsidian, finding no seams or breaks. Nothing but smooth, unyielding stone.
“Of course it wouldn’t be that easy,” she muttered, frustration creeping into her voice.
She glanced at her injured hand, blood still oozing from the puncture wound. A crazy idea formed in her mind.
“This better not hurt as much as the pedestal,” she grumbled, steeling herself.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed her bloodied palm against the surface. Instantly, the stone began to vibrate beneath her touch, a low hum resonating through her bones. She jerked her hand back, heart pounding.
The monolith shifted with a grinding rumble. One side sank into the floor, revealing its true nature - not a monument, but an elaborate sarcophagus.
And inside rested something that stole Rainne’s breath away.
Inside lay a woman, bathed in an otherworldly glow. Her features were delicate, serene - as if merely asleep rather than entombed for who knew how long. Rainne’s gaze traveled over the woman’s face, taking in every detail. Her skin was pale, almost luminescent in the chamber’s eerie glow. Full lips, slightly parted. And midnight black tresses cascading to her shoulders framed her face, a stark contrast to her pale skin. The front was intricately braided back on both sides, forming a coronal braid. Her attire was equally captivating. Rich fabrics adorned in intricate designs that spoke of nobility and wealth. Each thread seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, creating patterns that shifted and changed as Rainne’s perspective altered.
Rainne leaned closer, drawn by an inexplicable urge to touch, to verify that this wasn’t some elaborate illusion. Her hand, still sticky with drying blood, hovered inches from the woman’s face.
“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the chamber’s silence. “What are you?”
A soft groan escaped the woman’s lips. Rainne’s breath caught as she watched those eyelids flutter open, revealing irises that glowed with an unnatural golden glow.
Her stomach plummeted. Icy dread crept up her spine as the gravity of what she’d stumbled upon in Dimhollow Crypt became terrifyingly clear.