Elder Scrolls Breton Novels & Stories

“You needn’t hide.” Riven tightened his grip on his sword. “Show yourself.” A frail old man emerged from the shadows carrying nothing but a wooden staff. His white robes were faded almost silver with age. His eyes settled on Elara. For a long moment… He simply smiled. “I wondered if I would live long enough to meet you.” Elara frowned. “Who are you?” The old man bowed deeply. “My name is Aldren.” No one recognized it. But when he spoke again… Every heart stopped.

I pulled out the folded paper from my coat and handed it to her. "Your name is Elan," I said. "Lady Elan of House Marre. Minor Lycan noble family, western border, eastern delegation. Small enough that nobody in Valerius's court will know the name well enough to question it." I kept my voice even. Professional. "You were raised in the western territories. Your accent—" "I can manage an accent." "You're sure." "I spent six years in a court full of Lycan delegates," she said. Then stopped. Something crossed her face. "I mean — I heard them. Enough to pick it up."

Noah sat behind his desk and opened the drawer. He looked at the notebook and frowned. Written in the front was Ulfr Banamaðr. Why had they driven to Bitterroot Lake and asked the head Alpha to join the Council? He opened the book and started to read the last few entries.

He stood across from Luca, his stance proud, his chin slightly lifted like he’d already won something none of us could see yet. A heavy silence fell as Elder Marek stepped forward with a scroll in his hand. My breath caught the moment his voice rang out. “By the ancient customs of our people,” he began, his tone deep and ceremonial, “there existed the Elidor Challenge—a trial of strength and leadership passed down through blood and honor.” My heart slammed against my ribs. No. No, this wasn’t— “It is invoked in times of great uncertainty or great betrayal,” Marek continued, unfolding the scroll slowly.

“What are you.” Sera didn’t answer right away. She gestured to the others, who removed their hoods at her signal. They looked… wolfish, but not in the way Elise expected. No fangs. No snarls. Just something in their posture, their stillness, the way their eyes reflected light. “We are Moonbreathers,” Sera said. The word sent a strange ripple through Elise’s chest. “I’ve heard that name,” she said slowly. “Stories. Myths.”

Fur sprouted from his skin and the bone snapping could be heard from the other side of the field. Grendal was a powerful Druid, a shifter like us, like Aerin had explained to me. Behind Selmor stood a giant bear ready to tear him apart. The orb in Selmor’s hands glowed and Grendal attacked, before Selmor had even the opportunity to use his last resort.