Elder Scrolls Dremora Novels & Stories

Steps spiraled downward into darkness. “Looks like the ruins have more to say,” Elandra murmured. They descended cautiously. The air grew colder with each step until breath became mist. At the bottom lay a cavern bathed in silver-blue light, with walls covered in glowing glyphs. At the center stood a pedestal. Upon it, a small orb pulsed with soft light. Aria approached first. “What is it?” Elandra examined it carefully. “An Echo Orb. They were used to store visions… memories.”

“How?” Elara glanced at the mark on Rollan’s arm. “By binding your blood—yours, Caden’s, and Rollan’s—in a counter-ritual. It will require a relic of the first wolves, hidden in the catacombs beneath the keep. But Darius knows of it too, and he’s already moving to claim it.” Caden’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we trust you?” Elara’s gaze was steady. “Because I was once a loyalist. I saw the destruction Victor wrought, and I left. I’ve spent years studying the prophecy, seeking a way to end the cycle. This is it.”

“A scout returned from the western ridge. He reports movement among the Wyrden.” Kael’s shoulders locked. “They swore neutrality after the Obsidian Pact.” Vira paused, then continued. “They did. But the scout heard something. A name. They believe the Moonborn Heir is already claimed.” Elara’s gaze sharpened. “By whom?” Vira’s eyes flicked between them before she spoke, each syllable laced with distaste. “Lucien Drake.” Elara’s blood turned to ice. By afternoon, the skies above Eldoria churned with steel-gray clouds, the promise of a storm building far beyond sight. She entered the Crimson Wing, her steps echoing sharply against dark marble. The air hung heavy with the scent of vampire magic—

They bowed lightly, calling her “my lady.” Elara held one child close, brushing the girl’s hair. “You will be fine,” she whispered. The child’s mother began to cry. Elara lifted her chin. “Do not fear. We are still here. We are alive. We will not fall.” Her words were soft, but they carried like a little flame in the cold. Some women nodded. Some even wiped their tears. Mira’s eyes filled with pride as she looked at Elara. --- At the same time, Damien was inside the council room. The elders had gathered around him. Their faces were hard, lines deep with worry. The table was long, and in the center was the black leaf the warriors found in the water jar.

Xavier and Ceres sit across from each other, the scroll between them. Xavier (carefully breaking the wax seal): "Feels wrong to open it. Like I'm cracking open someone's grave." Ceres (gently): "Then treat it like an exhumation. Not to desecrate—just to bring the truth into the light." He unrolls the scroll—fine parchment, preserved miraculously—names upon names inked in blood-dark script. Xavier (reading softly): "Narel Flame-Eyed. Caelum Ashwing. Idris of the Second Vein. Eyla Moonvein. Alric Flameborn..."

Dorian stood at the edge of the stone circle, the Owlshard floating beside him like a second heart, pulsing in rhythm with his own. The corrupted wolves growled behind him, glowing red under the Blood Moon. His voice was soft. “Welcome, Elara,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Welcome to the heart of darkness.” And then— The ground split open.

Progress? Before they left, Elias pressed a smaller package into my hands. Inside, a small metal disk burnished smooth and engraved with Emberbound sigils. The Circle crest on one side. One name on the other. Draven. Not Asset 23. Just Draven. I flipped it in my hand once, then placed it delicately in the drawer beside the hearth, next to the hollowed-out sigil box and hanging cape. Names mattered. But this one no longer felt like a weight.

“That was four hundred years ago. They remember.” “I’m not going to burn down their forest.” “I’m sure the last dragon told them that too.” My training master was a druid named Eldric. He was tall, thin, and had the kind of face that gave away absolutely nothing, like someone had carved it from wood and forgotten to add expressions. His eyes were pale green, almost translucent, and they studied me. “You want to learn extraction magic,” he said. Not a question. A statement delivered in the tone of someone reading a grocery list.

"Is it done?" The voice was gravelly and warm. Elara turned and saw Kazimir. He was floating a few feet away, his Glitch-Blade gone, his armor replaced by the simple, dark clothes he had worn when they first met. He looked tired, but the Cosmic Dread had finally left his eyes. "It’s done, Kaz," Elara said, her voice echoing in the infinite quiet. Beside them, the Sarah-Echo manifested. She wasn't the General, and she wasn't the shattered ghost of the Haven. She was the mother from the porch—brown eyes, a soft smile, and a presence that radiated a Bittersweet Justice.

Her ocean-blue eyes have depths of innocence in them, and it seemed as though an inevitable gravity was dragging me in to explore those vast sets of orbs. I was so distracted by how the doll's elegance had held me chained up that I did not even notice the entrance to the villa slamming completely shut until I realized it. I stumbled through it, but I was completely blown shocked when I started hearing a melodic line being hummed ominously from behind my back, causing my head to instinctively flip toward its direction. My mouth dropped open, and my eyes widened in sheer terror, and my body started to shrivel up in fear and panic, as my heart pummeled vociferously. I was screaming with tears i