Those who believe that the Voice died with the spilled blood understand nothing of the nature of things that cannot die. They are shallow and think only as pitiful mortals do.

  When the Old Covenant was broken and the Sanctuary of Cheydinhal slipped into oblivion, it was not the end, but a new beginning. That morning, the Black Sun rose once more from the west. There were two suns in Nirn's sky that day, and people everywhere trembled and wept.

  The invocation was uttered in the northern weald of the Duchy of Nibenay, beneath the cold eye of Secunda and the satisfied gaze of a Goddess thirsty for blood and righteous vengeance.

  And the Goddess was so pleased, so content, that She granted everything asked of Her that day.

  The four—and then the three—were neither heroes nor villains. Three of them were the last living shadows of a Brotherhood that had forgotten how to die with dignity. And the fourth, who was never truly Dark Brotherhood because Elsie would not allow it, was an anchor. She kept her beloved friend whole in those terrible times and warmed her heart with a love burning and boundless.

  That night, Elsie, daughter of night and sorrow, buried her brother not just in the damp forest soil, but deep within the flesh of the Old Law, birthing from betrayal's ashes a new Creed—quieter, purer, fiercer.

  What became of them after that?

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  There are many tales, too many versions—perhaps all of them are true, in their own way. Each speaker or scribe saw the story through their own eyes, full of sympathies or resentments. And let's not even speak of the historians—all of them are parasites in robes, scribbling lies for their supper! Yet all sources agree on one point: after the fall of the old Dark Brotherhood, Elsie, Cicero, and Courtney traveled to the frozen lands of Skyrim.

  What happened there?

  It's written plainly in The Tamrielic Chronicles by Leif the Sage, a work universally accepted and included in the official histories of Nirn. A canonical text. But those truly learned know of an apocryphal version—written by Elsie herself. Just between us, Leif's opus is the "politically correct" version of a much truer, far more interesting, and dangerous book.

  And later? Long after peace had wrapped its warm arms around Tamriel?

  Of Cicero, old tales still echo in the crumbling harbors of Morrowind—that he sometimes laughed through tears, and wept through laughter. And that once a year, on a certain night, he would disappear into an ancient forest near Cheydinhal to bury his own shadow. And speak with an old friend.

  Of Courtney, it is whispered that she once saw the moon and stars rise again above a reborn elven kingdom, somewhere beyond the forested hills of Valenwood. But that's not true. Everyone knows her mausoleum in the autumn forests near Riften—it's hard to miss and remains a place of pilgrimage for many Bosmer. The Courtney who ruled wisely in Valenwood was her daughter.

  And of Elsie... nothing more is said, for those who try to speak of her never live long enough to finish the tale.

  The Order of Stendarr sees to that.

  We, the faceless chroniclers, are left only with forgotten testimonies, parchment gnawed by time, and whispers from beyond the Void.

  But we know—oh, we know—that when silence deepens across Tamriel, and the forgotten sun begins to bleed once more, the faithful shall return.

  And they shall speak her Name again.

  — From The Chronicles of the Empress, author unknown, banned in four provinces and once burned in public by the Order of the Holy Light.