[A/N]: The promised preview! As you might remember, partly why Tyranny of Sundered Souls is going to be so enormous is the addition of three new POVs: Rain, a gifted Bosmeri bard; Raegim, our dear Blades apprentice; and...

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-Ausnahyol-

Vylornar's demise remained profoundly etched into his wingsteed's memory. Still, he remembered the agony of the spark in him withering, and a cold that seeded from within briefly spread through the whole core of his being—and in that moment, his power had waned, and had almost gone.

But Ausnahyol remained dovah, and the fire had always lived in his blood. He awoke from the trance but seconds after it had begun, but with a dour certainty in his heart…mingled with astonishment. Silseyol, dead? That could not be!

But so it was, to the amazement of many.

To Ausnahyol, it was an impossibility made possible. The instant the spark had died in Vylornar's soul he knew the Dragonlord was gone, and he had been…empty. He was reminded of the fragility of the blessing Vylornar had granted him, and how much Vylornar's gift had fulfilled him. The gift remained his, it had only suffered from a severe shock, but the strength of that magic's near-dissolution had shaken him down to his soul. Reminding him of the weakling he had been born as, and the powerful creature Vylornar had uplifted him into being.

Ausnahyol knew what they called him, his brethren: 'the dragon who is not'. From freefliers to soldiers, hatchlings to the Ancient Eldest, those who had seen the Dragon Wars, that was what they named him, for they feared what they did not know. Only the inner circle knew of what it truly meant, to be what he was. Rarely did they speak of it. They were sworn to silence of it. They had respected Vylornar greatly, for he was the most like them of all the Dragonlords, his soul had been fire and his heart had been power and lust. Now with him gone, Ausnahyol wondered if they would speak.

They would not, he was sure. They abhorred weakness. They would not risk bringing such weakness upon themselves, by uttering of it.

The warm months had ended with Silseyol as well, and Ausnahyol could feel it stealing upon him, his great enemy. The greater one's power, the greater that which could undo that power. That was the balance of it, and to make it as stable as possible, it needed balance. Vylornar had understood the mysteries and so Ausnahyol accepted the cold to be his bane. The fire within him had to be nurtured. That was his power. He, like the Dragonlord, was more than just fire made flesh, his very quintessence was the flame, and though it burned bright in him still, the cold would wane it and cool his blood. It was ironic, to think that ultimately that had led to Silseyol's demise. Ausnahyol could not journey through a blizzard. His blood would chill. Let any fire-mouthed dragon grow too cold and they lacked the energy to fly. After the meeting he had told Vylornar this, and as always the Dragonlord understood, respecting him even though it had been him to raise Ausnahyol up from his own ashes into the inferno. That was why Ausnahyol had respected him, for they had respected each other's power.

While Ausnahyol felt no grief at Vylornar's passing, for his pride would not allow it, he was angry. Vylornar had deserved to die a dovah's death, not this…trickery of darkness. What were they called? Meznarid. Assassins. Death-givers. Life-takers. But if it truly was the same wicked creature that had first upset Ollos Darkheart…and then outwitted the necromancer of the north…

She was not the matter, Ausnahyol reminded himself. Vylornar had met her, and he had failed her, and that was the end of it. So that was how Akatosh had intended him to die? Very well, he would not argue against the passage of fate. But there was the matter, however, of Vylornar's honour.

Ausnahyol had reason to believe that it was being slighted.

His pride would not allow it upon the one who had uplifted him from weakling to greatness.

It was what spurred him through the skies in the early hours of dawn. Ausnahyol kept the inferno in him burning bright to ward off the chill of the yet-sunless day. There was still much of him that had remained the natural dovah, and he knew it by the way his soul sang with the open sky above him. His kindred could not live without their Father's sphere all around them, and such was the thrill and sense of whole strength they felt under it that the music mortality named 'dragonsong' burst from them whenever the wind was under their wings and they lived in suspension and thrust.

However, Ausnahyol did not sing, at least not aloud. He relished the sky but never would dragonsong burst from him as it did his brethren. They shunned and feared him for it, whispered of him, their perception of him only reinforced. The dragon who is not.

He cared little for them. His business was not with them.

So through the waning night he flew, still mulling over his own thoughts, and his suspicions growing greater and greater in his mind. Silseyol was destroyed and all should be well. Ausnahyol was free of him, and his power was his own now to nurture and grow; or he should have been. This matter of honour bound him still to the Dragonlord and Ausnahyol would be free of it before he pursued his own fate. This power granted to him, uplifting him, demanded release. He intended to. Never again would he be bound. Perhaps he would seek another name for the dov to remember him by.

First, the matter of honour.

He crossed the lands of steam and stone and caught an updraft, lifting him high, high into the mountains bordering Skyrim and Morrowind both. Within these mountains lay the throne of the World-Eater, his overlord; his Eyrie, to which was said to lie the source of Alduin's might. Very few knew of what it really was, and Ausnahyol had not yet been granted the privilege. Alduin himself knew of it, as did Joorpaalrah, away on some dark errand as he'd been before. Alduin's faithful deputy, Odahviing, also was aware, for he had been entrusted with the guardianship of the throne while Alduin was away in the south quelling another doomed mortal rebellion. It made Ausnahyol chuckle to think that was exactly what Alduin had now tasked Odahviing now to do, to fly into the hot west lands and personally subdue the nuisance that was the Merigard. An alliance of three peoples and two lands. Ausnahyol had been educated upon the folly of Merigard in the meeting. Vulhil had lectured of it, to shame the weakling Cirroc, a man Ausnahyol personally believed unworthy of his jewel.

But Joorpaalrah had granted it to him, and to presume was dangerous when the Dragonborn himself was concerned. Even Ausnahyol would not dare fly those winds.

Who else knew of Alduin's might? Zoornahldir had, thought Ausnahyol—and Zoornahldir was also dead, vanquished by his own prey, the young bear of the east. That was a shame all on its own. What a blight upon that noble dovah's pride! Ausnahyol was glad the body remained lost to his overlord. Zoornahldir deserved no second life after that display, useful as he had been.

And those were all who knew of it, for Alduin had returned to his Eyrie, and that was whom Ausnahyol was journeying to speak with. He had been in service to Vylornar, who had served his overlord; Ausnahyol would break all ties before going in pursuit of the matter of honour. To presume was also dangerous when the World-Eater was concerned.

Ausnahyol had been to the Eyrie many times, but never alone. The dragons had respected Silseyol. The sentries knew of his demise, and when they looked upon him almost immediately they assumed postures of scorn. Ausnahyol was not surprised. He had expected this. Rare was it for a mortal to win a dovah's respect—and when the mortal was gone, those who had respected him found themselves ashamed of ever having done so. They would amend themselves with shows of brutish strength. Ausnahyol braced himself for what followed with a stern reminder that he was beyond them. His power was precious. Vylornar's gift uplifted him beyond these petty spawn of dragonblood, their power only natural.

"Dovah niwolos," jeered the first, a frost-mouth with a sneer quick on his tongue. "See him come. Here I thought you could not go anywhere without the mortal guiding you."

Ausnahyol looked at him and let no rage show in his voice. There was strength in that. "He was a mortal with might to match yours, dishonourable."

The second sentry laughed. "His might undone by a snake."

"As yours may have been by a man." Ausnahyol turned to him. A strun-dovah, one whose blood was storm and lightning, but who was little more than a late wyrm, reeking with inexperience; Alduin only had this one for the rare gift in the storm, Ausnahyol was certain. "Had not the Dovahkiin come to his senses."

"Joorpaalrah is no man, blasphemous." The Storm wyrm showed its teeth.

"As I said," growled Ausnahyol, "he came to his senses." He turned back to the Frost, the only one worthy of authority. "Let me pass, brother. I have words I wish to share with our master."

"Alduin is not worthy of your time. And I am not your brother, you who is barely dovah."

Ausnahyol narrowed his eyes. How many times had he heard this…accused he was not dovah because he was different, and proud of his differences. Vylornar had opened his eyes to many things and taught him well. Because he would not sing when he flew, he was not dovah. Because he thought and spoke as well the slave tongue as his brethren's, he was not dovah. Because he was susceptible to many independent ideas and intentions, he was not dovah. Because he actually understood a mortal's mind, he was not dovah. Because he was dovah niwolos, the dragon who was not. Because of Vylornar and his gift.

"I will not recite old quarrels now," he snapped. "My business with the firstborn is my own. He will hear me. Vylornar was a good servant, and I served our people through him. That is my choice and yours not to fathom, presumptuous. Now allow me to pass."

The Frost listened. The Storm wyrm did not. He lilted on his perch. "Begone, beggar."

Ausnahyol turned to him. His rage grew, the gift with it, and now he readied it upon his tongue, aware he would use it upon this brainless creature, unworthy of its inborn ability. "Speak again," he growled, "but offer me words of sorrow, and I will forgive what you said, and your fate will be kinder."

The Storm wyrm laughed loudly. "That is all you are worth now!"

And then he was screaming.

All it had taken was three words, three wonderful little words, for Ausnahyol's thu'um was one to be feared. The Frost recoiled in terror, but the Storm wyrm received the rendering Shout, and howling, toppled from his perch.

Ausnahyol seized him by his throat. The wyrm was small, and Ausnahyol was large, the former's throat fit nicely in the latter's talons. He lifted him high into the air while he writhed and struggled in desperation as the Shout ate away at his very soul. Into eyes wide and full of fear, Ausnahyol snarled, "You will beware me, insolent child. It is dangerous to presume with me. You may be young, but that only explains your stupidity. I wonder now if you are worthy of your Voice. If you are worthy of your tongue. Seek no salvation from the sky, for I have made it betray you, and you know this, craven, you know this well."

The Storm struggled with many a whimper and whine, flailing helplessly above the yawning abyss below him. Ausnahyol slackened his grip ever so slightly, enough for the wyrm to feel his own weight start to drag him down to certain death.

"Your life means little to me, storm-spawn," Ausnahyol hissed. He made as if to drop the young dragon, but instead the talons upon his free foot lashed out and scored a trio of deep lacerations into the wyrm's wing, tearing clean through the black membrane. Blood welled immediately from the wounds. Then, without kindness, Ausnahyol dropped the strun-dovah, but only back onto his perch. The wyrm sagged upon landing, scrabbling for purchase, wheezing in fright as he fought for hold. His wounded wing pained him greatly, and as soon as he found grip again he hugged it close with rattled gasps.

"So you shall remember me," Ausnahyol snarled. The Storm wyrm now stared at him in terror. His stark fear was as much of an apology as was needed, and so Ausnahyol allowed the Shout's power to wane off him—slowly, so the wyrm was certain to remember its dour touch. Then Ausnahyol turned to the Frost, who regarded him in greater caution. "Need I repeat myself, humbled?"

"No, brother." The Frost was careful to avoid looking at his companion as he gestured with his tail to the highest point of the Eyrie. "You will find our lord and master there within, and he will hear what words you have to share with him."

"Your name?"

The Frost's eyes narrowed, but he obliged. "Krahdaaniisk."

"And may you remember mine." Ausnahyol surged past, for enough time was wasted, and upon the vale winds he rose to where Alduin was to be found. He wondered if he had heard, or how many others had witnessed the power Vylornar had gifted him. But though he felt eyes upon him from the stone around and below, he was not impeded.

The porch was broad and spacious, and upon it Ausnahyol gracefully lighted, inferno wings furling to his sides. So Alduin was to be found within—within, underground, away from the heavens? Curious, he thought—or perhaps it was to hide better from the Father. It was common knowledge Alduin had betrayed his duty for power. He too had broken prophecy, taken a greater destiny beyond him into his own hands and remade it to his own desires. Akatosh could hardly be pleased with his unruly son. But that was not for Ausnahyol to decide. It did seem to explain why Alduin insisted on meetings and councils underground, as uncomfortable as they were.

He strode inside, as much as he could, for the dov were not meant to walk upon the ground like the lesser beasts and all the grace the sky offered them was denied. Wings were suddenly an encumbrance. Ausnahyol could do little more than waddle, and focus on not clawing himself. It was fortunate he did not have to venture too far beneath the mountain, for soon Alduin came into his sight. The firstborn of all dragonkind looked to have been resting, but twin scarlet flares penetrated the darkness at Ausnahyol's approach, and the World-Eater rose in a stream of shadow—as always, positioning himself higher than the one across from him, to remind the undisputed matter of dominance. Ausnahyol accepted it, and merely bowed his head. To willingly lower oneself was a gesture of subjugation. Nothing appeased the Renderer more than submission in his subjects.

"Ausnahyol, fireborn," said Alduin in his deepest rumble. "Why do you approach?"

"Alduin thuri," Ausnahyol hailed. "I have a request."

Alduin's nostrils flared, and he adjusted his position, to make himself seem even more imposing. Ausnahyol wasn't distracted, and for a time they held eyes, a test in which the subject proved as equal as his lord. "Proceed, then," the World-Eater growled at last.

"It is a matter of honour. I believe the last prey of Silseyol still breathes."

"Silseyol is dead."

"I am aware of this, righteous." Alduin knew just how closely linked their soul fires had been, mortal and immortal. The World-Eater was well aware of the gift. "It is not out of grief I wish to pursue the slight. It is a matter of honour. It tarnishes the grace of Silseyol to have the prey live when he does not."

"Of whom do you speak?"

"The mage of the north." Ausnahyol narrowed his eyes with a soft thrumming deep in his throat. He had seen the mage himself, twice, first when he had desperately been trying to win Vylornar's favour—that had been easily determined from his guile rendered useless under a dragon's all-seeing eyes—and then when the he had thought himself a worthy challenge. The dance had not lasted long, and of course the fool half-blood had failed, and miserably so—but Ausnahyol had yet to feel the spark inside the crippled spirit end.

Young and weak as the mage had been, he had been fire—and to fire, Ausnahyol was drawn, more than any other creature.

He had felt a great release of power to the west, at a juncture of hold boundaries, a release like a storm, almost as great as Vylornar's own signature. Ausnahyol had not forgotten it, for he had reason to suspect, but there were other concerns he and Vylornar had shared at the time, including the return of their overlord from his re-cleansing of the southern provinces. After the gathering of the inner circle—after the death of the Dragonlord—as soon as his strength returned to him, Ausnahyol had flown to the place of the great release. The charred remains of what looked to be a camp of outlaws was all that was left, but the stench of mage-magic was strong. No natural flame had been the cause of this. Ausnahyol had felt this particular magic before, and knew immediately whom it had originated.

So yes, he had great reason to believe that somehow, Vylornar's prey still breathed.

"That is a trivial pursuit, foolish," the World-Eater snarled. "There are better uses for one of your abilities. I would not have you waste yourself upon a pursuit of a mortal's slighted honour."

"Mortal as he was, Vylornar was equal to any dovah."

Alduin showed his fangs. "You are loyal to him, then? Loyal to a pawn than a king?"

Ausnahyol cautioned himself before he spoke again, sharp with anger. "You doubt my loyalty, thuri? We have only ever served to glorify the great race of the dov, Silseyol included. He never needed reminding of his place. He was the fourth of your first five. Even he, a hand as loyal as I and the others of the kosil kenlok, deserves his honour."

The World-Eater considered this, quietly, his long black tail sweeping back and forth. His wings unfurled once, then closed again. "Silseyol served us well," he conceded. His eyes burned into Ausnahyol's with such intensity that the latter flinched a little, despite his efforts to stay equal to the firstborn. "And so what would you have—our blood-essence in days and nights, and the liberty to conclude what my servant started?"

"That is all, gracious."

"And when it is done?"

Ausnahyol paused. A cruel smile lit Alduin's lips.

"You will return to my side, machination of mortalcraft. Silseyol entrusted to you to keep Joorpaalrah's blessing. It is not a gift to be used idly, to humble outspoken children." So he had seen. "Left only to you, it is a danger. You will be allowed to retain it, and all Silseyol gave to you, if you continue to serve us and swear allegiance. If you do not, it will be taken from you—and you will be weak again."

Fear—real fear—struck chords in Ausnahyol's soul; that, and fury. So this was Alduin's game, to ensure that the gift would stay under his supervision at all times, to ensure that it could never be used against him—the overlord of dragonkind was afraid of him! But Ausnahyol could not boast of this, for he was afraid of losing his gift, that which raised him beyond, beyond all his brethren, that had uplifted him into worthiness of might. He had wished to restore Vylornar's honour as a matter of courtesy for receiving the gift, and then the final bondage to him would be broken—and then he would be free to shape his own fate. It was not to be—his fate still belonged to others. What a bitter bargain of strength and power!

Alduin laughed. "Did you really think I would let you away from my sights, mistaken?"

"I could share the gift—"

"No. Do not be so foolish. Joorpaalrah would have you close."

"Then let him approach me and say it himself."

"Careful, outspoken. I am still your master. You do not have my blessing yet."

Ausnahyol lowered himself once more, forced himself to grovel again. "Alduin thuri," he muttered. "Krosis, I meant no offence. But honour…that can have no argument. There is much we claim to be, but it is worthless if we cannot demonstrate it."

The World-Eater's eyes still glittered shrewdly, and Ausnahyol locked stares with him again, to let the firstborn understand that he spoke truth. Open-eyed, open-minded, this convinced him at least of that. "So be it," Alduin concluded. "Time is yours to amend Silseyol's ignorance."

Time. Time meant little to dragonkind, the sons and daughters of such a thing. No number set on how much of it he was allowed, and the hunt could last. However, Ausnahyol was keen to rid himself of any bonds he could. The hunt he could achieve, and then delay in the return, if only to taste what it meant to shape his own fate. These thoughts he concealed as he nodded slowly. "I shall not fail to appease."

"Be careful who you intend to appease more," Alduin warned. "You shall be watched, and when it is done, then I shall know. Joorpaalrah's gift beats hot in your heart, fireborn. Do not let it go to waste, and do not usurp my blessing, dovah niwolos, or you will be rendered in turn."

No threat, merely a promise if the subject should betray. Ausnahyol drowned this terror in new vengeance, one that burned a bright flame in his blood, that spurred him away from the treacherous overlord and back into the sky, the sphere of the Father, away from the mountains and into the relishing glow of the rising sun. The under-madness gained from a lack of the sky slipped away as the wind caught under his wings and rose him higher and higher above the twisted world.

And then the dragon who was not turned north, to end the one called Greatfire.

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