Morthal…There's something about this place that sits wrong in the bones. It's like the air itself is carrying a secret, one that refuses to be spoken but never stops whispering.
I barely slept the night after we arrived. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel something pressing down on my chest. Not a dream, not exhaustion—just weight. Like the fog outside was trying to seep through the walls and crush me.
When dawn came, it didn't feel like morning. The sky was still gray. The light was thin, barely enough to tell one shadow from another.
Meridia sat by the window, unmoving. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes followed every shift of the mist outside. She didn't blink once.
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to shake off the heaviness. "You've been up all night?"
"I do not sleep as you mortals do," she said quietly. "I was… listening."
"Listening?"
"To the silence."
That was a weird answer, even for her.
We left the inn soon after. The streets were empty except for a few townsfolk who kept their heads down, walking fast with their arms full of firewood or buckets. None of them met our eyes. None said a word.
The wood planks creaked under our boots. Beneath them, the swamp's black water rippled faintly, disturbed by something unseen.
It wasn't just eerie—it was wrong. The kind of wrong that gets under your skin.
A woman was sitting by her doorstep, eyes hollow. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. When I passed by, I gave her a nod, just out of habit. She didn't react. Just kept whispering something under her breath, too soft to make out.
Meridia glanced at her, her tone clipped. "This village reeks of corruption."
"Maybe they've just seen too much," I muttered. "The war did a number on everyone."
Meridia's eyes flicked toward me. "No, mortal. This is not despair. This is rot. Something ancient and foul has taken root here."
I didn't argue. I could feel it too, in my own way.That same pulse in the air that always comes before things go bad.
As we made our way toward the edge of town, a guard stopped us. He looked nervous—sweat glistening on his temple even though the air was freezing.
He asked if we were travelers. I said yes, we were just passing through.
"Then you best keep it that way," he muttered. "Don't stay here longer than you need to. Things… ain't right in Morthal lately."
"Such as?" I asked.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His eyes darted to Meridia, then toward the fog behind me. "Just… don't go near the marsh at night."
He didn't wait for us to reply. He walked off quickly, the wood planks thudding under his boots.
I turned to Meridia. "So. That didn't sound suspicious at all."
She didn't smile. "There is power here. I can feel it. Hidden. Dormant. Foul."
"Daedric?" I asked.
She was silent for a long time, then said quietly, "No. Older."
That made my stomach twist.
We followed the trail past the lumber mill, out toward where the fog grew thicker. The further we walked, the quieter the world became. Even the swamp water stilled, as if it was holding its breath.
That's when I saw it.
Half-buried in the mud, near the roots of a dead tree—bones. Human bones.
The ribs were half-sunk into the muck, the skull cracked open. The armor still clung to it, barely recognizable under the rot, but I saw the faint mark of the Imperial Legion on the chestplate.
"Soldier," I muttered.
Meridia knelt down beside it, her fingers hovering just above the bones. Her expression darkened. "The death here is not natural."
I crouched beside her. "You mean necromancy?"
"Perhaps. Or something close to it."
Then she frowned deeper. Her hand hovered over the cracked skull. "The soul is gone. Not devoured. Not trapped. Just… gone."
That didn't make sense. Even when a soul was taken, it left a trace, a residue. I saw her face tighten with something that almost looked like unease.
"What do you mean gone?" I asked.
She didn't answer immediately. When she finally did, her voice was low. "It means something erased it completely. As if it never existed."
We didn't linger. Whatever happened here, it wasn't done.
By the time we got back to town, the fog had thickened again. The air was cold and damp, the kind that sticks to your clothes and crawls up your spine.
A few villagers had gathered outside the inn, whispering among themselves. When they saw us, they stopped talking.
One of them—a young man, maybe in his twenties—took a hesitant step forward. His eyes darted to Meridia before settling on me. "You… you're the traveler, right? The one who came in last night?"
"Yeah," I said. "Why?"
He swallowed hard. "If you're smart, you'll leave before sunset. They come when the mist gets thick."
"Who?" I asked.
He looked around like he was afraid the fog might hear him. "The ones that took my brother."
Meridia's voice was calm but sharp. "Speak clearly, mortal. Who took him?"
He hesitated, then whispered, "The dead."
That's when the wind shifted. The fog moved, just slightly—but enough for me to see past the edge of the pier. There were shapes in it. Too many. Too still.
Meridia's expression hardened.
"Inside," she ordered.
The young man didn't move fast enough. She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the inn. I followed, hand on my sword, heart pounding.
We slammed the door behind us.
"What the hell was that?" I hissed.
Meridia didn't answer. She was standing by the window, staring into the fog.
"The veil between life and death is thin here," she said finally. "Something has torn it."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that this village is not haunted." Her voice grew cold. "It's being consumed."
The young man was shaking, sitting at the edge of the table. "It started weeks ago," he said. "First, we thought it was just wolves taking the cattle. Then people started vanishing. One by one. We sent word to Solitude but… nobody came. The Jarl's men said it was just swamp fever."
I clenched my jaw. "And you believed them?"
"We had no choice," he said weakly. "They're the Empire."
That hit harder than I expected. After everything—the war, the loss—it made sense. People here had learned not to question authority, even when the truth was clawing its way out of the ground.
Meridia stepped forward, her glow faint but visible now. "Whatever is doing this draws strength from fear. The more they hide, the more it grows."
"So what's the plan?" I asked.
She turned to me. "We find the heart of the corruption and destroy it."
I sighed. "Of course. Straightforward as always."
Her eyes flicked to me, sharp as lightning. "Do you mock me, mortal?"
"Little bit, yeah."
Her glare could've turned a troll to stone, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Just slightly.
It was the first time she almost looked… human.
As the night deepened, the fog thickened again.The people inside the inn lit every candle they had, but the shadows stayed just as heavy.
Outside, something moved. A scrape of wood. A splash. Then silence.
Everyone went still.
Meridia's eyes glowed faintly gold, the light catching against the windowpane. "They're here."
I rose slowly from my chair, fingers curling around my sword. My heart was hammering so hard it hurt.
Through the fog, I saw shapes moving. At first, they looked human. But their movements were too slow. Too deliberate.
The mist swallowed their faces, but I could see the faint glow of eyes—cold, pale blue.
The villagers started to pray under their breath.
I didn't.
I just breathed out slowly, drew my sword, and said, "Guess we're not sleeping tonight."
Meridia didn't answer. Her light flared brighter, her voice calm and sharp all at once.
"Then let the dawn find us standing."
And as the first scream cut through the mist, I realized something—Morthal wasn't dying.
It was being reborn into something else.
Something that shouldn't exist.