Glade found herself staring into Zenammu's grinning face. He'd just stabbed Reman, and believed victory was upon him. Just as in every dream, Glade snapped his neck and crushed his skull beneath her hooves. Still, the bastard kept grinning, that disturbing show of satisfaction, as though he had achieved some form of greatness. Even though the elf, she remembered the term from Rose's lessons, had long ago died, Glade still heard his laughter in her dreams. Waking up solved that problem nicely.

She only wished the waking world worked in such a manner.

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Reman supposed his situation wasn't entirely unpleasant. He was warm, dry, and, for the moment, very much alive. Of course, he was also in unholy amounts of pain as his body's muscle regenerated compacted into its usual, lean shape. Something like this happened after every near-death experience, he'd be critically injured, black out, wake up in severe pain, be up and running in no time at all. Though, why his body adapted to his environment, he couldn't quite say, but he gave credit to his lycanthropy, Divines know it could have some strange effects.

Reman raised his hand, and while remaining quiet, began casting. The spell was simple, just something he did in his spare time, kept his skills sharp. A faint, purple glow enveloped his palm, it was spherical in shape, and seemed to swirl outward. Despite the colors, it wasn't Conjuration magic, it was actually of the Destruction School. It was a poisonous gas, similar in effect to the traps commonly found in Ayleid ruins. It was highly flammable, but only toxic if inhaled in large quantities and while in enclosed spaces. Otherwise, it just served as a mild irritant, but its nonlethal nature meant one could use it without much harm being done to them.

Seeing nothing else to do, Reman threw the gaseous ball, which bounced off the opposite wall, the floor, and then into the Imperial's hand again. He repeated the silent process a number of times, alternating his catching hand with each cycle. The simple exercise did wonders for his hand-eye coordination, which the Imperial knew would need any boost he could get for it. The odd sequence continued for several minutes, before the gaseous sphere stopped short, and disappeared in a quiet poof. In an instant, the Imperial was robbed of his entertainment.

With a silent huff, and nothing else to do, Reman joined his companion in sleep.

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“Mortal, so good to see you again!” Rose sounded cheerful, almost suspiciously so. If she was keeping an eye on Reman, as she said, wouldn't she be worried? Then again, the mystery mare had pulled her from her nightmare to speak, to this wasn't all bad.

“Rose, I've had a long few days, what is it?” Even the lycan could hear the frustration in her own voice, that may offend the obviously powerful mare before her. Glade couldn't care less.

“I just came to offer my congratulations on the new development.” Rose was still smiling, as though she and Glade were good friends. The only new development the lycan mare could think of was joyous matter, it was her friend being stabbed from behind by a coward. If the mystery mare continued down this road, she'd have a very angry wolf to deal with, regardless of each mare's respective power.

“I am forced to ask, are you trying to piss me off?” The guardpony's blunt mannerisms caused Rose's eyes to widen. Though her response wasn't one of surprise, or fear, rather, it was the expression of one who had made a slight error in their speech. The mystery mare did not retract her statement, but it was clear that Rose hadn't meant Reman's hospitalization. Glade gave her a flat look before she continued with her next question. “Why, exactly, are you congratulating me?”

“Reman is going to wake up!” Rose smiled as the lycan's ears perked, it seemed she'd peeked her interest. Of course, that news wasn't what the disguised Daedra wanted to give, but this was hardly the moment. The Prince was merely trying to vent some of her excitement, and informing Glade of the Imperial's recovery was the only thing she could reveal without the lycan mare's reaction being too adverse.

“You better not be joking!” Glade laughed as she spoke, though there was a threat within those words. Rose picked up on it, and was aware of the lycan's ability to cause her harm. That is to say, Glade posed no threat, but she would do her very best to bring about Rose's death, which would be a tedious experience for all involved.

“I do not joke about the lives of those I watch over.” The disguised Daedra was still smiling with the best of them, but her words held no humor. In truth, she was slightly offended. Ever since the Oblivion Crisis, she had never been anything but sincere in her protection of Joan's family, and the Prince took her hobby very seriously.

“Nor do I.” By this point, Glade had ceased her merry facade, opting to glare at the mystery pony instead. Rose returned her steely gaze with equal ferocity. Neither mare enjoyed the other joking about Reman's health.

“It seems we have reached an impasse.”

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Guilt was a feeling Celestia was terribly familiar with. However, she wasn't quite sure of what she felt guilty about. It could have been any number of things, in the Princess' mind, she had made a large amount of poor decisions as of late. Was it Reman's injury? Glade's infection? Exposing the Elements to the two lycans? Perhaps is a combination of the causes, perhaps they had nothing to do with her feeling, Celestia was uncertain.

It was troubling to see the Imperial, who had seemed nearly invincible, barely clinging to his life. Another werewolf had arrived in Equestria, and had remained undetected. Perhaps those Daedra he had spoken of had a hand in the ordeal, Glade's story had supported that possibility. That was another thought that plagued the Alicorn's mind, if Reman's home was influenced by being so powerful that the very fabric of reality was warped by their mere presence, then there was little Celestia or the Elements could do to stand in a Prince's way, let alone sixteen.

If they had invasion on their minds, Equestria and the surrounding nations were doomed.

“Tia, what troubles you?” Luna spoke from nowhere, though in truth she had been seated next to the white Alicorn.

“Nothing, sister, just worried about Reman.” What she said was only partially true, but the Night Princess didn't pick up on it. Or at least she didn't show it.

“I'm certain he'll pull through, it seems he's been in worse situations before.” Luna tried to put on a smile, but only succeeded in making herself seem sadder than she truly was. The Lunar mare was worried sick over the Imperial, with good reason. Upon some deep probing, she had garnered that Reman's transformation was tied, in some odd way, to the phases of Nirn's moons. Every twenty-eight days, the man changed into his lycan form for the entire night, bypassing the half-hour time limit usually limiting the ability's usage. Luna used the term ability because opinions varied about how the affliction was perceived.

“I hope you're right.”

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Time was a strange thing, always perceived as moving forward, never back. Regardless of any philosophy one may hold, it seemed time was about to run out. For... had it been centuries all ready?, Talos had watched his Empire grow into a veritable utopia under his descendants' reign. The god-hero had seen every action, every battle, every aspect of life that made his glorious Empire beautiful. He had also seen the Dominion wage their insidious war, not only against the Third Empire, but the people under its banner.

Tiber Septim cared very little if he faded from existence, so long as the land he'd sworn to protect remained free of tyranny. Yet, here were Altmer, crossing from the Summerset Isles to destroy the way of life he'd fought so hard to establish. The Aldmeri Dominion rooted out Talos' worshipers, banning the mention of his name, but still the faithful prayed. The frail peace enacted by the White-Gold Concordant wasn't a treaty between two equally powerful nations, but merely the calm between storms. When they attacked next, the Empire would surely fall into ruin.

Yet the god had found a number of individuals who met the criteria of a hero, who could save the Empire. The Dovahkiin was among their number, obviously, but his allegiance was still undecided in the Civil War of Skyrim. No sense in guiding that one, he was under Akatosh's wing. That still left several dozen to work with, but revisions to the list had sliced it down to a handful.

Reman of Cyrodiil.

Renoir of High Rock.

Lynette Jemane.

General Marcus Tullius.

Thaik of Hammerfell.

Saliith of Black Marsh.

Those few comprised half of the list, but access to many of them was difficult. Lynette was busy with Silver Hand business, paperwork that was overdue, and she was under careful observation by the order's senior members after her close call. Renoir was looking for his friend, Reman, in Winterhold, curious about the Imperial's location. General Tullius was fighting a war, and heavily watched by his subordinates. Thaik was fighting the Dominion in guerrilla skirmishes across the Alik'r, his band was very perceptive, too much hassle. Saliith's clan was very superstitious of any change in its members, the shamans would attempt to purge any change made by the god, another crossed from his list.

But that left Reman. Under normal circumstances, he was the ideal Champion: patriotic, violently aggressive to his enemies, and incredibly powerful. The only real downside to him was his lycanthropy, but he sought the cure for it. Talos had observed him in the past, and seen much potential in the young Imperial. The hero-god saw something very few others would even bother looking for, a trait so rare that many doubted it even existed.

For when Reman looked at others, he saw much more than lesser men, he saw their potential.

Smiling to himself, the Ninth Divine began augmenting the all ready present magic in Reman's body. He'd be ready for his next trial, ready to claim his cure.

But most of all, ready to annihilate the Aldmeri Dominion.

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Enjoy wondering what importance Talos' bit has.