“Welcome to the Thieves Guild!”

  Brynjolf’s voice kept looping in her mind, like an overexcited echo she couldn’t silence. The more she thought about it, the more the words sounded absurd. Or cruel. Ruby couldn’t tell which. The feeling of disorientation hadn’t left her since he had burst into laughter, light, almost cheerful, before vanishing and leaving Rune to deal with her.

  She no longer had the energy to understand. Or to be indignant. Or even to ask the right questions.

  She followed Rune without really seeing where he was taking her, her steps unsteady, her thoughts in tatters. A thick weariness weighed down her neck, as if the entire evening had suddenly collapsed onto her shoulders. The sense of having been led on by the crimson-haired officer crept into her mind, adding itself to the still-raw shock of Vex’s and Niruin’s blades.

  Why here? Why the Thieves Guild? And how could Markab possibly know a man like Brynjolf?

  The solemnity of their exchange in Helgen had been her anchor. The reason she had kept going through the frozen mountains, under the dragon’s piercing cry, then through the soaked lands of the Rift, and finally into the chaos of the docks. She had moved forward thanks to that invisible thread. And now… everything seemed to waver.

  She would have liked to think. But exhaustion smothered her.

  Something finally cut through the noise in her thoughts. A voice.

  “…-up here?”

  Ruby blinked, as if suddenly surfacing. A corridor seeping with moisture, dark bricks, a low ceiling. The Ratway. Again.

  “What?”

  Rune didn’t take offense. A crooked smile tugged at his lips.

  “I was asking how you ended up here.”

  She swallowed her first instinct, the one that wanted to confess she’d rushed in without thinking, like an idiot. Bad idea. She couldn’t offer that. Not here.

  “I… don’t really have any money left,” she muttered, embarrassed. “And people say you’re recruiting.”

  “People say that where?”

  “Huntsmen. Caravaneers.”

  She held his gaze despite the discomfort creeping in. Rune wasn’t hostile, just curious. Too curious for her to feel truly at ease.

  “And Brynjolf?”

  “I was given his name… so I looked for him.”

  Rune nodded thoughtfully, not contradicting her. Had he believed her explanation, or was he quietly filing away his doubts? Ruby couldn’t tell. He motioned for her to follow.

  “This is our way to the Cistern. From the tavern, anyway.”

  “The Cistern…?”

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  “Our headquarters,” he explained. “A section of the Ratway that belongs to the Guild. You’ll learn the entrances over time,” he added, reassuring.

  A dull stab of discouragement hit her. She had missed the entrance. Of course she had.

  The corridor opened onto a heavy iron door. Rune worked the latch, and the metal gave way without resistance. No key. No guard. As if it were nothing more than a service passage.

  The room beyond caught her off guard.

  A vast rotunda, half-submerged in shadow. A basin of stagnant water at its center, still and dull like a dust-covered mirror. Above, an opening in the ceiling let in a pale, chalky moonlight. The sounds around her were muted, heavy. The air smelled of rotting moss, silt, and old leather. A mix of odors and textures utterly disconnected from the wild outdoors.

  Ruby froze for a few seconds. Not in awe, but out of instinct. Suspicion. Unease.

  Figures spoke quietly off to the side, without sparing her a glance. Circular walls, arches, open doorways leading into other corridors. A half-buried night underground, saturated with heavy smells and damp dust. Her stomach tightened with anxiety.

  “Welcome to the Cistern!” Rune announced, almost sing-song, ignoring the shiver that ran through Ruby’s shoulders. “This room’s the center. Everything starts here.”

  He pointed to a passage opposite them. Ruby forced herself to follow.

  “The recruits’ dorms are over there.”

  A meager yellowish light seeped from the corridor. Nothing suggested comfort. Not even a straw mat on the floor. Rune headed toward the room, Ruby close behind.

  “If you’re hungry, there’s a pantry and a hearth right next to it. But between us… you’ll eat better topside. I’ll show you a quiet spot.”

  Hunger struck her without warning. Brutal. Feral. The last strips of dried meat she’d swallowed at the market resurfaced in her memory, as pitiful as a beggar’s fortune. Her insides twisted again.

  Rune went on, still oblivious to her discomfort.

  “The Cistern’s organized in circles, so it’s hard to get lost. Senior members have their own corners. Don’t wander too far if you want to stay out of Vex’s or Niruin’s reach~”

  Ruby felt her neck stiffen. The knife-wielding madwoman and the furious elf. Seniors.

  Oh… Right. Noted.

  “And if I want to talk to Brynjolf?”

  Rune shrugged lightly, a relaxed gesture that clashed sharply with the knot tightening in Ruby’s stomach.

  “He’s got an office near the center. That’s where you’ll find him.”

  They stopped at the entrance to the dorms, no more welcoming up close than they had seemed from afar. Ruby inhaled slowly. The Cistern spread around her like a web she knew nothing about, with threads she couldn’t yet see.

  She had found Brynjolf. But nothing in this place looked like somewhere people “did business.” And she still had no idea what was really expected of her.

  She swallowed.

  It’s going to be fine. You do what you’re told… and you take the coin.

  The dormitory made no grand promises. Beds lined the mossy brick walls. A worn straw mattress, a poorly tanned hide for warmth, a crate for personal belongings. Ruby forced herself to take one last, deep breath. The air was heavy. Damp. Alien. Nothing like the free wind of Skyrim’s roads, mountains, and plains.

  She finally lay down, her gaze fixed on the dark vault above. And the hours passed.

  Silence, here, wasn’t natural. It was too full of things left unspoken. Ruby lay on the straw mattress, eyes open, following the drops on the ceiling. They seeped along stone smoothed by moisture, gathered on calcified formations, then inevitably fell into the basin.

  An irregular rhythm. Almost aesthetic. Unbearable.

  No rustling leaves. No wind. No sky.

  Walls. Stone. Muffled breaths.

  Soft footsteps wound between the straw pallets of the new recruits. Ruby squeezed her eyes shut, violently, feigning a sleep her insomnia cruelly denied her.

  The steps paused behind her. Ruby forced herself to breathe slowly, shallowly. The footsteps moved on, measured, cautious.

  Silence -vast and absolute- settled back in, heavier than before. But the smell of damp moss, ink, and leather… it smothered her.

  She missed the forest.

  She stayed awake until dawn… if there had been a dawn at all.