Lessons for a New Era, part II.

“Walk-Brass”

“That's impossible,” Firye said.

Nerevar raised an eyebrow.

“Numidium is gone! It was destroyed two hundred years ago!”

“Do you recall what happened when it was, Firye?” Nerevar asked.

The Altmer blinked. “The Warp in the West, of course...”

Nerevar nodded. Firye couldn't tell if it was patience, condescension, or a mix of the two in his eyes. “Which was?”

“A Dragon Brea – oh.”

All at once, Nerevar grinned, a rather terrifying sight. “Indeed. Time became non-linear, and that as a result of Numidium itself. It should come as no surprise that an artifact designed to shatter Aka's chains should persist long after its own destruction.”

Firye felt dizzy. “Is there anything in this tower that isn't a long-dead relic?”

Nerevar smiled. “There is you, I suppose. Although I am not convinced you qualify.” He frowned. “We should not delay. The first of Alduin's emissaries will be arriving soon. That is, if you have elected to aid us.”

Firye blinked, then nodded decisively. “Of course. A chance to witness the power of Walk-Brass? I cannot think of any mage who would refuse such an honor, let alone one such as myself.”

“I warn you that this choice will have consequences,” Nerevar said. “The mantle of prophecy is not easily thrown off.”

“Do you think me a coward?” Firye asked. “I am Altmer. I fear neither destiny nor gods.”

Nerevar gave a guarded frown. “Very well.” He raised a hand, and a teleportation spell whisked them both away.

They arrived in another circular chamber, identical to the one in which Firye had first appeared. It seemed these were landing pads, of a sort, for teleportation magic. There was a gate in front of them. Nerevar led him forward, and the gate vanished.

Beyond it was an enormous room. Wide as a city, high as a mountain, with lines of balconies lining its circumference from top to bottom. Nerevar and Firye were on one of them, about a third of the way up.

In the center? The Brass Tower. Numidium, in all its glory. Firye had heard about the golem, of course, but he'd never heard more than vague descriptions of its appearance.

And now he could see why. Anyone would have difficulty describing this abomination. Colossal and monstrous, it was twice the height of White-Gold, bristling with spikes and yet sheathed in skin as smooth and shining as the surface of Secunda.

And that skin – was it made of gears, locked together and contiguous, both filling the surface entirely and in constant motion; or was it a sheet of arcane numerology made manifest, a kaleidoscope bursting with numbers in every script known to man or mer? Whichever it was – and it was both – the patterns spun into fractals of infinite complexity, twisting underneath each other and themselves, every inch narrowing into thorns sharp enough to rival Mehrunes' Razor.

The golem was broad and thick, framed with shoulders that could have knocked in the gates of Oblivion and wielding long limbs that ended in huge, heavy digits; and yet clearly lithe and agile, with muscles wrought from some alien magic rippling just under its fluid skin and stretching between the metal bones that lined its abdomen.

But the face was the worst part. A face so very mortal in shape, and yet undeniably the terrible visage of a god, trailing a beard of metal and fire and crowned with spikes that could have outshone the rays of Magnus himself. And eyes of untempered Aetherial flame, gleaming blue and piercing effortlessly through any obstruction to stare at all of time and space together.

Firye scrambled back into the chamber, casting at once every ward, cloak, and shield spell he knew without even meaning to.

He collided with the back wall of the arrival chamber, scrabbling at the cold marble surface. He heard Nerevar walk in behind him, letting out a low, raspy chuckle. “Yes...that is the typical response.”

Firye spun, pressing himself back against the curving wall. “Get me out of here,” he hissed.

Nerevar smiled. “I was under the impression you wished to witness the power of Numidium. And is that fear I see in your eyes? Of the Brass God, perhaps? Or is it your destiny that terrifies?”

“It doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter.”

Nerevar grasped him by the scruff of the neck, like a she-Alfiq with her cub, and lifted him bodily off the ground with astonishing ease. “Come along. Marvel if you must, but do it quickly. Time is short.”

“I won't go near it I won't.”

“You gave me your word, little Altmer.”

“No no no no no...”

Nerevar gave a throaty laugh at that. “Ah, you share kinship with Walk-Brass already. The golem will like you.”

Firye swatted at Nerevar's glass-clad forearm, and flung his body against the taller mer, breaking his grip. He scrambled backward again, and Nerevar looked down at him, framed in the doorway.

“Very well. We have no more time for games.” He lifted a hand, and Firye's awareness left him in a burst of green light.