It took all of Ulfric's willpower to keep from whimpering in his captor's grip. The earth seemed to close around him, shutting away the sky and fresh wind, leaving only murky, thick stenches and stiff air. Ulfric felt as if he was suffocating under the ground and his captor's tight clasp did nothing to aid in his plight. His surroundings were pitch black and with no light to assist him, Ulfric had not the faintest idea as to how far they were inside the cave. Not that he could decipher the distance even if there were lights. He was just a mere boy and was far too terrified to uncurl himself from his tight ball to even consider his location .
He did however, substitute his sight for his hearing. The humming remained as persistent as it was before, but no longer as loud as when they first entered the cave. Ulfric could hear the dribbles of water trickling down rocks, each sound soft yet echoing against the stone walls. From the blackened halls boomed the occasional clatter, each no less harrowing than the last. They brought a jolt to spark in Ulfric's spine, his body tensing with each foreign din. He swallowed thickly as his limbs persisted to ache, his stiff form begging for relief. But how could a child, being so far from home and safety, be relaxed at such a time?
He listened to the breath of his captors. They were odd, coarse gurgles of breath, as if one accidentally sucked water into their lungs. And yet, they were also raspy and slow, like that of an elderly man's last breath. Their exhales came more as growls than sighs, and their inhales resembled choking. It was unsettling to the poor child, who tried to sink further into his captor's arms in hopes that he could melt from the cold grasp like ink and slither back into the light. To his extreme misfortune and displeasure, no such thing occurred.
What would have happened if Mithllon was with him? The Altmer could very well burn each and every one of them to a crisp. Or perhaps he could skewer them in a long row with his lofty frozen spear. The possibilities were endless, and Ulfric felt more desolate and forsaken without Mithllon's reassuring whispers to guide him through his troubles. He was alone. He was afraid.
The thought of dying couldn't possibly be conceived by such an innocent child, but Ulfric's disquieted thoughts drifted not far from such a darkness. He still clutched onto the hope that his friend could save him, but he was then reminded that the Elf could very well not even be alive. The very regard sent his hopes tumbling down a bottomless well, and any ounce of bravery the young Nord had contained dissipated.
Ulfric finally relented to his fears and whimpered, his bottom lip trembling precariously as the tears welled up in his eyes. He sniffed, but dared not cry, else he be punished by his captor's wrath.
The cloaked figure, however, seemed to neither notice nor care. In fact, he had not looked or spoken to him throughout their lengthy journey. Ulfric supposed that they had no intention on wasting their time on a child, but it made little sense to the boy. The men who had 'gone camping' with him had spoken to him leisurely, telling him interesting stories to keep him occupied. These men, however, seemed not even to regard his presence, which cast an even darker sense of seclusion onto Ulfric.
He shivered, despite his thick Nordic blood, and squirmed in his captor's grip. The minutes seemed to have drawn out to eternity in that dark place, and Ulfric desperately wondered how long he would be encased by the darkness. He wanted his daddy and mommy. He wanted his bed, his sheets, and his pillow. He wanted warm food and a fire place. He wanted to go home.
Throat swelling and feeling irresistibly scratchy, Ulfric could no longer hold back the sob that bubbled into his throat. His lips moved on their own accord to release the cry, which sounded more like air escaping the lungs when receiving a blow to the chest. But it was loud, and it echoed across the expanse before him. His cheeks grew wet as another barrage of weeping took him, and he curled into a tighter ball as his stomach muscles burned, releasing each sob into the cave. His gaze flickered up to his captor, heart pounding in his chest, and waited for an angry snarl or rough jostling to silence him. Yet even still, the cloaked being responded with only silence.
A small amount of relief washed over Ulfric once he realized he was finally allowed to shed his tears. The cries came more frequently, like the steady flow of a river, and erupted the cave's walls with a child's weeping. It felt good to release the tense and swelling pain in his chest, even if it was a short respite. Snot and tears dripping down his face in a gross manner, his chest continued to heave with each sob, his stomach muscles burning. Oblivious or indifferent to the child's break down, his captors continued down the echoing expanse of shadows.
And suddenly, Ulfric's world burst into light. He cried out in surprise and fear and covered his red-rimmed, swollen eyes with his hands, blue orbs burning from the sting of his tears and the abrupt flash. He felt a steady, soft heat on his cheek and arms, and even from the shield of his eyelids, he could see that his surroundings had grown brighter. The man holding him had halted, remaining stiff and unmoving, his grip still locked around Ulfric like an iron clasp. There was not a sound that followed after, but the warmth and light had not ceased.
Heart hammering against his chest with violent force, Ulfric feared what he would see when he opened his eyes. He pondered what he was here for, and who brought him here. Would he be harmed? Questions and panic churned in his mind, a frenzy of flickering thoughts that burned in his head before snuffing out, replaced by a new idea. But curiosity blazed most intensely, and slowly he relented to his interest. Eyelids cracking open through a layer of dry tears that had crusted over the opening, Ulfric squinted into the brilliant orange light, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
The child had expected a rough, poorly carved room with rocks and dirt scattered across the floor and a single torch hanging from the wall to provide its light. He certainly did not anticipate what his eyes conceived.
It was a magnificent room, perfectly carved into a large cube with tall, tattered banner-adorned pillars lined across the edges of the room. Massive bowl-like structures rested at the base of the pillars, filled with ash and fire to brighten the room. Carved on the walls were un-discernible figures, their forms worn away by age, but looking beautiful nonetheless. The ground had risen up to several feet up in several places, like the far corners of the room, holding curious chests in a presenting manner. In the center of the room, the floor rose three feet up to exhibit a stone table, cracked and chipped, but holding true and strong. And standing next to the table was a shriveled old man, adorned in an odd robe, his grey, filthy beard trailing down to his pelvis.
Ulfric felt curious at first, mind spinning with wonder and awe. Until he met his eyes.
They were black. Completely devoid of color, it seemed as if the pupil had expanded and spread across the entire eyeball. They were emotionless and dead, unblinking and unmoving as they glared at Ulfric, burning a hole into his stomach and into his very soul. Ulfric felt a trickle of ice wedge itself into his spine and expand over his insides, twisting deep into his stomach and poking at his organs. His tongue ran dry as the blood fled from his face, and he felt his toes curl inward. He wanted to escape those haunting eyes, which seemed to tear his flesh apart to expose his heart, but he couldn't look away. Sweat gleamed from his brow, and yet he shivered.
Then came the voice.
