The City Beneath Dragonsreach

4E 201 | Late Hearthfire | Thirty-Seven Days Since Arrival

Riverwood offered supplies, rumors, and the first clear view of Whiterun's plains.

At the trading post, men argued over sightings of Noctis Arontis. One claimed the Greybeards had called his name from the mountain. Another swore the Dragonborn had torn a dragon's wings off with his hands.

The shopkeeper warned Tsukihana about vampires on the western road and masked travelers seen near Rorikstead.

"Seven?" she asked.

"No one agreed on the number. People rarely count well when afraid."

Tsukihana left with provisions and another reason to remain alert.

Whiterun appeared at sunset. Dragonsreach rose above layered walls, farms, stables, camps, and roads crowded with merchants, soldiers, pilgrims, mercenaries, and refugees. The city felt like a heart too large for its own chest.

Inside, hammering from Warmaiden's mixed with market calls and temple bells. The dead Gildergreen stretched pale branches over the wind district. Jorrvaskr's warriors sparred beneath the long shadow of Dragonsreach.

Tsukihana rented a room at the Bannered Mare.

On a notice board near the market she found a simple challenge:

SWORD INSTRUCTORS AND EXPERIENCED DUELISTS SOUGHT.

Beneath it, in another hand:

Those who mistake cruelty for strength need not attend.

The meeting place was the inn after sunset.

Tsukihana folded the notice.

Across the crowd, a pale floral mask turned toward her.

People passed between them.

When the street cleared, the mask was gone.