While Niernen's sudden reappearance alongside Madura could've been seen as surprising from a different standpoint, his time with Ashav's company had somewhat dulled his sense of surprise. It was only normal, since never before had he been declared an enemy of the state - he had gotten close in Valenwood, but hadn't succeeded - for fighting against invaders from another continent. These were some interesting times, with lots of hardships, but the sight of the young Dunmer, which he remembered faintly from the past, was a pleasant one. People could survive - battered, wound down maybe, but still, they could survive. 

The sights that followed after, however, weren't as pleasant. The group, with its new arrivals, walked deeper and deeper into the brass inferno, and the familiarity of the sights did not help Sadri feel elated in any way. On the contrary, he felt disturbed out of knowing the horrors that these ruins could set forth. And what little he knew only made a springboard into the terrifying for his imagination. Back when he had worked to excavate such ruins, he had heard rumors of monstrous, gigantic masses of processed flesh, consuming unaware lifeforms. Sadri had never seen such a thing, and never a trace of it, but then again, he was still alive. Maybe that was why.

Traces of the mer who had shot him in the arm had led the group to a large room. While Sadri would've liked the room to contain a helpless, single Dunmer who had magically ran out of bolts and fight in his guts, things usually didn't go the way one liked in a Dwemer ruin. Then again, things usually didn't go the way he liked in general, but that was life, and Sadri had made his peace with that fact long ago. He gave a quiet sigh, admitting his helplessness before Nirn with it, and moved on. He still had things to do; more limbs to lose, psycho women to love, books to read and not comprehend (probably the better option for his sanity), and many, many more. 

Of course, the room did contain the Hlaalu, but unfortunately for the party, the Mer wasn't alone. The sight of shady and dirty Dunmer was a familiar one, but not a pleasant one - even before all this, even back in the Black Marsh, Sadri had seen how cruel his kind could be. Hell, some of his own actions and feelings were testament to that. It was likely that he had done more evil acts than most of these fellows. Then again, some of them were real ugly, uglier than Sadri himself. It was almost as if Anu had not shed his light upon them - they looked evil, and for the old Dunmer that was a good enough excuse to believe he had moral superiority upon them. It helped when things came to blows. 

Then it turned out that the situation was also a family reunion.

Sadri looked blank eyed as Madura started talking to the Ashlander leader. Had he not been related to the journalist, whom Sadri had screwed over in the past, he'd have called dibs on the guy's spear and given it to Solveig. He thought of that for a moment. It had to be a real fucked up relationship for them to gift each other weapons as declarations of love. But truth be told, Sadri's path had always been a crooked one - he had been born two months earlier than usual, and, according to his mother, had not spoken a word until he was five years old. He really didn't have a say in what was fucked up and what wasn't. But he still made a mental note to try to be non-lethal against that fellow, in case he and Sadri came to blows. 

Edith rushed out to pull Madura down and prepare for battle, and the sight rattled Sadri back from thought-land to reality. He wasn't sure if his constant daydreaming was a result of Moon Sugar withdrawal, or something else. He readied his sword, and felt moisture gather upon its blade, a result of the sudden infusion of steam into the room. Suddenly, it felt as if he were two places at once - one Sadri Beleth, here, and one Sadri Beleth, younger and healthier, wielding a much elegant weapon with much more inexperience, in some Dwemer ruin in Hammerfell. 

Both of them saw the same, though - amidst the steam, a tall, brazen tool of destruction, hailing from a destroyed wall. The young Sadri saw rats and spiders rush forward to escape underneath the beast - the old Sadri instead faced murderous Ashlanders rushing to get out. As the young one squirmed at the sight of rodents, the old one brandished his sword with confidence as he walked back, on the defensive. He felt a pleasant presence by his side as he waited for the Ashlanders to strike through, one he guessed was Solveig. Sadri could see his youth with his bad eye, and forty years back, his partner in crime wasn't a love interest but a burly Redguard eunuch. 

Forty years later, Sadri heard a scream as his swing against an Ashlander's head was caught by a chitin shield. He turned his head to the side instinctively, a mistake, and quickly reoientated himself, kicking with all his weight the Ashlander's shield, putting the savage down on his rear. Who had screamed? Was it Solveig? It didn't sound like her- but now, he was sure, she was crying for help. His vision into the past broke, and Sadri himself almost broke as he rushed back into the steam, his love's agitated, frustrated and somewhat fearful voice his only guide.