A bloody steel helm sat dented and uneasy along a lonely beach. Some two miles from the docks and warehouse he had found himself in not two days prior, a large orc had placed the simple marker and waded into the sea. From it's crimped and curt eyeholes, the vigil stared unblinking to the West. In its unflinching gaze it saw the man who would call upon it once more, breast deep in churning waves.

Cub ran. Like always. After Rihad, he ran. Covered in ancient blood and Dwemer pride, he fled. He remembered the way the man didn't make a sound as he fell. As he was pushed rather. As he was charged off a building rather. As he was crushed to nothing beneath the weight of a green bull rather. Drenched in blood and running. Whether to or from danger, Cub was always running. Cub was always moving. Stagnant in Windhelm and people died. Stagnant in Rihad and people died. Stagnant in his stronghold and people died. Thrice damned and thrice abandoned, he ran.

A circle of briney crimson sloshed around him as the blood of the usurper spilled into the mouth of the earth. The swishing, violent, watery, tusked, green mouth of the earth. It tasted bitter. Such is the case for mer, Cub mused. Not tasted bitter. Felt bitter. He tasted hate. It was a familiar taste. It was why he ran to the ocean. It was why he waded so deep into its grasp.

Cub was tired. Though his arms floated in the bubbling green waters, they weighed like lead. In his hands he held How's and Why's like sword and shield. He didn't like it much. It wasn't a hammer.

His shackle would corrode in such waters he warned himself. He really should go back to shore. He really should go back to the docks. Why? His armour was there. Why? He left it there. Why? He needed to be stealthy. Why? He needed to rescue Havar. Why? He needed help to find Zhaveed. Why? Because Zhaveed is the only person that could have saved the people of Windhelm.

Cub thought a moment as his eyes locked on a strand of seaweed floating past. He wanted to find Zhaveed to save the people he couldn't because he was too busy trying to find Zhaveed to save the people he couldn't because he was too busy... Cub closed his eyes as a large wave broke against his chest. He should get back to shore. He should get back to the docks. He should get back to Zhaveed.

Cub was tired. Standing stone in ocean depths, nothing made sense. How could he be so strong yet so powerless? When Shavi was nearly caught in the Palace of kings, Cub ran off and was found by Arbus. When Arbus offered him a home, Cub ran off to slay the emperor. When the emperor offered to bring the world peace, Cub fought alongside the others to slay him. Because Zhaveed said he deserved it. Because Zhaveed thought it could be done. Whether toward or away from danger, Cub was always running. Cub was always following.

Because he wasn't strong enough on his own. Because people die when they depend on him. He needed Zhaveed. He needed his father. He needed Arbus. He needed. And that is why he wasn't strong enough. Cub had seen Zhaveed lie, cheat, steal for his cause. For all his adoration, Zhaveed did what he had to because he had to. Zhaveed didn't run. Zhaveed didn't need anyone. He...he didn't need Cub.

Cub's stomach dropped as another wave crashed against him. He thought he'd come all this way to help Zhaveed and save the world again. But if Zhaveed never needed him in the first place...Cub thought back to the screams of Rihad. Men and women, children and babies blown apart because the "Heroes of Tamriel" had decided to hide there. They died because he thought he could help them. But he didn't help them. He killed them.

A bloody steel helm sat dented and uneasy along a lonely beach. Some two miles from the docks and warehouse he had found himself in not two days prior, a large orc had placed the simple marker and waded into the sea. From it's crimped and curt eyeholes, the vigil stared unblinking to the West. In its unflinching gaze it saw the man who would call upon it once more disappear beneath churning waves.