I was a devoted follower of Akatosh for as long as I can remember. As a child my parents would recite me through the prayers and chants until I knew them better than they did. I'd dedicated my life to him, to be a vessel of his will. The only thing I could do better than preach was fight, and so these two activities claimed many of days as a youth.

The first to notice me was the head priest of our local chapel, Vimantius. He took an interest in a ten year old me and took me in as his apprentice, teaching me how to further interpret and fulfill the will of Akatosh during the day. During the night I was sent over to the local garrison to interpret and fulfill the will of the Empire. My life became a routine of furthering the mind, body, and soul, and I was content.

Until the Planemeld.

I'll never forget the screams. The blue fires. The chill in the air. The sound of those divine-forsaken anchors landing feet away from the chapel. Vimantius burst open the door, bloodied and exhausted.

"Run," he said, "far away from here".

And all the way from where I was reciting morning prayer to my home on the edge of the village, I did. But I could not bear to leave my parents, my life, behind. Mace in hand I ventured into my burning home, only to find death and despair. To this day I hope my mom and dad went quickly - maybe they didn't see death coming; perhaps they died peacefully and unsuspecting.

I didn't.

First he bit my neck. I remember the pain. It was excruciating. It felt like each individual part of my body was hurting in its own twisted and separate way. Then he threw me against the wall, breaking the wall and my bones. He approached to finish me. Maybe I should've let him. But I didn't. No, instead I picked up a burning piece of wood from the roof and stuck it through his stomach. I dragged him down to my level and took it out, only to return it to his neck. That's all I remember from the day I died.

Time passed. It doesn't matter how long. It still doesn't. Because I'll be here forever.

I screamed and begged and preached Akatosh to kill me. Not cleanse, no. I wasn't worthy to worship him again after I was tainted. I was a stain that defiled his existence. Let me join my village, my family. Take me too. No one answered.

I stared at the burned chaos. The skeletons were now indiscernible from each other. Akatosh didn't save the guards who'd died defending the faithful. Akatosh didn't save Vimantius who'd lived faithful.

I looked down at my scarred and pale skin.

Akatosh didn't save me.

The chaos was now visible all across Cyrodiil. The anchors, the fires, the screams of more innocents. I clad myself in armour to hide my shame and headed off to the nearest village to attempt to find survivors. Akatosh wouldn't save them either. But someone might.