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Fire flared out in all directions. The Listener tried every doorway, only to find them blocked by rubble. Her eyes ran with tears - whether from smoke or betrayal, she did not know. It was going so well. They were going to have completed a contract against the Emperor! But no. Astrid sold them out. Cicero was right about her.The Listener looked around - she was in the Night Mother’s chamber, though it was scarcely recognisable in this singed state. Flames licked at her legs. They would be burning. The pain hadn’t hit yet. All around her, she was surrounded by Cicero’s things: bottles of sacred oil that were transformed into miniature lamps, pages of the keeping tomes unfurling page by page into ashes, flowers (left as an offering) reduced to dust in seconds.In the middle of a table, she saw five small leather bound books under flickering light. His journals. They were hot and they burnt her hands, but she clung onto them. Just one place was untouched by the flames, one sanctuary remained… the Night Mother’s coffin. Holding her breath the Listener pulled the iron doors open, stepped inside, and swung them closed. It was dark, and hot. So unbearably hot. But she clung onto the journals, and she clung onto the Night Mother’s voice as it whispered reassurances. Disturbing as they might be, these were here fragments of hope. Reminders of who she was, who had loved her. If she could die surrounded by them, she knew her soul would find its home.***
“Nazir! Hurry up! The Listener’s down there somewhere!”
“I don’t see you doing any of the heavy lifting, you little she-daedra,” Nazir grumbled. There was the sound of stone grating against iron, then the coffin door opened, and the Listener brought one of the journals up to shield her eyes from the light.“Am I dead?” she croaked.“You probably should be,” Nazir rolled his eyes, giving her a hand up, “we all thought you were.”“...what about the others?” she asked. The sanctuary was charred and empty.“It’s only us,” Babette hugged herself, “and Astrid. But she won’t be around for much longer.”“Astrid-?”“Don’t worry, we can deal with her soon, first something for your burns,” Babette said, completely monotone. “After this is done, we should head our separate ways. The Dark Brotherhood can’t operate with only three members.”“Four,” the Listener said, as Babette put an odd jelly over the sores on her legs. It stung, but not nearly as much as the burn itself.“Am I the only one here who has basic maths skills?” Nazir sighed, gesturing around them, “one, two, three.”“...four. Cicero’s still alive. I didn’t… I didn’t kill him. I couldn't."“Really?!” Nazir said, his eyes lighting up like a puppy. Flushing, he quickly scrubbed every trace of joy from his face, “why am I not surprised?”