****
Canoodling revitalized the young wizard. When the sun rose, he made for the gates. Just outside Riften—a melody of birdsong in the air—he and the argonian spoke.
“I need your assistance. There are gates and doors I’m unable to open. Until I explore those areas, I can’t know for certain if this fragment is in there somewhere,” S’maash explained.
“What kind of defenses are we working against,” Zolara inquired.
“Just old, dwemer traps and what look like trip wires left behind by an expedition. There is something peculiar about that place. I saw dead falmer and broken automatons, but there were no enemies, and there were no functioning defenses.”
“Where did the falmer come from?”
The elf shrugged, and he admitted he was baffled. The two looked from each other to the billowing foliage overhead.
“Very well. Shall we be off?”
“Yes,” S’maash smiled.
As they made their journey back to Mzulft, Zolara grew curious. “Was he good?”
“Excuse me?”
The conjurer snickered. “I jest, friend. Who was she? Last night, I mean,” Zolara clarified. S’maash replied with a dirty look. “I see,” the argonian hissed.
The two adventurers entered the ruins. Buzzing and whirring machines led the way back to the strange gates. Even Zolara wondered over their presence.
“They look to be made by modern man, no,” the argonian inquired.
“I believe so….”
Zolara checked them. “I can open this one, but the other might be a little difficult.”
“First, I want to check some of these other doors further up,” S’maash stated.
“As you wish.”
They progressed through the cave-like portions, back to the rectangular area with depressed flooring. Then, they walked up the stairs into the aedrome. The first, locked door gave Zolara trouble. He tried his pick one way then another. He broke three in total before scratching at his horn with a broken pick.
“I think it needs a key,” Zolara remarked.
S’maash had been standing behind him, scrutinizing the stonework. “Truly?”
“Yes, most locks, even the most difficult, can be picked. When I come across one such as this, I have no way to align the tumblers. One must have the key,” Zolara clarified.
“We might have to take the entire door down,” S’maash said.
“You. You might have to take the entire door down.”
The elf scowled before checking other doors. Most of them revealed only dead ends. One revealed a dead end, and a wrecked, dwarven centurian. One door led them down a hallway. In it, was an old, makeshift camp. Among the bedroll, was a nonsensical journal, Paratus’ Log.
It held scribblings about a Synod expedition in search of utilizing some dwemer construct to locate objects of great power all across Tamriel. The first few passages made enough sense as they described using a special crystal to focus starlight. After those passages came descriptions of falmer raids. S’maash and Zolara exchanged a glance.
Following the falmer raids, and the theft of the crystal, came a passage about the Dragonborn. He had evidently recovered the crystal for Paratus. After that, was a passage declaring that the Dragonborn was harboring something immensely potent at the College of Winterhold. S’maash and Zolara exchanged another glance.
The scribblings became less comprehensive. Apparently, Paratus had decided to continue living in Mzulft. He feared a journey back through the ruins would end with his untimely death at the hands of the falmer.
“But there are no remains,” Zolara commented.
“Maybe he left after all? Let’s keep reading.”
Further passages were simple phrases; revolving rooms, split centers, falmer come through walls. The phrase they’re in the walls became recurrent. Paratus’s mind had obviously decayed, but Zolara was right, he certainly had not remained in that hallway.
“Let’s continue further and see where this leads,” Zolara suggested.
They pressed on, going through a final door, and into a winding, circular room. At the center was an enormous, dwemer, steel structure with several, glass plates. The winding path brought the two around and over the dwemer sphere to what appeared to be a study hall. Apart from the incomprehensible machine, there was little else of interest, so they tried the only, other door, which led to an unsightly exit into the high mountains.
“I don’t think your fragment is here, S’maash,” Zolara said, looking out into Skyrim’s landscape.
“Let’s go back inside then,” the elf huffed.
Slowly, the explorers combed over the ruins once more. They eventually found themselves back at the locked gates. While S’maash rested for a moment to gather his thoughts, Zolara decided to pick the gates. He started with the most difficult. Beyond it was only dwarven wreckage, but there was little else to do.
“Are you certain? Could your wizard not have made a mistake,” Zolara asked as he worked away.
A subtle clink rang. Zolara had broken another pick.
“I don’t know. I might just leave and come back later. I can’t forego the possibility of him being right. I may have to check every stone, every crevice.”
“Got it,” Zolara yelled in success.
“So, what’s in there?”
“Rubbish,” Zolara said after a moment.
“And the other?”
“Remains to be seen,” Zolara said, jauntily.
While Zolara set about picking the second lock, S’maash searched the room with the rubbish. The argonian was right, there was nothing of value. Then, the sound of the other gate opening reverberated with a creak. S’maash walked over to find Zolara standing. They met eyes, but said nothing. The elf frowned while inspecting room.
“Just a bench,” he said.
“Maybe these were holding cells,” Zolara suggested.
“It is certainly possible.” A break in the pattern on the floor called his attention. He knelt down and felt it. He looked up to see the same in the ceiling. “Strange that the ceiling should have that small opening at its apex, and more odd that this, one, room has that furrow along the floor.”
“These walls appear to have a steady seam as well,” Zolara said.
“Start running your hands along the stones. There may be a switch, or pressure plate, or something,” S’maash puffed.
After the tedium of searching, Zolara found a small stone. He pushed it into the wall. A sudden rumble assaulted the two. It seemed as though the whole of Mzulft was coming apart. Fearing the worst, they ran back to the entry for safe observation. The far half of the room was slowly rotating along the seam. On a vertical axis, it rearranged itself. Once the process came to completion, the former opening in the ceiling was along the floor. Mzulft had a secret way down.