"Its essence consumed, it will need to be reforged in the fires of Oblivion. It will take ages for the Rose to return to Nirn now." Martin whimpers as he lands onto the floor, keeping his injured hand splayed open as he props himself against a wall. "If you thought you could safeguarded it, you're a fool."

Martin huffs in derision, too weak to look smug but too proud not to sound it. "I don't know what tales people have been spinning about me, but I'm not as grand as my family. I'm Uriel's bastard, raised as a peasant, and if what you've said is true, revived from a two-hundred-year-old grave. I think my appearance can be excused, considering the circumstances." Sharply, he turns his head, removing his face from her grasp.

"I have nothing to prove to you, citizen."