On the third day of Hearthfire 3E 431, in the beautiful city of Kvatch, Cyrodiil, I was born to parents who rejoiced at my arrival. My Father, Antitus Galloff, and Mother, Juniver, had been trying for years to have a child, and when I was born they deemed their happiness complete. I don't remember anything of the time shortly after my birth, but I am told that the first two years of my life were a dream. That is, until the nightmares came.

In 3E 433 a gate to the planes of Oblivion opened on Kvatch and razed my birth home to the ground. My parents, a few others, and I were all that remained of a once thriving city. We had become refugees in our own land. With no other options before them, my parents and the others fled to the port city of Anvil, hoping to find aid. Their relief, however, was short lived. A week after their arrival, another Oblivion gate opened just outside the walls of the city. The Oblivion Crisis had truly begun.

Once again, my parents (and others like them) found themselves without home or security and they retreated into the wilderness of Cyrodiil. Evidence of the presence of Oblivion was apparent everywhere, but it wasn't until the small group happened upon the settlement of Hackdirt that they felt they could be safe once more. The Planes had not touched this place...but something had.

When my parents and their companions explored the buildings, all that could be found of Hackdirt's citizens were corpses. Someone had killed them all. However, rather than facing the prospect of a winter spent homeless, the new arrivals buried the bodies near the chapel and set to work building a new life.

10 years, my parents and I spent living in Hackdirt. The Oblivion Crisis was short lived and we experienced peace and plenty. My father, being a skilled swordsman, started a local chapter of the Fighter's Guild. My mother, anxious to be productive, spent her time exploring the woods and meadows around our village, acquainting herself with the flora and fauna. In time, she became a talented alchemist and ran a small apothecary from the front room of our home. I spent these years of my childhood equally between training with father, learning from mother, and playing with the other children in Hackdirt. Life was blessed.

Just after the celebration of my 11th year, (4E 9) my father received what he called a Gift from the Nine: an invitation to run the Fighters Guild in the city of Bruma. His years of work and strain had been recognized and it was a blessing that could not be ignored. Within weeks, my father answered the call and my family relocated to Bruma.

Bruma was, and is to this day, a beautiful city, but adjusting was hard for me. The city walls were so thick and so high that the wilds of Cyrodiil were blocked from view. Many times during my first year I felt caged and wounded. Thankfully, my mother chose to reopen her apothecary and regular trips outside the cloistered city became a necessity. 3 days a week I explored and collected with my mother; reveling in the freedoms of nature. I learned faster and more efficiently than I had previously and our customer base grew exponentially. However, the remaining days of my week were spent in activities quite different from those performed with my mother.

3 days were relegated to training with my father's guild members, and the final day was spent reading any of the steady stream of books my parents had requisitioned from the Imperial Library.

Training days were brutal, but bruises, and cuts, and sore muscles didn't dissuade me from the practice. I knew what my parents had done to survive when I was an infant and I was determined to be able to fight for myself should the need arise.

The days spent reading, however, were...not something I had agreed to easily. They were thrust upon me by parents who believed I should be given whatever I could in order to be able to think and fight and live for myself. It was years before I began to appreciate my parents foresight, but by my 17th year, these days had become a pleasure for me. I had even begun ordering books and scrolls for myself.

It was on one of these days, when a small crate of new reading material arrived, that my life changed in the best way. I had just received a new copy of Fire and Darkness and in my excitement to share it with my father I rushed to the Guild Hall. I burst through the iron door, barreling into a group of men who had been standing just inside the entrance. In my wild attempt to regain balance, I pulled one of the men down with me; limbs and weapons tangled together as we crashed to the floor. Mortified at my own clumsiness, I clambered to my feet and turned to retreat back through the door. However, my flight was halted as a stone grip tightened around my upper arm and held me fast.

I turned to face my father, and whatever punishment he deemed appropriate for my actions, but was surprised to find that it was not he who had detained me. My grey eyes met those of a rare shade of wintry-blue: something behind my ribs stirred.

"Andyr Bainax", spoke the man behind the eyes; the man I had pummeled. My stupor must have been apparent, because he was forced to repeat himself before I was coherent enough to respond. "I'm Andyr Bainax."

"I'm so sorry!" I half-shouted into his face.

"Interesting first name", he smirked.

"What? No. Kaivel. Kaivel Bainax."

Suddenly Andyr and the group around us, including my father, erupted into laughter. Not realizing what I had done, my father, through his tears of mirth, had to remind me that my family name was Galloff, not Bainax.... Despite my physical and verbal awkwardness, at that moment an incredible friendship was formed.

Andyr was a Nord from Markarth, Skyrim who had come to Cyrodiil to join the Bruma Guard and learn from my father at the Fighter's Guild. He was four years my senior and I quickly began to rely on him for his experience and knowledge of the world outside of Cyrodiil. Many of our free days were spent together and after nearly 3 years of steady friendship, a love more powerful than I had ever read of, or experienced myself, had blossomed in our hearts.

On the first day of Evening Star 4E 18, in my 20th year of life and Andyr's 24th, we were married in the Chapel of Talos in Bruma. To say that this was the best day of my life would not be an exaggeration. I had found the half of me I hadn't realized was missing.

Three months after our wedding, Andyr applied for a position with the Anvil Fighter's Guild and town guard. He was immediately accepted, and we moved shortly thereafter.

Leaving my parents was difficult, but I was excited at the prospect of starting a life together with Andyr. I was also looking forward to opening my own apothecary shop: a blessing I owed to my mothers tireless years of instruction. We quickly acclimated to our new environment and the fresh sea air; life was near perfect.

Almost 2 years later, on the 8th of First Seed 4E 20, our blessings were increased again; we welcomed our first child, a fair-haired, blue-eyed son, who we named Eovir. I finally understood what it was to have complete happiness.

Eovir was a joy and every day was filled with the pleasure of watching him grow. He was the embodiment of pure love and as each year passed, my love for him, and his incredible father, expanded. I had everything I had ever wanted, or needed, and I was complete. However, time was unfair to me. Just after celebrating my beautiful Eovir's 4th year, My Heart was clawed from my body.

It was the very early morning of the 19th day of First Seed 4E 24 and I had just fallen asleep. The nightmare came almost immediately.

Thick blackness swirled behind my eyes and I felt restrained and short of breath and as though I were being poked and pricked all along my neck. I struggled and fought the demons and was finally able to wake myself, but the horror was real. A man with fiery eyes lifted his bloody mouth from my neck and growled ferociously: vampire. Then, releasing my arms, he disappeared into the shadows of the room. Screaming, I sat up and reached to Andyr's side of the bed only to find it empty and cold. Warm blood was pulsing from my neck and I could feel it running down my bosom. Dizzy, I stumbled to my feet, screaming Andyr's name. With more power and strength than I should have been capable of, I ran to Eovir's room. The sight that met me was unbearable.

Empty.

I fled my home and took to the streets, screaming, pleading, shouting for help.

Many came.

Confusion. Panic. Worry. Fear. Resolve.

I was half-dragged to my apothecary shop and, in a moment of clarity, begged for a potion of cure disease. I feared an infection of Porphyric Hemophilia and did not want to become that which had temporarily taken My Heart from me. One of my neighbors brought me the vial and I downed it in one quick gulp.

Blackness.

I awoke 5 days later.

In her compassion, my good-intentioned neighbor had mixed a powerful sleeping draught with the cure disease potion. I had missed any opportunity I may have had to save....

Blank inside.

Her words sounded far away and fuzzy as she explained that multiple search parties had been sent. "10 groups of three", she said.

One group never returned.

I didn't care.

I would never find My Heart again.

.........................

I returned to our home, the home Andyr had built, and cried.

For days. Weeks.

I sold my shop.

I collected a phial of dirt from our front garden; the garden I'd planted with Eovir.

I boarded up the windows and bolted the door.

And returned to my parents home in Bruma.

.........................

For nearly 2 years, I was a shell. I spent all of my time at the Fighters Guild or at my mother's apothecary, focused on my alchemy work. I was relentless in my study, but going to bed beyond exhausted meant no dreams, no nightmares.

Then, one morning in the month of Morningstar 4E 26, I finally

Woke.

Up.

The black cloud in my head, the one that had swallowed my soul whole, had dissipated. The shackles of grief had fallen away and I could breathe again.

In place of where my heart had been, something new, something savage and wild, had grown. With a determination and will more powerful than the gods, I chose life. I chose to take all that I had learned and experienced over the years and shift the balance of the world.

My parents relief was palpable; they had grieved for me for 2 years.

Feeling impatient and stagnant, I hurriedly purchased the necessary gear and informed my parents of my plan. I was going to leave Bruma and travel to wherever had the most need of help. I would answer the call for any cause that felt significant.

With tears in their eyes, and the gift of my father's treasured silver blade, they let me go.

For two years I wandered Cyrodiil and Skyrim to help those who could not help themselves. I survived on the generosity of strangers and on the pay I earned for services rendered. I came to a greater appreciation of the world and discovered a powerful love for the birthplace of My Heart.

Skyrim was the answer to a prayer I didn't know I'd uttered. The sky seemed to never end and the swarms of mountains were a steady and powerful reminder that resilience and defiance can result in perfect beauty. Everything there sang of Andyr. For the first time I felt him again: in the land, the water, the mountains, in the winter-blue sky that matched his eyes. Eovir was there too: in the giggle of a brook, in the song of the larks, even in the tall grass that danced along my fingertips. I had regained a small part of what I had lost and knew I had one responsibility that could no longer be ignored. I needed to go to Markarth; the home of Andyr's family.

My trip to Markarth was uneventful and all too soon I found myself standing on the stoop of House Bainax. I would have stood there for hours, arguing with myself, had Andyr's mother not opened the door, intending to visit the market. To say she was startled would be somewhat of an understatement as it was necessary for me to steady her. After a moment, a look of dawning realization spread across her features and she whispered, "By the Nine! Kaivel!"

Then, she embraced me.

It had been a long time since I had allowed anyone to be so close to me, but something in this woman, this mother of My Heart, broke though my carefully constructed shell, and softened me. Andyr's mother, Bertahl, was everything I knew she'd be and more, and his father, Daveth, was goodness personified. The both of them did everything in their power to make sure I knew that I was theirs, and I loved them for it. But, it was meeting Andyr's younger brother that had the profoundest effect on me.

Thorvald was Andyr in every way; just looking at him brought back a pain so acute it was hard to think. I did my best to avoid being alone with, or speaking, to him. However, with an intuition to rival his brothers, Thorvald quickly discerned the truth behind my avoidance.

Finding me alone in the market one day, nearly two weeks after my arrival, he asked me to walk with him to a nearby shop.

"I am sorry, for your sake alone, that I am so similar to him," he said softly as we wove through the crowds. "I can see it hurts you to look at me."

Tears pricked at my eyes but I blinked them away. "It is a pain I willingly bear," I choked. "Your presence is...can be...painful, but at the same time you are a reminder that is was all real."

I smiled up at him and for the first time since our strained meeting, I appreciated his steadyness and sweet spirit; I had gained a true and real brother.

Just over a month after my arrival in Markath, an adventuring summons was posted on the notice board in the local pub. A man called Heinrich Oaken-Hull was taking an expedition to Vvardenfell: a place desperately in need of balance. I tore the notice from the board and pocketed it: determined to join the party. I returned to House Bainax to deliver the news of my impending departure, but they were one step ahead of me.

Daveth had seen the summons that morning and knew that I would be unable to resist the urge to go. He had told Bertahl and Thorvald and while I was out, they had purchased for me a beautiful set of Nordic Ringmail. Songs of praise could not adequately express my gratitude and love in that moment. This family had given me everything, and even now, we're giving me more. With the promise of letters, I took my leave of them the very next morning and joined a small caravan heading East.

The trek across the whole of Skyrim took all of a month, and just as my patience was on its last leg my companions and I crested the final hill and the ebony claw of Blacklight came in to view.