Fifteen Years Later


'From what I've seen of this world, change comes in two forms.

There's the slow, difficult change, the kind that has to be heaved into motion over the course of years if not decades. And then there's the fast kind, where everything that was comes crashing down in a moment to make room for something new. Something strange.'


"Mother, look! What are they doing on the rooftops?" Emily pointed at the roof of the waterlock, frowning petulantly. She didn't see why her mother never let her go climbing. Corvo could teach her, she was sure of it, and Thomas went up and down from the city to the garden plenty of times and he was always fine—

But then the men on the rooftops vanished, and reappeared right in front of her. And she realised something was very wrong.

"What? Emily, come here!"

She was grabbed, pulled backwards towards her mother, and then Corvo was in front of her with blade whirling into life. He was a storm of dark and loud and sharp, like she'd never seen him before, and the men fighting him had no faces, just masks, and they fluttered around like ghosts. They were untouchable. And one of them appeared behind Corvo, and grabbed Emily's arm and flung her away from her mother. She screamed, but Corvo was suddenly there again, and there was a BANG and that faceless man dropped dead to the floor in front of her. Because of course she was going to be okay, because she had Corvo, and Corvo would always—

And then the world started glowing green, and Corvo was suspended in the air.

A voice rang out— "He's mine! Get the empress!" and a man in a red coat appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Corvo and vanishing.

Just like that, he was gone.

One of faceless people moved in and grabbed Emily's mother by the throat, and Emily didn't know what to do, she wanted to run, wanted to fight—And the sword of the dead man was right in front of her.

She had to help, so she picked it up in both hands, and stumbled forwards, thrusting it outwards at the assassin grabbing her mother.

But they turned, and saw her, and their body parted like mist in front of her.

She saw her mother's shocked face, and then her arms shuddered to a halt as the blade in her hands tore right into—


Emily woke with a strangled gasp.

Her room was silent, but for the ticking of the clock on one wall and the furious pounding of her own heartbeat.

Slowly, she unclasped her hands from their death grip on her luxurious bedsheets, and analysed them.

Not the hands of a child, but those of a grown woman. The left, tattooed with an intricate black mark.

She exhaled, shudderingly.

"That day again, then?" She said, to the empty room.


'My name is Emily Kaldwin.

Fifteen years ago, the assassin Daud assaulted Dunwall Tower, using strange magic the likes of which I'd never seen. In the chaos that followed, I stabbed my own mother, Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. And the Outsider, who watches everything from the Void, took interest.

He emblazoned my hand with his mark, and granted me his powers. At ten years old I broke free of the man who ordered my mother's murder. I made allies of street rats, scientists, sailors and statesmen. I battled guards, zealots, assassins, and witches much like me. And at the end of it all, I was able to reclaim my throne.

I did not kill. And my friends did not die. And when my country learned that I was a witch, they did not turn on me.'


"Good morning, your majesty." Alexi Mayhew, guard captain in Dunwall tower, clasped Emily's hand as she approached. "Sleep well?"

"You know the answer to that already, Alexi." Emily sighed. The sympathy on her captain's face was real, and she squeezed the hand and what comfort it could offer. "Is everyone inside?"

"Most everyone." Alexi turned to the door. They were in the patio outside the throne room, Emily having had to leave her own living quarters before the ceremony so she could enter dramatically at the right time. While she was normally always one for showmanship, today she'd almost had to be pulled from her bed.

"The Royal Protector is awaiting you, all the relevant nobles (those who weren't too afraid to come, that is), captain Ramsey—Oh, but Thomas isn't here." Alexi continued, glancing back. "He's down at the docks. Got a strange message from an arrival asking for you, went to check it out."

"Are you missing your boyfriend?" Emily teased, smirking.

"Hah." Alexi gave her an exasperated look that would have been damn near treasonous on a normal guard or noble. But since Emily had saved her from the Golden Cat many years ago, they'd been close enough for the banter to be commonplace.

"You are an oblivious Empress. Oh, speaking of—" Alexi reached back into her pocket and produced a black iron, intricately marked ring. "Your concubine handed me this on his way out of the city yesterday. You know we can't exactly make replicas if you lose it?"

"Wyman's not my concubine." Emily rolled her eyes, taking the ring back and sliding it onto her right hand. "And the alternative was to lock them in the safe room for the night. That or let Corvo know what we were doing in there."

"You think Corvo doesn't know everything that happens in these walls?" Alexi snorted.

"He better not. I have to meet his eyes in a few minutes."

They shared a laugh. It was petty talk, but it had improved Emily's previously glum mood a little, so she couldn't complain.

"Alright." She jerked her head at the door. "Announce me. Let's start this madness."


'The following fifteen years contained a much slower sort of change.

In that time, I grew up. Puberty was an utter pain, I can say that much, as was trying to cram my head with everything a proper empress should know. And, yes, the 'empress' thing. Attempting to drag my kneecapped empire back into an age of prosperity after its suffering during the rat plague. By the time I came of age, most of my waking hours were spent ruling. In meetings, writing letters, considering proposals, juggling the desires of the workers, the nobles, the merchants, the Abbey.

The rest of my time I spent desperately trying to push all that from my mind. Sparring, smoking, flitting from boyfriend to girlfriend to boyfriend, taking to the rooftops and running. Singing, most of all, which remained my greatest passion.

In truth, most of the time, I hardly remembered I was a witch at all.'


A woman, dark of skin, dark of hair, dark of clothing and dark of expression, looked up at Dunwall tower. Her boat rocked unpredictably in the waves of the city's busy harbour, and was awash in that harbour's sounds; ships' horns, the shouts of sailors, rumbling engines.

Among all that, it must have been almost impossible to notice the footsteps landing on the deck behind her. But notice them she did.

She turned, and saw a young man looking back at her. He wore the dark red coat of a guard captain, but had left it unbuttoned, and the slacks he had on beneath it were dirty and unprofessional. But his eyes had an inquisitive light to them, and the corners of his mouth curled into a small smirk.

"Can I help you, officer?" She asked.

"Well, that depends." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, glancing around her ship and then back at her. "You alone on this ship, miss...?"

"Foster." She answered. His gaze lingered on her missing eye and missing arm, and her good hand reached across to grip her stump instinctively. "Yes, it's just me. I've paid the docking fee, sir, I can show you the papers if you'd like."

"It's not those papers I'm interested in." The man reached into his coat, and pulled out a pristine letter with a broken seal. "I'm captain Thomas Moray. Miss Foster, would you mind explaining your relationship with Anton Sokolov?"


'Looking back, I wonder if I had grown complacent.

Switched off, like one of Sokolov's devices with its power removed. Because as much as I felt I was constantly struggling, it seemed as though I was simply struggling to stay afloat, rather than pushing through the water to find the shore.

Things started to go wrong. The whales were disappearing, approaching extinction, and rationing the oil they were hunted for put a stranglehold around an economy that desperately needed to grow. My enemies were vanishing, which shouldn't be a bad thing. Only they were being brutally and horribly murdered by someone the papers called 'the Crown Killer'. The world began to suspect that I (or perhaps my father and Royal Protector, Corvo Attano) was butchering my political opponents. Not good for publicity.

But still, though I bit my nails down to stubs during the day, I slept without fear. After all, I was (debatably) the world's most powerful ruler with (objectively) the world's most frightening bodyguards, not to mention being (by process of elimination, mostly) the world's most powerful witch. What was the worst that could happen?

It was as though I had forgotten just how quickly a life could fall apart.'


The doors opened, and Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin the first strode into the throne room.

She was undeniably beautiful, with high cheekbones, fair skin, piercing eyes and neck-length black hair elegantly braided and tucked back. Her clothing was a blend of practicality and style, a navy blue overcoat and patterned neckerchief over a form fitting (but unrestrictive) black undershirt, trousers and boots. Key to the ensemble was a single black glove over her left hand, concealing the Outsider's mark emblazoned there.

Everybody knew what was beneath it, of course; she doubted there was a corner of the empire that didn't know of the Witch Empress. But it was a tactful message. 'I'm not trying to hide this, but I'm also not going to use it to threaten, coerce, or bewitch you'.

"Loyal citizens." She began, after Alexi had announced her entry. Is it too pompous to start with 'loyal'? Ah, sod it. "Today, we gather to mourn the death of my mother, the late Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. In life she was strong, noble, and above all caring; and I hope that we can strive to follow her example in these trying times."

The crowd's response was muted (probably appropriate) but she didn't wait to analyse it, instead walking quickly towards her father.

"Emily." Corvo Attano looked older and tireder by the day, but his smile as he saw her was always a genuine one.

"Sleep well?" She asked.

"You know the answer to that already." He turned, and walked with her up the room. "No matter how much time passes..."

"The same nightmare, every year." Emily finished. They approached Jessamine's portrait, the one painted posthumously by Sokolov. "I constantly wish I could just...speak to her. Ask her for advice."

"You think your mother had all the answers?" Corvo chuckled. "Jessamine took the throne when she wasn't much older than you were. She was always worrying, and always stubborn, just like you. And she learned, and improved. You will too."

"Hm." Emily leaned down, placing a rose before the portrait before continuing towards her throne.

"Or I could just have all my political opponents killed." She pointed out, casually.

"Don't." Corvo growled, annoyed.

"What? It's apparently working. The whale oil bill went through without a hitch with Ichabod dead."

"I'm working on the Crown Killer." Corvo grit out. He didn't sound amused. "You've seen the Ichabod crime scene. Where did you learn to joke about things like that..."

"Not sure. It was probably the massive childhood trauma." Emily took her seat on the throne, Corvo positioning himself at her side. She sighed again.

Now for hours upon hours of commiserations, snide remarks, scheming, manoeuvring, and people trying to use the event to push one agenda or another. Herself included.

Grief should be a private affair. But not for an Empress, it seems...

She leaned back into her throne, and prepared for the worst day of her year.

"Your majesty, before we begin in earnest." Captain Ramsay said, from her side. "We have a surprise visit from the Duke of Serkonos..."


'This is the story of how a woman stole my throne, imprisoned my father, killed my friend, ripped away my magic, and tore out my tongue.

Her name is Delilah. She's a bitch. And her plan would have gone perfectly, were it not for two very important things.

Firstly, both her and I left a strange man with black eyes rather disgruntled.

And secondly, my father taught me to go for the balls.'

[Extract from Emily Kaldwin's personal diary, 20th day month of Earth, 1852]


Emily Kaldwin: Silence is Silver


Hey everyone. Didja miss me?

Yes, that's right: Sequel! Not attached to this, it's its own thing. Check out my profile, where the full chapter 1 (at least, depending on when you get to this) should already be visible.

Boy howdy it's been a while, huh? But, like finishing it in the first place, I couldn't let this franchise or this fic go. So, after a long hiatus, here comes a followup including the events of Dishonored 2 and Death of the Outsider. And trust me, I'm going to be doing my part to keep things...interesting.

Is anyone going to read this? Who knows. It'll be an interesting experiment, to say the least. But sod it, I'm sixty thousand words into the thing.

Oh yeah, another difference: I can actually promise you regular weekly uploads for this one! Ain't that a twist?

Thanks again for reading so far, and I look forward to giving you something else to enjoy!