"Soon; I'm going to be slipping in combat, if I don't sleep some."

i̡t i͟s͜

i̵ ́thįn͠k
͢
͠unl̛ik̕el͞y̧ you could͜ s̷le͝e͞p̷ f̧o̢r̨ ͜ve̕r͟y̕ ̡lonǵ w͟i͢t̷h͝o̶ut ̵a̷ p̶a͢trol̸ ́f̕i̡ndìng̢ ̵a̡n ̷a̸l̀i͢g͜ned̛ ̶m͝irror
́
we͏ ͠a̢re f͜o͢r̕tuna͠t́e̶ th͘éy h͟a͘ve̴ ̡ńo҉t͞ ̷alŗead͏y ͡d̸i̧s̷c̶o͡ve͝red͡ o͞n͠e͜

"Yeah, we are."

"I can get by on pretty little sleep - just two hours should be enough to put me back on track, and then we can reevaluate."

if a͞ ́p̸at͏ŕol͢ begìn̕s ̡a҉p̸p̶r̨oa͟ching͏ y͞òur͟ resting̡ ̛pl͟acȩ ̛i͢ c͠an҉ ͝wake͡ ͘y͞ou͏

"Thanks."

And she finds somewhere enough out of the way that's unlikely to be a problem, and then sleeps.

Meridia wakes her about an hour and a half later.

á ͏p̕a̸tr̕ol ͏hás f̀ound͟ a̶n al̸ig̕néd͝ mìrror͏
̡
t͡he̸y ҉ar̢e̵ l̡o͝oki̶n̡g̨ for̡ ͜y̧ou

Ugh.

She climbs to her feet, instantly awake.

"How many mirrors are left?"

fo͞rt̕y-five

"Mostly edge ones? Then we'll start moving through those, hit them as best we can."

Acknowledgement, encouragement.

And - aiming for some level of unpredictability as well as for hitting unwatched mirrors first - she starts working her way through.

It's actually not too difficult in principle to avoid the patrols, with Meridia to guide her, as long as she's good at being stealthy when she needs to.

She's not very good at moving silently, but she can hold still when needed, and she can breathe soft and silent, and she can hide.

The mirrors are, still, far apart. The halls are, still, winding and difficult. Every patrol that passes sends a shock of adrenaline through her.

By the time she's done, she's crossed so far into exhaustion that she's come out the other side into a new state of being that only technically resembles being awake. Her hands have a faint tremble. Her hearing feels like it's been increased fourfold. Her thoughts race, jumping between ideas faster than before. She's constantly hungry, vaguely, in a way that eating won't sate.

But.

Eventually.

The last mirror realigns.

She finishes.

yo͟ư ̧will n͝eed ͢t̢o̷ mov͜e ҉q̷uickl͠y͟ ̧no̢w
̢
t͘h͝e i͢n͝ner d͟o̢o͘r̡ ͜i͏s ̢op̶e͠n̨

t̕he ̵d̶e͢f̛i̧l̷ȩr can ̛p̷a͝ss̀ in͢to ͡t̷h͝e l̶ab͘y̡r͠int͟h̶
̡
́it ̷is͡ ͝po̧s̛sibl͏e͢ ̀he ̵w̨i͟ll͟ t̷ry̨ t͜o̶ mi̕salíg̡n͡ ̴the mir҉ro͜r̸s on̸ce a̴ga͏ín͝

"Right."

She sets out, moving as quickly as she safely can, sword drawn.

Meridia leads her toward the final mirror, the four-way crossroads, if she doesn't remember the way.  The path to it takes her first to a wide room, with a narrow and unrailed bridge over a deep chasm.

She proceeds cautiously.

The chasm yawns beneath her.  The thread of light runs parallel to the bridge and above it, so the white marble bridge stands out sharply against the blackness below.  The air is cold on her face and her fingers.

w҉r͝àiths̡ are ͜cơm҉i͞n̕g

i s͟h̵ou͟ld ̡h҉a͞v҉é f͡orse͡en ̨i͞ţ

th́ey͝ ̡k̴no͟w th̶i͝s ́i͜s the͟ o͏nlỳ w͜a̸y͡ forward̸

"I don't want to be caught here."

She's closer to the edge in front of her.

She breaks into a sprint.

With a howling rasp, a cloud of wraith-smoke emerges from the door on the opposite side of the chasm, races toward her -

An flame atronach spins up in their path, as far from Lianda as she can manage, and it immediately charges forward, flinging fireballs.

The wraiths scatter, but the atronach takes out two and the explosions set another three on fire, and they writhe and scream in midair.  Two wraiths escape unscathed; one tries to circle around the atronach to rush Lianda again, and the other dives through and below the bridge, where she can't track it by sight.

The atronach is incredibly aggressive and does not appreciate being circled around!

She needs to get to the ledge - she's not safe on this bridge - she draws her blade and keeps running.

While the atronach is distracted by the circling wraith, the other one re-emerges from under the bridge, between Lianda and the ledge.  It hisses, its grinning jaw open wide, and flows forward through the air toward her.