Start of Act 6
…
4E 202, College of Winterhold
Savos Aren
The Eye continued to swirl and whirl as Savos stood in the Hall of Elements.
Even months after Faralda and Colette unearthed it from Saarthal, they were no closer to understanding it than they had been on the first day.
The thing defied logic and structure. Detection spells failed, Scrying yielded nothing. Even the simplest and most delicate probing magics fizzle out or give nonsensical readings and maddening inconsistencies.
It was as if the Eye refused to be known or analyzed by mortal means.
Savos exhaled slowly, hands clasped behind his back as his gaze remained fixed upon the artifact. The low hum it emitted was constant now, a subtle vibration in the air that pricked at the senses. Most had grown accustomed to it.
Their closest clue had been Morokei with the Staff of Magnus, but that had slipped through their fingers in Labyrinthian. A quiet sigh escaped Savos.
That failure…was his. Morokei was an entity that was perhaps as dangerous as a Kruziik, and that was before he wielded the Staff with terrifying ease. The most powerful of all the Dragon Priests, second only to the famed Konahrik. But Konahrik was said to be a mere tale, a legend among their number. While Morokei was very much real.
He was Archmage. The burden of power, of responsibility—it was his to bear. If Morokei brought ruin upon Skyrim, then it would be upon Savos' conscience as much as anyone else's.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
Then there was the other matter. Quaranir,of the Psijic Order.
The supposed emissary of the vaunted order of mages had come cloaked in calm words and veiled intent. Their request had been simple—hand over the Eye. No explanation. No compromise. Only insistence, masked as wisdom.
Savos was no fool.
Power such as this did not simply vanish into the hands of a secretive order without consequence. And the fact that Quaranir had shown the slightest hint of aggression when denied…
No. There was more at play here than the Psijics were willing to admit.
The only reason that meeting had not escalated further was the presence of Serana and Mirabelle. Even now, Savos could recall the tension in the room, the unspoken threat beneath polite words.
For better or for worse, the Psijic Order had remained silent since.
Their allies, at the very least, had not remained still.
News of victory had reached even the frozen cliffs of Winterhold. The fall of Castle Volkihar. The destruction of the Mythic Dawn. The Night of Convergence and the many battles since then were now spoken of as legend rather than tragedy.
Even Jarl Korir, stubborn as ever, had opened his stores and sent wine to the Frozen Hearth from his own personal stock. For three days, the city was alight with joy as many students descended to the town to share in the celebrations. For a brief moment, warrior and mage alike cheered together for the fall of the Harkon and the Mythic Dawn.
It was a peaceful day for a relatively non-peaceful time.
Savos leaned against one of the stone pillars, folding his arms as he watched the Eye continue its endless motion.
Peace…what a rare thing in Skyrim, for it was indeed something that the country had not had for the past few years.
When was the last time peace existed in this cold kingdom, where war and conflict just seems to go in hand with the people.
How long will this sense of jubilation be felt, before it changes once more to grief and suffering? After all, Alduin still lived.
As bad as Harkon and Mankar Camoran were, the threat of the World-Eater was worse than them combined. And as long as he exists, peace was nothing more than a fragile illusion.
Whatever the case was, the College was now allied with Skyrim. Their conflicts were his conflicts. Especially since the College now has earned the ire and anger of the Thalmor.
The Emperor had not hesitated to confront them on behalf of the College, something that Savos greatly appreciated.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.
"Savos."
Mirabelle's voice came in as she entered the Hall. He did not turn immediately, though he acknowledged her presence with a slight nod.
"There's a visitor from the city," she continued. "The Jarl's messenger."
Savos finally looked away from the Eye, the faint glow reflecting in his dark eyes. "I'll meet him in the courtyard. No reason for the Jarl's man to see this."
Mirabelle inclined her head.
He cast one last glance at the Eye before turning away. For now, it remained stable. Dormant, even. So he was willing to just let it be for now. For better or for worse, it required centuries of buildup for the Eye to have caused the Great Collapse.
If anything, time was the resource that they had aplenty.
The biting cold of Winterhold greeted him as he stepped into the courtyard. The wind howled faintly along the cliffs, carrying with it the distant crash of waves against ice.
Waiting there was a familiar figure.
"Archmage," Malur Seloth greeted, bowing his head slightly. Savos recognized him instantly, the Dunmer steward of Jarl Korir.
"Malur," Savos replied. "What brings you here?"
The Dunmer pulled his cloak tighter around himself. "I bear word from the Jarl. There is to be a procession from Winterhold to attend the wedding of the Jarl of Shor's Stone. Jarl Korir requests your presence."
Behind him, Mirabelle blinked. "Gerron is getting married?"
Savos allowed himself a small chuckle. "To Serana, in fact. I received the news just this morning, Gerron had sent the letter with Bronze."
Mirabelle's surprise quickly turned into a warm smile. "That's great news."
"Indeed." Savos chuckled, though that reminded him to hold another meeting for all the College Professors after this. After all, the letter bore the true reason of what the wedding would entail.
Savos turned back to Malur. "Inform the Jarl that I will attend. I will bring several mages with me. We will meet at the Longhouse by morning."
Malur nodded. "Very well. Good day, Archmage."
Savos watched him depart before turning back toward the College.
"Mirabelle," he said, already walking, "gather the others. We meet in my quarters in a quarter of an hour."
Much later, Savos sat himself in his quarters at the head of the table, his fellow professors seated around him. Familiar faces—Faralda, Tolfdir, Colette, Phinis, Drevis, Niranye, Sergius. Each one a pillar of the College.
"Greetings everyone, come sit." Savos greeted. "We have much to discuss."
"What is this about, Archmage?" Faralda questioned, seated beside Niranye.
The two Altmer had reconciled since the latter had discovered that it was indeed Ancano that had sabotaged her own studies. The golden flames that Niranye researched were stolen by the Thalmor Agent, quite capably as well, since the woman had believed that Faralda had done it.
When she found out, Niranye had thrown away all her pride and made a public apology, one that Faralda accepted.
"It's about the recent invitation for the wedding of the Jarl of Shor's Stone, and everything it entails." Savos answered, gaining the room's attention. He began telling them of the plan, the true plan.
There was no need to worry about spies here. The Archmage's Quarters was a place that had been warded truly humongously. All the previous Archmages, dating all the way back to Shalidor himself, had left their own unique marks and enchantments.
It was, by all accounts, his sanctum sanctorum. The place where he was most powerful. None who bore Savos any ill will could have entered the doors. It was the reason why Ancano was always wary to enter, why the man required Savos to leave the quarters before ambushing him, all those months ago.
"The wedding is to be a trap, for Alduin and his ilk. Shor's Stone is to be made a fortress, both physically and magically." Savos stated plainly. "Gerron himself will focus on the former, his men, as well as his automaton armada are working day in and out in preparation. It is our job to focus on the latter."
Tolfdir rubbed his beard. "You mean to make protections that would hold against the dragon's Thu'um?"
Savos nodded. "Precisely. Serana's mother, Valerica, has things handled in potions and Alchemy. By the time we arrive in the city, hundreds of magicka draughts should be prepared and available to us. The Arcaneum should hold many tomes of the Voice that perhaps even the Greybeards might not have in High Hrothgar. Urag?"
"Hmm…" The old Orsimer hummed. "If we're talking about ways to counter 'em, I might have some ideas of where to look."
"Good, because this will now be a priority. All research, projects, and lectures are to be postponed." His gaze went to the others. "Sergius, Colette, and Tolfdir. The three of you are to focus on wards. Anything that might protect the city from the more dangerous and the larger area of effect Thu'um must be researched. The protection of the Eye will be handled by Faralda, Drevis, Niranye, and Phinis. Everyone else will be coming with me and Mirabelle."
Two master wizards and another two almost reaching that level will be more than ample protection for the Eye.
Even then, the only other interested party they saw was the Psijic Order. Morokei, Savos doubted. Alduin would definitely require his power in the attack for Shor's Stone.
"Yes, Archmage."
"Mirabelle," Savos then looked to the Master Wizard. "It's time for the College to take part in its entirety."
Mirabelle pursed her lips. "Are you sure, Savos?"
"Yes." Savos nodded. "They are people of Skyrim themselves, are they not? Sound a general call to the entire college. Volunteers only. Those who wish to fight, we will bring them south to the Rift with us."
The announcement was met with grim acceptance, for the might of wizards was simply too needed for the times ahead.
"I will speak to the Jarl tomorrow. If all preparations are made, we will leave then at the latest." Savos stated. "Good luck everyone, and may the divines watch over you all."
Chairs scraped as the professors stood. One by one, they left, Mirabelle stopping by the door for a second to look at him before closing the door behind her.
Savos leaned back in his chair, his eyes just glancing across the glyphs and sigils that line the roof of his quarters. 'Morokei…Eye of Magnus…'
A sigh tore out of his throat.
'Approach.'
Savos blinked, and somehow found himself walking once more to the Hall of Elements. His gaze once more went to the Eye, still suspended in its place, rotating in endless, unknowable motion.
He walked closer, the hum and the glow intensifying with each step, as if answering an unsaid question. Slowly, deliberately, Savos raised his hand.
Previously, any attempt they had in touching the Eye was rebuffed as if by an invisible barrier. But this time, there was no resistance as his fingers touched the surface.
And the world exploded.
Blinding light engulfed everything. An electrifying feeling surged through him, into him, as if a flood of cold fire were injected through his veins. Savos gasped, his body locking as raw magicka coursed through every fiber of his being.
Something ancient and vast brushed against his mind, a writhing mass of tentacles, before it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
The light vanished and the hum ceased.
Savos staggered slightly, his breath ragged as he forced his eyes open.
The Eye… was gone.
For a brief, terrifying moment, panic gripped him.
But then, he looked down.
There, hovering just above his palm, was a small orb. No larger than a pebble. It spun slowly, faint tendrils of light curling around it like living threads.
Savos stared at the shrunken eye, his mind racing, heart hammering in his chest.
"What… have I done…?"
And somewhere—unheard, unseen—the giggling of a mad god echoed throughout the room.
…
4E 202, Skuldafn
Alduin
One eye opened, slow and deliberate, as the World-Eater stirred from his slumber. Snow whispered across the broken spires of Skuldafn, carried by biting winds that howled like distant spirits.
Alduin's gaze settled upon the kneeling figure before him, Krosis.
"Kolos truk dreh hi lost tol hi faas zu'u?" (What news do you have that you disturb me?)
His voice was not loud. It did not need to be.
It rolled across the mountain like distant thunder, heavy with authority, with inevitability. Even the winds seemed to hush in its wake. A sign of his returning strength and power.
"What news do you have that you disturb me?"
Krosis knelt low upon the snow, one sleeve of his ancient robe fluttering emptily in the gale. An injury he had taken in freeing Morokei, cut by the Dragonborn's hand. A mark of failure that Alduin had not forgotten.
"I have news, my lord," Krosis said, his voice reverent.
"Speak."
"Otar has freed himself from his prison, and he brings tidings."
At that, Alduin's eye narrowed slightly.
Otar. Another of the ancient priests, yet late to answer his call. Imprisoned, he maybe.
Krosis lifted his head, the twin blue flames within his mask meeting Alduin's abyssal gaze.
"He says that the leaders of the mortals shall gather in the city called Shor's Stone. All the Champions… the one they call Emperor… and the Dovahkiin."
Silence lingered for a breath. Alduin considered.
"Ho," he rumbled at last, "and what reason do the mortals have to enact such a gathering?"
"A wedding, my Lord." Krosis answered.
Alduin snorted, hot breath turning the falling snow into hissing steam. "A wedding…"
The word itself felt foreign. Pointless and beneath notice.
Mortals, with their fleeting lives and fragile forms, bound themselves to one another in ritual and sentiment. They sought meaning in companionship, in legacy, in fleeting joy.
Dragons had no such need. Born of power, shaped by will—creations of Akatosh's design or Alduin's dominion. Life, to them, was not something shared.
It was much simpler to just breathe life into existence, something he was capable of at the height of his strength, a power he gained when he became the Kruziik of life and death.
Though Alduin was no fool. Behind that primitive ritual, he saw the truth. A trap, one to bait Alduin and his kin.
A slow rumble built within his chest, something between amusement and anticipation.
"They think themselves clever," Alduin mused, his voice low, almost thoughtful. "To gather their strength, to draw us out…"
He shifted, the massive weight of his body causing the ancient stone beneath him to creak in protest. Another snort.
"If that is how the Dovahkiin wishes to play this game…" His eye gleamed, dark and endless. "Then we shall oblige."
Krosis bowed lower at that, understanding the command before it was even spoken.
"Tell Morokei to forget the artifact he seeks," Alduin continued. "The Dovahkiin has called us. And we shall answer."
Krosis lowered his head fully to the ground. "As you command, my lord."
Alduin rose.
The movement alone sent a cascade of snow tumbling from the rooftops, his immense wings unfurling with a thunderous crack that echoed across the mountains. Wind howled violently in response, as though the world itself recoiled from his awakening.
With a single powerful beat, he took to the air.
The skies welcomed him.
Cold winds tore past his scales as he ascended, higher and higher, until he reached the pinnacle of Skuldafn—the place where the veil between realms thinned, where power gathered like a storm waiting to break.
It was here where he called Durnehviir, where the Ideal Masters had dared to strike him. And now the Ideal Masters were gone.
Perched upon the highest peak, Alduin surveyed his domain.
Below him, dragons stirred.
Massive forms shifted upon towers and jagged cliffs. Wings unfurled. Eyes opened, each one burning with fire, frost, lightning.
Odahviing, Durnehviir, and many more.
All turned toward him. All awaited his word.
Alduin inhaled deeply, drawing in the frigid air of Skyrim, the scent of snow, of stone… and of war.
This was what he was made for.
Not slumber, not waiting. But to end it all.
His neck rose high, his maw opening as ancient power gathered within his throat—Thu'um building, coiling, ready to be unleashed. He roared.
"BEL FRON DOV!" (Call. Kin. Dragon). The words tore through the skies, a proclamation, a command, a promise. "Faal Evgir Unslaad los het ahst laat!" (The Season Unending is here at last!)
His kin answered, one by one—then all at once. The dragons roared.
A cacophony of Thu'um split the skies, echoing across mountains and valleys alike. Fire and frost and storm burst into the air as the dov answered their king.
A declaration of war and of acceptance. The Dovahkiin has her answer.
…
AN: We are back! And a new act means a new interlude chapter, and this one shall reveal the two characters who will take center stage in this final act.
Savos and Alduin have had a secondary to tertiary role so far in the fic, and that shall change starting now.
That Savos section will also confuse a lot of people, but I just want iterate that Savos is not a Champion. Something else is going on with him and the Eye, one that perhaps will be revealed in the coming chapters.
I know I say a lot of crap when it comes to how much longer this fic would last, BUT I AM GENUINELY SURE THIS TIME, that this is it. We are actually in the very final stages, and it will all coalesce in Shor's Stone, the place where it all started.
I really hope you guys enjoyed this one, because I did, and I can't wait to go on this last leg of the journey with you guys.
There's also a few major announcements on my Patreon that you should check out. Just for a TLDR, free members get some benefits now, mainly access to some of my one shot stories, as well as early access to 2 chapters ahead for Skyrim.
So if you're interested in reading the first chapter of my One Piece, Young Justice, or Game of Thrones fic; or even chapters 113 and 114, make sure to check it out! They're all free now! There's even an active poll still about Skyrim that will close in a few days.
Otherwise, Chapter 124 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers lads, have a nice day.