At some point in the middle of all this cosmic nonsense, it finally clicks.
I'm a Dragonborn.
Insert image of canon Dragonborn here
The thought lands in my mind with a strange weight, like a crown you didn't realize you were already wearing.
"I've come to realize something," I say carefully, watching the three of them in case this is somehow controversial. "I'm a Dragonborn."
Akatosh's gaze doesn't shift. A fact is a fact.
"But which one?" I push on, because of course it can't be simple. "Am I a past Dragonborn from before the Skyrim game? Miraak? Tiber Septim? Saint Alessia? Or some future Dragonborn that… doesn't exist yet?"
I hesitate, then add the obvious problem. "In Skyrim, they call the player character the Last Dragonborn. Which makes me think… I'm probably the one from the game."
Magnus makes a quiet "mm" sound, like he's watching a predictable experiment conclude.
Akatosh answers without drama. "It is the one from the game, as you suspected."
Relief flashes through me, immediately followed by dread. Because if I'm the Dragonborn from Skyrim, then that means everything I remember matters.
Then Akatosh adds, "But it is not a one-to-one reflection."
Of course.
"There are differences," he continues. "The world is not arranged for your convenience. Events do not wait in neat boxes until you step near them."
I exhale. "So no 'quest triggers.'"
"No," Akatosh says, sounding almost amused. "The crises that were stacked behind your curiosity in the game will occur as they would in a real world. Some will overlap. Some will occur earlier. Some later. Some will be missed if you ignore them."
Magnus lifts a finger. "Distances will not be as your memory depicts either. Mountains are not polite scenery. Roads are not efficient. Holds do not neatly fit into ten minutes of jogging."
"So Skyrim is bigger," I say.
"Much," Akatosh confirms. "And harder."
That word lingers.
Harder.
Real.
The kind of harder that means people die when you make mistakes.
I swallow and force my mind back onto the thread of control. "Okay. Then I have ideas. Plans. But first…"
I glance past them, towards Waymeet drifting steadily in its conceptual orbit, the great wounded glass city hanging like a promise.
"Do you have any ideas on how to fix the Waymeet?"
Magnus's single eye brightens with the kind of smugness only a god can pull off without getting punched.
"I will answer this one," he says, "instead of Akatosh."
Sithis makes a lazy shooing motion, like, go on, let him brag.
Magnus folds his arms. "Seek out my Eye."
I blink. "Your Eye of Magnus?"
Insert image of the Eye of Magnus here
"The same," Magnus says, and I can hear the pride in the way he says it. "After it was removed from me. It was repurposed. Rebuilt. An eye from a divine entity such as myself is exceptional material for an artifact of power."
He pauses as if waiting for applause.
Nobody applauds.
So he continues.
"I call it a Void Engine."
That name alone makes my inner Witch-King sit up straighter.
Magnus speaks like he's explaining something to a gifted student who still insists on using metaphors.
"To put it in terms you would understand," he says, "it is both the equivalent of a magical nuclear fusion reactor and a magical supercomputer."
My eyebrows climb. "That's… not subtle."
"It does not need to be subtle," Magnus says.
He gestures toward the dark around us, the endless unshaped nothingness that presses against Aurbis like an ocean against glass.
"The Void Engine can absorb energy from the Void," he continues, "and convert it into magicka… in a way similar to how Aetherius supplies Mundus with magicka. It will also function like a supercomputer providing immense processing power to a task you deem fit for it."
I glance toward the Waymeet. "Processing power matters because…"
"Because the Waymeet is not merely a space," Magnus says. "It is a system. A searching, mapping, connecting intelligence. It divines locations. It establishes gates. It maintains pathways."
He leans forward slightly, voice sharpening with excitement.
"By design, the Waymeet searches through the structure of its native reality to locate viable locations for portals to anchor. With the Eye attached to its central crystal hub, it will be able to search the spatial pathways of the Void itself."
That hits my brain like lightning.
"So… it could find other universes."
"Yes," Magnus says simply. "Slowly at first. But it could."
And then the other shoe drops.
"And with the power it provides," he adds, "the Waymeet could establish new portals to those worlds, allowing you to acquire resources, knowledge, and techniques that do not exist on Tamriel."
I can't help the grin that tugs at my mouth. That is exactly the kind of advantage a not-quite-hero, not-quite-villain would hoard like a treasure.
Then Magnus tilts his head.
"I would also be interested in learning what you gain from those adventures."
My smile falters.
He continues, casually, like he's discussing weather. "Do not worry. Due to my connection with the Eye, I will automatically receive the information I want."
I stare at him.
"So you're installing spyware into my demiplane."
Magnus looks offended. "That is a crude term."
"It's accurate," I say.
Sithis makes a choking sound that might be laughter. Akatosh's expression is unreadable, which for a cosmic dragon means he's either amused or considering erasing a timeline.
Magnus waves it away. "Once you attach the Eye to the Waymeet's central hub, the crystal tower, it will function on its own. The Waymeet's design from what I can tell at a glance is intuitive. With enough power, it will begin repairs immediately. Barrier reinforcement. Structural regrowth. City stabilization. Even expansion."
He pauses, then adds, more measured, "It cannot repair the damage to its core, the essence of it is damaged."
The Gatekeeper's presence stirs within me, like someone clearing their throat.
«Correction: the Void Engine cannot repair the core. However, I have already identified a solution.»
Magnus's eye narrows. "You have."
«Yes,» the Gatekeeper replies. «But my master must first reincarnate, mature, and stabilize. The process requires an embodied soul. It also requires consent.»
Consent.
That word makes my chest tighten in a way I don't expect. Not because I'm afraid of the Gatekeeper. Because it means the Gatekeeper is… trying. It isn't treating me like a tool.
I nod slowly. "We'll talk about it when I'm old enough not to accidentally die."
«Acknowledged.»
Magnus seems satisfied. "Good. What is your next question?"
I exhale and move on before my brain can spiral into portal-fueled empire fantasies.
"Where will I reincarnate?"
Akatosh answers this one.
"Skyrim," he says. "Into a prominent home and family."
Insert image of Skyrim map here
That surprises me enough that I forget to be suspicious for half a second. "Prominent as in… nobility?"
Akatosh's tone doesn't change, but I sense a faint edge of purpose behind it.
"We want you to have training, resources, and protection," he says. "Advantages you would not have as an orphan or commoner. Your task is difficult. You will need every edge."
Magnus adds lightly, "The rest will be a surprise. Do look forward to it."
That sentence is not comforting when a god says it.
"When," I ask, "will I reincarnate?"
"A few decades before the dragon crisis and the civil war," Akatosh replies. "Time to prepare."
My stomach turns. "So I'll grow up knowing what's coming."
"Yes," Akatosh says. "And you will learn the difference between the game and reality after you are born."
I hesitate, then ask the question that's been itching at the back of my mind since the Waymeet mentioned Faerûn.
"Why does my world know about Skyrim and Dungeons & Dragons?" I say. "If these are real places, why do we have them as fiction?"
Magnus answers with the tone of someone who has been dying to share trivia.
"That is correct," he says. "You come from the planet designated by higher entities as the Realm of Dreams."
I frown. "Realm of Dreams."
"Manifestations and projections of other worlds sometimes leak into mortal minds through dreams in your world," Magnus explains. "Humans interpret them as imagination. Those with creative instincts translate fragments into stories, games, art."
My mind reels. "So we don't have original ideas."
Magnus shrugs. "Some do. Many do not. Most are a mix. It is… a unique phenomenon."
I can't help it. "That's… genuinely fascinating."
Magnus smiles faintly, pleased with himself.
Then he adds, practical as ever, "It also does not matter. Your Earth is exceedingly far away. It would be difficult for you to return on your own power."
I nod slowly. That… doesn't sting as much as it should. Maybe because I already knew I had nothing left there that mattered.
Still, another fear hits.
"All the Skyrim knowledge I have," I say, "it'll be invaluable. But I played that game decades ago. What if I don't remember something important?"
Akatosh's eyes gleam. "The blessing I will give you will fix that."
My pulse spikes. "Like a mind palace?"
"You will see," Akatosh says, maddeningly calm.
I groan. "Cryptic god answers. Great."
Then I think of something more immediate.
"Will I really have to relearn the Cyrodilic language as a baby?"
Magnus steps in before Akatosh can.
"I can help with that," he says, and I feel his fingers brush the edge of my mind like someone opening a door.
"Let me give you the knowledge of Cyrodilic."
A surge of information floods me.
Not words on a page. Not vocabulary lists. It's shape and meaning, the rhythm of phrases, the feel of grammar. Like waking up and realizing you've always known a language, you just never had a reason to use it. I also learn how to read and write it.
I gasp.
Magnus withdraws, looking satisfied. "That is near the limit of what I may give you directly without breaking rules."
"Rules," I repeat, rubbing at my thoughts like they're sore. "Of course there are rules."
I look at them all. "Why did you summon ME specifically?"
This time Magnus answers, and for once his tone is… almost human.
"We performed a divination," he says. "A broad spectrum search. We set parameters."
He ticks them off as if he's reading from a list.
"Your repeated playing of Skyrim, Oblivion, and Morrowind. Your knowledge of lore from Elders Scrolls Online, Battlespire, Blades, Redguard, Daggerfall and Arena. Your understanding of tools and inventions that could change Tamriel for the better. Your ability to build wealth and organize people."
My mind flashes to factories, logistics, sanitation, metallurgy, printing presses, banking systems.
Then Magnus's expression hardens.
"And also," he says, "your willingness to endure and inflict violence. All those narrowed down our search options"
I don't answer that. I don't need to.
Magnus continues, voice sharper now. "However. There is a condition."
Oh no.
"We forbid you from making guns."
The words hang in the Void like a law carved into stone.
I stare. "You… forbid it."
"Yes," Magnus says. "The advent of guns would change the Empire too much. It would trigger wars on a scale that would make your WW1 and WW2 look small. We have divined the outcome. It is unacceptable."
I exhale slowly, then nod once.
"No guns," I repeat. "Everything else is okay."
"Within reason," Magnus says, because of course he adds that.
Akatosh finally speaks again, voice deep, final.
"The world is larger than your game," he says. "And far more dangerous. A troll can tear a man's arm off. A lich perfects magic for thousands of years. Alduin is a true divine dragon restrained by the rules of the world."
My throat tightens.
"This is not the Oblivion Crisis," Akatosh continues. "No Martin Septim will be there to sacrifice himself to summon an aspect of me to fight your enemy for you. This time, you must personally stop Alduin."
I manage, quietly, "Can I really defeat him?"
Akatosh doesn't hesitate.
"Alduin's scales are harder than steel. His claws cut iron like mud. His mastery of the Thu'um is the greatest among my children. He is also the largest portion of myself I reshaped into dragon form, a lesser god whose abilities are restricted to that of a demigod."
Insert image of Alduin here
I swallow hard.
Then my mind reaches for the only metaphor that keeps me from panicking.
"He's like a video game character," I say, "who used to have a GM account. He could rewrite the rules. But he got his permissions revoked and dropped a level."
Akatosh's eyes narrow, thoughtful.
"That is… an acceptable analogy," he says. "For now. But from the future I can see, he plans to eat the souls in Sovngarde. And if he does, he will regain what you call his 'permissions.' He will become the world-eater again."
Insert image of Sovngarde here
A chill runs through me.
Then, because my brain hates tension, it throws out the stupidest question imaginable.
"What does a dragon soul taste like?"
Akatosh answers without missing a beat.
"Blueberries."
I stare.
"…Seriously?"
"Of course not," Akatosh says, and if a god can sound offended, he does. "A soul's taste is difficult to translate into mortal language. But consuming an immortal dragon soul will be… exquisite."
Sithis makes a pleased little hum, like he approves of souls as a menu item.
I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of it all settle onto my shoulders. Not crushing yet. But present.
Akatosh's voice softens, just slightly.
"Now," he says, "it is time to receive our blessings."
And the Void around us grows still, like reality itself is leaning closer to listen.