The door opened slowly, letting the freezing air from outside enter in the inn's common room.

A tall figure donning a hooded cape and sporting a long walking staff entered, and closed the door behind him, shivering from the cold.

It was a small building, this inn. Little more than a house-turned-rest-stop for any travellers who crossed the road that cut through the Hjaalmarch.

The man—he was clearly a man since there was a beard attached to the chin that peeked through the hood—knew he could have travelled further before the sun set, but he was tired. He was still a day from crossing the Karth River and arriving at Solitude. And he wanted to rest on a warm bed for once.

He quickly scanned the inn, and was surprised to see that he was the only customer there.

The innkeeper was a woman in her thirties, probably the late half. Pretty, but he was not in the mood.

There was another person at the corner, sitting on a stool. A female Breton with a harp. And from what Conrad saw on her cloudy open eyes, she seems to be blind.

Then as if she sensed him, she turned her white eyes towards him and smiled. She soon start to make tune with her harp and sing with beautiful melody alongside her instrument.

A song he was always familiar with.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart...

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes...

With a voice wielding power of the ancient nord art...

Believe, believe the Dragonborn comes...

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

He smiled in nostalgia.

Then he looked back to the innkeeper and saluted her with a gesture of his hand. Which made her seem to relax a bit. She was probably afraid of his presence.

It was only expected, given the tattered weapons and armour dangling from his belt. They were visible from under his half-cape; a simple dagger that he carried as a last resort weapon and as a tool, and his trusted axe.

Not exactly a visitor that inspired tranquillity in a lone woman and female blind bard.

He decided to ignore her. Maybe that would calm her down. With long strides, he reached the burning hearth placed in the middle of the room. He left his backpack fall on the floor, placed his staff besides it and pulled a seat closer to him and sat there, enjoying the warm fire. After a few minutes, he started feeling much better.

A Nord that hated the cold. Funny.

He finally spoke to the woman, lowering his hood. She gazed for just a second on his blue eyes, her gaze roaming across the scars that ran over his right cheek, starting from his cheekbone.

A little souvenir left to him by a close encounter with a hagraven during the first year at the start of his journey.

“Something hot, please. A meat soup preferably. And mead with cheese,” he added. “I can pay.”

The woman nodded hesitantly and went into the kitchen to fetch a meal for her customer. Why was she so nervous? He hadn’t threatened her, right?

Curious.

She returned soon, carrying a tray with a full bottle of mead, several loaves of bread, a small wheel of cheese and a steaming bowl of soup. Apple, horker’s meat and cabbage, by the smell.

But why did she look so afraid?

He thanked her and took the tray from her hands. She returned behind the counter and observed him from time to time.

He still hadn't touched his meal.

Why did she seem so afraid?

He took the mead and opened it with a pop. The sweet alcohol was erupting from it. He lifted the bottle, foretasting it. It was his favourite beverage, after all.

He stopped when he saw the woman’s expression.

Why was she so afraid?

Wait…

What was this smell?

He put down the bottle, then looked at its contents.

Yes, she was very afraid, now.

“This is a trap, isn't it?” he sighed.

The innkeeper's eyes widened. It that was all he needed.

He rose from his seat. The bottle fell down.

The woman escaped to the kitchen, screaming for help.

He ran after her. She was reaching for a knife. He didn't give her a chance.

With a jump, he grabbed her and pinned her on the wall, keeping her firm in place with his right arm.

“Poison. Very Deadly. Rare. Not your idea,” he hissed. It wasn't a question. His past experience with the Morag Tong Asssasins and Dark Brotherhood gave him enough skill to sense poisons.

The woman seemed to be on the point of pissing herself. At least, she managed to nod.

“Who did this?”

“You know who,” she said, starting to cry.

Yes, he knew who. But if they were able to plan something like this, in a random tavern he was just passing through, that would mean...

That would mean that they had been following him for days. Weeks, even.

But that was not possible. His journey to Solitude had been a secret, and he had travelled for days in the wilderness, avoiding villages and cities and stopping only in his hideouts.

He started to regret in travelling on foot.

Then faint noises of the rumbling foosteps could be heard, coming from somewhere outside of the inn.

He sighed again, closing his eyes. Then slowly and gently, he let go of the woman.

She immediately fell on the ground, sobbing, her head lowered.

“How many?”

“Too many,” replied the innkeeper quickly. “Even for you.”

He undid the lace of his mantle. It would hinder him in the impending fight.

“We'll see. Hide,” he said to the sobbing woman, leaving the kitchen. He left his mantle on the counter, and paid for his uneaten meal.

What a waste of mead.

The blond man grabbed his staff, and extracted a colored vial from one of his pouches. Opening it with only one hand, he swallowed the foul liquid in a single gulp.

As he tossed the empty phial away, he could already feel the fortifying effect of the potion in his body.

Then he noticed that the blind bard just kept on stringing her harp, smiling towards him. The out of place harmonious tune made him suspect her also.

Wait, the song…

Is she one them?

He waited… but sensed nothing from her as she went back to singing the song. Doesn’t matter. He shook his head then opened the door and left the inn. On his sight was a large formation of elven army in their glittering armors, marching and preparing for a battle.

Thalmor.

Thousands of them.

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It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes…

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes…

For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows…

You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come…

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

As he ordered to his mer to surround the inn, Ederion knew something had gone wrong.

If the stupid woman who they had coerced into playing the role of the innkeeper hadn't called them yet, then their target had suspected something. Probably he had killed her; she was expendable after all. The thought of the nords had tried to kill each other made him grin in delight.

That's what Ederion would have done, in his target's place.

Ederion was counted among the youngest Justiciars present in Skyrim, but he was one of the more cunning and dangerous. When he was offered this mission, he accepted without a second thought.

Should he complete it successfully, it would be a great boost to his career and fame.

Following their target in the wilderness without being detected while leading so many soldiers across the borders had been a difficult task. Add also how they had to avoid every Imperial scouts and troops.

But he was just that good.

He was the best of the best, after all. He just displayed that skill and talent by organizing an army that was never detected by border patrols until they arrived at their objective. He organized one of the most intricate and complicated plan on moving an army under the nose of their former enemies.

By Oblivion, history would soon tell about his great achievements in the future. Maybe after he succeeds in here, he would then be promoted as one of the commanders in chief of the Dominion’s army. His legend would soon cover all of the tales of this wretched Dragonborn.

After all, his unit was specifically organized in hunting dragons that flew over the Dominion during the Dragon Crisis.

Their effectiveness had shown itself when they brought ten heads of the dragons into their capital. He was celebrated as the most famous elven dragon slayer in the whole Aldemeri Dominion. Now, they were finally given their most important and dangerous task, to kill the famed "Dragon of the North".

The inn looked like a small box surrounded by countless ants. The various dominion soldiers had barely finished to get into position, when the door to the wooden shed opened.

His soldiers tensed immediately. A shield wall was raised, spears were pointed towards the entrance, staffs were raised, arrows were nocked and ballistas were aimed.

A man left the building, walking like he was just going for a stroll.

Whispers started among the ranks. Even if most of his soldiers under his command were not all veterans, they weren’t green either. But they all had heard the stories of the Dragonborn.

The warrior who had slain dragons, men and mer alike during Skyrim’s Civil War.

The new master of the resurrected Oblivion-be-damned Blades.

The accursed warlock who became a scourge in the Aldmeri Dominion.

And most of all, murdered Admiral-Princess Eldelwen when he sunk her flagship, Cloudgriff with the entire Aldmeri Fleet that was sent to take control of the Northern Skyrim.

In the eyes of mers, the man out there was both a legend and an agent of doom.

But for Ederion who was just looking at the man, considered him a fool, weak man that looked a little more than a tattered vagrant, with a scarred face, with an old armour and a walking stick.

True, he was the Dovahkiin, but he must be getting older now. The man had passed his physical peak at least ten years ago, and with time he would just grow weaker and die like other mortals. A pitiful and worthy fate for the blasted nords.

But still, it was always best to tie up loose ends and be prepared. After all, this Dragonborn had been proven to be quite a threat in the past, and he could possibly keep being one for decades.

The Justiciar was confident that almost all the man’s biggest achievement were just exaggerations. Tales overstated by the bards that seemed to infest this forsaken barbarian country, the most dangerous thing about the man standing before them wasn’t his battle prowess: it was his reputation.

He and his newly reformed Blades represented the single greatest resistance the Aldmeri Dominion had to face since before the Great War, and that would not be tolerated anymore. This dragonborn must have used his cursed Blades to assassinate their beloved princess and picked off the Aldmeri Fleet using some devious means. Afterall, the Blades were known to use this kind of tactics against their targets in the past.

But if his unit will be able to slay the feared Dragonborn, then this will cement themselves as the rightful and true guardians of Tamriel. At least, they would teach these primitive monkeys of that barren frozen lands what is wrong and right.

Ederion raised his hand, ready to give the signal for the archers, mages and ballistas. Today, the Dragonborn’s legend would come to an end.

But as he was savoring the idea of turning the man to a pincushion with only a gesture of his hand, when something that he had never expected happened, which made him hesitate.

The man let go of his staff, who fell on the frozen ground. He remained there, unmoving, looking at the battalions of soldiers in front of him.

Then, slowly, he raised his open palms and placed them behind his head.

Murmurs could be heard among the mer once again, but this time they were caused by shock and surprise.

The Dragonborn was surrendering.

Ederion smirked, signaling to the archers to stand down.

The man knew he could not win here. Not against this many trained soldiers.

Ederion’s mind was abuzz. If he could manage to take that man alive… as his prisoner and back to Alinor in chains…

The glory… he could already feel it.

No.

No, the Dragonborn was too dangerous to be just kept prisoner, and executed into the capital's main plaza.

But the glory could still be his.

After all, what was the difference between taking one of the greatest enemies of the Dominion as a prisoner, and bringing back his head?

He advanced towards the man who had submitted, slowly extracting the sword. The man was just standing there, looking at the ground. Ederion came closer.

He was going to be the one who did it, he was going to be the slayer of the Dragonborn!

“Conrad Harissen,” he spoke, full of righteous glee. “By the authority given to me by the Thalmor, for the crime of being a Talos worshipper, for your multiple aggressions against the Aldmeri Dominion and the murder of Princess—”

“FUS RO!”

With that loud shout, Ederion flew into the air.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Conrad shouted one of his favorite Thu’um then watched the Justiciar soared through the air and finally slammed against the shields of the Thalmor soldiers with a stupefied and pained expression plastered on his face. He could plainly see that he just knocked out the foolish elf.

Sucker.

Too bad the elf hadn’t hit one of those spears.

Conrad quickly knelt, grabbing his fallen staff then avoiding and parrying the few arrows effortlessly that the archers who weren’t completely shocked had managed to shoot.

He’d better find a solution for them. Fast. Those ballistas are now preparing to shoot.

Raising his right hand, he quickly channeled his power, moving his fingers through the necessary phases. Flames flickered between them, caressing his palm.

Various fireballs departed from his extended hand and went to several directions. The first to get struck was the archers, mages and ballistas that were deployed on the higher ground. Being consistently pinned down by barrage of fireballs made these archers and engineers hide behind their mages’ wards. The mages themselves were chosen fron the elite ranks of the Dominion mages, yet they could barely hold their protective wards against the continuous onslaught of fireballs.

Their foot soldiers were not faring well also. Fireballs kept on exploding against the Thalmor’s shield wall. This resulted in dozens of pained screams, dead soldiers, and smoking burnt mer flesh everytime a fiery spell penetrates or melts their metal armors and shields. The hundreds of soldiers in formations were shot by endless fireballs. As they advanced, fire rained upon them. If they try to get out of the formation, they would be vulnerable to stray fireballs as displayed by those who broke ranks in chaos.

Lots and lots of smoke soon covered the battlefield below, which blocked the archers and mages’ line of fire. This gave Conrad a few seconds to formulate another strategy. The operators of the siege engines also hesitated to shoot as they could mistakenly hit their own troops below. It's the same with their mages. Something they started to regret as they actually set this up to easily defend each other just in case the dragonborn attacks them.

But these positions and formations were made specifically against dragons. To be honest, they were not even sure if it would succeed against a single small target, a human target. Their commander however, never took this into consideration.

Running away was not an option. The terrain around the inn was almost completely composed of frozen hills and high rocky woodland cliffs. The salt marshes of the region were too far, and knowing the capabilities of the Thalmor Elites, he would have a hard time running away from them.

Levitation was not an option either because he would have just made himself a flying target, instead of a running one. Those giant bolts from elven ballistas were definitely enchanted to take down large or small flying targets. The army in front of him would more likely chase him whenever he went, seeing how they were able to pass through the boundaries without being detected.

And he doesn't want to bring more chaos to Skyrim as it is now. He has to bury this army below the cold ground.

To fight was the only choice he had.

To annihilate was his only option.

If it’s the battle they want then he will give them a massacre instead.

Conrad planted his staff on the ground with great force to make it stand on its own. The staff started raining fireballs on the targets he had designated to be bombarded. It will continue casting spells until the magicka he had stored inside it, empties itself. Then he prepared for another spell as his staff covered for him.

Arrows sailed over his head, but he kept on moving, still half-crouched.

With precise movements of his free hand, he twisted the very fabric of reality for a brief moment, summoning hundreds of allies from a different plane of existence. Beings made of flames, its form vaguely feminine, materialized besides him. They were hovering a foot above the ground, looking at Conrad with anticipation, waiting for their master’s instructions.

“Kill everyone on those hills!” Conrad yelled. "Leave none alive!"

The fire atronachs departed immediately, unleashing a jet of flaming fury against the mages and archers above.

Getting up, he used the few recuperated energies to weave a defensive barrier around his body. Once the protection was set, he sprinted towards the Thalmor’s barely-visible lines, taking his two axes from his belt. Leaving his staff, still shooting spells.

He emerged from the smoke, right in front of an Altmer who clumsy attempted to stab him with his spear. A simple spin, and the charging Dragonborn knocked the weapon away with his right axe, driving the blade of his weapon deep inside the elf’s unprotected neck.

The soldier died almost instantly, and with a twist of his right hand he freed the weapon, sending the corpse slamming into his comrades’ ranks. He threw his other axe horizontally with inhuman force which left dismembered and bleeding stumps of headless bodies in its wake.

He pressed on, breaking the skull of a shocked Thalmor with another swing, splitting his helm in two. He did a hastened pirouette to side-step the lunge of his enraged companion, while channeling his power into the right hand then shooting a hail of lightning into the spearmen—err, spearmer.

They fell, fuming from the joints of their armours, still twitching even after their death by electrocution.

The confusion among the Thalmor soldiers was bloody hilarious.

Too bad it didn’t last for long.

Conrad ducked, feeling a broadsword cutting the air above him, where his head had been a split-second ago. He lunged the sturdy oaken staff in the middle of the warrior’s legs, and twisted, tripping him and making him fall on the ground on his back.

Before the elf could even try to get up, Conrad had already brutally struck his chest with his axe three times.

“Is this all you've got?!!!” he questioned as he dislodged the weapon from the fallen’s rib cage, grinning at the golden-plated soldiers that were surrounding him.

The response he received was an arrow that would have hit him in the chest, hadn’t it been stopped by the magical protection around him. A faint flash of light, and the projectile bounced harmlessly on the ground.

He couldn't afford to stay in the open, but in the middle of a mass of melee, even the Thalmor would not risk to hit one of their own.

And when he felt that the dead was already enough, he used one of the Thalmor's hated spells.

Necromancy.

He casted his spell with a heavy stomp on the ground. Something that he learned to cast with his feet from a certain undead dragon and undead grumpy grandma.

This action sent ground shaking waves to the surroundings.

And with each dead corpse it passed; fresh, rotting or decayed, below or above ground… woke up with feral aggression to the living. The dead people, beasts and creatures immediately rose from their slumbering state and mindlessly leapt to the fray. Even the dead casualties of Thalmor soldiers weren’t spared as after they opened their already purple eyes, they immediately attacked their former allies.

Apparently, there are thousands of long buried dead soldiers of unknown origins on these grounds that as soon they broke the ground open with their decaying hands, weapons and shields, they also rushed to attack the terrified Thalmor. The well-disciplined army soon erupted into a chaotic "a man for himself" fight when they found themselves surrounded with the waves of undead.

Conjuring legions of daedra and hordes of undead after that volley of fireballs had taken its toll on his magicka reserves but he could already feel the effects of the potion and his enchanted equipments, refilling his spent mystical energy steadily. It would not take long until more dead dominion soldiers joined his undead ranks.

After hours of massacre, the Dominion were now on retreat, trying to establish rearguard actions as they try to regroup.

Then suddenly a mighty loud sound of explosion on the sky was heard. He looked above and saw rainbow colored signal beacon on the clouds. Conrad searched the edge of his vision for its meaning and there he saw, hidden by the hills. A new army emerged.

Elven reinforcements. Clad with full plate armors and high banners. Conrad thought again on how were they able to pass the imperial borders.

“Reinforcements!” one of the elves screamed in desperate glee. But was immediate cut down before he could scream another word by the undead sabertooth. His effort to raise the morale of his fellow overran elves had failed. By the time their reinforcements arrived in clear view, few hundred stragglers from the first army were limping just to escape the undead horde. Among them was the unconscious elven commander who was saved and carried by his adjutants.

Conrad decided not to pursue and reformed his undead army. Newly added in their ranks were the fresh casualties of the Dominion soldiers. This was his second time in raising such large undead. The first one was when he besieged Windhelm from the Stormcloaks.

He laughed at his situation. Now, he looked like a villain of every bard’s tales that are trying to take over the world.

Mannimarco would be proud… wait, he was an elf…err nevermind.

The newly arrived dominion forces formed ranks as they watched how their fellowmen that was left behind were still being brutally cut down. They don’t have to wait long as silence soon followed on the former formation of the first army. Even the archers and mages on the hills and cliffs were finally killed off by the fire atronachs and undead. Then came back as members of the undead horde.

Both sides faced each other in silence for several seconds. Staring, glaring and growling.

But echoing slowly, the Dominion forces heard a loud thumping of feet.

It slowly increased in volume and numbers as it was followed by thousands of beating sound.

The undead corpses were stomping their feet and hitting their chest. Making a loud war chant. It lasted for several seconds before a mighty battle cry echoed in the air which was then followed by a shrieking screams of the dead. Then the horde charged.

Conrad was leading his undead and daedric army towards his enemies that were waiting for him not far away, spears raised, swords drawn and shields forward. The elves with their glittering shining armor, stood their ground. The undead and flaming legions of hell rushed alongside the Dragonborn. Anyone who would see this sight would think this was a great battle between good and evil. Something that made him smirk at such thought as both him and the Thalmors were neither.

As he goes nearer the shield wall, he waited until the last instant, then he shouted again.

“FUS RO DA!”

The blast of the Unrelenting Force opened a wide hole in the middle of their phalanx formation. Sending hundreds of soldiers from the front flying backwards as the thu’um continued to punch through their lines. With this, they became an easy prey for the undead that came upon them.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin

(Dragonborn, Dragonborn)

Naal ok zin los vahriin

(By his honor is sworn)

Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!

(To keep evil forever at bay!)

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

A loud explosion, or maybe a series of explosion in close succession, was the first thing he heard clearly that woke him up and was able to breathe normally again. He was lying on the ground, on a makeshift bed.

Ederion had almost lost his life from the impact against the soldiers under his command, and was suffering from pain on his whole back.

“Have the archers and mages continue their bombardment on the center! Prepare those ballistas!” he heard several panicking screams around him.

Groaning in pain—something that ashamed him greatly—he rolled on his flank, trying to get a better footing.

“Commander Ederion finally woke up!” a mer mage took one of his arms and helped him stand.

The elf commander looked around. He had lost his sword during his unexpected flight, and he hated being unarmed in a dangerous situation. But his blade was not what he found, searching around from where he was laying.

“Where’s my sword?”

“We apologize but it seems we lost it when you were attacked by the Dragonborn.”

“How was the situation?” He still have headaches and pain on his back, struggling to keep himself from fainting.

But then, something else answered him. What he saw instead was a massacre, undead and summoned creatures were just slaughtering good third of his soldiers without minding their own loss. From the banners he saw, he can assume that this was already the hidden reinforcements he brought. This can only mean that during the time when he was unconscious, the first division that he had arranged first were defeated.

How was this possible? The men he brought wasn't even newly recruited, but were mostly veterans of the previous war with the Empire. Was it that difficult for those incompetents fools to kill a simple human?!

He should have previously ordered to bring him down with multiple volleys of arrows and spells. Wait… it was my fault, I let my ego get over my judgement and tried to take the Dragonborn myself earlier…

Ederion suddenly felt weak on his knees and almost buckled to the ground. But the Justiciar felt someone grabbing his arm, and pulling him up. Sparing it a glance, he recognized one of his trusted battlemages.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted as he slapped away the armored hand. “Prepare the magical bombardments! I will lead a charge and lure the bastard!”

The battlemages looked at each other, hesitantly. Their response to his orders forced him to wake from dizziness.

“Forgive me, commander. But shouldn’t we try to eliminate the target w—”

“Shut up and just send my orders! Issue the Formation Travian!” He yelled as he grabbed a spare horse and took the sword from his adjutant. “Men! On me!”

From the safety of the hill, he jumped. Followed by his trusted battlemages. They pushed through the waves of undead. Then he saw the accursed frost ape at a distance.

“Mages! DO IT NOW!” he snapped, almost frothing in his frustration from their inaction even after he raised his signal.

Intimidated by his sudden raise of voice, the elite spellcasters above, unsheathed their weapons. They were situated on a high hill which gave them good view of the battleground. They sent signals by magical flares to the soldiers below. The battlemages that was waiting earlier spilled out in a fan formation amidst the undead horde. Their charge was a solid line of metal and magic, cutting down the daedra and infernal dead that comes.

The mages now aimed their ballistas and staffs at the same target.

“I DON’T CARE IF YOU HIT ME OR OTHERS! JUST FUCKING SHOOT! SHOW THAT LIZARD SPAWN THE MIGHT OF THE DOMINION!! DEATH WITH HONOR!” Ederion ordered while raising the fallen banner he had took.

“DEATH WITH HONOR!!” With newfound morale, his soldiers echoed.

Then when they finally found their target amidst their soldiers, a large artillery full of arrows, destruction spells and enchanted bolts from ballistas rained on the location. Killing most of their men but at least on their view, hitting also the accursed dragonborn. The destruction was so great that it caused massive explosions on their targeted location.

Ederion grinned and was about to order another volley to shoot when they heard a loud shout.

"MUL QAH!"

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Ahrk fin norok paal graan

(And the fiercest foes rout)

Fod nust hon zindro zaan

(When they hear triumph's shout)

Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!

(Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!)

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Massive discharge of pure energy exploded where the Dragonborn was last seen. The clouds above broke open, sending a large destructive lightning on his location. The soldiers, undead and daedra nearby were blasted away by the powerful wave. A large sphere of lightning and blue fire appeared and quickly grew in sized. Then indiscriminately razed the surroundings as it widened. Ederion and the Dominion soldiers who saw this immediately tried to evacuate ran into safety.

Was the dragonborn attempting to cast a suicidal spell?

Even the archers and mages that were positioned themselves on the safety of the cliffs, vacated. When Ederion was finally at a safe distance, he had to cover and close his eyes on such unforeseen and mysterious event.

This was their first time to see such thing happen. And as the bright light faded as quickly as it landed on the ground, what appeared next on these Thalmor’s eyes was extremely difficult to believe. Ederion himself could barely believe his own eyes.

A part of him started to realize why the songs portrayed the Dragonborn as someone able to do such mythical level of feats, and he had to see on his own the human’s battle prowess.

Not because the Nord had made short work of everyone who had tried to bring him down so far.

But because now...now it looked like a dragon had descended itself upon them.

Not like the dragons they hunted and taken as prizes.

Not like the dragons they struggled to defeat and ultimately failed to slay.

Not like the dragons that was told on the bards and spies.

This one made the size of the dragons they encountered, smaller in comparison.

It’s three times larger, crawled on its four large claws, and four great wings. Another big difference was that, instead of reptilian scales or fur and body of flesh, this one has a body of blue and golden colored of pure energy.

The creature known as Dragonborn.

Ederion slowly felt his sanity disappearing and finally laughed cheerfully at this situation. He was laughing at how the tales of the bards were actually mistaken.

Their songs didn't do justice upon what he had witnessed in the next few hours. With just a single breathe of pure lightning, the entire elite battlemages he brought, fell like wheat from a sickle. Anyone that was passed by the attack didn’t just turn into ashes, they disappeared, along with their armor and weapons.

The dragon in front of them then unleashed another powerful, concentrated and densed breathe of energy from its jaws. Hitting the formations of dominion soldiers. The result was catastrophic. Anything that was struck by it, exploded into nothingness, leaving only large craters of burning white fire and stench of death.

Suddenly, the surroundings started gathering towards the dragon, it’s as if it was sucking everyone around it. Its four wings spread wide, making a whirlpool of black smoke and white fire. Ederion struck his blade to the ground just to keep himself from being swallowed by the pulling force.

Then he noticed hundreds– no, thousands of mer silhouettes, they were made up of shadows, but their desperate cries of trying to cling to the dead bodies made him realize that they were souls of his dead mers. The dragon was swallowing every soul of the dead on this battlefield. He even heard the shrieking cries for help of these mers when they saw him.

“Help me!” “Help us!”

Their attempts however failed as all of them were pulled into the swirling abysmal monster.

Then when there was nothing left to swallow, the dragon stopped and instantly released an unrestrained dark energy around him. It looks like a massive rainfall of dark colored wave and fireballs, causing death and destruction. When Ederion was helplessly struck by the dark wave, he felt exhaustion and the slow removal of his life from his body. He looked at his hands and saw that he was quickly aging.

That was not a man.

It was a monster.

No wonder the dragons, whom men and mer feared for ages, feared the beings called dragonborn. And he had just witnessed their true power.

Then a shadow loomed over him. It was his trusted battlemage, but he was missing half of his face. His open head is showing the healthy but ruined brain inside it. Something that made Ederion immediately understood his situation.

He just smiled in his despair like a madman and waited his incoming death.

"Fuck." This is the last word he uttered before disappearing into the void.

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For the king!

For the king!

For the sake of Skyrim!

For our life!

For our home!

For Hrothgar's blood!

For the Nords and for the Gods!

As the Lastborn son!

Dovahkiin, our King!

Who'll dawn with fire!

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

In the quiet burning battlefield, no one was left standing except the walking undead and the flaming daedra. But soon one by one, they slowly disappear. Returning their respective havens. The atronachs wilted in red flames and faded while the undead fell to the ground like puppets who had their strings been cut.

Their summoner himself, was sleeping.

Quietly and softly on the deep pool of blood from his enemies and surrounded by embers of white fire.

Then someone else was walking towards him. Carrying a harp and the former staff that he had struck earlier outside the inn. She was very careful on not to use too much on the Dragonborn that could be traced or sensed by the Princes.

This person lowered herself and crouched. It was the bard that sung him a song. She touched his forehead and said in murmurs. This would be the beginning of the coalescence of both worlds.

“What was separated will always be reunited...”

Her warm hazy white eyes, looked at the darkening sky. Night is coming. The moons were now slowly coming into view. And she looked at it with longing.