Metalborn in Skyrim

The road north was unforgiving. The snowdrifts deepened, and the wind howled like a wounded beast, biting at Kael's exposed skin. He pressed forward, burning pewter to keep the cold at bay. His boots crunched through frost-laden ground, his breath curling in the frigid air. Skyrim's northern lands were bleak, harsh, and unrelenting. But even in this frozen desolation, something stood tall against the icy winds.

A colossal black-stone monument loomed in the distance, its silhouette cutting through the sky like a blade. The Shrine of Azura.

Kael had heard of it before—a sacred site dedicated to the Daedric Prince of Fate and Twilight. Unlike the chaos and destruction of Mehrunes Dagon, Azura was said to weave the threads of destiny itself. He wasn't sure what drew him toward it, but his feet carried him forward regardless.

As he approached, the massive statue of Azura towered over him, arms outstretched, gazing eternally at the horizon. A single robed figure knelt before the shrine, her silver hair gleaming in the cold light. As if sensing his presence, she rose and turned to face him. Her violet eyes met his with a gaze both piercing and knowing.

"You walk a path few dare tread," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. "You have been touched by forces beyond mortal understanding."

Kael hesitated. "I don't believe in fate."

The priestess—Aranea Ienith, he realized—smiled faintly. "Belief is irrelevant to fate. It moves, regardless of our wishes."

Kael crossed his arms. "Then you already know why I'm here?"

She studied him carefully before nodding. "Not in full. But I have seen you. Azura grants me visions, and yours was… unlike any I have received in many years. Only once before has her voice been so clear."

Kael frowned. "And what did she show you?"

Aranea turned, placing a hand against the shrine's smooth stone surface. "A man stood at a crossroads, with a burning crown in one hand and an olive branch in the other. Shadows moved at his feet, reaching, writhing. Some knelt, others clawed at him, whispering words he could not hear. Above, a storm churned, its eye fixed upon him, waiting."

Kael narrowed his eyes. "And what choice did he make?"

She shook her head. "The vision ended before the answer came. In one path, the crown was placed upon his brow, and the world wept in flame. In another, the branch was extended, and the storm whispered no more."

Kael exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air. "So you don't have an answer for me. Just more riddles."

Aranea's gaze softened. "A warning is a gift, not a riddle. There was another, not long ago, who received such a vision. He cleansed Azura's Star of its corruption, restoring it to its true purpose. He, too, was given a choice."

Kael looked up at the statue's eternal gaze. "And what happened to him?"

Aranea hesitated. "He made his choice. And the world was shaped by it. Just as it will be shaped by yours."

With more questions than answers, Kael continued his journey. 

As he pressed further through the frozen wilds, he came upon the crumbling remains of an ancient ruin. Its walls, though weathered and cracked, still stood defiantly against the passage of time. Something about the place felt… wrong.

A flickering light shone from within one of the collapsed towers.

Curious, Kael approached cautiously, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. When he stepped inside, he was met with the scent of burnt parchment and old incense. A lone figure sat hunched over a stack of books, muttering to himself. The man, clad in tattered robes, looked up, revealing hollow eyes and a face lined with age and regret.

"A traveler?" the mage rasped. "Or another fool seeking power?"

Kael raised an eyebrow. "I seek neither. Just passing through."

The mage chuckled darkly. "That's what they all say. But tell me—how much do you know of Daedra?"

Kael studied the man. "Enough to know their power comes at a cost."

The mage's eyes glinted. "And yet, you carry their touch. I can see it in your aura. The way the world bends ever so slightly around you."

Kael stiffened. "Who are you?"

"Once, I was a scholar of the College," the mage admitted. "I sought to understand the nature of Daedric magic. To harness it, shape it, control it. But the College cast me out. Called my work heresy."

Kael frowned. "Because you delved too deep?"

"Because I learned the truth," the mage said, voice bitter. "No mortal defies a Daedric Prince without consequence. Not forever. They watch. They wait. And when the time is right… they collect."

Kael's fingers tightened. "You're saying I'm already doomed."

The mage laughed dryly. "I'm saying… you should be careful."

Kael stayed only long enough to hear the mage's warning. Then, without another word, he left the ruins behind.

The icy wind bit at his skin as he moved through the skeletal remains of the ancient structure. Though the mage's words lingered in his mind, he forced himself to focus on the path ahead. Yet something in the air felt heavier, charged with an unseen presence. It wasn't just the weight of the mage's warning—something else watched from the shadows.

A whispering wind slithered through the ruins, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and something faintly metallic. Kael's instincts screamed at him. He pivoted just in time to see a figure emerging from the darkness—a shade, its body wreathed in black mist, its hollow eyes glowing faintly like embers.

Kael drew his sword, but the moment he did, the shade vanished, its form dissipating like smoke. A cruel laugh echoed through the ruins, reverberating off the stone walls.

"Caution will not save you," a voice murmured, disembodied yet pressing against his mind like a weight. "You already walk the path."

Kael spun, searching for the source, but the ruins remained empty. He exhaled sharply, sheathing his blade. Whether this was some lingering effect of the mage's presence or Dagon's influence, he couldn't say. But the warning had become more than just words—it was a presence, a promise.

Pushing forward, he forced himself to leave the ruins behind, but the sense of being followed never quite left him. Each step felt heavier, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down upon him.

——————————————————

By the time Kael reached Winterhold, the sky was dark with rolling clouds, the air thick with the promise of a storm. The village was small, barely clinging to the cliffside, its buildings huddled together like weary survivors.

But there was tension in the air.

People cast wary glances at the College looming overhead, its grand spires untouched by time, yet tainted by recent disaster. The explosion that had taken the life of the previous Archmage had been contained within its walls, but the scars it left on Winterhold's people ran deep. A month had passed since the magical anomalies tore through the town, yet fear still held its grip.

Kael pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he walked toward the Frozen Hearth Inn. The dim glow of lanterns flickered through frost-covered windows, and the murmur of hushed voices seeped into the cold night air. When he stepped inside, the warmth of the fire wrapped around him, but it did little to ease the unease settling in his chest.

Conversations faltered as he entered. A handful of patrons turned to eye him, their expressions ranging from suspicion to outright hostility. Kael had seen looks like these before. Skyrim had never been welcoming to outsiders, and magic was an unwelcome guest at the best of times. 

He moved toward the hearth, pulling out a chair at an empty table. He caught snatches of murmured conversations as he settled in, listening carefully.

"…damn mages. Always bringing ruin." "…the Thalmor were involved, I swear it." "…could be Daedra. Could be worse."

Kael exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together as he took in the atmosphere. The air was thick with resentment, but beneath it, there was something else—fear. The kind that lingered in people who had seen too much, lost too much.

A grizzled Nord sitting nearby turned toward him with a scoff. His beard was flecked with grey, his eyes sharp despite the ale on his breath. "Another outsider? You here to meddle with things you don't understand too?"

Kael met his gaze evenly. "I'm here to learn."

The Nord snorted. "Then I hope you learn quickly—because whatever those mages at the College are playing with, it's gonna get us all killed."

Another voice, smoother and quieter, spoke from the shadows of the inn. "That depends on what exactly they're playing with, doesn't it?"

Kael turned toward the speaker—a Dunmer woman in a dark cloak, her red eyes glinting in the firelight. She leaned against the bar, a tankard in her hand, her expression unreadable.

The Nord sneered. "And what would you know about it, elf?"

She took a slow sip before answering. "Enough to know that fear makes men blind. And blind men make dangerous choices."

The tension in the room thickened, but Kael wasn't interested in starting a fight. He turned back to the fire, letting the warmth seep into his bones. "What happened here? I've heard the rumors, but I want the truth."

The Nord scoffed. "The truth? The truth is that we were nearly wiped out. A month ago, the sky tore open, and magic went wild. We saw things—creatures that shouldn't exist, shadows that moved on their own."

His voice grew rougher, his hands clenching into fists. "People died that night. Not just a few, either. We fought back the best we could, but what are steel and fire against something that doesn't bleed? Gunnar, old Bera, the boy Alrik… all gone. Torn apart by things none of us could even understand."

The Dunmer woman set her tankard down with a quiet thunk. "They did fix it. But not without cost. The Archmage is dead, and whatever magic they were trying to control left something behind."

Kael frowned. "Something?"

The Nord nodded grimly. "Some of us still hear things at night. See figures moving where there's nothing but snow. I don't care what the College says. That magic didn't just disappear—it's still out there, waiting."

Kael leaned forward. "And the College? What have they done since?"

The Dunmer sighed. "They've closed their gates. Kept to themselves. I doubt even they know what lingers."

Kael sat back, considering their words. He had come to Winterhold seeking knowledge, but now he found himself drawn into something far greater. The College had survived catastrophe, but at what cost? And more importantly—was it truly over?

The fire crackled, casting shifting shadows against the stone walls. Outside, the wind howled, carrying with it the whispers of a town still haunted by what had come before.