Metalborn in Skyrim

The wind roared as Kael ascended the long, narrow bridge that connected the College of Winterhold to the outside world. The structure loomed before him—an ancient fortress of knowledge, its towering spires silhouetted against the frigid sky. Snowflakes danced in the air, carried by the relentless winds that howled across the Sea of Ghosts below. The atmosphere felt charged, as though the very air crackled with residual magic.

With each step, he took in the grandeur of the College, its vast stone walls resisting the elements with an almost defiant air. The bridge itself seemed impossible—too narrow, too fragile against the icy cliffs it stretched over—but it held, just as it had for centuries. The sensation of walking toward something momentous settled deep in his chest. Here, within these walls, lay knowledge, secrets, and power that could shape the course of his journey.

At the entrance, a robed figure stood like a sentinel, waiting for him. A woman, her expression impassive but sharp-eyed, studying him before he even reached her.

"State your purpose," she commanded, her voice steady despite the wind.

Kael met her gaze evenly. "I want to learn."

Faralda, as he would later come to know her, arched a delicate brow. "Then prove it. Only those who show magical aptitude may enter."

Kael hesitated. He knew what was expected—a display of traditional spellcasting, a demonstration of flames or frost, of alteration or conjuration. But he had never cast a proper spell in his life. His power worked differently, drawn from metals and intent rather than words and gestures. His fingers twitched at his side.

He considered his options. Lying wasn't an option—he doubted he could bluff his way past a seasoned mage. He could turn away, return when he had learned some rudimentary spell, but the thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He hadn't come all this way to be denied at the first step.

Then, an idea formed. A risky one.

Slowly, he burned brass, tapping into his emotional Allomancy. A subtle push—not overwhelming, not dominating, just enough to tip the balance, to nudge her curiosity, maybe even admiration. It was like pressing against the edges of her thoughts, planting a seed of interest in his presence, in his potential.

Her expression flickered. It was subtle, a momentary widening of the eyes, a slight parting of the lips, before she caught herself and frowned. Her fingers twitched, as though she had sensed something but couldn't quite grasp what.

"What did you just do?" Her tone sharpened, suspicion creeping into her words.

Kael hesitated for a fraction of a second, then made his choice. Instead of answering, he reached deeper into his reserves, burning the allomantic metal he had kept in reserve for emergencies. Voidiron.

The moment the metal flared within him, the world darkened. Shadows stretched unnaturally, coiling toward him like living tendrils. The dim twilight of Winterhold's skies became even murkier as darkness condensed around him, wrapping him in an almost ethereal shroud. The effect was immediate and undeniable—Faralda's eyes widened, and her breath hitched. To her, it must have seemed as though he had simply disappeared, his figure melting into the gloom, becoming one with the darkness itself.

Kael took a step forward, his form barely discernible, even to himself. The cold air around him felt heavier, as though the very concept of light struggled to reach where he stood. He was still there, but veiled, obscured by the manipulation of darkness itself. A zone of near-invisibility surrounded him, shadows folding into his presence as if the world itself refused to acknowledge his existence.

Faralda took an involuntary step back, her hand tightening around her staff. Her instincts screamed at her, but she hesitated, uncertainty warring with her years of magical training. No spell she knew could do this—not illusion, not alteration, not even shadow magic taught by the most clandestine of mages. This was something else.

Then, with a flicker of his will, Kael let go of the metal's power, and the darkness dispersed, retreating like a receding tide. The cold, pale light of the Winterhold evening returned, and Kael stood there once more, as solid and real as ever.

Faralda's reaction was immediate. She stepped back, eyes narrowing, one hand still gripping the hilt of a dagger at her waist. "What magic is that?" she demanded, irritation and wariness replacing her fleeting admiration. "I sensed no casting, no signs of a spell."

Kael let the darkness dissipate fully, tilting his head. "Magic comes in many forms."

Faralda stared at him, her eyes scanning him like she was trying to unravel a puzzle. She had likely tested hundreds of students before him, most eager to conjure a flame or an arcane bolt to prove their worth. But he had done something else entirely, something she couldn't immediately categorize. And that made her uneasy.

The silence stretched between them, tension thick in the air. He half-expected her to refuse him entry then and there, to turn him away for his unorthodox display.

Then she exhaled sharply and shook her head. "Fine," she said at last. "I don't know what you just did, but you've got power. That much is clear."

She stepped aside, but not before leveling him with a warning glance. "But listen well—magic is studied here, not wielded recklessly. Whatever that was, keep it to yourself unless you want half the instructors watching you like a potential threat."

Kael nodded. "Understood."

She hesitated for just a moment longer before motioning toward the doors behind her. "Welcome to the College of Winterhold."

Kael stepped past her, entering the threshold of the College. As the heavy doors shut behind him, he felt something settle in his chest—a strange mixture of accomplishment and anticipation.

Kael stepped through the main gates of the College of Winterhold, his boots crunching against the frost-laced stone. The cold air bit at his exposed skin, but he barely noticed it. His eyes were too busy drinking in the sight before him.

The College was massive.

He had heard the stories, of course. Every aspiring mage, scholar, or traveler who passed through Skyrim knew of this place. An institution shrouded in history, power, and mystery. But no amount of tales could have prepared him for the true scale of it. Towering structures of ancient stone rose toward the sky, their surfaces carved with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with magical energy. The halls stretched outward, their weathered yet resilient foundations standing in defiance of the elements.

Students bustled about the grounds, their robes billowing as they hurried to and from the various buildings. Some walked alone, deep in thought, while others spoke animatedly, engaged in discussions about spells, alchemical concoctions, or theoretical applications of magic. The air thrummed with energy—an undercurrent of arcane power that seeped from the very stones of the College.

Kael exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the frigid air. This was it. The culmination of his journey. He had made it past the bridge, past Faralda's scrutiny, past the daunting entrance exam. He was officially a student of the College of Winterhold.

Before he could take another step, a voice called out to him.

"You there. Are you a new student?"

Kael turned to see a woman approaching him. She wore a long, elegant robe of deep blue, embroidered with silver patterns that shimmered subtly in the cold light. Her posture was upright, her expression composed, though there was a sharpness in her gaze that suggested she missed very little.

"Yes," Kael replied, standing a little straighter. "I passed the test on the bridge."

The woman studied him for a moment before giving a slight nod. "Good. My name is Mirabelle Ervine. I am the Master Wizard and oversee new arrivals to the College. Consider me your guide for now."

Kael inclined his head respectfully. "It's an honor, Master Wizard."

Mirabelle waved a hand dismissively. "Titles are secondary. What matters is that you have been accepted. Now, follow me. I'll give you a brief tour before you get settled in."

She turned and began walking at a steady pace, and Kael hurried to follow.

As they moved through the College grounds, Mirabelle gestured toward the various buildings. "This is the Hall of the Elements," she said, pointing to a grand structure at the heart of the College. "Most of your major lectures and practical lessons will be held here. It is the heart of our studies, where mages gather to refine their skills."

Kael followed her gaze, taking in the grand, towering hall. Arched entryways framed the entrance, glowing faintly with runic inscriptions. He could almost hear the echoes of past lessons, the whispers of ancient spells lingering in the air.

"Beyond that is the Arcanaeum," Mirabelle continued. "Our library, home to a vast collection of magical tomes and historical texts. If knowledge is what you seek, you will find no better place in Skyrim."

Kael's eyes widened slightly. He had always been drawn to knowledge—the promise of unlocking secrets that lay just beyond reach. The Arcanaeum sounded like a place he would be spending a great deal of time.

They moved on, weaving through groups of students. Some were practicing spells, conjuring small flames or manipulating streams of ice. Others were engaged in animated discussions, debating the finer points of magical theory. The sheer variety of talent and focus was astounding.

Mirabelle led him further into the College grounds. "These halls you see are the living quarters for our students and faculty. You'll be assigned a room shortly. Though modest, it will serve as your home while you are here."

Kael nodded, already imagining what his quarters might look like. A place to call his own, even if only for a time, was a luxury he hadn't had in a while.

As they walked, a sudden burst of light flared to their left. Kael turned just in time to see a student lose control of a spell, sending a crackling arc of energy into the air. The young mage yelped, stumbling back as the spell dissipated. His peers laughed, though not unkindly.

Mirabelle barely glanced over. "Mistakes are common here. Magic is as much about failure as it is success. But we do expect students to practice responsibly."

Kael smirked slightly. He had made his own share of mistakes when training his abilities. It was reassuring to see that even here, among scholars and experts, errors were still a natural part of learning.

Mirabelle finally came to a stop near another structure. "This is the Hall of Attainment, where you'll be staying. Rooms are assigned based on seniority, but don't worry—even new students have comfortable accommodations." She turned to face him fully. "Do you have any questions so far?"

Kael considered for a moment before shaking his head. "Not yet. I'm sure I'll have plenty once I start my studies."

Mirabelle gave him a small smile. "Good. Curiosity will serve you well here. Now, let's get you settled in."

She led him inside the Hall of Attainment, where he was assigned a modest yet comfortable room. A simple bed, a desk for study, and a small chest for personal belongings. It wasn't grand, but it was his.

As he set his pack down, he let out a slow breath. He had made it. 

Before Mirabelle left, she turned to Kael with one final note. "One more thing. Tuition at the College is 500 septims every six-month term. You can either pay outright or earn your tuition by completing tasks and missions for the College. However," she added with a pointed look, "the Archmage requires all students to complete at least one mission for the College within a month after their first term. Consider it part of your education."