The morning mist clung low over the tiny village of Riverwood like a blanket reluctant to leave the bed. The sun had only just begun to climb past the treetops, casting everything in that pale gold hue. Got to say, it's quite a beautiful sight—even the mud looked poetic in this atmosphere.
Kaela and I stood at the village's edge, just before the bridge leading to the road that would take us to Whiterun. Ralof stood before us, ready for his own nature trip. He had decided to go back to Helgen and see if he can meet up with any remaining Stormcloak rebels that escaped before reporting back in Windhelm. His sister, Gerdur, tried to talk him out of it but he seems quite hellbent on doing the task.
The scent of dew, pine, and faint woodsmoke mixed in the air. A breeze rolled by, cool and damp, brushing against the back of my neck like an intrusive thought.
I hated how peaceful it was.
Ralof adjusted the straps on his pack with that same grim focus he wore while gutting Imperials. He hadn't said much since breakfast. Likely didn't know what to say to the mage who bit a man's finger off and fried another alive in a cage. Understandable. Would've acted the same in his shoes.
He looked over at me, brow furrowed. "You know, I just realized… I don't even know your name."
Kaela turned toward me, blinking. "Huh. That's true. I've just been calling you Sparkler in my head."
"Charming," I said, suppressing the urge to sigh. "Here I thought we'd bonded over shared trauma and battlefield electrocution."
Ralof crossed his arms. "Are you going to give us a real one, or do we keep calling you 'Mage' forever?"
I raised an eyebrow, then offered a small shrug. "Lucen," I said. "Lucen Ardyn. Scholar. Accidental war criminal. Aspiring problem."
Kaela snorted. "Fits."
"Not quite fond of the stereotyping."
"Pleased to finally meet you, apparently," Ralof muttered. Then held out his hand. "Ralof of Riverwood. You probably knew that already but, formalities."
I shook his hand. It was like gripping calloused stone.
He turned to Kaela next. "And you... Well, I still don't know what to make of you."
She gave him a mock salute. "Kaela. Slayer of bears, kicker of skulls."
Ralof chuckled despite himself. "Right. You two are heading to Whiterun?"
I nodded. "That's what your sister told us to do. Dragon business and all."
He shifted his weight. "If you ever get tired of wandering, the Stormcloaks could use people like you. Ulfric values strength... and chaos makes good headlines these days."
Kaela gave a lopsided grin. "I'll think about it. I like killing people."
Somehow, that was the tame of her.
Ralof looked at me.
I met his gaze and tilted my head slightly. "I'll consider it," I said. "If I ever decide to throw my lot in with nationalist rebels, you'll be the first to know."
He didn't seem sure whether I was joking.
We stood there for a moment longer. The wind rustled the trees, and the ambiance of the water flowing down the river established a wonderful scene.
Then Ralof gave a short nod. "Safe travels. May Talos guide you."
"And may your path be relatively corpse-free," I replied, giving a brief wave.
He smirked, turned, and walked down the road without another word.
Kaela stretched her arms over her head, bones cracking audibly. "Whew. That was almost heartfelt."
"Almost," I agreed. "We should go before sentimentality rots my brain."
"Aw, Sparkler," she said, bumping her shoulder against mine as we turned toward Whiterun. "You do care."
"I care about momentum," I replied. "And the fact that if we get caught in a rainstorm because you wanted to flirt with danger, I'm blaming you twice."
She cackled, and the sound carried down the empty road ahead of us as we walked into the direction of Whiterun.
***
We'd been walking for about ten minutes before I realized something was wrong.
The road curved gently through pine-covered hills, the sky above blindingly blue and unfiltered by smog, satellites, or common sense. Birds chirped somewhere in the treetops. A butterfly hovered past Kaela's face. She tried to catch it, missed, and nearly tripped on a rock. I pretended not to notice.
The scenery was… scenic. Picturesque, even.
But Whiterun?
Nowhere in sight.
I frowned. By my rough estimation—based on a few in-game memories and the general rule of "walk twenty minutes, get to town"—we should've at least seen the rooftops by now.
But the road stretched on.
The trees didn't thin.
There was no comforting pop-in of a rendered city on the horizon.
Skyrim had gotten bigger.
Not just in size.
In scale.
And not in the way the game's fast-travel map implied. This wasn't a board game. This was terrain. Contours. Distance. Actual fatigue.
Of course the world expanded. Of course it did. Because being dropped into a fantasy hellscape with dragons wasn't inconvenient enough already.
I rubbed at my temple, calculating quietly.
At this rate, we'd reach Whiterun by midday. Late morning, if Kaela didn't try to pet another wolf. I'd need a horse. A good one. With soft stirrups and a higher pain tolerance than I had patience.
My thoughts were mid-rant when Kaela glanced over at me and broke the silence.
"So, Sparkler." She stretched the word like taffy. Giving her my name had done nothing to stop her from calling me whatever she wants. "What were you doing in that Helgen torture room, anyway?"
I paused.
Ah.
The question.
I kept walking, eyes straight ahead, but my brain kicked into overdrive; churning, molding, twisting reality into something palatable.
Three seconds passed.
Four.
Five.
Then I let out a soft, contemplative hum.
"I'm a Breton," I began slowly, "born in the Summerset Isles. My master—a mage and researcher—took me in when I was young. We relocated to Hammerfell to study ruin sites scattered along the northeastern edge of the Alik'r desert. Dwemer, mostly. Some pre-Ayleid structures. Fascinating stuff."
Kaela raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound Breton."
"That's racism."
She snorted. "Fair."
"And your master?" she asked.
"Dead," I said. "Thalmor. Assassins. One of the ruin sites had… information they didn't want us to find. I escaped. He didn't."
Her expression shifted. Less curious now. More… thoughtful.
"And Helgen?"
"I was captured by an Imperial patrol crossing the border," I said. "They claimed I was a Stormcloak informant. Something about a satchel of false documents planted in my tent. I argued. They didn't care. I was sent to Helgen for interrogation."
Kaela blinked.
Then grinned. "Wow."
She didn't say anything else. Just turned her eyes forward again, walking in silence.
I, meanwhile, exhaled slowly through my nose and mentally gave myself a standing ovation. Full applause. Two thumbs up. A bouquet of flowers and a framed certificate of "Backstory Bullshit Mastery, First Class."
Good job, Lucen.Now let's just hope no one checks the Thalmor's paperwork.
I turned my head slightly to look at her, one brow raised. "And what about you?"
Kaela glanced over like I'd asked her what kind of cheese she liked. "Me?"
"Yes. You. Unless you spawned fully formed out of dragon fire, I assume you also have a past."
She grinned. "I've got a lot of past. Most of it very illegal."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"Let's see…" She tapped her chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Grew up in a hold I didn't like. Ran away. Ended up in a town I liked less. Joined a mercenary gang that liked me a lot. They blew up."
"They blew up?"
She nodded cheerfully. "In a literal sense. Someone tried to rob a mage's caravan. The caravan turned out to be filled with flammable potions. Very educational experience."
"I'm sure the final lesson was explosive."
"Oh, definitely." She pointed ahead with her sword. "After that, I ended up drifting around. Worked in a mead hall for a bit. Accidentally burned it down during a drinking contest."
"Accidentally."
"There were bets involved."
"Of course."
She shrugged. "Eventually I found my way to Helgen. Got bored. Snuck into the keep. Heard shouting. Found Ralof. Found you. You know the rest."
I blinked at her. "You weren't a prisoner?"
"Nope."
"You snuck into a dragon attack?"
She looked genuinely offended. "You say that like it wasn't a great idea."
"Because it wasn't."
"I made new friends, didn't I?"
I can't tell if she's lucky, insane, or some terrifying blend of both.No. Scratch that. I know exactly which one it is.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "One of these days, I'll dissect your brain."
Kaela smirked. "Better do it soon. I'm not making a backup."
That implies that she can. That's horrifying.
***
We crested a gentle rise in the road, the forest thinning just enough for sunlight to spill over the dirt path. Kaela hummed something tuneless beside me, swinging her sword like a metronome for the truly deranged.
I was just about to comment on the uncanny silence of the woods when it shattered like thin glass.
"Drop your packs," a rough voice barked from behind a boulder ahead, "and we won't gut you like rabbits."
I looked up.
Three men stepped out of the trees. Leather armor, ugly faces, weapons drawn.
Bandits.
Of course.
Another two emerged from behind a tree line to our right. One had a war axe. The other had no shoes.
Kaela looked ecstatic.
I sighed. "No negotiation, then?"
The first bandit stepped forward. "Only kind I like involves you bleeding."
Kaela took that as her cue. She charged with an enthusiastic scream that made two of them visibly flinch.
I raised my hand, drawing in a controlled breath. Magicka surged in my chest—not like a scream, but a breath. Rhythmic. I pushed only a portion forward this time.
Lightning snapped to life and struck the closest bandit. He yelped and staggered, dropping his sword. Not dead.
Disappointing.
Another breath, another pulse. I hit him again. This time he collapsed, twitching.
"Moderate success," I muttered. "Not fatal, but sustainable."
Then I felt the tug. That familiar drain. My soul's breath thinning.
"To Oblivion with this."
I dumped my Magicka into the next burst, hand crackling with white-hot energy. The next bandit screamed as his ribs lit up from the inside, collapsing in a twitching heap.
Another came for me with a dagger. I ducked under his swing and jammed my palm into his chest. Sparks erupted. He flailed backward, smoking.
I staggered a step, pulse fluttering in my ears. Dizziness hovered at the edge of my vision, but I caught it. Managed to breathe through it.
Kaela, meanwhile, had already dismembered two of them.
One had been cut clean through at the waist. The other was missing an arm and a jaw. She laughed like it was a game.
By the time the last bandit turned to run, Kaela threw her sword like a javelin. It caught him in the back.
"I was starting to worry they'd put up a fight," she muttered, retrieving it from his spine.
I sat down on a nearby rock, checking the gash on my left arm. Shallow, but bleeding.
Kaela noticed. "Aw, poor Sparkler. Did the mean bandits scratch you?"
"Mock me again and I'll test lightning conductivity on your armor."
Still, the wound throbbed.
I took a slow breath and placed my hand over it, channeling the Healing spell. Not to the flesh, but through it.
Golden light bloomed beneath my palm. The skin knit together, slowly at first, then with increasing confidence. I could feel the process. Not just pain fading—but connection reestablishing. Reinforcement. The rhythm.
It's not fixing the body.It's reminding it what it's supposed to be.And guiding it back.
My eyes narrowed.
If I can guide the body back… why not the breath?
"Lucen?"
Kaela's voice yanked me back to reality.
Then I heard it too.
A distant roar. Deep. Vibrating. Not a dragon.
Kaela's eyes lit up. "Was that a giant?"
"Kaela, don't—"
Too late.
She squealed—actually squealed—and darted off the road, sprinting toward the treeline like a murder-hungry missile.
"By the Nine…" I stood, groaning. "She's going to die of joy long before I get a chance to dissect her."
And I ran after her.
Branches slapped at my face as I forced my way through the treeline, trying to keep up with the red blur that was Kaela.
She ran like she was built for it; sword in hand, laughing, feet barely touching the ground. I, on the other hand, was running like a man whose body was still recovering from magical suffocation, bandit electrocution, and two days without proper sleep.
My lungs burned. My legs screamed. My soul begged for a refund.
By the time I cleared the last of the trees, I nearly tripped over my own boots.
The clearing ahead was chaos.
A towering giant—easily three times my height—was roaring as it swung a massive club toward a group of people already engaged with it. Warriors. Steel and glinting blades. The Companions. Had to be.
And there, in the thick of it, was Kaela.
Sword in both hands, grinning like a lunatic, she launched herself at the giant with zero hesitation. She ducked under the club, slashed the back of its knee, then jumped up and—gods help me—decapitated the thing in a single spin.
The giant's head hit the dirt like a felled tree. Its body followed with a thunderous thud.
I arrived just in time to watch the dust settle.
Kaela stood over the corpse, panting slightly, eyes alight. Her hair was windswept. Her blade was slick with gore. She looked like a living painting dedicated to carnage.
And I was wheezing like an old man who fell down a flight of stairs.
Note to self: improve physical condition. Immediately.
A woman with war paint across her face stepped forward from the group of warriors. Armor worn but clean. Confidence oozing from every movement.
Aela the Huntress.
She looked Kaela up and down with clear approval.
"You fight like a true warrior," she said. "Have you ever considered joining the Companions?"
Kaela tilted her head. "The who?"
"The Companions," Aela repeated, amused. "We hunt, we fight, we protect. Your skill would be more than welcome among us."
Kaela looked thoughtful, then glanced over her shoulder at me as I stumbled up beside her.
I tried to reply, but all that came out was wheezing.
She patted my shoulder with a grin. "He's a bit slow. Missed all the fun."
"I'm going to set you on fire," I gasped.
She beamed. "So, what do you think? Should I join 'em?"
That caught me off guard. I stared at her, then at Aela.
Aela's eyes landed on me now; my robes, my slightly-burnt sleeves, the Restoration tome still poking out of my satchel. Her expression shifted subtly.
"A mage?" she said, tone flattening. "Figures."
I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You don't strike me as the type who believes in real strength. Steel. Blood. Combat."
My eye twitched.
Kaela looked at me, still smiling from the fight, sword slung casually over her shoulder, dripping blood behind her.
"So," she said, "should I join them?"
Aela turned her gaze on me again, as if my opinion actually mattered to her. Which, of course, it didn't—until it threatened to contradict hers.
Fortunately, I just finished heaving.
I folded my arms and let out a slow breath. "No."
Kaela blinked. "No?"
I nodded once. "Absolutely not."
Aela scoffed. "Of course the mage says that."
"Would you like to hear why the mage says that?" I offered politely, before continuing anyway.
"First," I said, turning back to Kaela, "let's break this down by category. Recruitment. These people approached you after seeing you decapitate a giant. No formal testing. No trials. No investigation into your background, mental health, or allegiances. Just—'Wow, you fight good. Want to join our death club?'"
Aela's expression darkened, but I held up a hand.
"Second. Mission structure. The Companions take on jobs ranging from rat extermination to petty feuds to bear punching. Noble, yes. Also disorganized, underfunded, and operating with less oversight than a tavern brawl."
Kaela tilted her head. "So... they freelance?"
"They flail," I corrected. "With swords."
Which, now that I think about it, fits Kaela perfectly. Unfortunately for them, my pettiness doesn't consider logic.
"Third," I continued, "philosophy. They prize physical strength above all else. Intellect, discipline, and magical theory? Irrelevant. If you can't cleave a man in half or scream louder than him, you're worthless. That's not a warrior's guild. That's a particularly aggressive cult with extra steps."
Aela took a step forward, jaw tight.
"I'm not finished," I said, wagging a finger at her in what I hope she considered to be incredibly disdainful. "Fourth. Political alignment. Neutral. Proudly so. They refuse to involve themselves in civil conflict or larger governance, believing it 'beneath them.' Which is convenient when you don't want to be accountable for anything."
Kaela slowly lowered her sword, watching me with faint amusement.
"Fifth," I said, turning just enough to glance at Aela, "their general attitude toward mages—and by extension, knowledge, subtlety, and logic—is deeply suspect. I've been called cowardly, weak, and untrustworthy in the span of three minutes. By people who use their fists to solve wolf infestations."
Aela growled. "We don't need your kind."
"No," I agreed. "Because if you did, you might actually be competent."
Kaela stared at me.
Then turned back to Aela.
"Yeah... no thanks," she said. "I like this one better."
Aela opened her mouth to retort, but Kaela had already grabbed me by the hood and started dragging me backward with terrifying ease.
Kaela turned to me, still smirking. "You really don't like sharing, do you?"
My feet skidded in the dirt.
"Kaela. Kaela, I can walk—"
"You could," she said sweetly. "But this is more fun."
I sighed. Outwardly calm.
Inwardly?
I smiled.
Score one for the nerds.