The morning crept slowly forward as we followed the road westward from Whiterun, the new companions fanned out in a staggered line. Ragar walked with the steady cadence of someone used to weight; of armor, of decisions, of people. Thorgar moved like a shadow, barely audible over the wind, and Lissette followed a few steps behind, her eyes scanning everything like it might insult her if she looked away.
Kaela walked like she owned the dirt beneath her boots.
I walked like I was calculating the surface area of each rock I stubbed my toes on. That would be because I was.
Or at least tried to. Mental math wasn't really my forte.
Then Ragar held up a hand and pointed. "There," he said. "See that break in the trees? That should be the shortcut I heard about. Locals say it leads right up to the Barrow if you follow the incline."
I turned my head and squinted. It was a narrow trail, easy to miss. A faint scar cut into the forest, with overgrowth already creeping in like it was trying to heal the wound civilization made.
Well, good to know that I remembered correctly. The path is indeed here, just significantly different from what I remembered it to look like in the game.
Without thinking too much, I shrugged it off.
The world had grown in scale—more vast and contains elements I've never seen before. There wasn't supposed to be a forest here, but here it was.
Kaela grinned. "You're just full of surprises, Ragar."
He gave a bashful shrug. "Paid two hundred gold for that rumor. Might've been worth it."
Lissette's head turned. Slowly.
"You what."
Ragar scratched the back of his neck. "I mean… it saved us two days' walk? And avoids a nearby giant camp, which I figured you'd like?"
"Did you use our funds?"
"Define 'our'—"
"Did you use party gold?"
Ragar gave her the most sheepish grin I'd ever seen on an orc. It was like watching a troll try to apologize for stepping on your house.
Lissette sighed. "This is why I manage the coin."
Note to self: never share gold with Kaela. Or Ragar. Or anyone. Just marry a vault and die old inside it.
We stepped off the main road and into the trail. The ambiance shifted quickly. Trees huddled close, branches arched overhead like ribs, and the light thinned into speckled silver. Grass gave way to moss, and the dirt beneath our feet was damp and uneven.
I took the lead for once.
"Thorgar," I said, gesturing ahead. "Would you mind scouting the path? Quietly."
The Breton nodded and vanished into the brush like a puff of smoke with an ego problem.
I turned to Ragar and Kaela. "You two up front. Vanguard duty."
"Just the thing I like hearing," Kaela grinned, already striding ahead with the swagger of someone trying to outpace a thunderstorm.
Ragar followed, hammer already loosened from its strap.
Then I turned to Lissette. "Would you mind taking the rear?"
She quirked an eyebrow. "Putting yourself in the safest position, are we?"
"I'm the squishiest person here," I said flatly. "You wouldn't want me dying and taking all the brains with me."
She chuckled. "Point taken."
She moved behind me with the casual grace of someone trained to watch everyone's spine for sudden movements.
It wasn't a perfect formation, but it was functional. And more importantly, it kept the loudest people as far from my ears as possible.
We walked like that for a while.
Thorgar would reappear every so often like a guilt-laced shadow, murmuring things like "nothing ahead" or "dead squirrel to the right" before slinking away again.
The trail narrowed as we ascended. Shrubs grew taller. Trees spaced wider. And slowly, patches of white appeared in the underbrush. Snow.
The foliage thinned with altitude. Cold crept in like a whisper, brushing against our boots and nipping at exposed fingers.
"Look at this," Ragar muttered ahead. "Can't believe it actually exists."
He was right. The trail—barely visible—curved gently up the mountain's lower ridge, a modest dirt path that led toward the Barrow. From this angle, I could just make out the jagged silhouette of the stone structure high above, wrapped in fog and menace.
"Definitely worth the coin," Ragar added.
Lissette huffed behind me. "Still not forgiving you."
"Understood."
Kaela, who'd been humming for the last half hour, suddenly stopped. "Hm?"
Thorgar emerged from the brush again, but his steps were slower now, deliberate. His face was blank, but the tightness around his eyes said enough.
"They're gone," he said.
"Who?" I asked.
"The giants. The ones camped just northeast of here. They're… missing."
That wasn't comforting.
Giants don't migrate. They trample. If they're gone, they've either been wiped out, moved by force, or decided to go sightseeing en masse. All three possibilities were concerning.
Then the ground shook.
Just once.
Then again.
Footsteps. Like thunder trying to whisper.
We turned as a massive shadow detached from a cliff face ahead. A hulking giant, skin like cracked marble, stepped into view with a guttural snort that shook birds loose from the trees. His eyes swept across the clearing.
And landed on us.
"Back!" Ragar barked. "Into the thicket! We'll find a way around—"
But Kaela was already gone.
Of course she was.
The sound of steel slicing through tendon echoed sharp and wet as Kaela's sword cut deep into the back of the giant's leg. It howled and dropped to one knee with the sound of collapsing boulders.
She didn't pause.
She ran up its back like it was a staircase, using her momentum to leap into the air just above its neck.
And then she spun.
Once. Twice. Her blade became a blur.
And she fell like judgment itself.
The giant's head separated from its shoulders in a clean, horrific arc. It hit the ground with a wet thud and rolled once before stopping against a tree. Blood sprayed in thick, arterial bursts, painting the snow in long red fans.
Kaela landed with a light hop, adjusted her gauntlet, and walked back toward us.
Ragar's mouth hung open.
Lissette didn't speak. But her eyes—usually calm—were visibly wider than usual.
Thorgar stared, unmoving. His brow furrowed, but the real tension was in his grip. He hadn't moved a muscle since she jumped.
I sighed.
"You could say something first, you know."
Kaela grinned as she wiped blood off her blade. "Maybe next time."
Ragar blinked. "That was… That was the fastest I've ever seen a giant fall. Gods."
Lissette nodded slowly. "And solo. I've seen warbands struggle to bring one down."
Thorgar just stared at the corpse.
"I… see why the Jarl hired you," Ragar said, stunned.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Let's keep moving. The longer we stay, the more likely its cousins come looking."
The others murmured in agreement, and we resumed our ascent.
If this was the pace Kaela operated at by default, I'd need more Restoration spells and far fewer nerves. Gods help us if she ever drinks skooma.
The path steepened. The snow thickened. And above us, the looming silhouette of Bleak Falls Barrow finally came into full view—ancient, cold, and waiting.
***
Snowfall was gradual at first. thin flakes drifting down like ash from some forgotten pyre. The further we climbed, the more the forest gave way to stone. Trees thinned, gnarled by cold and elevation. The dirt path had hardened beneath our boots into a jagged trail that clung to the mountain's ribs like a parasite pretending to be infrastructure.
We had been hiking for nearly half a day.
Time stretched here, warped by incline and wind. My calves burned. My robes clung with damp weight. Ragar's hammer had picked up a thin coat of frost. Kaela, somehow, remained unaffected. The way she walked—humming, sword bouncing at her hip like an afterthought—you'd think we were strolling through a garden.
How does one woman have this much cardiovascular endurance and this little self-preservation instinct?
Lissette had fallen silent some time ago. Not out of fatigue, I guessed, but focus. She walked with the quiet of someone measuring every tree trunk, every rock outcropping, calculating where an ambush might come from, or how many ways she'd have to kill her way out if it did.
Thorgar was ahead, again. His dark cloak melded with the white-dusted stones, a blur of motion and stillness. He never complained, never asked for rest. Just reported back with terse words like "path ahead bends left," or "fresh tracks, human-sized," and disappeared again.
Professionally paranoid. I respect that.
Kaela broke the silence at one point by pointing at the sky.
"See that ridge?" she said cheerfully. "That's where I suplexed a saber cat earlier. It made a noise like 'hrk!'"
Ragar blinked. "You what?"
Lissette muttered, "...Of course she did."
I did not look up. I did not ask. I simply adjusted my scarf and counted backward from ten.
Eventually, the trees ended. Not thinned, ended. Like a treeline, except crueler. Beyond it, the world opened.
Bleak Falls Barrow revealed itself slowly, like a glacier breaking through the clouds. The mountain sloped downward just enough to give us view. The ruins jutted from the snow like old teeth, wide pillars of black stone, walls that curled inward toward a yawning mouth.
The architecture was unmistakably Nordic, but built on a scale that defied the game version. The columns were the size of towers. The entrance loomed so high that it swallowed light. It looked less like a ruin, and more like a fortress-temple that had been built to challenge the sky.
Ragar whistled low. "Now that's a tomb."
"I've fought in sieges smaller than that," Lissette muttered, shading her eyes.
Kaela cracked her knuckles. "Looks cozy."
I said nothing at first.
Because below us—down the slope of snow-dusted stone—we could see them.
Figures.
Half a dozen, maybe more. Clustered near the front gate. Weapons out. Makeshift campfire burning. Bandits.
I narrowed my eyes. From this distance, they looked like insects. Violent, noisy insects waving steel and shouting in guttural syllables about who gets to eat what and when.
So this is what the "dungeon entrance" looks like now. Not a neat little intro fight. An armed checkpoint on a cursed ruin the size of a temple. Makes sense.
Lissette crouched beside a rock, frowning. "Looks like eight. Maybe nine. Armed. Not idiots either, they've built cover."
Thorgar reappeared from the ridge behind her, crouched low. "I count eleven. Two archers. One with heavy armor."
Ragar scratched his jaw. "We take 'em head-on?"
I shook my head. "That would be unwise. We're tired, exposed, and uphill. Kaela's stamina is supernatural and confusing, but the rest of us are human."
Kaela looked pleased with herself.
Ragar grunted. "We wait, then?"
"Or circle," Lissette offered. "There's a side pass that might let us flank."
I stared down at the structure for a long time. At the way the clouds curled around its broken towers. At the line of stone sarcophagi stretching into the ruin's throat. I could feel something—something ancient and resonant—radiating off the place.
Magic clung to these ruins like rot clung to old wood. The kind of magic that wasn't just spells, but memories. Intent. Consequence.
This place is old.They buried more than dead here. They buried warnings.
And I was going to walk into it.
Because of course I was.
"Let's wait," I said quietly. "Scout. Rest. Plan."
Kaela kicked a stone over the ridge. "Boooring."
I glanced at her.
Then looked past her.
To the city of Whiterun, spread out in the far valley below.
Even from here—kilometers away, and hundreds of meters up—I could see it now. Not the quaint hamlet I remembered from the game. But a city. Sprawling. Alive. The outer ring of walls curled wide around farmlands, with stone roads and wooden walkways connecting towers and turrets like arteries. There were lights. Smoke trails from hearthfires. Flecks of banners snapping in the wind.
It looked like it could house ten thousand people.
That wasn't a game city. That was a capital.And we'd walked from there to here. In snow. Through predators. With one madwoman, two professionals, and an overly friendly orc in tow.
I took a slow breath.
This world is bigger. And it's not slowing down for me.
Lissette stood beside me, arms crossed. "So. What now?"
I nodded toward the Barrow.
"Now?" I said. "We rob a tomb."
The group didn't laugh.
Instead, we squatted behind a low outcropping of snow-pocked stone, eyes locked on the campfire crackling at the edge of the ruin's yawning entrance. Eleven bandits. That was the count. They were armored, armed, and not the kind of drunken marauders that screamed "tutorial fodder." These moved with formation. There were watch rotations. Supply crates. A full-on spit roast. One of them had stew going.
If you've got stew, you're not temporary. That's science.
Ragar grunted, peering through a narrow split in the rocks. "There's a narrow shelf to the right, just past that frost-covered arch. If we loop around, we can flank the outer camp."
"Wouldn't get all of them, though," Thorgar added. "At least one archer's watching from the top tier."
Kaela cracked her neck. "So we sneak?"
I turned to her. "You don't sneak. You erupt."
She smirked. "It's more efficient."
I turned back to the group. "A two-pronged attack, then. Ragar and Kaela go wide, draw the brutes. Thorgar and I hang back and hit from range. Lissette—"
"Rear-guard," she finished with a nod. "Control flow. Anyone flees or flanks, they meet me."
She moved into position, hands loose but alert, her steps quiet as wind over stone.
I hadn't seen her cast anything yet, but something about her posture… calm. Calculated. Like she wasn't waiting to fight, just waiting to be correct. That sort of confidence doesn't come from luck. It comes from control.
I filed that away for later.
Plans fell into place quickly. We split quietly, boots crunching soft in snow. My breath fogged as I pressed my back against a rock ridge, hands raised, magicka already pulsing warm in my veins.
This time, I wasn't using Sparks.This time, it was the spell Farengar gifted me.Lightning Bolt.Heavier. Condensed. Less dramatic arcs, more direct force. Like stuffing a thunderstorm into a lance.
I peeked from cover.
Two bandits by the fire. One leaning on a shield. The other poking the stew.
Stew Bandit dies first. Nobody makes a full meal mid-guard duty. That's hubris.
Then Kaela exploded from behind a rock.
She didn't run—she pounced. One leap took her over the fire, sword already in a downward swing. The stew didn't even have time to splash.
"NOW!" Ragar bellowed, charging after her like a war-drum in steel boots.
Thorgar and I moved.
I raised my hand, drew magicka in tight, and launched.
Lightning Bolt snapped from my palm like a viper, the sound like a whip made of fury. It struck Stew Bandit square in the chest. His scream didn't even finish before he crumpled backward in a smoking heap.
The other staggered to raise his shield.
I hit him in the legs.
He dropped like a sack of potatoes someone insulted.
Thorgar dashed forward, dagger flashing as he cut through two scrambling forms trying to reach the upper tier. He moved like a ghost—silent and efficient.
Above, one of the archers shouted, nocking an arrow.
"Idiot," Lissette muttered somewhere behind me.
Then I felt her spell.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't flashy.
It was precise.
A shimmer of blue light rippled through the air like a mirage. Then a crackle. Not of lightning, but of tension being snapped like a violin string. The archer screamed and dropped his bow, clutching at his skull, eyes wide with sudden, paralyzing disorientation.
It wasn't Destruction. Not quite Illusion either. It was too exact. Like someone snapping a fault line in the brain—targeted dissonance. Alteration, maybe?I didn't even know that was possible.Need to ask her what it was.
I blinked, already building another Lightning Bolt as two more bandits broke from the upper camp to charge. One raised a war axe. The other pulled out a hunting horn.
I fired mid-breath.
Bolt number three caught the horn-wielder in the gut. He folded like a map.
The other made it within ten feet.
Then Kaela landed in front of him.
His axe never swung. His head did, though. Clean off.
Within moments, it was done.
The last bandit stumbled backward and turned to flee—
Only to slam into a translucent ward wall. Lissette stood at the far side, fingers curled, lips pursed in concentration. The bandit bounced off, dazed, and Ragar's hammer made sure he wouldn't bounce again.
Silence returned. Broken only by the crackle of fire and the hiss of blood on snow.
I lowered my hands, breathing hard. My heartbeat felt distant; more like a drum echoing through a corridor than something inside me.
The Lightning Bolt was strong. Sharper than Sparks. Cleaner. Efficient in a way that made me feel guilty for not using it sooner.And still… Lissette's spells were nothing that I've seen before. I need to ask her. Later. Quietly. Preferably without Kaela nearby to make jokes.
"Clear," Thorgar said quietly, scanning the perimeter.
Ragar gave a low whistle. "Good gods. We made short work of them."
Kaela, wiping blood off her blade with someone's shirt, shrugged. "They didn't even have stew worth stealing."
I stepped forward slowly. The stone of the Barrow loomed ahead, closer now. The entrance yawned like a mouth waiting to swallow.
Rubble framed the massive arch. Ancient carvings—barely legible under layers of ice—hinted at words older than kingdoms. The air around it felt colder somehow. Not by temperature.
By presence.
This wasn't just stone. This was memory. Ritual. A place where the dead didn't rest. They waited.I could feel it.
"Gods," Lissette murmured, joining me at the threshold. "How far down do you think it goes?"
I didn't answer.
Because something in me stirred—a gut-deep, soul-bruising warning.
I wasn't a crypt-crawler. I didn't study burial rites or ancient curses. But even I could feel it.
Something old. Something wrong. Like the mountain itself was holding its breath.Not to keep something out.But to keep something in.
"I have a bad feeling about this," I said softly.
Kaela grinned. "Good. That means it'll be fun."