I woke up inside my friend's video game

The scent of parchment and ink mingled with the cold mountain air as I stood in the dim glow of my chamber's candlelight, reading over the report once more. The words, written in crisp, unyielding Altmeri script, did not change no matter how many times my eyes flickered over them.

Massacre at Northwatch Keep.

My fingers tightened around the edges of the document. It wasn't the loss of soldiers that enraged me—those were replaceable. What infuriated me was the blatant humiliation of it all. Dozens of my Justiciars, cut down like cattle. Northwatch Keep, a symbol of our authority, defiled. And worst of all, the bodies of our captives gone.

Rescued.

A soft knock at my door.

"Enter," I commanded.

The heavy oaken door creaked open, revealing Ondolemar. He stepped in, his golden armor polished to perfection, his face hard with the mask of discipline, though his jaw twitched as he lowered himself to one knee.

"First Emissary." His voice was controlled, but I could hear the barely contained frustration beneath it. "The latest scouts confirm what we suspected. The captives are gone. The infiltrator left no survivors."

I inhaled sharply, forcing my expression to remain unreadable.

"No survivors?"

He hesitated before nodding. "None of our own, that is."

The candle beside me flickered, its wax dripping onto the pristine surface of my desk. I let the silence stretch, studying him, watching the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. This failure stung him, as it should. Northwatch Keep had been under his jurisdiction. But I would not waste breath on berating him now.

"And the culprit?" I pressed my voice even.

"We are certain it was a single man. His methods were… precise. He cut down every Thalmor in his path—no signs of disarray, no wasted movement." His lips pursed in distaste. "Like a madman, yet armed with knowledge beyond ordinary skill."A lone assassin.

"And the prisoners?"

"Scattered. Some have fled into hiding. Others are seeking refuge among the Stormcloaks."

Disgust coiled in my chest. "They will be found. And they will be made to regret it."

"Yes, First Emissary."

I turned from him, my gaze settling on the large map spread across the table. Skyrim was an ugly, untamed land, one we had sought to control for far too long. And yet, no matter how many steps we took forward, there was always resistance, always a thorn embedding itself deeper into our grasp.

"And the bounty?"

Ondolemar straightened. "Posted in every major hold. A fortune for his head—dead or alive. We made sure to twist the narrative. To the public, he is no hero. He is a murderer, a butcher of innocent captives."

A slow smile curled at my lips. "Good. Skyrim thrives on sentiment. Let them believe they hunt a monster."

The door creaked open once more, and another Justiciar entered, his features drawn tight with urgency. He held a fresh missive, sealed with the emblem of our agents in Solitude.

I took the parchment, breaking the wax with my thumb. My eyes skimmed over the words—and then, I stilled.

Ondolemar noticed immediately. "Emissary?"

My fingers traced over the name written there. A name I had overlooked. A name I had not considered until now.

Jayson.

The Thane of Solitude.

Realization dawned like a sunrise, filling every crevice of my mind with clarity. Of course. The authority to move freely, the knowledge to manipulate both Imperials and rebels alike, the skills to eliminate my men without hesitation.

The Thane of Solitude was no noble protector.

He was the ghost who walked among them.

A slow, measured breath escaped me, my lips curling into something cold and knowing.

"Well then," I murmured, rolling the parchment between my fingers. "Let the hunt begin."

I let out a slow breath, feeling the warmth of the forge on my fur as I worked the bellows. Sparks danced in the dimly lit workshop, flickering like tiny stars before vanishing into the air. The rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed through Lod's smithy, blending with the earthy scent of smelted iron and burning coal.

Falkreath was quiet this morning, the usual mist clinging to the rooftops like a shroud. The town always had an air of somberness to it, as if the dead in its sprawling graveyard weighed upon the living. I didn't mind. I was here to learn, not to dwell on ghosts.

Lod, a burly Nord with arms as thick as tree trunks, peered over at me with an approving nod. His face was lined with age and soot, but his piercing blue eyes were sharp, always scrutinizing my work. 

"Good hammering technique, Olly," he grunted, tossing a damp rag over his shoulder. "Better than most apprentices I've had."

I flicked my ears, pleased with the praise but not satisfied. "It still doesn't feel right. The balance is off." I turned the half-shaped dagger in my paw, frowning. "Maybe I need to temper it longer."

Lod let out a low chuckle. "You've got the patience of a master smith, but don't let perfection slow you down. A good blade isn't just forged with fire—it's tested in battle."

His words stirred something in me. A memory—faded and distant. Steel clashing. Fire raining from the sky. A desperate voice calling my name. 

"Olly… Storm…"

That name had been given to me in the chaos of Helgen's destruction, when Jayson—Thane of Solitude—and Hadvar had freed me from my bindings and led me to safety. I had stumbled out of that burning town with nothing but the name that echoed in my head, and the memory of strong cold winds.

I shook my head, forcing the memories back into the recesses of my mind. I was here to learn, to master the forge, and not to dwell on what I can't even remember.

Lod grunted as he quenched a newly shaped dagger in water. "You're gettin' better, cat. Your hands—err, paws—ain't as clumsy as before."

I smirked, flicking my tail. "I'll take that as high praise."

The old Nord chuckled. "Aye, well, don't let it get to your head. You still got a long way to go before you can call yourself a master smith."

I was about to respond when the sound of approaching footsteps caught my ear. A tall figure in a dark cloak entered the smithy, his presence oddly subdued despite his imposing build. He moved with a quiet grace, his face partially obscured beneath his hood. But what I could see—sharp, calculating eyes, a strong jawline—felt strangely… familiar.

Lod wiped his hands on a rag and turned to face the stranger. "Need somethin'?"

The man—reached into his pack and withdrew a bundle wrapped in cloth. "Rare ores," he said simply, unwrapping the bundle to reveal a collection of high-quality ingots. Ebony. Moonstone. Even a bit of refined malachite. "Selling them cheap."

Lod raised a skeptical brow. "Cheap? This is worth a fortune."

The man shrugged. "I can't ignore a dedicated mentor and a committed student." His gaze flickered toward me briefly before returning to Lod. "This is at least how I can contribute to both of your hard work."

Something in his tone made my ears flick, a subtle instinct stirring deep within me. It wasn't his face that struck me as familiar, but his presence—the way he stood, the quiet confidence in his stance, the measured way he spoke. It reminded me of someone… someone I should remember.

I narrowed my eyes slightly, my tail flicking behind me. "And you are?"

The man hesitated for the briefest moment before offering a small, practiced smile. "Erik. Name's Erik."

I crossed my arms. "Where'd you get all this?"

Erik turned his gaze to me, his expression unreadable. "Here and there."

That response made my whiskers twitch. A vague answer, almost practiced. "And you're selling it this cheap?"

He shrugged. "Gold's not my main concern."

"Interesting," I murmured, crossing my arms. "I had an old friend who did something similar. Traded rare materials, helped folks where he could."

Erik. His fingers curled slightly against the counter before he caught himself, relaxing just as quickly. If I hadn't been watching, I might have missed it.

Lod nodded as he weighed the ingots. "That kind of generosity is rare these days."

Erik merely hummed in response. "Just making use of what I find."

Lod counted out the gold and pushed it toward him, but my mind was still turning. That reaction—it was almost as if he knew the name Jayson.

I let the moment pass, for now.

As Erik pocketed his earnings and turned to leave, I spoke up. "Lod, I should be finishing up here soon. Planning to head to Riften next. Thought I'd continue learning from the blacksmiths there."

Erik paused mid-step, then turned his head slightly. "Riften?"

I met his gaze. "Aye."

He tilted his head, considering something before nodding. "I happen to be heading that way myself."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He shrugged. "Roads aren't safe these days. Strength in numbers, wouldn't you say?"

I studied him for a moment before giving a slow nod. "A fair point."

Erik extended a hand, his expression calm, but I caught the flicker of something beneath it—calculation, or maybe something else entirely. "Then let's travel together."

I clasped his hand, feeling the strength in his grip. "Alright, Erik. Let's see where the road takes us."

The road stretched long before us, the damp earth soft beneath my padded feet. The faint scent of pine and wet stone drifted through the air as Erik and I pressed forward, the morning fog still thick along the wooded path. We had been traveling for some time now, mostly in silence.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He moved with an ease that felt oddly familiar. Not just his gait, but his awareness—the way his head tilted slightly at every distant sound, the way his gloved fingers flexed as if always prepared to draw steel. Something about him gnawed at me, but the more I searched for the answer, the further it slipped from my grasp.

"You are quiet," Erik finally spoke, his voice even yet guarded.

I flicked my tail absentmindedly. "Perhaps. This one does not often travel with strangers."

He smirked, though his expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then why did you agree?"

I tilted my head slightly, studying him. "Because you are a stranger who does not feel like a stranger. There is something about you, something this one cannot place."

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I've been told I have one of those faces."

"Not the face," I corrected. "The way you move, the way you listen." I paused, watching his reaction carefully. "It reminds this one of someone he used to know."

For the briefest of moments, his jaw tightened, his posture stiffening before he caught himself and exhaled lightly. "Is that so?"

I gave a slow nod. "Yes. His name was Jayson."

That did it.

Erik's grip on his pack tensed ever so slightly, the reaction barely noticeable—but I noticed. It was the kind of instinct I had learned under Hadvar's guidance, watching for the smallest tells in people. Erik recovered quickly, turning his head slightly to watch the road ahead.

"That's an uncommon name in Skyrim," he mused. "What happened to him?"

I hesitated. "That… is a complicated story. But the last time we spoke was after we rested at Alvor's home." I sighed, glancing up at the sky. "And, perhaps now. He is out there somewhere, searching for someone."

Erik was quiet for a moment before he hummed softly. "Sounds like someone important to you."

"This one owes him his life," I admitted. "He saved me in Helgen, when a dragon attacked."

Something in Erik's expression darkened at that, but before I could press further, the rhythmic sound of footsteps and the faint jingle of armor reached my ears. I stopped walking, ears flicking toward the sound. Erik, to his credit, reacted just as swiftly, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his weapon.

A group approached from the opposite direction, their figures emerging through the mist. Five of them. The group before us moved with a precision I hadn't seen before. They weren't just travelers or mercenaries—they were something else. Warriors, maybe. Survivors.

Whoever they were, they weren't ordinary. And judging by the way they moved, the way they watched their surroundings, I had a feeling they had been through a lot.

I glanced at Erik beside me. For the briefest moment, something in Erik's expression changed—too subtle for most to notice, but I caught it. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, his shoulders stiffened before relaxing once more, as if he had forced the reaction away.

"Travelers?" Erik spoke first, his voice carrying that same casual ease he always used, but I knew better by now. There was calculation in his words, a carefully measured tone.

The man at the front, his dark hair tousled from the wind, studied us with quiet scrutiny. His hand rested near the hilt of his dagger—not a direct threat, but a precaution.

"Depends," the man replied, his voice even, steady. "You from around here?"

I straightened, letting my golden eyes settle on the group. A Nord woman with striking blonde hair stood beside him, her palm resting lightly on the pommel of her sword. A Redguard, his stance relaxed but his gaze sharp, stood slightly behind them. The others—two more men, armored and alert—remained quiet.

I flicked my ears, my voice smooth when I finally spoke. "We are wanderers, much like you," I said, watching their reactions. "My friend here is new to these lands."

The man—who appears to be the leader—raised an eyebrow. "Huh?" he muttered, curiosity flashing across his face. "Where are you headed?"

A small, almost amused smile tugged at Erik's lips, but it never reached his eyes. "Wherever the road takes me," he answered. Then, after a pause, he added, "Friend."

That last word hung in the air between us, heavier than it should have been. I glanced up at Erik, feeling the tension in his presence, in the deliberate way he spoke. It was unlike him to be so precise with his words—unless it meant something more.

The man's expression didn't shift, but I could see something stirring in his mind. He exhaled slowly, giving a short nod before stepping past us.

"Fair enough," he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced back. "Just a word of caution—you'll want to keep an eye out for vampires. The Imperial Army is moving to deal with them, but it's not safe to travel alone at night."

My tail flicked again. I met Erik's gaze, and for a brief second, something unspoken passed between us. It wasn't about vampires. It wasn't about danger.

It was about him.

"Appreciated," Erik said simply.

As the group disappeared down the road, I watched them go, their figures swallowed by the trees and mist. Something gnawed at me, deep in my gut, like an ember buried beneath the ashes.

I turned to Erik, narrowing my eyes. "You knew him."

He didn't answer right away. He merely adjusted the strap of his pack, his movements slow, deliberate. Then, without looking at me, he muttered, "We should get moving."

I didn't push, not yet. But the ember burned hotter now.

And I wasn't about to let it die out.