Skyrim: reborn

The plains of Whiterun sprawled beneath a leaden sky, the air thick with the scent of rain and unease. Gilgamesh kicked a pebble at Edla's boots, smirking as she side-stepped without breaking stride. "Cheer up, ice queen. If we're lucky, the dragon'll roast you first. Quicker than listening to your *charming* small talk."

Edla's steel-gray eyes flicked toward him, cold as a wind-chilled blade. "If you die, I'll drag your corpse to a troll den. For practice."

"Romantic," Gilgamesh said, rolling his shoulders. His gamer interface hummed in his periphery, a neon-blue distraction he'd learned to ignore—mostly. Ahead, the Western Watchtower rose like a rotten tooth, its stones scorched black. Whiterun guards huddled at its base, faces pale. One vomited audibly into the grass.

Irileth, the Jarl's Dunmer housecarl, met them with a scowl sharp enough to flay skin. "Took your time," she snapped, her red eyes narrowing. "The dragon's already struck twice. We're not here to die for your leisure."

"Relax, grandma," Gilgamesh said, inspecting his nails. "We'll handle your overgrown lizard. Just try not to slow us down."

Edla ignored them both, her gaze locked on the tower. "Where is it now?"

As if summoned, the sky split with a roar.

The dragon plummeted, wings churning the clouds to tatters. Crimson scales glinted like bloodstained armor, and fire pooled in its maw. Gilgamesh's system flared:

**[Ancient Dragon (Level 30)]**

*Health: 1000/1000*

*Weakness: Frost (Resists Fire)*

"Well, *this* is cozy," he muttered, summoning a swirl of frost magic to his fingertips. "Try not to die, Frostbite. I'd miss your sparkling wit."

Edla nocked an arrow. "Focus. Or I'll use you as bait."

The dragon's fire breath incinerated a guard mid-scream. Irileth barked orders, rallying survivors as Gilgamesh lobbed ice spikes at the beast's wings. Edla's arrows flew, precise but futile against the dragon's hide.

**[Quest Update: Dragon Rising]**

*Objective: Don't die. (Seriously.)*

*Reward: 5000 XP, ???*

The battle became a dance of fire and steel. Gilgamesh ducked beneath the dragon's jaws, frost magic crackling at his fingertips. He slammed a hand onto its scaled neck, ice spreading like poison. The dragon roared, thrashing, and flung him into a boulder.

**Health: 62%**

"Charming," he coughed, blood flecking his lips.

Edla was back on her feet, arrows spent, sword clashing against talons. Irileth and the guards harried the beast from afar, but their blades glanced off its hide. The dragon's health bar dipped to **900/1500**—and it *changed*.

Cracks split its scales, lava bleeding through. The ground erupted in fiery geysers.

**[Dragon Enraged!]**

*Ability Unlocked: Magma Surge*

"Oh, you've *got* to be joking," Gilgamesh snarled, scrambling as the earth ruptured.

---

Edla vaulted onto the dragon's back, sword plunging between its wings. It shrieked, bucking, and she clung like a burr. Gilgamesh seized the opening: "**Fus!**" The shout staggered the beast, and he lunged, driving his blade into its throat.

**Health: 400/1500**

The dragon reared, molten blood spraying. Edla lost her grip, crashing into rubble. Gilgamesh's sword snapped in the beast's hide.

"*Now* what?" Edla hissed, clutching a broken rib.

"i will Distract it. I'll aim for the eyes." Gilgamesh said

The dragon's fire breath seared the ground where he'd stood. Gilgamesh rolled, unsheathing his sword. "**Fus!**"

The shout staggered the beast, its flames veering wide. Edla's arrow struck its left eye. The dragon shrieked, thrashing, and Gilgamesh lunged, his blade biting into its talon.

"Sword's duller than your wit!" Edla shouted, switching to her own blade as the dragon landed.

"Says the woman who *names* her arrows!" He ducked a swipe of the dragon's tail, slicing at its flank.

Irileth and the guards rained arrows, but the beast's scales deflected most. Edla danced between strikes, her sword a silver blur. Gilgamesh parried a claw, his arms trembling. "Any day now, Frostbite!"

"**Fus!**"

The shout cracked the dragon's skull against the tower. Edla plunged her sword into its heart.

Edla wiped blood from her brow, her sword trembling. "Is it… done?"

Gilgamesh kicked the dragon's snout. "Napping. Obviously."

Golden light erupted from the corpse. Edla stumbled back as the soul surged into her, her eyes blazing with unnatural fire. She clawed at her chest, panic sharpening her voice. "What's—*what is this*?!"

**[System Alert: Dragon Soul Detected.]**

*Steal it? [Y/N]*

Gilgamesh hesitated, the prompt flickering. *Power. Pure, raw power.* But Edla's terror—genuine, *human*—gave him pause. "Ugh. Fine. Keep your sparkly soul." He mashed *N*.

The light faded. Edla collapsed to her knees, gasping. "What… was *that*?"

"Bad dragon manners." Gilgamesh pressed a hand to the carcass.

**[Dragon Corpse Detected.]**

*Devour its memories? [Y/N]*

"Hell yes."

Fire seared his mind—visions of ancient skies, a name burning like a brand: *Mirmulnir*. Heat coiled in his lungs.

**[Acquired: Dragon Breath (Fire)]**

*Roast your enemies. Try not to sneeze.*

Edla grabbed his arm. "What did you *do*?"

He exhaled smoke. "Learned to breathe fire. Want a light?"

A surviving guard stumbled forward, his face ashen. "By the Nine! You—you *absorbed* its soul!"

Gilgamesh wiped soot from his eyes. "What's next? A poetry recital?"

The guard ignored him, trembling. "The Jarl must hear of this. *Now*."

Edla stood, her voice icy. "I don't answer to kings."

"You will," the guard said, backing away. "Or all Skyrim will know what you are."

"I don't *want* it," she hissed.

"Too bad," Gilgamesh said, hopping up. "Destiny's calling. Try not to faceplant on the mountain."

**[Quest Complete: Dragon Rising]**

*Rewards: 5000 XP, +2 Intelligence, +1 Magicka, Title [Soul-Thief]*

*Level Up! (Level 16 → 18)*

"What in Oblivion was *that*?" Irileth demanded,"You… *absorbed* its soul?"

One of the guards, a burly Nord with a singed beard, crossed himself. "By the Eight… the legends… You're *Dragonborn*!"

Gilgamesh leaned on his notched sword, watching her with a smirk that hid his own exhaustion. "Well. That was *dramatic*."

Edla bristled. "I don't even know what that *means*."

Gilgamesh snorted. "It means you're the reason dragons are back. Congrats—you're the problem *and* the solution."

Irileth silenced him with a glare. "Save the jokes, fool. The Jarl will want answers." She turned to Edla, her tone sharp but edged with something like awe. "You're coming to Dragonsreach. Now."

Edla opened her mouth to argue, but the guards were already forming a loose cordon around her, their spears pointedly *not* aimed at her—but not *not* aimed either. Gilgamesh fell into step beside her, humming a tavern tune.

"This your plan?" Edla muttered. "Get me drafted into some *prophecy*?"

"Relax. If Balgruffy gets boring, we'll rob his pantry and leave."

The walk to Whiterun's gates was tense. Farmers and travelers gawked at the scorched party, whispering as they passed.

the city gates, Irileth turned, blocking their path. "The Jarl awaits inside. Move quickly."

Edla hesitated, her hand drifting to her sword. "And if I refuse?"

The housecarl's fingers tightened on her blade. "Don't."

Before the standoff could escalate, the air *shivered*.

***"DOVAHKIIN!"***

The Greybeards' shout tore across the plains. The ground trembled; birds scattered from the rooftops. A guard dropped his spear, clapping hands over his ears. "What in Oblivion—?!"

Edla staggered, blood trickling from her nose. Gilgamesh caught her arm, his smirk gone. "Guess the monks aren't fans of RSVPs."

***"DOVAHKIIN!"***

The second shout cracked the sky. Market stalls rattled; horses reared in panic. Lysia, the orphan girl Gilgamesh had begrudgingly adopted, sprinted from the guardhouse, her hands clamped over her ears. "Make it *stop*!"

Irileth paled. "The Greybeards… They're summoning *her*."

The gates of Whiterun groaned open, the acrid stench of smoke and dragonblood clinging to Gilgamesh and Edla as Irileth herded them toward Dragonsreach. The surviving guards trailed behind, their whispers sharp with awe. *"Dragonborn…"*

Edla's jaw tightened. "What does that even *mean*?"

Gilgamesh flicked a speck of ash off his sword. "Means you're the reason my nap schedule's ruined. Congrats."

**Dragonsreach, Jarl's Hall**

Jarl Balgruuf rose from his throne, his brow furrowed. Beside him, Proventus Avenicci, the steward, clutched a ledger like a shield, while Farengar Secret-Fire, the court wizard, practically vibrated with excitement.

"So it's true," Balgruuf said, his voice echoing in the vaulted hall. "You killed the dragon—and absorbed its soul."

Edla crossed her arms. "I didn't *ask* for this."

Farengar stepped forward, eyes alight. "The legends speak of the Dragonborn—mortals born with the soul of a dragon! They alone can devour a dovah's power. This is… *extraordinary*!"

Proventus scoffed. "Legends? We've no proof this isn't some… *Daedric trick*."

Irileth bristled. "I saw it myself, my lord. The soul flowed into her. Like water into a basin."

The Jarl raised a hand, silencing the room. "The Greybeards have summoned you, Edla. They shout your name from the Throat of the World. *Dovahkiin.*"

Edla recoiled. "I'm no one's puppet."

"This isn't a request," Balgruuf said, his tone firm but not unkind. "The dragons return, and Skyrim needs its Dragonborn. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn from the Greybeards."

Gilgamesh slouched against a pillar, tossing a sweetroll to Lysia, who'd materialized beside him. "Mountain climbing! Bring a scarf, pest. You'll freeze like a mammoth popsicle."