If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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But standing a few feet away, entirely hidden beneath his flawless, aristocratic mask of calm... Aerion heard it. And he understood it perfectly. 'Dragonborn,' Aerion thought, a sharp, profound thrill of anticipation running through his transmigrator veins. The dragon collapsed heavily into the dirt, entirely limp. The Axe of Morthal remained lodged deeply in its skull. The beast was dead. The first true dragon of that come back alive in this era had fallen.
Aeloria, her chest heaving with sheer exhaustion, planted her heavy steel boot against the dragon's snout and violently wrenched the battleaxe free with a sickening, wet crunch of bone.
She staggered backward, panting heavily, her bright blue eyes wide as she stared at the colossal, lifeless monster bleeding out onto the scorched tundra.
For a single, absolute second, the devastated perimeter of the Western Watchtower was entirely, terrifyingly silent. The surviving Whiterun guards simply stared, completely paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of the mythological victory.
Then, the very fabric of reality fractured.
A massive, concussive wave of raw, invisible kinetic force violently erupted directly from the corpse of the dragon.
BOOM!
The sudden explosion of pressure was not physical wind, it was a violent displacement of ambient magical pressure. The sheer force of the eruption violently pushed everyone in the immediate vicinity several steps backward.
Aeloria stumbled, her heavy Steel Plate armor clanking as she fought to maintain her balance. Jenassa braced her boots into the dirt, raising a hand to shield her eyes. The surviving guardsmen cried out in alarm, raising their heavy wooden shields defensively.
"Hold your ground! What is happening?!" Irileth shouted, stepping forward against the invisible pressure.
Before their very eyes, an absolutely impossible, horrific, and awe inspiring biological transmutation began.
The dragon was actively burning, but there were no flames. The thick, dark scales, the massive muscles, the leathery wing membranes, and the soft tissues of the beast were rapidly, violently oxidizing. The organic matter of the mythological predator was actively dissolving into the air, burning away into fine, drifting gray ash at a terrifyingly accelerated rate.
As the physical flesh burned away, it did not simply vanish into nothingness. It violently converted into pure, raw, concentrated arcane energy.
Thick, swirling, blindingly bright streams of divine, golden white aura violently erupted from the decaying corpse. The magical streams whipped through the air like liquid light, creating a localized vortex of absolute, thrumming power.
And then, as if pulled by an irresistible, ancient gravitational force, every single stream of that divine, blinding aura violently snapped toward Aeloria.
The Dragonborn let out a sharp gasp of pure shock.
The divine energy violently struck her heavy steel breastplate, but it didn't burn her. It passed completely through the forged metal, sinking deeply, inextricably into her very soul.
The sheer volume of the ancient magic was overwhelming. Aeloria was instantly enveloped in a brilliant, swirling tornado of golden light, her blonde hair whipping wildly in the localized gale, her blue eyes shining with absorbed power.
"By the Gods..." a guardsman whispered, dropping his steel sword into the dirt.
Everyone, Irileth, Jenassa, and the surviving soldiers, stared in absolute, paralyzed astonishment.
Except for Aerion.
Standing a few feet away, entirely unaffected by the raw display of mythological succession, the High Elf maintained a mask of absolute, flawless aristocratic calm. Inwardly, however, his transmigrator mind was humming with pure, unadulterated anticipation.
As the final streams of draconic energy were absorbed by Aeloria, a familiar, highly specific chime echoed within Aerion's consciousness. The golden text of his digital interface violently superseded his vision.
[Main Timeline First Draconic Soul Energy Detected in Proximity.]
[System Integration Sub Routine Activated.]
[Would you like to learn the second word of the Unrelenting Force Shout: Roh (Balance)?]
[YES / NO]
Aerion had to physically clench his jaw to hold back the massive, incredibly sociopathic smile that threatened to split his face.
'Oh, absolutely,' Aerion thought, a wave of profound, gamer fueled euphoria washing over him. 'The second word of Unrelenting Force. The absolute pinnacle of crowd control. The primary tool of localized gravity manipulation. I cannot wait for the last word, so that I can stand at the very edge of the Throat of the World and simply shout Delphine entirely off the mountain.'
Without a single fraction of a second of hesitation, Aerion mentally slammed the YES button.
A sudden, sharp, profound understanding burned itself permanently into his neural pathways. The deep, fundamental, cosmic concept of absolute, unyielding kinetic force clicked into place within his mind. He didn't just know the word, he understood the very physics of the universe that the word manipulated.
[Word of Power Learned: Roh (Balance)
Aerion dismissed the interface, his golden eyes flicking back to the physical world.
The brilliant, swirling vortex of divine aura surrounding Aeloria finally dissipated, sinking completely into her skin. The Dragonborn staggered slightly, leaning heavily on the haft of the Axe of Morthal, her breathing heavy but her eyes completely clear.
The corpse of the dragon was gone.
All that remained resting upon the scorched earth of the tundra was a massive, horrific skeleton of pure white bone, covered in jagged, impenetrable, unburned iron-like scales. The flesh, the muscle, and the soul had been entirely stripped from Nirn.
A suffocating, terrified silence hung over the perimeter.
Then, the murmurs began.
The surviving Whiterun soldiers broke their disciplined formation, slowly stepping closer to the massive skeleton, their voices rising in a frantic, overlapping chorus of awe and terror.
"Did you see that?"
"The light... it just went right into her!"
"It's just bones now! She absorbed it!"
Irileth aggressively pushed her way through the murmuring guardsmen, stopping directly in front of the heavily armored Nord woman. The Dark Elf Housecarl's crimson eyes were wide with genuine, uncharacteristic confusion.
"Aeloria," Irileth demanded, her voice tight. "What in the name of the Eight just happened? What did you just do to that beast?"
Aeloria looked down at her own steel gauntleted hands, genuinely completely bewildered. She looked at the massive skeleton, and then back to the Housecarl.
"I... I have absolutely no idea," Aeloria stammered, shaking her head. "I didn't cast a spell! I just hit it with the axe, and then... that light just hit me! I don't know what it was!"
A younger Whiterun soldier, his face smeared with soot and his eyes wide with absolute reverence, stepped forward from the ranks. He dropped to one knee in the dirt, looking up at Aeloria as if she were a living deity.
"I... I can't believe it," the young soldier whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "It's exactly like the old stories. You... you're the Dragonborn."
The word hit the air like a physical shockwave.
Instantly, a massive chorus of overlapping, frantic agreement erupted from the surrounding guards.
"He's right! She absorbed its soul!"
"The Dragonborn! Kyne has sent us a savior!"
"The legends are true!"
Aeloria blinked, completely overwhelmed by the sudden, religious fervor of the men around her. She took a step backward, raising her hands defensively.
"Dragonborn?" Aeloria asked, her voice tight with confusion. "What are you talking about? I have heard of tales of it, but what does that mean for me?"
Before the kneeling guard could stutter out an explanation, Aerion stepped smoothly into the center of the gathering, his towering frame commanding absolute attention.
"It means, Aeloria, that you are the living embodiment of an ancient, highly revered Nordic myth," Aerion explained, his melodic voice completely calm, slipping flawlessly into the persona of a master historical scholar.
He gestured gracefully toward the massive pile of bleached bones resting on the scorched earth.
"From the very oldest tales of Nordic culture, back during the Merethic Era when the skies of Skyrim were entirely ruled by the dovah... there existed mortal champions," Aerion lectured smoothly, ensuring his volume carried over the murmuring guards. "These champions were blessed by Akatosh himself. They were born with the mortal body of a man or woman, but they possessed the immortal soul of a dragon. They were the ultimate dragon slayers. The legends state that when a Dragonborn slays a dragon, they do not merely kill the physical body... they permanently absorb the creature's soul and take its power for their own."
He locked his golden eyes onto her bright blue ones. "Which is exactly, what you just did."
Aeloria stared at the High Elf, absolute shock radiating across her features.
"Really?" Aeloria asked, entirely incredulous. She looked down at her chest plate, pressing a gauntlet against her heart. "But... Aerion, I don't feel any different. I don't feel like I have a monster's soul inside me. I just feel tired and bruised."
The young guard immediately stood up from the dirt, his face flushed with eager excitement.
"There is only one way we can prove it for certain!" the guard declared loudly. "You have to try and Shout! According to the legends, only the true Dragonborns can wield the Voice of the sky without years of meditation and training! It's completely natural to them because the power is literally in their blood!"
Aeloria looked incredibly hesitant. She was a warrior who understood the physical leverage of a battleaxe, not the metaphysical manipulation of the universe through vocal cords.
She turned her gaze instinctively toward Aerion, silently asking for his tactical guidance.
Aerion offered a slow, deeply encouraging nod, a warm smile touching his lips.
"You can try it, Aeloria," Aerion reassured her gently. "Do not overthink how to do it. Just close your eyes. Feel the raw, ambient power that just rushed into your chest, and reach deep down inside your heart. The knowledge is already there."
As Aeloria closed her eyes to concentrate, an older, grizzled Whiterun guard scoffed loudly from the back of the crowd, crossing his arms over his tabard.
"Dragonborn? Are we truly listening to fairy tales right now?" the older guard grumbled. He pointed at the younger soldier. "What in Oblivion are you even talking about, boy?"
"I'm talking about history!" the young guard shot back defensively. "My grandfather used to tell me the stories all the time by the hearth fire! He said that the entire line of the Dragonborns leads directly back to the founding of the First Empire! The great emperors were all Dragonborn! The last true one was Tiber Septim himself!"
The older guard rolled his eyes entirely. "Oh, please. I've read the histories. I have never once heard a single tale of Tiber Septim slaying a dragon and eating its soul."
"Because there were no dragons around back then, you idiot!" the younger guard retorted angrily. "They were already extinct! But he had the blood and the drhsons just returned now after being gone for forever!"
Aeloria completely tuned out the bickering guards.
She turned away from the crowd, facing an empty, scorched patch of the tundra where the dragon had dragged its massive body through the dirt. She tightened her grip on the heavy leather haft of her battleaxe, planting her steel sabatons firmly into the earth.
She took a slow, deep breath, expanding her lungs.
She did not search her mind for a spell. Aerion had been right. As she looked inward, past the adrenaline and the exhaustion, she felt a strange, profound, thrumming knot of pure, undeniable power resting directly in the center of her chest. It felt hot, ancient, and completely eager to be released.
And from that knot of power, a single, sharp, guttural syllable rose effortlessly into her conscious mind.
She didn't know what the word meant in the common tongue, but she knew exactly what it would do.
Aeloria opened her bright blue eyes. They were completely focused, burning with a sudden, fierce intensity.
She drew the power up from her chest, into her throat, and released it.
"FUS!"
The single syllable exploded from her lips. It was not merely a loud shout, it was a violent, concussive eruption of sheer kinetic force.
A massive, visible distortion rippled violently through the air directly in front of her. The sheer pressure of the Shout hit the ground like a physical hammer. A localized tremor shook the earth beneath their boots, generating a concussive shockwave that rapidly expanded outward.
Small stones, shattered pieces of dragon scale, and massive clouds of soot and dust were violently hurled dozens of feet into the air. The heavy, scorched tundra grass was completely flattened, pressed firmly into the dirt by the invisible wall of force.
The tremor slowly faded, the dust settling back to the earth.
The Whiterun soldiers erupted into absolute, deafening pandemonium.
"Did you see that?!"
"She Shouted! By the Nine Divines, she actually Shouted!"
"It's true! She is the Dragonborn!"
The guards began cheering wildly, raising their broadswords and crossbows into the air, completely intoxicated by the realization that a mythological savior was standing directly among them.
"Commander Irileth!" a soldier yelled over the cheering. "What do you think of all this? We have a Dragonborn in Whiterun!"
Irileth stood completely rigid. She looked at the flattened grass, then at the massive dragon skeleton, and finally at the heavily armored Nord woman who was currently staring at her own mouth in absolute, profound disbelief.
The Dark Elf Housecarl aggressively slammed her sword back into its scabbard.
"I think all of you had better stay completely silent and don't flap your gums about matters you don't understand!" Irileth barked, her voice instantly quelling the cheering. She glared at the soldiers. "I do not care about ancient myths, legends, or prophecies from the Merethic Era! I care about the practical thing that have just happened!"
She pointed a gauntleted finger directly at the massive pile of bones.
"There is a dead dragon right there," Irileth stated, her voice brutally pragmatic. "That is a hard, physical fact. And I am incredibly happy there is someone standing here who possesses the capacity to slay one. That is the only thing that matters today."
Irileth turned sharply, fixing her crimson eyes directly on Aerion and Aeloria.
"Aerion. Aeloria," Irileth commanded. "The perimeter here is secure. You two are to leave this area immediately and report this entire matter directly to the Jarl. He is sitting in Dragonsreach right now, waiting for a report, and he will undoubtedly want to know about... this. Go now."
Aerion offered a smooth, completely unbothered nod. "As you command, Irileth. We will deliver the news."
Aerion didn't linger. He turned and gestured for his team to follow.
Aeloria, still deeply rattled by the sheer power she had just unleashed, quickly fell into step beside him. Jenassa seamlessly melted out of the crowd, joining their flank. A few moments later, Lupin the fox, having deemed the area finally devoid of giant, fire breathing lizards, trotted happily out from behind a large piece of shattered masonry to join Aerion's heels.
Without another word, the small, heavily armed group left the cheering, murmuring guards behind and began the long walk back down the dirt path toward the towering walls of Whiterun.
The adrenaline of the battle was finally fading, leaving a heavy, contemplative silence in its wake.
As they marched, the sheer existential weight of her new reality finally crashed down upon Aeloria.
"Aerion," Aeloria asked softly, her voice entirely stripped of its usual, booming joviality. She looked up at the High Elf, her blue eyes filled with genuine vulnerability. "What... what exactly am I? Becoming this 'Dragonborn'... I mean, I have heard the old tales from my grandparents when I was a little girl sitting by the hearth, but I don't remember much of the actual details. Am I... am I turning into a monster?"
Aerion looked down at her, immediately recognizing the need to stabilize his primary narrative asset.
"You are not turning into a monster, Aeloria," Aerion reassured her, his voice incredibly gentle, yet carrying the absolute, factual weight of a seasoned scholar.
He seamlessly tapped into his vast, encyclopedic knowledge of Elder Scrolls lore, filtering the meta game information through the lens of deep, academic research.
"The blessing of the Dragonborn is not a curse, it is a divine mandate," Aerion explained smoothly as they walked. "According to the most ancient religious texts, the condition is a direct, localized blessing from Akatosh, the Chief Deity of the Divines and the Dragon God of Time. He bestows a portion of his own divine essence into a mortal vessel."
He gestured toward the distant mountains.
"The dragons are not natural beasts, Aeloria. They are immortal shards of time itself," Aerion continued, weaving the lore flawlessly. "When a normal man kills a dragon, the physical body dies, but the immortal soul simply lingers, waiting for a chance to be resurrected. But you... because you share their blood, you possess the unique, terrifying ability to permanently absorb that soul. You deny them resurrection. You are the ultimate predator of their kind."
Aeloria listened in stunned silence, absorbing the massive theological implications.
"And the Shouting?" Aeloria asked, her voice trembling slightly. "The guards said I did it without training."
"The Voice, or the Thu'um, is the natural language of the dragons," Aerion elaborated. "When a dragon speaks, they do not merely communicate, they actively project their power and manipulate the physical reality of Nirn. For normal mortals, like the Greybeards who live upon the highest peak of the Throat of the World, learning a single word of power takes years of silent, agonizing meditation to comprehend its true meaning."
Aerion offered her a deeply respectful, encouraging smile.
"But you do not need to study the language, Aeloria. Because when you absorb a dragon's soul, you absorb its fundamental knowledge," Aerion stated. "The power is simply in your blood. You are a weapon forged specifically for this exact crisis."
Aeloria took a deep, shuddering breath, her mind racing. "The Dragonborn. A weapon of Akatosh."
Jenassa, walking silently on the flank, simply shook her head in sheer, profound disbelief. The pragmatic assassin was currently processing the absolute insanity of her employment.
She had sworn her blade to a towering High Elf who casually warped reality and stored massive artifacts in a pocket dimension, and now, her vanguard was a literal, mythological demigod who ate dragon souls for breakfast.
'I am absolutely going to demand a raise,' Jenassa thought dryly.
They reached the Whiterun Stables, the horses whinnying nervously as the smell of smoke clung to their armor. They walked briskly up the paved stone ramp, approaching the massive main gates of the city.
The guards, having seen the smoke from the Watchtower, quickly opened the heavy wooden doors, their faces pale with anxiety.
Aerion, Aeloria, Jenassa, and Lupin stepped through the threshold, entering the bustling, panicked streets of Whiterun.
The absolute second Aeloria's steel boot struck the cobblestones within the city walls, the very fabric of the world violently tore apart.
BOOM!
It was not a sound, it was an apocalyptic, continent shattering shockwave. A massive, deafening, overwhelmingly powerful Shout violently erupted from the absolute highest peaks of the southern mountain range. The sheer acoustic force of the vocalization triggered a massive, localized earthquake.
The cobblestones beneath their feet violently shuddered, shaking dust from the wooden roofs of the nearby shops and causing the citizens of Whiterun to scream in terror and drop to their knees.
The voice that echoed across the sky was impossibly deep, ancient, and resonated with absolute, divine authority.
"DOOOVAHHHKINNNN!!!"
The singular, booming word rolled over the plains like a physical tidal wave, washing entirely over the city.
A split second later, the sky itself responded. A massive, deafening crack of thunder violently shattered the afternoon air, shaking the very foundations of the city walls, confirming that the ancient masters of the Thu'um had awakened.
Aeloria clutched her ears, completely terrified by the sky screaming her new title. Jenassa drew her daggers instinctively, looking wildly for the source of the attack. Aerion stood perfectly still amidst the quaking cobblestones. He looked up toward the distant, cloud covered peak of the Throat of the World, a slow, utterly triumphant smile spreading across his face. The Greybeards had spoken.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 460/460 Stamina: 480/480 Magicka: 670/670
Level: 136
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+3)/Lightning(+1)/Frost(+1)) (Level 28/57/20), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 14/25), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/26), Persuasion(+1) (Level 60), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 87), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 92), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh (Force Balance), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii (Fade Spirit), & Su (Air)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Potion of Minor Magicka, Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Dwarven Sword, Hide Boots Of Sneak, Gold Ruby Ring of Fortify Magicka, Iron Garnet Ring of Fortify Conjuration & Magicka Regen, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Honed Ancient Nord Sword of Sparks, Gold Emerald Circlet, & Scroll of Fire Storm, Ring of Archery,Hide Boots of Stamina, Ancient Nord Sword of Absorbing, Iron Garnet Circlet, & Iron Sapphire Circlet
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), Elven Sword, Amethysts, Potions of Plentiful Magicka, Scroll of Conjure Familiar, & Scroll of Magelight
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, Iron Necklace, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), & Potions of Minor Magicka
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 90.20 KG / 540 KG
Septims: 82,557