The smell of ale, warm bread, and roasting meat filled the air as I wiped down the counter at Mralki's Frostfruit Inn. The sun barely broke through the clouds, but the tavern was alive as usual, filled with the murmurs of conversation and clinking of mugs. It was busy today—another round of travelers passing through, stopping for a bite before continuing their journey. Mralki was at the hearth, tending to the spit where a large roast was turning, while my adoptive brother Erik and I did the dirty work.
"Rune, keep those mugs coming, boy!" Mralki called over his shoulder, his deep voice carrying above the chatter.
I nodded, "Right away!"
After grabbing the latest round of mead, I made my way through the rows of tables and I eventually reached the far corner of the inn. My attention immediately went to the familiar figure sitting at a weathered table.
Lemkil. That bastard was drunk—again.
His thick beard, now streaked with gray, was unkempt, and his face was flushed from too much drink. He had been here since the early hours, getting louder as the day wore on. One of his twin daughters, Britte, stood nearby, her brow furrowed as she tried to get him to stop. I glimpsed at her face as I approached—frustration. She was always trying to reel in her father, but Lemkil rarely listened.
"Papa, it's too early for that much," Britte urged, her voice still calm, the edge of sarcasm evident in her tone.
Lemkil let out a snort, slamming his mug down on the table. "Early? It's never too early for a drink, girl," he grumbled, his eyes barely focusing on her. "Look at you, always worried about me. A good daughter, ain't ya?"
He raised his mug to Mralki, who made his way over, as if trying to turn the conversation into some joke.
"Hey, Mralki," Lemkil slurred. "You see this? Look how devoted Britte is to her old man. Always tryin' to make sure I don't enjoy my mead. If only Sissel were as thoughtful. Maybe she wouldn't be such a disappointment, huh?" He chuckled, a humorless sound that made my stomach twist.
I glanced over at Britte. Her lips curled into a thin smile as she listened, eyes glinting with something unsettling. It wasn't anger or frustration that flickered across her face—it was amusement. She stood there, watching her father's drunken rambling with the same detached interest as one might observe an amusing scene in a play.
I placed the fresh mug of mead in front of Lemkil, trying to keep my face neutral, my hands steady. The man had never been kind to anyone—least of all his daughters. But I knew better than to let my anger show. Lemkil was drunk, and when he was like this, nothing good would come from speaking up. So I kept my mouth shut, listening instead.
"Don't be so hard on the girl, Lemkil," Mralki said as he walked up, wiping his hands on his apron. "You've got two wonderful daughters, and you ought to appreciate that."
Lemkil snorted again, taking another swig from his mug. "Appreciate 'em? Ha! One's all worried about me and being annoying, while the other won't even look me in the eye. Neither is much help at the farm. Can't say I've seen much good in either of 'em lately."
Mralki's gaze drifted toward Britte. "Your daughters are fine, Lemkil," he continued, his tone sharp but measured. "You're just too stubborn to see it."
"Stubborn, eh?" Lemkil muttered, but his attention drifted to his mug again. The conversation had clearly lost his interest, as it did mine.
My attention was already shifting toward the back door of the inn. The low creak of its opening just barely caught my ear, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of feet.
I saw our little town thief and good friend of mine, Lokir, standing just outside the door, motioning for me and Erik to come over.
I always had this odd chill at the back of my neck when I saw this guy. At first, I thought it was a bad omen. But honestly I think I'm just worried about the bastard. He's an orphan and lives in the stables. It oddly fit him to be among horses… But that might've been just another one of my weird thoughts over the years.
Erik went to the door, nodding subtly at me. "Father's got his hands full with Lemkil," he muttered, a half-grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. I knew what he was thinking—getting out of this mess, away from the drunken rambling and Britte's icy gaze. Most of all from work.
I glanced at Mralki, who was still engaged in some half-hearted attempt to placate Lemkil. Britte was standing stiffly by the corner, clearly waiting for her chance to exit as well. She didn't seem inclined to intervene in her father's antics anymore.
Without a word, Erik and I both made our way toward the back door. The sound of Lemkil's drunken laughter echoed from behind me. Outside, the cool air hit my face like a splash of water. The sun still hadn't fully broken through the clouds, leaving the sky a dull, heavy gray.
Erik glanced around quickly, then grinned at me. "We're not fooling anyone, are we?" he muttered. "Father's not exactly oblivious."
I grinned back. "If anyone knows how to pretend they're too busy to notice, it's him."
My eyes scanned the street, spotting Lokir's figure leaning against a post just a few paces away. He straightened up as he saw us approaching.
He certainly wasn't the type to make a scene—ever.
"You two made it out, then?" Lokir said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. He quickly glanced back toward the inn, where we could still faintly hear Mralki and Lemkil's voices. "I wasn't sure you'd slip away with that drunkard still in there."
I nodded, my lips pressing into a thin line. "We did. But we need to keep it quick. You called, so what's the plan today?"
Lokir laughed sharply in a way only he could and motioned for us to follow. "You're not the only ones who'd like to stay out of trouble, you know. But there's something I need you to see."
Erik shot him an intrigued look. "What is it this time? Another one of your 'secret discoveries'?"
Lokir didn't respond immediately, his eyes narrowing, as if debating how much to reveal. Then he spoke in a quieter voice, one that carried more weight than I expected. "It's about Sissel. I've seen something—something strange."
I felt my stomach tighten at the mention of Sissel. The girl had always been quiet and withdrawn. Made me worry more than anything. "What are you talking about?"
Lokir glanced over his shoulder again, then motioned for us to hurry. "Not here," he said, lowering his voice even further. "Follow me."
We followed Lokir down the narrow alley behind the tavern, our footsteps muffled against the dirt. Finally, he stopped at the edge of a crumbling stone wall that overlooked a small, unused courtyard. He glanced around one more time, making sure no one was close enough to overhear.
"Alright, now listen up," Lokir began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been keeping an eye on Sissel these past few days. Something felt off about her, more than usual. So I followed her around."
"Stalker."
"Listen! She's been meeting with someone interesting! Get this. The town's very own oldie mage, Jouane Manette."
I frowned. "The town's healer? What for?"
"I dunno, but Sissel's been meeting with him regularly. And it's not just for the usual remedies or healing herbs."
Erik crossed his arms, his face tightening as he processed the information. "You think Jouane's up to something? He's been around here forever—Rorik trusts him like family."
Lokir lowered his voice even further. "Trust me, it's not about healing. I've been spying on them for days. Mister Manette's been teaching her magic. Dangerous magic, I'm sure of it."
"Magic? Sissel? She never showed interest in that kind of thing before. Why would she start now?"
Lokir glanced over his shoulder nervously before meeting my eyes. "That's exactly why I'm curious! I saw them at the cliffs near the old ruins—he's been showing her how to cast spells. It's not the simple stuff you'd expect from a healer's apprentice or the sort either. I'm still shocked at how much that little kid can do."
"You're only a year older than her, kiddo." I said.
"And you're a year older than me too, what's your point?"
I shook my head. "Nothing, I'm unsure of what I meant."
Erik piped up. "Whatever, let's go see what they're up to! Lokir's got me all curious now, too."
We followed Lokir as he led us through the plowed farmlands; the wind picking up as we moved further from the village. The stone walls of the old ruins loomed ahead, weathered by time but still sturdy enough to hold the secrets of the past. It was an eerie place—quiet and forgotten by most, save for the occasional wanderer or fool seeking a place to hide. Lokir motioned for us to keep our voices low as we approached the edge of the cliffs. We crouched behind a jagged rock outcropping, just far enough to be out of sight, but close enough to watch.
There, below us, was Sissel—her small frame bent slightly in concentration, standing before Jouane Manette. The old mage, with his long, silver-streaked hair and weathered robes, was guiding her through a series of gestures, his hands moving in precise arcs. I watched her, the delicate way she held her hands, the focus in her eyes. She was conjuring a large icicle in front of herself. It was huge! The size of a horse, maybe? The girl had always seemed timid and reserved, but now… she looked powerful, too powerful for her age.
"I don't like this," I murmured under my breath. "She's too young for this kind of magic. Destruction magic at that."
Erik was just as concerned, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "Mister Manette's always been strange. But this... this is something else. He's teaching her more than simple healing, that's for sure."
I watched them in silence for a moment longer, my eyes narrowing as Sissel raised her hands. With a sharp motion, Sissel thrust her palms forward, and the icicle accelerated in that direction, striking a large boulder and reducing it to rubble.
The sheer power of it took me by surprise. Sissel, the quiet girl who always seemed so meek, had just obliterated a rock as if it were nothing. Her spell was far more destructive than I'd imagined for someone her age. And yet, there was something unsettling in the way she performed it, as if it was second nature to her.
Erik whistled. "Wow, kid's better than I thought," he whispered. "But why is she learning this?"
Lokir shook his head. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. I don't like it, but it's not just the magic that's worrying me. It's Jouane's intentions. This kind of magic—it's dangerous. If he's teaching her destruction, what's he planning?"
I was about to respond when I felt a sharp jolt—I'd leaned too far forward to get a better look at Sissel, trying to see more clearly, and slipped. I tumbled forward, landing with a loud crash against the rock face. My butt throbbed like a hammer had struck it and my legs were tingling with that odd numbness you get after a hard fall.
Then came the shriek. Sissel's terrified voice rang out, her high-pitched cry piercing the air. "No! No, please—"
Before I could register what was happening, I saw her—Sissel—her eyes wide with shock and her hands frozen mid-motion. I didn't have time to react before the burst of cold shot toward me. An icicle struck the ground beside me, and the force of the magic caused the earth to crumble beneath me. My body went weightless for a moment before I plunged down into the dark. The world was a blur, filled with a mix of cold air and tumbling rocks. My body twisted as I fell, crashing through layers of debris before I slammed into something solid, my vision a mix of bright flashes and darkness. I barely registered the crunch of bones and stones before everything went black.
For what felt like an eternity, I couldn't see. My senses dulled, the world muffled and far away. Blood trickled down my brow, seeping into my hair as I slowly regained awareness of my surroundings. I felt the rough stone beneath me, the dampness of the cold air mixing with the scent of old earth. My heart raced, but it felt as if it came from miles away.
I blinked, my eyes heavy, and slowly—too slowly—focused on the dim light above me. There was a silhouette. Someone called out, but their voice was distant and fractured, like it was coming from the other side of a foggy glass.
"Rune? Rune! I didn't mean it!"
Sissel. I could just make out her shape, trembling at the edge, her hands wringing together. Her voice quivered with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Rune! I didn't mean to—please wake up."
I tried to push myself up, but my body protested. My head was throbbing, and I could feel the blood trickling from the gash on my forehead, sticking my hair to my skin. I breathed in shallowly, the coldness of the underground room seeping into my bones. My heart thudded against my ribs as if it wanted to escape my chest.
And then, like a flash of lightning, memories rushed into my mind—memories of a life that wasn't mine, yet somehow was. A world far from here, filled with things I couldn't understand. Faces, names, events—I could see them so clearly, but they slipped away as soon as I tried to grasp them. Everything felt… foreign. Yet familiar, like I had once lived through it all.
I winced as the memories clashed with the present. I remembered a life of cities, of technology, of battlefields and kingdoms… and a name that floated just beyond my grasp. The pieces were there, but they wouldn't fall into place.
I blinked again, pushing away the haze. Sissel's crying voice cut through the fog.
"Please, Rune, say something. Please! I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! I–I reacted poorly!" Her voice was desperate now, breaking with the weight of her words.
I slowly sat, my mind still foggy. I looked around—darkness, shadows, crumbling stone. The air smelled of earth and decay. I could see Sissel's form above me, her wide, tear-filled eyes watching me as I tried to steady myself.
"Are you okay?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the echoes of the ruins.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "I—" My words came out in a croak, and I had to clear my throat before trying again. "I'm fine… just a little shaken up."
"I don't know how fine you are down there, young man!" Jouane Manette popped up beside Sissel. "Come now, catch."
He dropped a vial of red liquid from up above, and I instinctively caught it.
"Drink up, it's a healing potion I made. I'm sure you're not your best down there, even if you don't feel it yet."
"Right…" I mumbled as I downed the contents and they worked their magic, mending the bones I'd heard crack earlier. My head still spun, and I had to reach out to the ground to steady myself, trying to ignore the way the world tilted, but I got myself standing up after that.
Jouane shouted down at me again. "Sit tight. I sent your little friends back to grab a rope. We'll pull you out."
"Right…"
After Sissel and Jouane pulled away from the hole, I just stood there, feeling the cold seep into my skin, my mind still heavy with fog. The world around me felt like it was shifting, as if reality itself was unraveling. The memories—no, the flashes of a life that wasn't mine—came rushing back. They were fragmented at first, disjointed, like puzzle pieces I couldn't quite fit together. I saw cities, towering buildings, skies full of strange aircraft. I remembered battles fought with guns, not swords. Strange devices that I had used with ease but couldn't even begin to name now. I heard people speaking in languages I couldn't understand, faces that I had once known but could no longer place.
It was like a different version of me was still living in those memories, a life that had been real and significant but was now so far out of reach. A wave of dizziness rolled through me and I nearly fell back to my arse.
But the picture eventually cleared.
My memories were back.
The sensation of displacement washed over me, and I couldn't help but laugh softly under my breath.
The Elder Scrolls Universe
That's what this was, wasn't it? The realization crept in slowly, but when it hit, it made me want to laugh and scream all at once. I'd spent hours upon hours playing those games, exploring every corner of Tamriel, battling Draugr in ancient ruins just like this. I could almost hear the sound of the shuffling undead, the soft creaking of ancient doors, the eerie groans of the wind through those forgotten halls.
It was supposed to just be a game, a world of pixels and fantasy.
But now... now I am here.
I was in Skyrim.
I was in one of the Nordic ruins that I'd explored so many times from the comfort of my couch, in a world where I was the one who held the controller.
I kept chuckling weakly to myself, though it felt hollow. So this is it. This is my life now? I'd somehow been pulled from whatever world I had once known and thrust into the very game that had consumed so many of my waking hours. It was almost too absurd to comprehend.
But then, a chill swept through me, like a cold gust of wind from the deepest depths of a forgotten tomb. The kind of chill that slithered down your spine, warning you of something… wrong.
I looked around again, my eyes now adjusting to the darkness of the ruins. Rough-hewn stones formed the walls; their surfaces bore ancient, unrecognizable runes. Shattered stone pillars and broken remnants of a past civilization lay abandoned to time and decay. Layers of dust and history buried this forgotten place. But I knew it already.
It was the Sovngarde kind of ruin.
If I'm in Skyrim... The thought suddenly hit me with horrifying clarity. And if this is a Nordic ruin... My breath caught in my throat, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. That means...
The distant sound of dragging feet, the grumbling groans of the undead, shattered the silence of the ruin.
My heart stopped for a beat.
Draugr.
I wasn't imagining it. I could hear them—the unmistakable sound of their slow, shuffling movements, the dragging of their ancient, armor-clad feet across the stone floor. The low groans echoed through the chamber as several of the undead warriors stirred, rising from their resting places within the ruin.
Sissel's voice trembled above me. "Rune? What's wrong?"
My breath caught in my throat, my pulse quickening. I could see them now, shadows moving at the edges of the room, figures clad in rusted armor and ancient furs. Their glowing eyes pierced the darkness as they slowly advanced, their weapons drawn. One by one, the Draugr emerged from the shadows, each one a towering figure of death.
"Sissel! Jouane!" I shouted, my voice louder than I intended. "Help! Draugr! They're coming!"
From above, Jouane Manette's voice was calm, but there was an edge of urgency. "Stay calm, Rune! Keep your wits about you."
Stay calm? My hands were shaking, my heart pounding against my ribs. There's nothing to stay calm about!
I didn't wait. I couldn't. The sight of the Draugr lumbering toward me, weapons raised, was enough to send a primal fear through my body, one that made every instinct scream to run. I scrambled to my feet, feeling the effects of the healing potion still working its way through my body, dulling the pain, but the sense of impending doom had no mercy.
Without thinking, I bolted. The ground shook beneath my feet as I sprinted forward, desperate to put distance between myself and the undead horrors closing in. My heart raced, the echoes of my footsteps mingling with the shuffling of the Draugr as they pursued.
I heard Sissel's voice calling out. "Rune! Wait! Come back!"
But there was no time to wait. I rounded a corner in the ruin, my mind frantically scanning for anything that might help, but all I saw was more darkness and ruin. The Draugr were relentless, their movements slow but closing in from all sides.
I had no weapon. No armor. No defense.
I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this at all!
The Draugr were closing in fast, their heavy footsteps vibrating the ground beneath me. The sound of their armor scraping against the stone was like a death knell echoing through the narrow corridors. I didn't have time to think. Every instinct screamed at me to run.
I took off, sprinting through the ruin, weaving between broken pillars and crumbling walls, desperate to avoid the snapping jaws of death. I could hear the Draugr behind me, their guttural voices grumbling as they advanced. Then I heard it—a sharp thwip—and felt a cold rush of air pass my ear. An arrow. I ducked just in time as it lodged into the stone wall beside me with a sharp thunk. Another arrow followed, whistling through the air toward me. I stumbled, twisting my body to dodge, but then something strange caught my eye.
A faint, shimmering trail of light weaving through the air before me—a path?
It wasn't just any light. It was like the faint glow of threads, almost spectral, outlining a route for me to follow. I blinked in confusion, but as my feet instinctively moved toward it, I couldn't deny the sudden feeling of clarity that washed over me.
Is that... the Clairvoyance spell?
I almost laughed. That spell was useless in the game. Just a bright glowing trail leading you toward whatever your quest was. It didn't do anything. Ever. Because the player always had the map and the compass. Yet here I was, following it down a winding path like it was my only hope.
I didn't have time to question it. I had Draugr on my tail, and this was my only shot. Without another thought, I darted forward, following the glowing trail as it twisted through the stone corridors. The arrows kept coming, but the path shifted just enough to let me slip by each one.
The glowing threads led me to a sharp corner, where the passage opened into a larger hallway. In the far end of the hall, I could make out a familiar large door, but it was closed up. An antique Dragon Claw lay at the foot of the door, in the hands of a skeleton.
I recognized this. I knew this puzzle! The Dragon Claw puzzle! I could solve this!
I grabbed the claw, clutching it in my hand as the familiar engravings of Bear, Dragon, and Snake were revealed on its surface. I could already feel the tension of the Draugr closing in behind me, the sound of their footsteps growing louder. There was no time to waste. I hurried to the wall where the engraving had been weathered by time. My fingers traced the shapes as I quickly positioned the wall's symbols to match the ones on the claw—Bear, Dragon, Snake. With a satisfying click, the wall groaned and shifted, unlocking the mechanism.
I shoved the Dragon Claw into the wall's slot, and the door slowly creaked open, inch by agonizing inch. The Draugr were already in the hallway, their hollow eyes glowing with an eerie blue light as they raised their weapons.
No time! There's no time!
I didn't wait for the door to fully open. The arrow that grazed my arm told me there wasn't time to. With a grunt of frustration, I crawled through the small gap, just as another arrow buried itself into the stone beside me.
I rolled onto the cold, damp stone floor on the other side, gasping for air. The door behind me rumbled as it continued to open. The Draugr were as relentless as ever—they pounded against the door, their grumbling voices growing louder as the door slowly kept opening more and more. I didn't even have a moment to catch my breath before the room ahead of me revealed its strange contents.
The space was vast, an underground chamber filled with water. The surface of the water glowed with an eerie light, illuminating a stone pathway leading to a pedestal in the center of the room. Upon the pedestal rested a chest, its edges worn by time but still intact.
The spectral weave—a guide that had helped me evade the Draugr so far—was now leading straight to the chest. Without thinking, I rushed toward it, my feet splashing against the water. The Draugr's pounding grew louder behind me, their undead wails pressing against my ears, but I couldn't stop. Not now. The chest was my only hope.
Please… A Scroll, a Weapon, Staff preferably! Anything!
I reached it, panting, and pulled it open with trembling hands. Inside...
A strange fruit.
My brow furrowed.
Just a fruit? I couldn't believe it. I was hoping for something to kill those things with, but no—a fruit? I rolled my eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. Skyrim chest RNG. Even in real life, it's still this bad...
But as I stared at the swirling, vibrant patterns on the fruit's skin, a thought tugged at the back of my mind. I narrowed my eyes.
Wait...
It wasn't just any fruit.
It couldn't be—could it?
Is this... A Devil Fruit?
My heart skipped a beat. What's a Devil Fruit doing in Nirn?
Before I could process the absurdity of it all, another arrow flew through the air, narrowly missing my shoulder. My survival instincts kicked in. Without thinking, I grabbed the fruit and took a bite.
At first, it tasted foul. Bitter, almost rancid. Like I was eating something rotten. I gagged, my throat rejecting it as I nearly spat it out, but something inside me urged me to swallow. So, I did. It burned as it slid down my throat, a strange, fiery sensation taking root in my chest.
I turned to face the Draugr, who were now spilling into the room, their glowing eyes locked on me. With no more time to think, I raised my hand at them, uncertain of what I was doing. A sudden rush of energy surged through my body, and as if on instinct, I willed my hand forward.
The Draugr froze. One by one, their bodies stiffened, and the blue light in their eyes flickered and dimmed. I watched, wide-eyed, as their souls—visible as faint wisps of light—drifted away from their rotting forms, spiraling into the air as they came before me in a clump.
My heart pounded. I stood there, unable to move, as the last Draugr's souls left their bodies, leaving nothing but crumbling corpses behind.
The air was thick with silence, and I could feel the cold sweat on my brow as the reality of what had just happened set in. My fingers trembled.
I... I just took their souls.
The memories, the flashes of things I couldn't quite understand, flooded my mind. And then it clicked.
"I—I just ate Big Mom's Soul-Soul Fruit…!"
…