Chapter 1:

It was just turning evening across the land of Skyrim. Evening orange bathed the open landscape, and amongst the villages, towns, and cities, the inhabitants were beginning to wind down for the day. Even the beasts that roamed Skyrim's plains and forests were searching for places to tuck in, while creatures of the night waited patiently for their time under the moon. But one daylight critter was far from settling down; for a dovakin's work is never done.

Along one of the high mountain ranges that sprawled Skyrim's landscape, carving up the area with unpassable walls, a lone Imperial scales a narrow cliff face. Finding a hand hold, the man pulls himself up with a grunt of effort, onto a ledge that breaks the shear fangs of rock that form the tomb's natural barrier. Here, the sun's light does not reach, and near darkness is cast across the large wooden doors that barre the entrance.

Kian takes a moment to catch his breath; hands clutching his knees as he spends a few moments gasping. Whipping his sweat with the edge of his traveling cloak, the dragonborn stands, hands on hips, as he studies his destination. An unnamed Nordic tomb lies before him, carved from the ridged mountain top. According to tales from the incredibly sparse village at the mountain's base, the tomb was there long before they had settled; some Nords claim it predates all others; perhaps even Skyrim itself. Though no one had touched the thing in generations due to the dangerous climb, so no one knows for sure.

And if there was one thing Kian knew, after his career adventuring and doing heroic work through Skyrim, Nordic tombs were a gold coin jackpot. What had caught his attention most, was that it had been described as a less elaborate Bleak Falls Barrow; a phrase that was music to his ears. And after several days of non-stop dragon hunting, quest-fulfilling, attending some of his Thane duties, and trying to patch relations between Stormcloaks and Imperials, Kian thought some dungeon exploring was just the break he needed.

With a deep breath in… and out, Kian rubbed his hands together.

"Let's see what you're hiding."

And with a smirk, he opened the door.

The first, most noticeable thing about the tomb was the open entryway. It wasn't as large as Bleak Falls Barrow, fitting the rumors nicely, but it was far more ornately carved. With swirling designs and strange animals carved with careful hand into the rock, which had been entirely smoothed out. Kian took a quick spin around to get a view of the entire room.

"Wow. Ancient Nords put a lot of effort into their burial chambers. I should tell Ralof that the others need to step up their game."

With a chuckle to himself, the dragonborn stepped cautiously through the open doorway; checking for traps as he went. The entryway may not have been much in scale, but the hallways outdid anything he had seen before. The headspace was huge! The walls stretched up into a tall arch far above Kian, to the point where not even the torches' light could reach. Along each side, shelf-like alcoves that had been carved out to hold the dead ran all the way to the end, and from what Kian could tell, likely ran into the other rooms he could see branching off.

His adventuring instincts reacted and the seasoned fighter pulled and iron sword from its scabbard while setting a fireball alight in the other. Green eyes scanned from side to side, on the look for draugrs. But not a soul moved in the darkened tomb. With great trepidation, the dragonborn approached one alcove, and peered inside. What could have been a draugr, was now nothing more than dust with a few pieces of bone, and most of a skull left. Checking around, Kian saw that it was the same in all the other graves along the hall. Letting out a held breath, Kian retracted his weapons.

"Damn, this is certainly an old tomb." He kicked lazily at a loose piece of stone before continuing. Well, no draugrs was certainly going to make this easier.

Again, Kian was distracted admiring the height of the ceiling. It was so large, that even Alduin could slink through without needing to lower his head much. Which was saying something, since he was the largest of the dragons. Any other would likely fit with ease.

Though the adventurer felt something was off. Something about the tomb was… out of place. A chill crept down his spine, and Kian scratched nervously at it as he studied his surroundings. At last he noticed; the entire tomb was bare.

Well, not entirely. The classic pots, earns, and chests were still scattered around the graves towards the hall's end, and the rooms he peaked into were filled with their usual goodies, (already pilfered as he checked, of course), but the entire front was empty of anything along the walls. It led all the way up to…

Before the dovakin stood a black hallway. Any and all torches had been snuffed, and turned the entryway into a dark abyss. From what was visible, Kian could tell it was bare as well, same as the rest. A few connections began to form in his brain. It was like a path in the woods; a trail worn down by so many animals that vegetation ceased to grow and left open earth behind instead. Dread crept down his spine. Something had been moving through here, something big enough to sweep pots, earns, and chest off the walls as it scraped by.

And it likely lived down this corridor.

Dropping to a crouch, Kian swept his way down the corridor, cloak barely making a sound as he moved with practiced stealth. If the Khajiit who taught him could see his form now, he would surely weep at its perfection. The farther Kian crept, the more that cold chill began to grow, and every black hair on his body stood on end.

A crunching sound graced his ears, and Kian's tightened muscles jumped at the sudden noise. Looking down, he saw a piece of old pine straw. Its orange color was lost in the lack of light. Farther down, Kian could see more of the stuff, as well as some other outside debris like moss and leaves. Keeping to his stealth, the Thane moved in deeper, brushing lightly over growing layers of pine straw and leaves.

At last, the stone walls gave way to a large room. At one time it may have been a resting place for a Nord of great importance, to the extent that it even had an open air window letting the first light of the moon into the space. But now, anything that could have given hint to what the room was for was gone, replaced instead by a huge nest. It stretched from one wall to another and was made of woven and stacked bits of the same debris that Kian had found in the hallway, only to a much larger degree. Stepping onto the surface, the dovakin found it to be springy, and very soft. Not to the extent of most tavern beds, but comfy enough for something more… feral.

Though what caught his attention was the state of the room around him. Sections of the wall looked blacked and charred, like the residue left behind from a fire blast, and large claw marks scoured the walls, deep and long. And, near the edge of the nest where Kian stood, a familiar four-toed print stood out, pressed into the layers of moss and dead leaves.

"Dragon."

Kian choked out as he scrambled back into darkness.

No. No no no no no no! Fucking no! His luck was not this bad, the divines could not hate him this much. Kian brought a hand to his mouth, trying to choke back panic and a painful sob. His other hand ran fingers urgently through unruly black hair; and for a time all that could be heard in the silent tomb was pained breathing.

Dragons, at this point, were a waking nightmare to Kian. He had gone up against quite a few now, as is his duty as dragonborn, but constant near death conflict with titanic flying monsters had done some major damage to his nerves. Most days he watched the sky with paranoia filling his mind. The brave dovakin of Skyrim jumped at the sound of a bird taking flight from a tree; flashbacks of gaping jaws and the pain of fire searing his flesh charging his battle instincts. Dragons were something he feared every day. And even though he would charge into battle with them again, and he knew he would, he hated every moment of it. And now, to encounter one on his "day off" as Kian was calling it, was just too much.

After a few moments of just trying to breathe again, Kian pulled himself to his feet, forcing panic down as he always had. It was obvious that the dragon wasn't here. He just needed to haul his ass out before it came back… before he was stuck in a small space with a jagged, tooth-filled beast from Oblivion-!

NO… no. We're not going there. Take the treasure, get out.

The dragon hunter kept up the mantra as he scrambled to gather his loot. Take the treasure, get out. Take the treasure, get out. Take the treasure-

Across the expansive nest, the rising moon flooded more of its calm, blue light into the tomb, and a silver beam glinted off something in the distance. Kian made his way in a bit of a daze over to the object, and felt his limbs go limp at the sight; bag of dusty armor falling to the ground with a muffled clang.

Shattered bits of smooth grey littered the straw covering the floor, their insides a pure white. Each piece was curved to a slight extent, and some chunks were still whole enough to resemble parts of an oval. White strands of goo from smashed yokes stuck clumps of the nest together, and what looked like the bloodied pieces of whatever infants had been inside were scattered amongst the leaves. And to add to the scene, one was still completely intact.

"Eggs"

It came out as a squeak of fear and disbelief. Both of Kian's hands buried their fingers in his scrappy hair.

"The dragons are laying fucking eggs!"

The dragonborn felt like sinking to the floor for a good cry… but refused to let himself. Instead, he returned to gathering supplies while muttering an itinerary to himself as a distraction.

"I'll need to tell the Jarl of Whiterun first thing tomorrow. We'll spread the word to the rest of Skyrim. Start organizing teams to root out more nests. We'll smash any eggs we see, and double the efforts to track down dragon locations. Maybe we can target the females first… yeah, get rid of their egg layers. But first; we'll get home, have Lydia set up a roaring fire, get a nice… whole bottle of warmed mead, and sleep tonight away."

But a sound cut through the heavy silence of the empty tomb. Kian shuttered at it, and turned around to eye the remaining, intact egg in disbelief. The grey lump was shuttering; wriggling and practically rolling around on the pine straw. The dovakin crept back over towards it, his eyes slowly growing wider, expression dropping further into anguish. Hair line cracks appeared in a web-like pattern all over the smooth surface of the egg.

"Ohhhh no." Kian choked out. He had little breath left to work with at this point.

With a few more wiggles, and one particularly violent shutter, the egg burst apart with a resounding crack, and Kian hurled himself back with a cry of fear, shuffling backwards as fast as he could, kicking up leaves as he went. A dark blob fell with a wet splurch amongst the moss and hay, a few indiscernible limbs kicking out into the blackness, as the baby dragon took its first breaths.

Kian sat amongst the straw, down right hyperventilating.

Damn! I thought the thing was dead! How has it survived without warmth like this?

His thoughts raced as the dark silhouette continued to squirm in the soft bedding. A few tiny scraws filled the bare chamber as the dragon tested its voice. Steadying his shaking limbs, the Imperial pulled a dagger from his belt, and scrambled back over to where the new dragon lay. Soon enough, he stood tall over the keening infant; and he had to admit, it did feel rather good to be towering over one of their kind for a change.

With a calming breath, Kian raised the dagger. One stab. Then it'll be dead. One stab.

As the dragonborn's shadow fell across the baby, it raised its scaly head, and looked directly towards Kian. Its eyes were red. The same red that had peered down at Kian while his head lay on the executioners block. Red as the fires of Oblivion, the Nords used to say. But it was different here. On this dragon, they looked more like ripe berries, ready to be picked from their branch. The large, reflective lenses took up most of the dragon's face, and Kian caught sight of himself reflected in them. As well as his dagger.

The baby dragon tilted its head to the side, gazing up and Kian with no real discernable expression. Out of pure fascination and confusion, Kian dipped his head to mimic it. Then the infant beast chirped. Actually chirped. Like a baby chick, or a bird. A cute, small little churr which barely stirred the air. Kian was dumbstruck, and the first thing that came to mind fell from his mouth.

"Um… hi?"

The dragon churred again, if a bit more eager this time, and twisted its body about so it was finally standing right side up on the straw. And with a few unsteady bounds, it scrambled over to Kian. With a startled yelp, Kian backed up from the approaching thing until his back slammed into the wall. He muffled a grunt of pain, and rubbed the back of his sore head. Another chirp sounded from below, and the adventurer looked down, only to lock eyes with the baby dragon, practically sitting on his boot.

The dragonborn was completely still, barely even breathing from his spot pressed against the wall. The dragon chirped again, a bit quieter this time, and stepped even closer, using its wings like front legs to crawl along. Kian breathed in sharply as the dragon stepped onto his foot, the tiny weight barely noticeable through the thick protective material.

With another, longer chirp, the dragon rubbed its head up against Kian's leg.

The Thane's eyes were incredibly close to leaving their sockets if he stretched them any farther. Reality seemed to be crumbling around him. Any sort of sense and order the world had? Gone. Tossed out the window all with that one action. The dragon ceased his affection and stared up at Kian with those large, red berry eyes, and something melted in the dragonborn's chest. A comfortable warmth settled in his gut, and against anything he thought he would ever do, he lowered himself to crouch next to the dragon.

It eagerly stepped closer to him, like it was glad to see his face without such a distance. Nervously, the dragon slayer brought a hand to the side of its face, though it continued to hover there uncertainly. The baby closed the gap and pressed its forehead into Kian's palm, rubbing against it with vigor. With a quiet, and disbelieving chuckle, he closed his fingers around the dragon's chin, and stroked it much like one would a cat or a dog.

The dragon responded with closing its eyes in a calm and satisfied expression. And, against his hand, Kian felt vibrations from deep in its throat.

"It's purring?" he whispered with reverence. Things could not possibly weirder.

At that moment, Skyrim's hero became painfully aware of the weight of the dagger in his hands. Tearing his eyes away from the dragon, he eyed the sharpened steal with conflict raging in his eyes. Once again, he turned to the dragon, who had stopped its rubbing once more when it noticed Kian move his gaze. Those big, red eyes were open once more, and they completely encompassed Kian's view.

His hand tightened around the dagger's grip, and he raised it slightly in a shivering hand, the responsibility of his title weighing it down for the first time in his life.

Under the sharp gaze of the full moon, in the dead of night, the doors of an unnamed Nordic tomb open to the chilly night air. A robed figure steps from the shadows and, with a few glances around, begins to scale back down the mountain.

A sack of treasures tied to his traveling pack, and a newly hatched baby dragon resting against his chest in a tight grip.