They told her not to do it. Many times the Greybeards had warned her not to practice magic on the Time Wound.
But yet, there she stood, transfixed by the illusion it cast unto the air atop the Throat of the World. The bitter breeze whipped around the honeyed locks of the Dovahkiin as she tentatively reached out a hand. She wagged one finger through the rift, then two. Nothing happened. She was still intact.
As she thought of the Greybeards warning, she scoffed to herself realizing how foolish it was. Here was she- the Last Dragonborn, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Nightingale of Nocturnal, Thane to every Hold in Skyrim, among other things- listening to the empty warnings of men who sought to put a leash on magic- on her magic – simply because they could not comprehend its magnitude.
At one time, Paathurnax would be there to stop her from tampering with the Time Wound. But Paathurnax was dead. She had killed him in a rash decision after a talk with Delphine. Did she regret it? Perhaps. He was an immeasurably wise dragon, but he was also a member of the order trying to restrain her powers. She felt his soul inside her, sometimes. It bubbled amongst her own. She had absorbed it along with so many others, but his soul refused to stay quiet. He was not angry; instead, his voice still whispered to her, coaxing her to do good in the world. He would make her feel remorse after cleaning a Solitude mansion clean of its valuables, or fishing the gold from a peasant's pocket. She had become very good at ignoring it.
She would not be leashed like a common mutt. She was part dragon, and thusly, she would fly wherever she wanted. Akatosh himself had given her this power, and she would be a fool to not use every drop of it. She was constantly on the hunt for ways to expand her power, to push the boundaries even more. The Eye of Magnus had been satisfying for a week or so, but her ambition always brought her back to the Throat of the World. Magic had been used here once before- she tapped into the visions of an Elder Scroll to learn how to defeat Alduin. And after she had slain the World Eater, a following of dragons had met here to acknowledge her as the true wielder of Akatosh's power- not Alduin.
Not another moment would be wasted. Raising her Nordic hands humming with mana, she let loose the most powerful conjuring spell she could muster, hoping to draw in something, anything at all, from within the corners of time.
The world began to stretch. She could feel the waves of time running through her veins. Valor calls from long dead warriors rippled off her back, the touch of Oblivion heatwaves ignited her hands, and the snows of a thousand winters chilled her bones. But she couldn't locate a life force, or even a spirit force for that matter, to pull from time and drag into the present.
She pushed herself further, physically forcing herself into the Wound. Her focus was razor sharp. Nothing could distract her.
Except when she stumbled upon the moment in time of her husband's death.
"Kyra, get behind me!"
"Argis, stop. I can handle this, please, just go inside!"
"You walk into danger every day. I'm going to return the favor and save you for once. Go inside, love. I'll be right there. It's all under control."
He turned to look at her for a moment. The citizens of Markarth were running rampant around him, and five guards were aiming at the golden dragon above him. He was about to join them, his Warhammer gleaming in his hand, but he wanted to look at the beauty of his wife, the Dragonborn, to give him strength. Gods, she was beautiful. Even when she was worried, her eyes never lost their sapphire sparkle. He had watched dragons rip at her armor; he had seen her dance with death. And every moment of it had killed him.
He loved her. Truly, deeply loved her. He had told her many times: the first was at Deep Folk Crossing, when he first saw her magic strike down a rouge thief who failed quite miserably to sneak up on them. The second time was when he kissed her upon her return to Markarth. That was when she said she loved him too. He married her within the week, and he had told her how he loved her countless times more over the journey to Riften.
"I love you, Kyra," he said again. Her cobalt eyes were knit in concern, but he smiled at her. When the dragon was dead, he would pluck bones from its corpse, arrange them in a sort of bouquet, and present it to her. She was never one for flowers-she would love dragon bones, though. It was beyond cheesy, but Argis was a cheesy sort of man.
He noticed his love start to scream in terror, though. And he wasn't quite sure why. He wanted to run to her, console her, make the screams stop. But he could not move his legs, for it was as if he was consumed by a powerful heat of love.
But it wasn't love's heat consuming him. Kyra watched helplessly as the dragon spit a fireball at the love of her life. Her world stood still. She could do nothing but watch as his beautiful skin blackened and fell from his body, as his loving eyes melted down his face, as his melodic voice screamed out one last note.
The dragon was never slain. It flew away only a few moments after Argis lost his life.
That was the moment she decided to use her powers to the full extent of her ability. She would find a way to bring Argis back. She had too.
And here she way, trying desperately to use her knowledge of the arcane necromancy to bring her husband out from the depths of the Time Wound. However, watching her husband die a second time broke her focus. After a life of constantly being cheated and taken advantage of and cast aside, Argis was the first to ever truly care for her, and she was not letting him go. Screaming, she rushed towards the image of her husband's burnt corpse, hoping she'd find a way to bring him back, but the currents of time tossed her about. She lost her footing, and was thrown into an unknown vortex which carried her across time, across the planet, and across the universe. The Dovahkiin could only scream and she was thrust into the unknown.