Aren stared into the snowy sky. Before he became what he is today, he was just a student here, ready to make all kinds of mistakes. Colleges are all the same, chock them full of their precious "knowledge" then throw them out on the street. Downing another ale never helped the pain of the after effects. Enough is enough, he always said. Failing more and more deeply every time. Going back to where his past festered never sat well with him. Happiness is in short supply here, and any you manage to store up is frozen and blown away by the Skyrim wind. Interests dwindle when you get old, and the only way to renew your passion is to go back to where it all started. Just another look, he thought. Kicking himself for what he's done isn't the worst punishment that could be given. Lying all these years, it just gets tiring. Moving up in the ranks as always. Never really deserving his promotions. Overzealous colleagues, always trying just a little too hard to impress the oh so great Arch-Mage. Perfection isn't to be found in the mastery of magic or how hard you can step on others. Question after question, where they had gone, what happened to them, they didn't deserve this, they were different than everyone else. Regret ate at his soul, knowing he stole theirs. So many years ahead of them, and as long as he lived, it felt like his was living their years for them. To reverse time, change the past, would be his one greatest wish. Undying obsession with what happened has lead him to his current mission. Vortexes and rifts in time are not uncommon in Tamriel, but he knew he found exactly what he needed this time. What he was about to achieve would change the fate of millions, if he were to succeed. Xerarch moss covered the doorway to the old Nordic ruin, but something more interesting laid inside, a wooden mask, humming. Zero thoughts came to his mind other than completing his task.