Morning rose over Tamriel.

Bird song filled the crisp air, the sweet scent of dew still fresh on the grass. Svana cracked an eye open, squinting at how bright the world seemed. Eastmarch was seemingly always so cloudy and dreary. But here, colors all clashed with each other, fighting for her attention in an array of pastels and bright, sparkling light. Her back ached something terrible when she sat up and her arms had gone numb, but she was alive.

"You're awake." Ralof stood over her, appearing to be in a much more chipper mood than when she saw him last. "Sleep well?"

She grumbled in response. "About well as anyone could."

It had only been a few hours since that dragon swooped down and destroyed Helgen. Luckily for her, the chaos offered an opportunity to escape… but at the cost of an entire village. She wondered if anyone else had made it out alive. Perhaps there were other survivors; she recalled a boy being pulled into safety by Hadvar, and other villagers who managed to make it past the gates before they crumbled into a burning heap.

"Hey, you alright?" Ralof knelt down beside her, pulling her out of her musings, "You're staring off again."

Svana shook her head. "Sorry, it's just… I still can't believe what happened."

Ralof patted her on the shoulder, "It's alright," he said, his tone gentle, "I hardly understand it myself."

"Hm. You think that dragon's really gone?"

Ralof only offered a shrug. "Who knows? Best we get to Riverwood and see some friendly faces. Maybe you could find someone who could help you find your brother."

Svana nodded, finally getting up. "It's not that far from here, if I recall correctly?"

"Yeah, there we'll be able to get rested up properly," he looked over to Hadvar, "I… well, we'll have to report back to our superiors soon."

Svana smirked, "How's that arrangement going for you two?"

But Ralof could only offer her a sad smile in return. "It's a long story."

The smirk fell. "Oh."

"It's alright, you didn't know."

"No, I'm…sorry, that was awkward."

"No harm done, lass," he offered a hand and pulled her up to her feet. "We find happiness where we can."

Svana grinned, her mood easing up a bit. "I'll drink to that."

The trip to Riverwood had been an uneventful one. Svana, in awe of the beauty of Skyrim's heartlands, was grateful for the lack of interruptions. She had only heard of this place from passing travellers, of tan golden fields and flowers forever in bloom. How the waters were a crystalline blue and how the wind always sang.

It was like spring ever-lasting, and there was a certain kind of charm to the way the sun hit her skin. She could certainly get used to living in a place like this. It was a shame to think that dragons and wars would tear it up soon enough.

The village was a simple one, far simpler than even Kynesgrove, with a mighty mill that greeted the trio as they neared the threshold of the entrance. Ralof jogged up beside Hadvar, taking a hold of his hands.

"What-"

"Listen, Hadvar," Ralof started, "Let me go up ahead."

"Why?"

"We can't be seen like this."

"It's just our families, they know."

"No, the others."

Hadvar released his hands from Ralof's, understanding. "You think there are other survivors?"

"Better safe than sorry."

He nodded, though Svana could see how it pained him to do so.

Ralof didn't leave his lover wanting though, and gave a quick, chaste kiss on the lips, "Before we leave, we'll see each other again."

A small smile formed on his lips. "I'll hold you to that."

Ralof made it to the entrance of the village first, waving his hellos to a blonde woman who he shared a great resemblance to.

Hadvar gestured with a roll of his head, "C'mon, we'll go the long way around."

Svana trailed behind him, taking in the sights. But her curiosity could not be helped. "So… what's the story between you two?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Ralof."

"There's no story."

"I dunno," Svana shrugged, "You're a Legionnaire… he's a Stormcloak, that must make things awkward."

Hadvar sighed, "It's… not something I want to talk about."

But Svana's eyes practically begged him to.

Another sigh. "Why does it even matter to you, anyway?"

"I think it's…strange."

"Strange? Because we're both men?"

She scoffed. "No!" She matched his pace, walking beside him as they traced their path along the outer walls of the village, hidden from view. "Obviously you didn't meet on the battlefield."

Hadvar nodded, confirming her thoughts, "We were together for a long time. We even lived in the same house."

"That's sweet." There was genuine affection in her voice.

"But the war does a lot to hurt people, scare them. I know Ralof means well, it's just…" a sigh, "I know it's easier to just say sod it and leave the mess to the Imperials to clean up."

"But…?"

"There are bigger threats to deal with."

"Bigger than dragons?"

He nodded. "Bigger than dragons."

They were nearing the back gates of the village. "So, what are you two going to do?"

Hadvar shrugged, "I'm just happy we're both in one piece."

The village was quaint enough. It consisted of only a narrow, stone road through the whole place, with buildings and homes flanking it on either side. The houses were wooden, typical Nord buildings with signs hanging lazily off the posts denoting shops and inns.

Then she smelled it, the burning of metal, the heat of a forge.

"Uncle Alvor!" Hadvar approached the blacksmith's, "Uncle Alvor?" He called.

"Your uncle's the blacksmith?" Svana's excitement was barely contained in her words.

Hadvar smiled at that. "Yes, why?"

"I… I was an apprentice for the blacksmith back in Kynesgrove," she approached, mesmerized by the rack holding weapons and armor. "We never made anything this impressive though, only small things like nails and mining equipment."

"He doesn't always do the fancy stuff." Hadvar walked over to the rack and picked up a sword, testing the balance in his hand, "But when he does, well, color me impressed."

"Who's calli- Shor's bones, boy! Hadvar, is that you?" Alvor was a tall, burly man with a beard to match his frame, but the blue of his eyes was the exact shade of Hadvar's own.

"Uncle Alvor, hello!"

"What happened, boy?" Even with his impressive muscles and armor, Hadvar still allowed his uncle to turn his head left and right, being inspected like a child, "Did you lose a bet with a bear?"

Hadvar hushed him, "I can explain everything, but we have to go inside."

Alvor turned his attention to Svana. "Who's that?" he pointed, "You buying?"

"No, uncle, she's a friend. I can tell you the whole story, but it's a lot safer if we go inside. Please."

"Alright, come on, let's get you both cleaned up."

"Good," Hadvar looked over his shoulder, and gestured for Svana to follow, "C'mon, Aunt Sigrid makes an amazing roast. Figured you could use some heartland cooking after what we've been through."

As she walked through the door and was greeted by the smell of home and cooking, she whispered a grateful, "Thank you," to Hadvar.

Onmund barely slept a wink. If it hadn't been the nightmares keeping him up, it was the excited butterflies in his stomach, and if not that… thinking about Alrek kept him up in nervous, lovestruck fits. But even so, the moment the morning light had filtered through his windows, he was ready for his first day at the college. Through the whole affair of getting ready, he hummed a merry tune to himself. He flashed his reflection a too wide grin when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. There was a bounce in his step as he practically skipped his way to breakfast.

"Someone's in a good mood," J'zargo groaned as he rubbed at his eyes. "But this one does not do so well," he barely stifled a yawn, fangs displayed, "Before the afternoon sun is up."

"Well maybe some of us understand the importance of going to bed early," Brelyna sat herself down between her two friends, a steaming mug of sweet canis root tea in her hands, "But you do seem to be in a really good mood, Onmund," flashing him a smile.

"I am!" he beamed, "This is the first time in so long that I've… wow, I can't remember the last time I've looked forward to something!"

A hint of sadness tugged at her lips, but for her new friend, she offered him only encouragement. "That's good! I think it'd be nice for once to study with someone so enthusiastic."

They spent the morning chattering about what the first lessons would be like. What sort of powerful spells they'd learn, how they could better master their gifts, the possibilities swirled in excited conversation. The liveliness between the three friends didn't die down at breakfast, not even during the long trek through the snowy courtyard to the Hall of the Elements.

They sat at the front of the class: Brelyna, thanks to her ties with House Telvanni (and really, it was so much easier to hear the lectures). J'zargo could not resist being the best, and only the very best put themselves at the front. Onmund, on the other hand, was just happy to see magical abilities of the other mages up close.

The hall soon began to fill up with apprentices, all awkwardly finding their groups and places amongst themselves. Hundreds of conversations seemed to happen all at once in hushed, excited tones as they waited for the first lecture of the day to commence.

At the very front of the lecture hall, a board of slate had been placed, and upon it, words written in several languages, including Common.

"Introduction to magic," Onmund read aloud, then looked to his two friends. "You both are already so good, are you sure we're in the right lecture?"

"Fundamentals are important to learn," Brelyna explained.

"Besides," J'zargo added, "We will need to finish this lesson before we can move onto the others. A necessary requirement." Onmund nodded in understanding.

Just then, silence fell over the students, and the entire hall went quiet. Gentle, slow footsteps of their teacher shuffled to the front of the hall, the tall ceilings and stone walls echoing every deliberate movement.

Onmund grinned when he realized who it had been.

The teacher pulled the hood off over his head, dusting the snow off his shoulders and shrugging off the heavy outer coat he wore. "Hello, everyone!" Tolfdir greeted, "I'm excited to see many apprentices here. Welcome to your first lesson here at the College of Winterhold."

Tolfdir began his lecture in earnest. Quills scratched on parchment, every word of the elderly Nord being soaked up by the apprentices present in the hall. Brelyna's notes were elaborate and beautifully calligraphed, while J'zargo resorted to using simple imagery and symbols to relate to the topic at hand. Onmund however, near blanched at the words he wrote. "Dangerous."

"Magic, by its very nature, is volatile and dangerous," Tolfdir echoed, and Onmund kept his eyes fixed on him, "It is imperative, as aspiring mages, that you learn control of your gifts. Otherwise, magic can, and will, destroy you."

The murmuring restirred amongst the apprentices. Even Onmund cast a careful glance at his friends, who seemed to have taken the old Nord's words to heart.

Brelyna's hand shot up in the air. "Sir?"

"Ah, yes, Brelyna Maryon," Tolfdir identified with a warm smile. "Do you have a question, my dear?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I think we all understand that magic is dangerous- it's one of the very first things we're told when our powers manifest," Encouraged by the nods of agreement from the apprentices, she continued, "I understand this is a fundamentals lecture, but surely nothing so basic as telling us that magic is dangerous."

That made Onmund think.

When his powers first manifested, he had summoned lightning on a bright summer's day, threatening to ignite the dry grass with one, foolish strike. "Magic is dangerous," everyone around him warned, "Best to forget that stuff."

But in every book he smuggled to read in secret, mages called their powers a gift, never a burden. Never dangerous, simply a tool to behold in wonder.

He wondered, more than a little disappointed, if the influence of his people had finally reached Winterhold. And with that, he hoped that Brelyna kept fighting back. She was from a powerful family of mages, surely she could talk some sense into Tolfdir.

But the old Nord let her speak her words, never once interrupting, simply regarding her with a careful gaze. As though he had this argument many, many times in the past.

"I think we all understand that magic is dangerous, otherwise, we wouldn't be here to learn how to control it!" Brelyna concluded, and sat back down. The other apprentices behind her patted her on her shoulder, praising her for finally saying what they had all been thinking.

Yet Tolfdir did not look fazed in the slightest. He took a step forward and began, "My dear, your words are true- you are all here because you have displayed some inherent natural ability. Your magical capabilities are a gift as much as they are a skill to be honed, I certainly am not questioning that."

The other students silenced themselves, all eyes cast on the old Nord.

"What I'm talking about is true mastery. Very few mages are capable of such, and those who have attained such levels are those who have studied for years, if not decades."

The students gave each other curious glances.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get started!" J'zargo rallied. Other apprentices voiced their approval as well, the quiet hall becoming a cacophony of noise in just a few seconds.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about!" Tolfdir raised his hands and the apprentices settled down, "Eagerness must be tempered with caution, or else disaster is inevitable."

Onmund's words escaped his mouth before he had time to consider them. "But we've only just arrived here- you've no idea what any of us are capable of!" He blushed when he realized how loudly and suddenly he had spoken. Quieter, he added, "Why not give us a chance to show you what we can do?"

At the young lad's eagerness, even Tolfdir relented. "Alright, let's settle down. Please. Let's do some practical exercises for our lesson today. Perhaps a demonstration of how even the slightest distraction can cause a spell to go awry. That should get the message across."

He motioned to a student just outside of the hall. "Alrek, dear boy, won't you come and assist me?"

Onmund felt his cheeks prickle with heat. Alrek? Here?

Sure enough the Breton came striding through to the front of the hall, wearing a dark overcoat that the other higher ranked mages wore. He tossed a long, blood-red lock of hair over his shoulder as he took his place beside Tolfdir, his rings gently clinking together as he did.

"How may I be of assistance?"

"Just one moment, lad, please prepare yourself," the elderly Nord smiled before turning his attention to the front of the class, "Now, I'd like a volunteer, someone who has some experience with fire magic."

At the mention of fire, J'zargo stood up and confidently strode to the front of the class. Both Tolfdir and Alrek shared a disbelieving look with one another. Tolfdir was the first to break out of it.

"Well then!" Tolfdir clasped his hands together, "Let's begin then, shall we? J'zargo, my boy, how long would you say you've wielded the element of fire?"

"Since this one was a young kitten!" He proudly boasted. As though to punctuate his point, a ball of flame was summoned in his hand, before his fist closed and the fire fizzled away into the ether.

"That's good to hear." Onmund couldn't help feeling Tolfdir had something else planned for his friend, "Will you crumple this piece of parchment for me?"

J'zargo raised a furry brow, but did as he was told.

"Now, can you slowly cloak the ball of parchment in fire, without burning it?"

The Khajiit let out a smug huff. "Too easy." He held out the crumpled parchment, showing it off for the rest of the class to see and began to encase it in fire. Yet the flames never burned the surface, not even a trace of smoke was present.

Suddenly, Tolfdir said, "Alrek, distract him."

J'zargo whipped his head behind him to where Alrek stood, who only flashed a pleased grin in response. When his attention lapsed, they all smelled it: smoke. And soon after, J'zargo began to feel the heat of the fire he had summoned. He yelped, dropping the fiery parchment onto the floor as he pulled his hand away, eyes wide at the trickery pulled on him.

The parchment burned to a small pile of ash as J'zargo stared at his failure in complete and utter shock.

"You tricked me!" He accused Tolfdir and Alrek both, "That's not fair!"

"Any distraction, even a momentary lapse, is enough for a mage to lose their control. J'zargo, let me make it up to you."

J'zargo folded his arms across his chest, utterly displeased.

"-you will now distract Alrek from his casting."

J'zargo's ears perked up and a sly smirk formed, "Is that so?"

"There's your chance, take it," Tolfdir offered only an encouraging smile.

As before, Tolfdir gave the Breton a piece of parchment. He crumpled it in his hands, and like J'zargo before, he encased it in a cloak of flames. No smoke. No burns.

He allowed the Breton to demonstrate his skills, and then swiftly slapped Alrek's hand upwards, causing the fire-cloaked parchment to leap out of his palms and bounce away towards the students, who shuffled backwards.

But the parchment stayed encased in its flame-cloak. No smoke. No burns.

J'zargo flattened his ears against his head, "How did you do that?"

Alrek looked to the Khajiit, his eyes glowing with a brighter blue. "I don't need a focal point to cast spells."

J'zargo blinked in surprise, as did the other apprentices, who began to murmur excitedly among themselves. Onmund was just as shocked. Every theory on magic he read emphasised a focal point, a mind's eye on the spell that needs to be cast, and how one's body had to be trained with specific motions for magic to flow through.

And yet, Alrek merely stood there. To further demonstrate his point, he gently shut his eyes, released a breath, and the parchment was no longer cloaked in flames. A curious apprentice picked it up, remarking how it wasn't even hot, as though fire hadn't touched it.

Tolfdir returned the apprentices' attention to him, "True mastery of your skill, true control, allows you to manipulate your element by sheer willpower alone."

Onmund couldn't believe the display before him. Alrek had done none of the motions his books had taught him. He simply cast the flame with a thought alone.

"Would… would we be able to do that?" Onmund asked once a break in the lecture presented itself, "True mastery, like that?"

Alrek spoke, those bright blue eyes meeting Onmund's own. "If you've the inclination, I'd be more than happy to help."

Every demonstration Alrek had done, every theory Tolfdir had him recite, Onmund would lovingly write it down in his notes, punctuated with the Breton's name, over and over again.