He felt nothing. No pain, no aching, not even the feel of his own Divine blood leaving his broken body. He merely felt nothing. The Bane of Kings could not even muster the strength necessary to open his crimson eyes. He could not hear. He could not feel. It was as though dread Alduin had become a ghost who had been lost in the Void of Sithis. Alone in the eternal abyss with nought but his own black thoughts. He thought on Helgen, on his unintentional saving of the Last Dovahkiin. When Alduin first returned from his temporal exile he had returned nearby the small village. He had assumed the men and women to he executed were sacrifices to his Divine greatness . They attacked him on sight, screaming and crying and praying to Akatosh and the other seven Divines for salvation.
Alduin burned the entire village to ashes. He slaughtered all but that... One. He sensed something familiar about the mortal. Something almost... Brotherly. It wasn't until much later, at the ruins of ancient Skuldafn that Alduin realized his mistake. By then the mortal had grown too powerful in the Thu'um to confront on Nirn. So Alduin retreated to Sovengarde, the Nordic afterlife, and feasted upon their souls for greater power. Alduin's misplaced mercy was what led to his humiliating downfall.
Try as he might, the Wyrm could not forget about his folly. He seethed at his naive mistake. Alduin cursed Bormah, and his new favorite son. Alduin cursed Sovengarde, Tsun, and mischievous Lorkhan's ghost. Alduin cursed Nirn, and all the mortals it held. Alduin cursed his traitorous brothers Paarthunax and Odahviing for aiding the Dovahkiin.
Alduin's hate was perpetual. The more he hated something, the stronger that hate would grow, and the more it tainted his views and form. This hatred was nothing like mortal rage. Alduin's hate knew no mercy. It knew no end. It was as eternal as time itself. Neverending, only growing stronger and stronger and stronger. The only way Alduin, or any Dov, could remove their hate was via destroying its source or by millennias of intense meditation. And Alduin hated meditation. Alduin hated being alone with his thoughts. Hated the memories of fractured timelines and worlds long since dead. Alduin was unique, even among the Et'Ada. For he was created before the first Kalpa; before the first world; before the first timeline. He had was the only creature that retained his sense of self through the ending of the Kalpas. He remembered the original face, form, and voice of Bormah. He remembered when the Et'Ada spoke to one another freely, when Daedra and Aedra intermingled, when all that was never truly was as it appeared. There was only the Et'Ada, and dread Alduin, Firstborn of Aka-Tusk. He devoured the first Kalpa under order of Bormah. It was in the second he learned that devouring Kalpas included the Et'Ada, Aetherius, and Oblivion. All things were physically destroyed, their energies consumed, and were reborn in the shapes and minds of something new during the next Kalpa. Aedra were reborn as mortals, Daedras reborn as beasts of the woods, and mere ants reborn as the new Et'Ada. A cycle that Alduin was slave to. A perpetual curse of eating all things so they may be born anew. The stress that put on his immortal mind... The taxing upon his meager Humanity... It was no wonder he went mad in this Kalpa. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It was as inevitable as fate.
Fate, fate, fate... Alduin's mind changed its direction on the vast and black oceans of his countless, seething, malicious thoughts. Fate was cruel. Fate was cold. Fate was black and green watching with a thousand eyes and a million tentacles coiling around every heart; living or dead or somewhere in between or neither. Fate, destiny, inevevitably: all names for but one single being. It goes by a million mortal titles: the Gardener of Men; the Woodland Man; the Golden Eye; Master of the Tides of Fate; the Abyssal Cephaliarch; the Lord of secrets; the Demon of Knowledge; Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Prince of Forbidden Knowledge and Master of Fate. Not even Alduin knew of where it came from, nor when. Only that the Wretched Abyss was as eternal and constant as he. They only ever spoke once, before the third Kalpa. It sought the knowledge of Dovahzul, and he sought how to defy fate. Neither would give the other what they desired, so Alduin left the Prince, but not before it spoke of a warning. Of a potential future to come.
'Alduin, seeker of my knowledge, I bid you a warning,' It had... For lack of a better word, 'said', 'In a world yet to come; in a time of civil war and misery; when your Oversoul no longer is of one mind; you will find the answers you seak... But all knowledge comes with it a price. All things will eventually die and be reborn. Even you. You won't understand. Not until the time is dire, and the blade of Meridia, Lady of Infinte Energies and Life, is embedded within your skull. I will grant this knowledge to you. Speak these words in your native tongue, and all will become clear in due time: World Change Leave...' Alduin had forgotten the words of the Scrythe of the Tides of Fate. Until now, that is. Had the Daedra known of his fate? Why wouldn't he? Fate was in his sphere of influence. It was the closest thing to a truly Omniscient and Omnipresent entity to ever grace the Aurbis. Perhaps it was masterminding all of this to learn the secrets of the Twilight God? The secrets of Dovahzul; the Thu'um; the Words of Power? If so dread Alduin would not relinquish his knowledge to the Wretched Abyss! They were his to know, and only his...
Suddenly Alduin could feel... Something? It was small, almost impossible to notice. But, with enough focus, Alduin was able to perceive some of it. It was something small, just below his nostrils, and cold. Very, very, very cold. Alduin found it relaxing. Any true Dov would. Dragons, contrary to popular wives tales and legends, were attracted to the cold. It reminded them of times long past on ancient Atmora.
The cold sensation remained for awhile, before shifting from his nose to his neck. This elicited an instinctual growl from the Wyrm, and a sudden gasp of something smaller than himself. He was too preoccupied to really analyze it. Too focused on the disappearance of the freezing touch. Krosis, the Dov thought... What sorrows.
Sorry about the last chapter being so short, I just wanted to ensure a few things. In hindsight I probably should've merged chapters two and three. Oh well, no time for crying over spilt milk. Please, leave a review, and until next time. Again, sorry for the ending, I suck at writing chapter endings.
P.s please leave criticism. I want to get better, can't do that without criticism.