From where they emerged, Ralof and Svana could have sworn they had entered a plane of Oblivion. Fire engulfed the town of Helgen. What was once a sleepy village in the shadow of the Throat of the World had been reduced to nothing but a glorified bonfire.

"This way!" Ralof shouted above the chaos, "We can snake around the inn!"

Svana followed, "How can you even tell?"

"Trust me," they ducked behind a still standing stone wall just as the dragon swooped overhead, shouting its foul roar, "I've been here plenty."

Imperial, Stormcloak, Thalmor, villager alike ran in circles trying to make sense of the destruction. Walls came down, paths were blocked, and when that dragon got bored enough, the bastard would fly down and simply pluck a hapless victim into the sky to play with. Ralof had been a sensible enough guide, leading Svana to safety, and halting her when they got too close to anyone who would take an opportunity to kill them.

"There!" Ralof pointed as they ran across an open field, "Past the Imperials, if we can make it into the keep, we might find a way out on the other side."

Svana nodded. It was a sound enough plan. She shifted, ready to dart across the field and into the keep, but he pulled her back in time as the dragon again swept down, catching an Imperial archer and eating them alive.

Her stomach rolled at the sight, and she would have been sick right then and there, had Ralof not pushed her back out. "Go, go, go!" he yelled, "Come on, we're almost-"

"Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!"

Svana whirled around to see none other than Hadvar, facing off with Ralof in the middle of a thrice-blighted dragon attack.

"We're escaping, Hadvar," Ralof answered back, the two closing the distance between them, nothing but anger boiling between the two of them, "And you're not going to stop us!"

They were not fazed even when another roar echoed across the skies. Svana came between the two soldiers, grabbing their wrists with her still-bound hands.

"We can argue about this later, come on!" and dragged them both into the keep with her, barely missing another shower of flame.

The two of them, momentarily stunned by the sheer strength she possessed, offered no resistance as she tossed them into the safety of the keep.

Ralof and Hadvar blinked at each other, and as soon as they realized they had a momentary respite from dragon fire, immediately turned to fighting again.

"Great job! Great job!" Ralof sarcastically applauded.

"Me? You think this is my doing?" Hadvar furrowed his brows.

"Well somebody brought that damned thing here!"

"How do I know it's not one of your hare-brained Stormcloak ideas?"

"Hare-brained? Say that to my face, you milk-drinking coward!"

"I just did!"

"Enough!" Svana yelled, shaking her head, "Mara's mercy, you two bicker like an old couple."

Ralof and Hadvar shared a look, and then promptly averted their gaze.

"Well, I'm not working with some… some… some Imperial lap boy."

"I could say the same about backstabbing brothers-in-arms."

Svana squinted. It was clear that the two had history, from the very specific insults used. But she could hear the destruction outside still, and she was sure the screams of the soldiers and villagers were going to haunt her for years to come.

"Look, it doesn't matter now," Svana tried, "That dragon didn't care what banners we were flying, all he's looking for is a meal," she began walking over into one of the rooms, finding a barracks of sorts.

"She's right," Hadvar relented, "Let's focus on finding a way out."

Ralof huffed in response.

Hadvar muttered a bitter, "Typical," under his breath before turning his attention to Svana, "Here, let me get those bindings off you."

Eagerly, Svana offered up her wrists, and with a sure, steady slice, they were free. She rubbed the painful grooves and bruises absentmindedly.

"Always carry a knife like that?" Ralof cocked an eyebrow up.

"It's a utility knife," Hadvar explained, "so we don't have to use rocks or teeth."

"A Nord always uses what Kyne offe-"

"Really?" Svana interrupted, "Stop it, both of you. Why does any of this matter? There's a dragon on the loose- we have to get to safety!"

Ralof and Hadvar nodded, with the former adding, "Fine, but only if he takes point."

"Why? So you can stab-"

Svana shot them both a look.

"Alright, you lead then," Hadvar tried, and after a pause, "It was Svana, right? Of Kynesgrove."

She nodded.

"You're a long ways from home," There was no hiding the regret in Hadvar's voice.

"Doesn't matter now," Svana pushed past them both, helping herself to an axe that hung on a rack. "If we don't get out of here now, we'll all be a long ways from home."

Ralof took a warhammer, testing the balance and weight in his hands.

"What's near here?" Svana asked from across the room as she peered down a hallway.

"Riverwood," Hadvar answered, "Not far from here."

Svana perked up at that, "Wait, Ralof, aren't you from Riverwood?"

The Stormcloak flashed a clever, too-smug grin, and gave a hardy pat on Hadvar's back, knocking the wind out of the Imperial soldier, "I dunno, Hadvar, should we take her on a tour of our town, dearest?" The venom in the way he said that last word definitely pointed to a history between the two of them. Svana had to admit, she was curious.

But Hadvar returned that statement with a deadly glare, one even Ralof backed away from despite the pleased smile, "Yes, we're both from Riverwood."

Svana smirked at that, "Well, a homecoming it is then." And without saying another word, she led them both down the hallway, sure as ever. The soldiers followed behind her, weapons drawn, together descending down into the darkness of the keep.

Onmund's heart lurched when the Allards had bade their farewells. "Mustn't dawdle," Camille flashed a clever smile to the apprentices at the table, "Lots of Daedric horrors to uncover."

"Agreed," Alrek tossed a long lock of red hair behind his shoulder, revealing a glimmering gold earring hanging off the slight point of his ear, "Well, except for the Daedric horrors, I've more mundane affairs to settle." His rings clinked gently on his fingers as he smoothed down his robes, hiding what seemed to be an impressively gold-threaded shirt underneath it, "Perhaps we'll see you around the college?"

Before he could stop himself, Onmund blurted out, "I'd like that!" Too late, he clamped a hand down over his mouth, heat rising to his cheeks as Alrek flashed a charming smile his way before leaving.

As the Bretons took their leave, J'zargo and Brelyna both stared hard at Onmund. He looked at his friends, eyes blinking wild, before he went back to his plate of desserts, "What? I was just being nice!"

J'zargo raised a furry brow, "Brelyna, correct this one if this one is wrong, but was that not infatuation?"

Onmund blushed terribly, "Please! Oh gods, please…. was it that obvious?"

Brelyna tried, "Well…I mean…"

Onmund wanted nothing more than to hide under his bed and never come out again, "Do…do you think he noticed?"

J'zargo waved off his concern, "Fancy fops like that? This one is sure he's got a line of beautiful admirers fawning over him every moment of the day."

Onmund frowned at that, not quite understanding the jealousy he had felt. But he was right, wasn't he? Alrek certainly looked beautiful, and he was rich, if those rings were anything to go by. Even his brother was frustratingly handsome. Who wouldn't line up for someone like that?

Onmund would, if he felt he could stand a chance. But he grew up tending chickens and sewing patches into his hand me downs. Food was hunted for, otherwise you never ate.

He frowned, lost in his thoughts. What would Alrek see in him? He was already an accomplished mage if the college was eager to parade his skills to apprentices. Wouldn't he prefer the company of someone who could match his abilities? And when he spoke during the meal… he seemed so eloquent and charming and clever. Onmund frowned terribly at the realization: Alrek had simply been polite. He wouldn't see anything in Onmund, no matter how much he hoped.

J'zargo yelped in pain when Brelyna elbowed him in the ribs.

"What J'zargo was saying, really," she said in an angry aside to their Khajiiti friend, "is that Alrek's probably used to people blushing and giggling around him!"

Onmund looked up, a hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "You think so?"

"Sure!"

He leaned forward, eager to hear his reasoning even as the bench creaked with his movement.

Brelyna continued. "Think about it, Alrek's kind of handsome for a human, I guess? And I know for a fact that the Allards are rich, and plenty of people would try to cozy up to him, try to win favors from him."

Onmund nodded. It made sense.

"But, he chose to spend his free time with us," If his infatuation was the spark that ignited the flame, Brelyna's encouragement was stoking it to life, "I think he liked your company."

Hope. There was hope on the young lad's face, but just as soon as it had blossomed into the reds on his cheeks, he waved his hands in the air, as though to physically dismiss the thoughts, "I dunno, I mean, I just got here!"

"So? We all did, really."

"Yes, this one arrived only three days ago," J'zargo answered.

"I was here when J'zargo came," Brelyna explained, "In fact, that was how we met- when Mirabelle was assigning our rooms and placed us next to each other."

"If this one may?" The Khajiit offered, especially after receiving another one of Brelyna's glares, "This one has dealt with many a Breton- all rich dandies like those Allards. This one can tell you, they like nothing more than summer wine and achingly sweet desserts. Perhaps if you are bold, and clever, you could impress him."

Onmund twirled his hands together, fingers laced anxiously, "I dunno… I mean, I'm a Nord, I've only ever drunk mead and even then… it's not the very good stuff. I've never had wine, how do I know what's good?"

"Dark moons, no! No! You do not worry about that," J'zargo pointed to himself, "This one can help you, this one has spent so long sitting in this one's parents' emporium to not use knowledge to help a friend."

Onmund smiled wide at that, "I… I really appreciate the thought! I don't think this will go anywhere… but, thank you, really."

"Don't sell yourself short," Brelyna tried, reaching out and patting him on the arm, "I'm sure there are plenty of people who like you- I'm sure you had some from your village give you the eyes."

He looked down, and away, as though ashamed, "Eh, most people in my village were… afraid of me. I mostly just hung around my mother and my little sister."

"Oh… I'm sorry, I didn't know," Brelyna ducked into her hood.

"Exactly, you didn't know," Onmund offered a smile, "It's alright. I think… I think I'll be okay here, now that I'm in Winterhold. This is a whole new beginning for me!"

"This one is glad to hear it."

"Me too."

The other apprentices began clearing their plates, shuffling and murmuring as the dining hall slowly began to empty. Onmund watched as friends began grouping off and heading down the hallways together, laughing and talking about their future studies.

He then looked to the Dunmer and Khajiit before him. All he heard in his village were how accursed the dark elves were, and how the cat-men were nothing but thieving never-do-wells. Yet on his very first day here, with nothing to his name and less to prove, he had easily won their affection as friends.

"Say," he began, catching their attention."I just got here, and I have never, ever had a room to myself before… would you two mind helping me get my things organized?" He grinned sheepishly. "Maybe even help me with decorating?"

Onmund couldn't help the smile when they both enthusiastically answered, "Sure!"

The three of them spent the evening in Onmund's room, telling stories and jokes, as they helped him put away his clothes and belongings. Brelyna and J'zargo each had something from their homes to help decorate his room with, all baubles he would come to treasure and appreciate.

Above a small shelf over his bed, Onmund placed a traditional Nordic wood sculpture of a cow. It was one of his mother's creations, painted in rosemaling. To the right, Brelyna placed a small jade carving of a guar. To the left, J'zargo placed a small carving of a traditional guardian animal of Khajiiti lore.

As his friends retired to their own rooms for the night, Onmund stared at the display, a feeling of love and calm washed over him, before he drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

The bowels of the keep were eerily quiet. Svana could have sworn that there wasn't a dragon flying about, when all she heard was the gentle scraping of their boots on stone floors as they continued their descent.

"Are you sure about this?" Svana looked back to Hadvar.

"There's a cave system on the lower levels, it should lead out."

"Oh yeah? And how do you know?" Ralof challenged.

Svana wasn't sure if it had been Imperial training, or if it had simply been a count for his personality, but Hadvar remained calm as he explained, "Well, as any good Nord can tell you: one must use our Divines-given senses," he motioned for the other two follow him to a wall, and he pressed his ear against the stone, "Flowing water. It's got to run off somewhere, most likely outside."

Ralof grumbled, but Svana nodded in approval, "Good thinking. So where does this cave lead out?"

Hadvar simply shrugged, "We can figure that out later. Right now, we need to focus on making sure that we can get out in- oh, gods." They stopped before a flight of stairs descending downwards, "Maybe we should find another way." He made to turn down the hallway, but Svana stopped him.

"Wait, why? What's down there?" She questioned, eyes narrowing at him.

"Nothing, I just don't think it's the way we want to head."

"Well, maybe we should look for supplies or something, there can't-"

But before Svana could finish her thought, a scream ripped up through the stairway. And then, like a nightmare come to life, the eerie glow of what looked like magic. When she smelled that all-too-familiar scent of lightning scorching stone…

"What are you doing?" Svana screamed from across the field. Atop a rocky clearing, Onmund sat alone, with a thick tome in hand. As he watched her approach, she saw how he fumbled, trying to get the book back into his pack.

"Onmund!"

"What, Svana?!" He shouted back, just as irritated.

"Were you here the whole time? Ma was looking for you!"

"I said I'd be back for dinner!" Onmund got up and angrily pulled his pack over his round shoulders.

"What were you doing?" she pointed accusingly at him.

"Why does it matter?" Onmund pushed past her, "You wouldn't understand."

She grabbed and spun him around, forcing him to look at her, "What were you doing?"

"Get off me!" As he shoved her off him, magic crackled in his hands, and from his fingers, a bolt of lightning whizzed past Svana's cheek, barely missing her by an inch.

She saw the bright flash of light, heard the clap of thunder, and smelled the ozone.

Onmund couldn't have looked any more guilty, and she couldn't have been any more angry.

"Don't just stand there!" Ralof called, pulling her out of her memory, "Help me!"

Svana saw that Hadvar was holding back Ralof from going down the stairs, "You can't go down there!"

There was no use trying to break them up. Thinking quickly, she readied her axe and headed down the stairs herself, the two soldiers breaking out of their hold and chased after her.

What Svana saw made her stop in her tracks.

A torture room.

An Imperial mage, aged as he was, stood over a Stormcloak soldier, directing a storm of lightning down on his victim. The smell of burning flesh hung in the air as the soldier begged for his life. His screams made Svana's heart drop. What could someone like her do? She wasn't one of those fabled witch-hunters or the legendary Companions of Jorrvaskr.

But she knew she had to do something.

Throwing her entire weight at the mage, she pulled him away and threw him off the soldier, crying, "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

Ralof saw it all. He rushed to his comrade's side, holding him in his arms, "What happened?"

But the Stormcloak could barely speak, his body still spasming as the lightning flowed through his veins, but he tried. Speaking in the Nordic tongue, he managed, "I-It hurts." Blood sputtered out of his mouth as he spoke, his shaking hands struggled to place themselves on Ralof's shoulder, seeking some sort of refuge from the pain.

The soldier's hands soon steadied, and his breathing grew shallow. It wasn't long before his body fell limp in Ralof's arms.

He pressed his forehead against his comrade's, weeping quietly, "I'm so sorry," he said in Nordic, "I'm so sorry, brother."

Hadvar approached, slowly, and placed a hand on Ralof's shoulder, "I'm sorry, I… I didn't want you to see this."

But that only ignited anger in Ralof. He wore a dark look as he locked his gaze on the mage Svana had pulled off him. Warhammer ready, he moved with a kind of speed and ferocity that frightened Svana. The kind of righteous fury that she had heard only in stories, how gentle-hearted soldiers could turn to beasts and killers if pushed right.

Svana saw it in Ralof as he brought the hammer down on the mage, a mess of blood and gore with every swing. The crunch of bone sickened her, as was the blood-laced gurgling that spat past the mage's lips.

Dizzy and light-headed, she stumbled back. Gods, was this what war was like? Was this what soldiers trained for? Out of fear, she moved no further, staring unblinking at the display before her.

When her senses returned to her, Svana scrambled to get up, pulling Ralof off, begging him, "Stop, please, stop! He's dead! Shor's blood, please, stop-"

With a loud clang of steel against stone, the warhammer slipped from his grasp and he fell to his knees, crying as he did.

"Why are we doing this to each other?" he wept, looking to Hadvar, "Why? Why are you doing this to us? Have you forgotten? Have they corrupted you with their gold?"

"Ralof…"

"No! Why are you doing this to us?" He pointed to Svana, "They almost killed a girl for her faith alone, she had nothing to do with this. My brothers-in-arms are being butchered! People are scared, Hadvar!"

"The elves aren't-"

"We know!" His face had gone red from rage "We know, Hadvar, we know. But what choice do we have? What do you want us to do?"

Hadvar made his way to Ralof, movement as careful as ever, "We didn't want this either," he tried, "But we're stronger when we're united."

"Then why? Why is this happening at all? Mara's mercy, now a dragon's come to end it all."

Svana could scarcely believe what happened next. Hadvar knelt down beside Ralof, and took him into his arms, and kissed him tenderly on his forehead, whispering softly in Nordic, "It'll be alright, love."

It had been a long day.

Svana gave them a moment to themselves, looking away as she heard their lips lock tenderly. A lover's embrace. She knew it. It had been the cliché in every terrible love story that her sister Elsie read: sworn enemies on the battlefield but lovers when they thought no one looked.

When they had gone silent, seeking solace in each other's arms, she got up and said to them both, "Come on, we need to get out of here."