I was alive. For the first time in almost twenty three years, I felt as though my eyes were truly opened, and I was doing more than just existing. This is the tale of little old me, and how I vanquished evil from the face of Cyrodiil. Sort of.

My name is- or rather, was- Magnus. Magnus Magellan Aurelius. I had lived nearly a quarter of a century when I awoke to find myself in prison. It was a day I will never forget, for even though my old life was real enough, the life I live now feels much more substantial. That was the day my old name was forsaken, as was any chance at living a normal, peaceful life.

A little backstory, before I begin: I grew up in Cyrodiil, but my parents were both from Daggerfall. That's right, I'm a Breton. Scoff all you want, you High Elf bastards. I hope your ears get caught in your shirts every morning you haughty sons of… never mind. My parents transferred to the Arcane University in the Imperial City to escape a life of political intrigue and turmoil. Or perhaps it was tax evasion. The story they told changed with each telling, and my parents had never been straight with me. My father had been a Seer and some sort of royal advisor or another, and my mother had been the Guildmaster of the local mages guild, known for her proficiency in Destruction spells. Years of them butting heads developed into the two of them releasing their pent up aggressions towards each other by bumping uglies, the end result being yours truly.

I'd never even seen Daggerfall before. I grew up in a tiny house on the Waterfront of the Imperial City, doing whatever I chose and keeping to myself. My parents, who were more often than not busy at the University, gave me a thorough education on magic whenever they had the time for it, and I would steadfastly ignore their teachings. A good thing, too, for magic was what ultimately ended their lives. An experimental destruction spell gone awry, coupled with my father's antiquated notions of chivalry resulted in the both of them being killed in an explosion that could be felt from the other side of the Imperial City. I received a stipend from the Arcane University to accommodate for my parents' income, along with a neatly hand written scroll sealed with a black silken tie that awarded me the Archmage's 'sincerest condolences.' It was a kind gesture, but it did not bring my parents back.

That was so long ago now that I do not even remember being sad about it. Of course, that may have had something to do with everyone at the tavern buying me pints after I'd received word of my parents' deaths. On that day I vowed to never wield magic so long as I lived. As fate would have it, I'd go on to break that vow.

I had been content with my simple life up until I'd been imprisoned. My house was tiny, but the stipend from the Arcane University covered all of my living expenses. I was free to do as I wished. Some days I woke up and grabbed my fishing rod. If I ever got bored, I would work swabbing the grimy decks of corsair ships for a few gold pieces. It was rough work, and some of the crewmates could be awfully rude, but most respected my work ethic, and praised me on a job well done. A few even became good friends of mine over the years. And at the end of each day, I came home to the love of my life.

Ruma was the only woman I'd ever really loved. We'd grown up together, playing upon the shores of the Waterfront, and she was my sweetheart as far back as I could remember. Even now, I can picture her long, sandy blonde hair and her dark eyes. Without her, I may not have been as content as I was. Perhaps losing her was a part of what attributed to my… well, I'll call it my 'awakening' for lack of a better word.

I was standing in a prison cell, wearing a pair of ragged trousers and a matching tunic that did little to keep out the cold and damp of the dungeon. My wrists were clapped in heavy iron manacles that prevented me from defending myself. And then, like a veil being lifted from my face, my eyes were opened.

It's difficult to describe, but it was as if I had been asleep my entire life, and had only just woken up. My senses were on fire, consuming every little amount of information they could. The feel of the fabric against my flesh was harsh and abrasive. The scents of the prison were foul and reeked of mildew and rot and unwashed bodies. My eyes seemed to pick up the minutest cracks in the walls. Every fiber of my being thrummed with energy, as if for a moment Akatosh himself had cast his gaze upon me. And then, without warning, I was alive. Truly alive.

My given name was Magnus, but as I stood there, enveloped in my awakening, a new name came to me. And in the next instant, it was as if it had been my name since birth.

My new name was… Sigan? Huh. How's that for odd? And what kind of a name was 'Sigan' anyway?

I blinked, and my spirit was seemingly pulled from my body. I saw myself, standing in the center of my cell. I had my mother's auburn hair, which fell to my shoulders and was as unruly as ever, and my father's green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark. I was of slim build, and pale complexion. It was surreal to see my own face, the face I'd grown up with, but it seemed eerily unfamiliar now. Had something happened? Why did I feel like I'd been here in this cell many times before? And why did I have the sneaking suspicion that this was the start of something incredibly harrowing?

Then I heard the cool, snide voice of someone calling me from the cell across the hall from mine. I shook myself from my strange trance.

"Pale skin, snotty expression. You're a Breton!" a dark figure stepped into the torchlight, revealing the ashen skin of a dunmer. When he spoke, his voice was dripping with condescension. "The masters of magicka, right? Hmph. Nothing but a bunch of stuck-up snobs with cheap parlor tricks. Go ahead, try your magicka in here. Let's see you make those bars disappear."

I frowned at the man, choosing to remain silent. Perhaps it was something of my father's ability to See shining through me, but I got the distinct feeling that this man would get what was coming to him. Every now and again, I got strong feelings like that. Normally, they would turn out to be right, but this time it was far more intense, like I knew it would happen.

"No? What's the matter? Not so powerful now, are you Breton? You're not leaving this prison 'til they throw your body in the lake. Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Breton! You're going to die!"

The sinister smile on the dunmer's face was wasted on me. I knew that he was wrong. Another one of those strange feelings, I suppose. Don't ask me how I was so sure of myself, but in that moment, I'd bet every Septim in the Emperor's coffers that I was going to survive. Something of my confused self-confidence seemed to show on my face, because the dark elf gritted his teeth in frustration. Apparently, such goading usually worked on other people.

The sound of a heavy door swinging open on unoiled hinges caught my attention, and my fellow inmate grinned.

"Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming… for you!"

I ignored his inane chuckle, listening carefully to the hurried footsteps heading towards us.

"Baurus," commanded a woman's voice, "lock that door behind us."

"Yessir," came a man's curt reply.

Someone else spoke then, in a wispy voice that was usually associated with the elderly and feeble. "My sons… they're dead, aren't they?"

A tingle washed over me, and I grasped the bars of my cell for support. Vertigo had nothing on the sensation that I felt at that moment. Fate itself seemed to have upended my world, as if I were living in a snow globe being lobbed around by the Nine. I felt as though I had lived this moment a million times over. Déjà vu was a light way to put it.

"We don't know that, sire," said the woman. "The messenger only said that they were attacked."

"No, they're dead," the older man sighed sadly, "I know it."

"My job right now is to get you to safety," the captain noted dryly.

I raised my head as the world seemed to stop spinning beneath me. Three people stood outside my cell. Two of them were dressed in fine scale armor, with long, curved katanas hanging from their waists. The third man was different; dressed in fine violet and burgundy robes embroidered with gold, and a black and white checkered fur collar. He had shoulder length white hair, and wrinkles that cut deep into his face, as if he were an ancient statue that was slowly weathering away. His watery, pale eyes were ghastly to behold, like polished bits of jade. He seemed dignified, and his quiet disposition carried a regality often associated with wisdom and sage counsel. Though he held his head high, I could see a shadow hanging over him, looming over this man like a dark cloud.

Just by looking him over once, I knew four things for certain. First off: he, like myself, had been awakened somehow. It was like we were both wide awake in a room full of sleepwalking zombies, as if we were the only real people in the entire world. Secondly: he could sense my awakened state as easily as I could sense his. Third: before the day was out, I knew that this sullen, grieving old man would be dead. And lastly: he knew it, too. He could sense the shadow looming over him. Even as I watched, I saw him wince in distaste as skeletal arms folded around him in a tender embrace.

The elder gentleman and I locked eyes for the briefest of moments before I turned away. His stare was as overpowering as his indomitable will.

"I know this place," he muttered quietly. "The prison?"

The captain, however, was too busy working herself into a lather. "What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!"

The imperial in armor blanched.

"Usual mixup with the Watch," he suggested lamely, "I…"

The captain shook her head, as if clearing away her temper. "Nevermind, get that gate open."

I was taken aback when she shot me a look so sour that it could curdle milk. "Stand back, prisoner! We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way!"

I stumbled back, eager to not be eviscerated. I didn't need any sort of unearthly clairvoyance or mysterious awakenings to know that she would have no qualms about drawing her sword and running me through. I stood with my back to the barred window of my cell. It had been a great comfort to me when I was placed here, where the salty smell of the water and the bright sunlight would filter in and bring me fond memories of my home on the Waterfront.

Sadly, I doubted I wouldn't be returning home for some time.

The imperial in heavy armor stood before me, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Stay put, prisoner," he growled.

'Like I have any intentions of moving,' I thought exasperatedly.

Call me whatever you want, I'm not the kind of person to attack a guard when my hands are shackled and I'm unarmed and weak. That would delve straight into the deep and treacherous realm known as stupidity, which, from all I knew, was a one way trip.

The old man in fine robes was ushered into my cell by the captain. He walked with a grace I'd not have thought possible of a man his age. Upon his breast rested a ruby the size of my fist, suspended by a fine gold chain. As he passed me, our eyes met once more. This time, however, he paused in his tracks.

"You," he said wondrously, staring right at me, "I've seen you."

A small part of me wanted to say, 'I'd certainly hope so. I've been standing here for a solid minute.' Instead, I held incredibly still as the old man stepped by the guard that kept me pressed against the wall and came within arm's reach of me. The way he approached, without a care in the world, put me on edge. Here I was, in jail, possibly a horrible criminal, and he just marches right up to me with no fear. Now that he was so close, I realized that I had seen him before, as well. His likeness was stamped on every imperial coin to ever pass through my hands. It was the Emperor of Tamriel, Uriel Septim IV.

"Let me see your face," he ordered quietly, peering at me with those eerily pale eyes. "You are the one from my dreams."

His withered face seemed to fall, and the lines around his eyes deepened. I was forcibly reminded of a weathering statue beginning to crumble.

"Then the stars were right," he said, more to himself than to me, "and this is the day. Gods give me strength."

I wet my lips. The Emperor and I stood face to face, regarding each other warily. So many questions began to form in my mind. I wanted to ask him why he was here, or why I had been apprehended and thrown in prison without even committing a crime. I wanted to ask him why the Divines had brought us together. I wanted to ask why the two of us seemed to be awake, as the rest of the world slept in silence.

"What's going on?" I asked. My voice was a little shaky, but I felt far more nervous than I let on. The words that came to my lips didn't even seem to be mine.

"Assassins attacked my sons," the Emperor explained, "and I'm next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."

The way he looked at me was off-putting, as if he were gazing straight through me. Those ancient eyes had seen so many things. They were truly open, and I could swear that I could feel Akatosh himself surveying me through those eyes.

"Why was I thrown in jail?" I demanded of the Emperor. "I've committed no crime! I swear on my mother and father's lives that I'm an innocent man!"

Uriel appeared despondent. It felt a bit tactless to complain to a man that had just lost his sons, but I didn't care. I was innocent. I had done nothing wrong. I had been fishing at the water's edge with my love, Ruma, when the Watch had clapped me in irons and hauled me off to prison.

"Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done… it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from speaking harshly. Regardless of whether or not the Emperor's words rang true, it did not help. If the Divines really wanted me to meet the Emperor so badly, couldn't they have made me a noble or something? Was it really necessary for me to get thrown into prison? And why did the Divines feel the need to meddle in my affairs, anyway?

But like poison being leeched from a wound, so too did my anger ebb away into nothingness. Defying the Gods was a fool's errand. Whether you went along with it, or fought them every step of the way, their will would be done. Knowing that the Emperor was more closely connected to the Divines than any one man, I decided to seek his counsel.

"What should I do?" I wondered aloud, hoping that Akatosh might hear me through whatever separated Nirn and Aetherius.

The Emperor gave me a small half smile, as if he had stood in my shoes before. Even with the cold grip of death upon him, he managed to retain his spirit. "You will find your own path. Take care… there will be blood and death before the end."

And with that, the Emperor swept over the threshold of the entrance to the dark tunnel that had once been my stone bed. I looked after him, ignoring the astounded glances his Blades shot me.

"Looks like today is your lucky day, prisoner," the redguard uttered quietly before taking one last look around the cell and following after his comrades and his sovereign.

I waited there, counting the seconds as they passed. The dunmer across the way looked like he'd just evacuated his bowels out of sheer disbelief. I grinned at him, stuck out my tongue, and wiggled my fingers in a devious wave before heading into the passage. Descending into that darkness might've made anyone else think twice. The only reason I didn't is because I could sense that my freedom lay at the end of this long, dark tunnel, wherever it may lead.

Author's Notes:

Here is a project that I've been neglecting pretty hard for some time. But with one of my other projects done, and another coming to an end, I'm setting this one up to take it's spot as my long term writing project. I came up with the idea for an Oblivion fic roughly a year and a half ago, but it's undergone a lot of rough drafts and editing, and then procrastination on top of it. I was originally just gonna do a let's play, but entirely though fanfiction (hence why the character is called Sigan)... not all my ideas are winners. So here goes! Have I mentioned that I fucking hate having to write down all the things the characters say in the game? It's 99% of what held me back with this chapter. Thanks for reading. The next chapter should have more action.