AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you've already read the original version of chapter one, you can skip this one. I felt I needed to edit the first chapter into two smaller ones in order to make it less clunky, so this is actually just the second half of the first one on its own. So technically this second chapter is a lie, although have I made a couple important edits. If you were waiting for an update with baited breath, then have no fear - chapter three is now up. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 2
The Statue

They say that any item forged in the name of the Divines will carry their blessing; I've never been a true follower of Mara outside of the odd Septim in a collection plate, but I couldn't bring myself to put the amulet back in my drawer to collect dust and rust. I still couldn't say why, but I left my dormitory with the amulet laced around my neck, its little blue beacon hidden beneath my robes. It just made me feel okay. Not happy. Not great. But okay, as if I knew I could handle whatever came of the morning's... disagreement. Perhaps the Goddess of Love doesn't discriminate between her followers and her sometime-patrons, and extends her hand to theirs regardless.

It certainly felt as if I'd only survive the day through divine intervention.

As I exited the Hall of Attainment - the student's dormitory - I entered the College of Winterhold's central courtyard. The sleek snowfall was parted by my boots, and I stood within a massive ring of pillars overlooking the Sea of Ghosts from the peak of Winterhold's powdered white cliffs. Across from me, the Hall of Countenance sat, shut tight - the instructors took their ease there, so it was likely vacant considering classes were about to begin. Forming a triad with the students' and the instructors' dormitories, the Hall of Elements towered above, tall and cathedral-like; as much a place of worship to a mage as a wayshrine was to a knight. A place to learn and praise knowledge. Its facade was adorned with a blue-stained window in the likeness of a human eye with five points of starlight radiating from it - the symbol of our order and its endless endeavor to reach enlightenment through magical acumen.

Within the courtyard's centre there loomed a grand stone statue of Shalidor, the great mage who founded both our order and the city of Winterhold itself. His snowshod arms stretched out before him as if he were conjuring the very elements, his cloak billowing behind him in the wind. Yes, billowing. Alteration magic is a wonderful thing - being able to bend the rules of the physical world to your will is one of the most difficult things a mage can hope to achieve, but Tolfdir, our new Master Wizard, is a true artisan of his craft. He enchanted the stone of the sculpture to ripple in time with the breath of the wind, like dense grey silk. The College gets a lot of wind sitting at the edge of a mountain cliff, so it's quite relentlessly spectacular to watch. A true assertion of the beauty of our art in the face of the detractors that, quite literally, surrounded us.

I was quite alone in the courtyard that morning. Most students were already up at the crack of dawn, studying old tomes in the Arcaneum or practicing magic in the Hall of Elements - my destination. Magic practice was about to begin, and I was usually there early to train with the other students. But before I could go into the Hall, there was something important to do. At Shalidor's granite feet there sat a squat well of stone blocks; I stood at its edge, my hands perched on its threshold. Captured within it was a shallow shimmering pool that shone as if molten silver. Tiny meandering flecks of blue rose from the well, slowly trailing paths into the early morning sky. This well in particular was based upon the ruins built by the ancient Ayleid Elves of Cyrodiil - its function was to capture moonlight during clear nights and store it for use by mages. All Magicka on Mundus comes from our two Moons, Masser and Secunda - most people of magical talent have the ability to absorb that energy from the air while in a focused rest, filling their very being with the power of the heavens in preparation to unleash it once again in whatever form they can give to it; the well allows us to do in an instant what would require hours of meditative rest, which I was... deprived of the night before.

I raised my hands to mirror Shalidor's conjuring stance, closing my eyes and willing my mind to travel inward, like a whirlpool of thought and knowledge drawing the world in with it. My breath slowed, silent; I felt the blue lights dance toward me like fireflies, swirl around me, ghost through my robes and merge with my being, each one tingling coolly like a softly melting snowflake. It is difficult to describe the feeling of filling one's own Magicka well to those not magically inclined; try to imagine the satisfaction of a finishing a delicious meal, only without the taste of food or the bloating afterward. A fulfillment of the mind, recognized in sensation.

Opening my eyes once more, I found my gaze had drifted up to the face of Shalidor; if ever there was a stereotypical wizard, he would be the very image. A dark hood, squinting eyes, wrinkles deep enough to grow a garden in. He looked stern, exacting, unsatisfied. I wondered what he would think of his city today, the once-fair Winterhold - devastated by tidal waves, half sunken to the deep, devoid of trade and influence, populated by closed-minded folk who mistrusted the College and its teachings. Seeing his still-searching eyes, I doubted that such an outcome would satisfy such a great man. If anything ever did, that is.

But satisfaction is not a thing of posterity. It's a full Magicka well humming warmly within. It's a golden amulet whose shimmer makes things seem less worrying. It's a night with the chestnut-haired Breton girl you care too much about, turned to a parting with the rising of the sun.

A girl I knew would be waiting in the Hall of Elements, anticipating her morning lesson and doing her utmost to keep me out of her mind. As soon as the thought entered my head I could focus on nothing else but what I would say to her once we reached our midday break - how I would try to reconcile with her and keep things the way they were for just a little longer. Before then, however, I was going to have to maintain the presence of mind necessary to channel the very astral energies through my body and alter the physical plane to fit my will. Oh, it would be an interesting day to say the least.

I trudged sheepishly through the snow-covered courtyard and passed the windswept robes of Shalidor, pausing before the grand double-doors at the base of the Hall of Elements. As I placed my hands on the doors and pushed, the sound of warping air and the stench of brimstone wafted from within, warding the cold of the courtyard altogether too quickly.

All of a sudden, the doors pushed back.

Swinging wide as if kicked by a giant, the thick wooden doors gave way to the most destructive element of all - fire. It streamed forth like the breath of a dragon, singing my robes as it snaked overhead and parted around the fluttering stone cloak of Shalidor - a deadly orange blossom, blinding and beautiful. My scales felt like they were blistering on the spot from being so close - they would have been charred black had the impact of the doors not sent me tumbling back into the snowbank at Shalidor's feet. I rolled over and over, screaming, slathering the fresh white carpet over my hands, my robes, my face - anywhere that felt too hot. I didn't come to a rest until I was soaked through, shivering from the cold and the shock. By that time, the sound of snow being crushed underfoot had surrounded me, backed by worried murmurs and the occasional gasp.

My hands roamed to my face and I found a large welt where the doors had hit me; I couldn't tell if the wet feeling was blood or melted snow. I dared to open my eyes, and the first thing I saw was a pair of red eyes set in razor-sharp charcoal features, inches from my face. Before the hovering presence could speak, he was yanked from me by one pointed ear and pulled to his feet by a terse golden hand, finding himself face-to-face with a tall and proud Altmer in an ornate set of black robes. Her molten-amber gaze paralyzed his protest, scrutinized him; found him wanting. She knew she had found her suspect, and she was not pleased.

"Treoy Turil," the fair-skinned mage intoned as if she were merely conducting another lesson. "I might have known."

The young Dunmer started, clawing at the hand gripping his ear. "Faralda, I-" He was cut off with a grimace when she merely tightened her hold.

"You will address me as Master," she stated in her lecturing tone, doing no more in her mind than reasserting her authority over a disobedient child. Treoy did not reply at first, but another good twist of his lobe coaxed out his acquiescence.

"Yes, Master!"

"Good," Faralda said, letting her irritation show. "Now, would you care to explain to me why the entranceway to the Hall of Elements has been reduced to so much kindling?"

Treoy spoke quickly. Too quickly, perhaps. "I was only trying to - it was an accident! I didn't know anyone was in the way! I wasn't even aiming for the door!"

Faralda pulled him closer, maintaining her hold over him. "Destruction Magic is a very dangerous practice, Treoy. The elements of nature are not our plaything - in fact, the opposite is true. It would take a lifetime - or two - of intensive training to properly control and direct the incantation you attempted here. I understand your impatience and hunger for mastery, but I cannot allow unchecked ambition to bring harm to my students, especially in a time when careless use of magic can bring additional judgments upon us. As it is, you are fortunate no one was seriously hurt; otherwise I would have had grounds to punish you to the fullest extent of my authority as the College's Magister of Destruction."

Treoy remained silent for a moment, contemplating the words of his Master. Then he cracked a subtle grin and rasped "Rehearsed that spiel, have you?"

At first it seemed that Faralda would lose her temper and rip Treoy's ear clean off the side of his head - but to the surprise of all, she merely smiled and released him with only a pat on the cheek. "Every morning, just for you," she said. "Report to the Arcaneum after classes today. You have a lot of research to do for that paper."

Treoy's brow sunk in confusion. "What paper?"

Faralda slowly, almost lazily lifted her hand in the general direction of the doors, which lay peeled from their upper hinges like the skin of a dried-out fruit, still flickering with the dying light of windswept flames. She flexed her fingers as if commanding a person to halt - and with that, the flames died out. No wind or frost extinguished them - they just shriveled back like salted snow, leaving behind not so much as an ember. She glanced back to her student.

"The paper I am assigning to you as of now. No less than ten quill-written pages - in your own words this time - summarizing and suggesting solutions for the issues of safety when practicing spells classified within the School of Destruction, with particular emphasis on the risks posed by advanced elemental channeling."

Treoy opened his mouth to protest, but his Master spoke first. "See to your friend," she said, gesturing to me as she headed off towards the Hall of Countenance.

"One week," she added, gripping the doorknob like a pair of tongs. "Everyone - return to your lessons!" The door slammed behind her, and a small coat of snow came loose from the ridge of the doorframe, piling on the ground.

With the exception of Treoy and myself, the crowd of students slowly filed back into the Hall of Elements. The Dunmer paused, igniting a much smaller flame in the palm of his right hand before he reached down to me with his left. I managed to sit up, still freezing from the cold, and took his hand. Pulling me to my feet, he offered the flame aloft before me. I held my shaking hands over it, finally bringing my spastic shivering to an end. Argonians like myself tend to regulate our body heat through the temperature of our environment, and we far prefer the heat to the cold; one of the many niggling inconveniences that marred my travels and stay in Winterhold. Luckily for me, I had chosen to travel here with a friend who doubled as a sentient bonfire.

"I'm sorry, 'Chaser," he said, arms folded apologetically in front of him. "I didn't mean for that."

I waved him off. "No trouble," I said facetiously, rubbing at the cracked, swollen patch on my face. "It made my day to see Faralda chew you out."

"She's a harsh Master, true, but she's got to do the whole disciplinarian routine," he replied, shrugging. "If she wants to put up with me, that is."

I grumbled. "One day she's going to turn you into a living lightning rod, and then you won't find her 'disciplinarian routine' so funny."

Laughing aloud, he put his arm around me, leading me on towards the Hall of Elements despite my insisting that I could walk on my own. He glanced at my face along the way and I noticed him wince. I rolled my eyes. "The door gave me a lump, I know."

Treoy bit his lip, thinking his response over. "It's not that," he said as we reached the doorway's threshold.

I blinked, confused. "What is it? A burn?"

Treoy released me, gaze shifting conspicuously away. "...Not exactly. I'll talk to you later."

Without a word more, he slipped into the Hall of Elements and disappeared into the robed crowd. Sometimes I can't tell if Treoy's being sincere or sarcastic. At first I thought that the burn he mentioned was merely a jest - I didn't feel any pain or discomfort, and if I'd sustained a severe enough burn to be completely desensitized, someone would have said something about the lack of flesh on my bones. Or screamed. Whichever. I checked myself over anyways; my hands and face had not a scale out of place, and for a moment I thought I'd suffered nothing more than minor robe damage - a badge of honor among mages at any rate, given the nature of our work. However, as my hands reached the top of my head, I found the truth was far more distressing than burned flesh;

My plumes had been singed.

My people are very proud of our plumes, and those of us fortunate enough to grow them are typically regarded as desirable. The indignity was almost too much to bear at first, but I supposed it could have been worse - since I hadn't acquired any bald spots, I elected to count my blessings and get on with my increasingly disastrous morning. Almost unconsciously, I felt my hand come to rest over the shape of Mara's medallion, clinging comfortingly beneath my now-somewhat-tattered robes. Thinking of it still brought that feeling of contentment to me; the notion that no matter what else happened today, all of this was temporary. Strange sentiments after having a fight with my woman, then nearly being incinerated by an old friend - and with an inevitably torturous day ahead of me.

"Mara, give me patience."

Centering myself, I stepped through the shattered doorway and into the Hall of Elements.

-=0=-