The sky was painted black, the strokes of ash and dust leaving a smear on what was once blue. Flames crackled, unheard over the screams of the damned. Children and women ran to cover, as the men held their swords against impossible odds. The smell of burnt flesh was unavoidable, along with the never-ending rivers of blood. So much death. So much destruction.
All of it caused by one Dragon.
Just as the worst seemed to be over, a winged silhouette etched itself into the sky. Following it, was a sound like no other.
As the words were thrust out of the mouth of the beast, a force of unimaginable fury cascaded down upon the town of Whiterun. Both fire and fury rained down onto what was left of the world, leaving death in its absence.
As the last building caught fire, the Dragon landed with a quake, its wings flaring with both grace and beauty. But despite its magnificence, there was no mistaking the abomination's fiendish nature. A monster of pure evil.
And while the fires raged and the withering screams of its victims continued, only one word was imprinted into their minds.
Alduin
Olava cried out, waking from her slumber. Her hair was wild and tangled, and she felt her tears soaking through the pillow. Even with the morning light coming through the window, she still felt as if she were surrounded in darkness. She sighed, trying to escape the nightmare.
This was no mere dream. Olava knew it was a vision. A vision of what was yet to come. Fate would not be in her favor on that day, nor in anyone else's.
But they never listen. She told the Jarl of her vision, and received a laugh and a push out the door. The old hag had simply gone senial.
But Olava knew better, even if they refused to see the truth laid in front of them. So instead, she turned to the townsfolk. Only to be shunned once again.
It was excruciatingly frustrating, to try and help only to be ignored. They didn't understand the danger that awaited. The bloodshed that would bring the world to its knees.
Olava had to warn them. Even of they refused to listen.
She pulled her hair back and gathered her clothes, being careful not injure herself and her brittle bones.
She turned to her kitchen and stopped abruptly. She glanced at the window in confusion. It was pitch black, the moon barely visible among the clouds.
Olava scrunched her brows in confusion. There was light just moments ago. Was that just another part of the dream?
Doubtful, she opened the front door, instantly becoming warm. The sun was blinding, and she felt tears returning as she shaded her eyes as best as she could. Despite fixing her impaired vision, it did nothing to stop the heat that stirred around her.
Olava gasped. Heat? In Skyrim? Why was the sun so hot? She screamed, realizing too late what was in front of her.
Fire.
It roared with ferocity, crackling as it tore at her with burning claws. The sound of screams echoed, the flames engulfing all of Whiterun. Olava included. She was trapped in, with no way of escaping.
As the fire enclosed her, she glanced up. The flames had destroyed the roof, revealing the moon. A shadow danced across it, and a pair of wings flashed by. Olava knew instantly what it was.
Just before the last of the roof collapsed upon her, she gazed into the eyes of a dragon, her nightmare becoming a reality.