He was tired.
The supposedly pristine white snow-covered soil was now soaked in blood from corpses of Men and Mer. The gentle blow of the cold wind was overwhelmed by the war cries of the northern invaders from afar, bringing the banner of conquest under the guise of wrongly-aimed revenge. This was not how he imagined how the end of his people would be.
The tall elf rose up from his knees, spraying bright Aetherial light to his surroundings and healing the wounds of his soldiers while ignoring his own. He cannot bear the thought of another one of her brothers and sisters to die on his watch. He has been doing this for several days now, trying to defend his people while slowly being cornered by the northern people to the most northeastern territory of their kingdom.
"That's enough, Milord! You are going to die at this rate!" a soldier clad in ivory armor begged him with teary eyes.
But instead of stopping his magic, the light that enveloped them intensified tenfold. In that instant, the wounds that they had sustained from the days of unending assault from the Atmorans were healed completely. In fact, they even felt stronger than ever before.
"Don't mind me! By the grace of Auri-El, none of you will die before me!" he shouted, heading in front of the few dozen elves that remained on his side. "Brace yourselves, here they come!"
With their renewed vigor, the Snow Elves gripped their weapons harder, be it spears, swords, or bows. The surroundings also grew colder as the mages exerted their Magicka in the form of frost magic. For the first time in their history of battling with the Atmorans, they felt hope. The last prince of the fallen kingdom of the Falmer was with them and on the front line.
Facing his pallid white stag, the prince hesitated to climb to his favored steed. In truth, he was no knight. As a prince born in the most peaceful of times, all he did was to study whatever caught his fancy. Before the war, Skyrim was the most peaceful place to live because the only real threats were the local beast which they already were used to fighting with. Military force was unnecessary since few to none actually bothered to commit a crime.
But now, he has to protect his people from the invaders that threatened them with genocide. It was this war that made him the warrior that he was now. This war is the only reason for him to be a violent force of the Elven kind. Pushing whatever hesitation he had aside, he rode his steed. If he says so himself, it might have been too late. However, the only thing he could do now is to lead the charge.
He knew that it was impossible for him to do this by himself so he closed his eyes and internally spoke a prayer to Auri-El. Although there was no vocal response, he looked up and saw a single ray of the sun coming towards him. The next thing he knew was that he found his nearly depleted Magicka to be fully restored. The Aetherius itself has heard his prayer, and he must respond in kind by exerting whatever physical or magical fighting prowess he has to lead his people to victory.
At last, he found the courage to climb up his steed and charge towards the enemy. As soon as he was seated at the back of his stag, he lifted his spear above. The tip of the spear gathered half of his total Magicka and molded into a blade of ice and storm. At the same time, a cloak of blizzard surrounded him and his steed.
Without saying a word, he rode his steed towards the army of Atmorans. His spear, which now resembled a glaive, stabbed and slashed all enemies in his path. With the might of the magic at his spear, each warrior only took one strike to kill as the magical blade inflicted a terrible frostbite. Even the blood that smeared the blade was frozen and incorporated into the spear, creating a terrifying glaive of true frozen horror.
Those who were spared from his glaive were either petrified or blown away by the gust of the blizzard surrounding him. It was as if all of the ice bent to his will alone.
For the first time, the Atmorans felt despair. It was clear as day that the tides of battle had turned against them. Never in their lives did they see a warrior of such strength and magical prowess as the pale knight that was decimating their army. Worse was that even when they tried to pick on the other Elves, they seem to be stronger and more motivated than ever before.
"The Snow Prince has come! Doom is at hand!" several of the Snow Elves chanted while they cut down the Atmoran army with zeal. Even they themselves cannot believe that they had this fighting capability all along. It was the sight of their greatest hero that motivated them to rise above their adversary.
Eventually, the Atmorans panicked. Three of the Companions, their generals, had already fallen to the onslaught of the Falmer resistance. They thought that it was impossible. And yet here they are, cowering at the sight of the bringer of the blizzards.
"Damn it all! Where are the reinforcements!"
"This can't be happening! We will lose at this rate!"
And lose, they did. Before they knew it, the fight was over. In this battle, the Snow Elves were victorious. Ever since the Snow Prince charged to battle, the Snow Elves did not lose a single soul on their side while the bloody corpses of the Atmorans were scattered on the snowy ground.
The prince climbed down his stag, looking at the two remaining Atmorans in front of him. It was a mother and a daughter. They were both terrified at the sight of the pale Elf whose armor and spear were smeared with the dark red blood of the other Atmoran warriors. He looked down on both of them, feeling a tinge of pity that they have to witness everything. Even he himself was disgusted by what transpired earlier.
The mother was gripping her sword tightly while pointing it to the prince. However, he was unfazed. He did not wish to kill these people as there was no need for him to do so. Besides, worst enemy or not, he cannot bring himself to murder a mother knowing that her child was beside her.
"Enough of the war. Leave this island to my people and there will be no need for further bloodshed." he spoke.
The woman however did not listen.
"You shut your mouth, wretched elf! All of your kind shall die!"
And with that, the charged towards the prince in a desperate attempt to hit him. Although the prince was tired, he was still able to block and parry them with his now worn out spear. He did not even try to hit back as he was sure that he could still kill her even in his condition.
"Stop this. I do not wish to kill you."
Indeed, the woman stopped his attacks and stood beside her daughter. This made the prince feel relieved because he was already at his limit as his previous rampage drained all of his Magicka. However, instead of sheathing her weapon, the woman lifted it upwards and sent a glare to the Elven prince. He was confused about what the woman was about to do until she opened her mouth.
"I will never give your kind the satisfaction of victory! You shall not be the one to claim my life!
And in a swift motion, the woman brought her sword down to her own chest. With the tip of the blade as sharp as any Atmoran smith could make, the sword did not encounter any resistance as it buried itself through her heart. Blood once again formed a fountain that gushed out from her chest and was splattered on the face and armor of the prince.
However, that specific event was not on the prince's mind. Instead, as soon as he saw the woman stab her own chest, there was a faint beat of drum that his ears had caught. The sound was getting louder and louder that it eventually reached enough loudness to make it seem like it came from behind him.
He immediately turned around to his people, only to see that none of them had any semblance of a drum to play at. They were not even showing a sign that they heard it. And yet, the loudness of the drum beat increased even more. It was as if the drum was played directly in his ears. Even the loud cry of the grieving child was muffled by the beat of the drum in which he was certain that only he had heard.
What is this sorcery? Why is it so loud?
And when the drum beat reached its full loudness, realization came to the prince. His naturally pale face went paler. The beat did not came from a drum at all.
It was from a heart.
Unknown to him, the grieving child, eyes still full of tears, pulled out the sword from her mother's chest. The sword was supposed to be heavier than a child could even hope of lifting. And yet, it was weightless on the right hand of the child. It was as if the very laws of nature were bent to allow the child to handle the heavy sword with such ease.
With her heart full of grief, she threw the sword directly to the direction of the Snow Prince. As soon as the sword went airborne, it did not form an arc like any thrown object would. It did not even spin even if the hand motion of the child while throwing it demanded otherwise. Instead, it traveled like the lightest of arrows without any resistance from the cold wind.
By the time the prince noticed it, it was too late. The blade went straight to his chest at an unbelievable speed, tearing through his armor and flesh as if they were not there in the first place. When the sword fully buried itself all the way to the hilt, it slid off and fell to the ground, creating a terrible fountain of blood.
He could not understand it. His armor should have resisted even a portion of the force. Instead, it was as if the steel itself parted to make way for the blade to pierce.
One thing is for certain. The prince was undone.
In his final moments, he decided to look at the general direction where the sword came from. However, the thing that caught his sight was the massive army of Atmorans marching towards his way. In the front lines, he saw the Harbinger himself, raising his dreaded axe as if signalling something.
He finally understood what the drum beat means, what the heartbeat means. It was the doom drum him making his will be known. His people were doomed from the very start of the war. This is why the priests had always preached the second life. To get away from this world, to follow the steps that the time god has shown.
This world did not want him. This world did not want his kind. The doom drum ordered their deaths. The doom drum ordered his death.
And just before he closed his eyes, what he saw filled him with unmeasurable despair.
Fire rained down from the sky.
...