From his vantage point atop the tower, Faldir watched as the traveler—the quiet, sharp-eyed one—entered another tower alongside Ralof. Even through the chaos, there was something commanding about the way the man moved. Faldir couldn't place it, but it didn't matter.
The town below was in flames, the dragon's wrath turning Helgen into a crumbling ruin. Faldir had no reason to linger. Execution, chains, battles—all of it paled in the face of his one driving goal: survival.
With a calculated glance over the edge of the tower, he measured the distance to the nearest wall. Without hesitation, he leaped, his chains rattling as he hurtled through the air. He landed heavily on the thatched roof of the wall's structure, the brittle material caving beneath his weight.
The roof splintered and gave way, sending him crashing onto the stone floor below. The impact sent a jolt through his legs, but Faldir had twisted mid-fall, using his arms to cushion the brunt of the blow. His dragon-infused reflexes saved him from serious injury, though pain still flared in his joints.
He lay there for a moment, catching his breath. Through the broken roof, he could still see the dragon circling above, its shadow sweeping over the burning town like an omen of doom. The chaos it brought was his opportunity—his only chance to escape.
Pulling himself to his feet, Faldir darted through the gaps in the wall, his movements a blur despite the weight of his chains. Soldiers shouted, but their focus was on the dragon, not the lone, shackled figure slipping through the carnage.
He reached the outer edge of Helgen's walls and paused, scanning the forest ahead. The dense trees stretched endlessly, their shadows promising sanctuary. Faldir gritted his teeth, the burning in his veins spurring him onward.
With a final glance at the burning ruins of Helgen, he sprinted toward the border. The terrain was rough, the weight of his chains dragging on him with every step, but his determination refused to waver. Each footfall was a promise: he would survive.
After what felt like hours of relentless running, Faldir stumbled upon a cave. Its entrance was hidden behind a thicket of pines, barely visible in the dimming light. The sound of the dragon's roars was faint now, the chaos of Helgen far behind him.
He ducked inside, the cool air of the cave washing over him like a balm. Darkness enveloped him as he moved deeper into the cavern, his breathing ragged but steady.
Finally, he sank to the cold stone floor, leaning against the wall. His chains still bound him, the weight of the enchanted steel pressing against his wrists and ankles. But here, in the silence of the cave, he allowed himself a moment to rest.
The fire within him simmered, still restrained by his bindings, but it was enough to keep him warm. His mind drifted briefly to the events of the day—the dragon, the traveler, the burning town.
He closed his eyes, his focus sharpening. The past didn't matter. Helgen didn't matter. The only thing that did was the future—and the eight bandits who had betrayed him.
In the quiet of the cave, his resolve solidified. The world may have thought him a monster, but he would show them all what true monsters were capable of.
And when the time came, he would ensure those eight lives were the first to feel his wrath.