I was warm when I fell asleep. My bed was familiar, the soft weight of the blankets pressing down on me. Paradise after a long night of talking to friends. The faint hum of the world outside my window had been a comfort as I drifted off. But now… now I was cold.
The air stung my face, carrying the crisp bite of snow and pine. I shivered, my body jostling with every turn of rough wooden wheels beneath me. My wrists ached, the coarse fibers of rope digging into my skin.
I opened my eyes.
Mountains loomed high above me, their peaks cutting into a brilliant blue sky. Snow blanketed the slopes, glittering in the sunlight. My breath misted in the frigid air, each puff a small, fleeting cloud. Around me, the world seemed impossibly vast, the forests stretching endlessly toward the horizon. I had rarely ever seen a place so beautiful.
This wasn't my home.
I shifted in my seat, the rough wood of the cart creaking beneath me. Across from me sat a man clad in furs and mail, his blond hair tied back into a simple knot. His face was hard and weathered, his pale blue eyes fixed ahead. Beside him, another man, his hands bound and his mouth gagged, sat with a calm that unsettled me.
My voice cracked as I spoke. "What… where am I?"
The blond turned his head toward me. "You're finally awake."
I froze at his words, my pulse quickening. There was something about his tone—resigned, I had only heard it from people nearing the end of their life.
"You were caught trying to cross the border, same as us," he continued. "You walked straight into that Imperial ambush. Damn unlucky, too. I don't suppose you remember that?"
I stared at him, my mind scrambling to make sense of what he was saying. Cross the border? An ambush? No… no, that didn't make sense. I had fallen asleep. I was at home, in my bed, Diana and Hades curled up next to me. I was…
My hands.
They weren't my hands.
Pale ashen gray, the fingers long and sharp, the nails darker than they should have been. I clenched them into fists, the ropes around my wrists tightening with the motion. My heart thudded in my chest.
This wasn't my body.
"I'm dreaming," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. "This is… this has to be a dream."
The cart jostled violently, throwing me against the side. The pain in my shoulder was sharp, familiar, real. Too real.
The blond man glanced at me again, his expression unreadable. "You don't look like you're from around here, Dunmer. What were you doing this far north?"
Dunmer. That word sent a thrill through me, the pieces in my mind clicking together with sudden clarity. My gaze darted to the gagged man, then to the mountains, the forest, the snow. It was impossible, ridiculous even, but it was there, all around me.
Skyrim.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I had played this game countless times. I knew this place—the mountains, the trees, the cart. But now it wasn't pixels on a screen or lines of code. It was real. Tangible.
The thief sitting further down the cart scowled, breaking into my thoughts. "Damn you Stormcloaks. If it weren't for you, I'd be halfway to Hammerfell by now."
"Shut up, thief," the blond barked. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know we're all going to die," the thief snapped. "What's the difference? You lot started this war. Now the Empire's going to finish it."
The gagged man—Ulfric Stormcloak, my mind supplied—turned slightly, his piercing eyes boring into the thief. The air around him felt heavy, electric, as though it was holding its breath, I had never felt such a presence, even my old martial arts instructor had never radiated such intensity.
The cart crested a hill, and the forest gave way to a sprawling view of the valley below. There, nestled against the mountains, lay Helgen. It was larger than I remembered from the game. Stone walls stretched wide, encompassing a village of modest wooden homes, stables, and bustling streets. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, the faint sound of life drifting up to meet us.
It was breathtaking.
And yet…
I felt a pang of sadness beneath the excitement, deep and hollow in my chest. If this was real, if I truly was here… then what had happened to my old life? My family? My friends? My pets? I clenched my fists tighter, the rope biting into my skin.
The cart slowed as we entered the village of Helgen, the crisp morning air alive with the sounds of clanking armor and barking orders. Soldiers moved with purpose, their faces grim as they prepared for the day's grisly work.
I craned my neck, taking in the towering stone walls and the modest wooden houses nestled against the base of the mountains. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, the faint clanging of a blacksmith's hammer echoing over the square. It was far larger, more real than I'd ever imagined.
The cart creaked to a halt, the sudden jolt pulling me from the tangled mess of thoughts swirling in my mind. Helgen stood before us, its cold stone walls rising like a fortress against the bright morning sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The air was sharp, carrying the scent of pine, smoke, and the faint metallic tang of impending violence.
Ralof, the blond Nord beside me, turned his head just enough to meet my gaze, his voice calm but heavy with finality. "End of the line."
The words settled in my chest like lead, heavy with the grim inevitability of what was about to happen.
"Why are they stopping?" Lokir, the wiry thief beside me, hissed, his voice sharp with panic.
"Why do you think?" Ralof replied, his tone curt and laced with disdain. "End of the line."
I clenched my fists, the ropes biting into my wrists as the weight of his words pressed down on me. We were being led to our deaths.
"Let's go," Ralof continued, his voice steady and resigned. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
"No! Wait!" Lokir's voice cracked, and he shook his head violently. "We're not rebels!"
"Face your death with some courage, thief," Ralof snapped, his disdain sharp enough to draw blood.
The cart emptied one by one, the prisoners stepping down onto the packed dirt. When my turn came, I stumbled slightly as my boots met the ground, the cold earth biting through their thin soles. The air felt alive, sharp and almost biting, heightening every sensation.
But Lokir's panic wasn't done spilling over.
"You've got to tell them!" he shouted, his eyes darting wildly. "We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"
The Imperial captain strode forward, her armor gleaming in the pale light. Her expression was hard as iron, her voice cold as she barked, "Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!"
"Empire loves their damn lists," Ralof muttered, his words cutting through the thief's frantic protests.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," the soldier read aloud, his tone steady but dripping with contempt.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said, his voice low and reverent as he glanced toward the gagged man.
The soldier continued without pause. "Ralof of Riverwood."
Ralof nodded and stepped forward with deliberate calm, as though the chains binding his wrists were no more than ceremonial decoration.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No," Lokir spat, his desperation boiling over. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"
And then, with no warning, he bolted toward the gates, his chains clinking as he ran.
"Halt!" the captain barked, her voice cracking like a whip.
"You're not going to kill me!" Lokir shrieked, his voice frantic and wild.
"Archers!" the captain snapped.
One arrow. That's all it took. The sharp thunk of a bowstring echoed through the courtyard, and Lokir crumpled to the ground, his lifeless body sprawling in the dirt.
"Anyone else feel like running?" the captain asked, her voice icy and unrelenting.
I blinked, the chaos in my mind broken for a moment by the sheer absurdity of it all. Did he really think he could outrun death? The sheer stupidity of his actions left amusement in its wake, a fleeting smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
I hesitated for a heartbeat before moving, my legs feeling heavier with each step as I approached.
The line moved closer to the center of the courtyard, and the murmurs of the gathered villagers faded into the background. My thoughts swirled, caught between disbelief and grim acceptance. My fists clenched against the ropes, the coarse fibers digging into my skin, grounding me in the harsh reality unfolding around me.
The officer's gaze bore into me, his tone curt and direct. "Who are you?"
The question cut through me like ice.
Who am I?
The question burned, deeper and sharper than it had any right to. Once, the answer had been simple: Dylan, the name my family and friends knew me by. Online, I had worn the name Mand'alor, a moniker I'd used to bring the mando'ade together, to guide and help create stories.
But here, neither of those names mattered. Dylan didn't belong to this ash-gray skin, these unfamiliar hands. Mand'alor was a title from a world that no longer existed. Here, in Skyrim, I was unmoored from everything I had ever been.
And for the first time, I was free.
My fists tightened against the ropes that bound them. This was my moment, a chance to forge something entirely new. A name not as a memory of who I was but as a declaration of who I would become. A name to shake the heavens, to bring Alduin crashing into the earth, to forge an empire in the blood of my foes.
I raised my chin, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside. "Melkorn."
The pride in my voice came unbidden, an emotion I hadn't expected over something so simple.
The Imperial soldier tilted his head, the name clearly unfamiliar to him, but he jotted it down. "Fucking Dunmer," he muttered under his breath - the dick - waving me forward.
The courtyard was alive with grim purpose. Soldiers stood in a loose formation, their armor gleaming in the pale morning light - I idly noticed it was much better designed in real life. Civilians clustered at a safe distance, murmuring anxiously, their eyes darting between the prisoners and the chopping block at the center.
The priestess of Arkay stepped forward, her expression serene but her voice trembling as she began her prayer.
"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you—"
The first prisoner—a proud Nord with a defiant air—cut her off with a sharp bark of laughter. "Enough of your gods and their empty words! I haven't got all day. Get on with it!" As he strutted towards the headsman and kneeled before the bloodstained stone - brave man that.
The executioner hesitated for only a moment before raising his axe. The blade gleamed in the light as it fell with brutal finality, the thud echoing across the courtyard.
The Nord's head tumbled to the ground, his lifeless body slumping forward as gleaming blood pooled beneath him.
"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof murmured, his voice filled with grim admiration.
My stomach clenched.
"Next, the dark elf!" the captain barked, her voice cold and unyielding.
My breath caught. The words hit harder than they should have, driving the reality of the situation deeper into my chest. My legs felt heavy, unwilling to obey, but the soldiers shoved me forward, and I stumbled toward the block.
The dirt beneath my feet felt colder now, the weight of each step pulling me down as though the earth itself sought to swallow me. The heat of the fires burning in the distance only made the chill worse, clashing with the frost in the air and the icy knot tightening in my gut.
I should be relieved. This is the moment, isn't it? Alduin should have been here by now. The storm, the roar, the chaos—it should have already begun.
But the sky was calm. The storm that should have blackened the heavens was nowhere to be seen.
And as I walked closer to the block, dread crept up my spine.
What if he doesn't come?
The thought rooted itself deep, gnawing at my mind. Alduin, the harbinger of destruction, the one thing I had counted on to turn this moment into a chance at survival, was absent.
If he doesn't come, what do I do?
The thought spiraled, growing darker with each step. My hands were bound, and my boots slid on the blood-soaked dirt as I approached the executioner. I would have to fight. I glanced at the soldiers standing around the courtyard, their hands resting easily on the hilts of their swords.
It would be suicide. I was unarmed, outnumbered, and unarmored. Yet the idea burned in my chest, fierce and stupid and stubborn.
What choice would I have?
I gritted my teeth, a flash of anger sparking beneath the growing fear. If this was it, if Alduin wasn't coming, then I wouldn't kneel quietly and let them take my head. If I was going to die, I'd die with their blood on my hands.
I reached the block, the executioner standing over it like a grim statue, his axe gleaming in the firelight.
"Nice and easy," a soldier muttered, his tone more indifferent than cruel.
I lowered myself to my knees, the wood rough against my skin, my heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything else.
A roar tore through the silence, low and distant, reverberating across the mountains like the growl of an awakening beast.
My head snapped up, hope clashing violently with disbelief.
"That's it," I whispered, the words barely audible, my breath catching in my throat.
"That again?" Hadvar muttered, glancing toward the southern peaks, his brow furrowed. "Did you hear that?"
The captain shot him a sharp look. "I said, next prisoner!"
The executioner adjusted his stance, raising the axe high as he prepared to bring it down.
And then the sky shattered.
The wind came first, fierce and unrelenting, tearing through the courtyard and scattering straw and dust in swirling chaos. It carried with it an unnatural weight, an electric charge that made the hairs on my arms rise. The air itself felt alive, as if the world had drawn a deep breath and was holding it, waiting.
The sky shifted. Where moments ago it had been clear and bright, it now churned into a swirling mass of darkness. Clouds boiled, black and angry, their edges lit by flickering crimson streaks of light. Thunder rumbled low and deep, resonating in my chest like the growl of some immense, unseen beast.
A shadow passed overhead, vast and unnatural, blotting out what little light remained. My heart hammered in my chest as my eyes darted skyward, searching, knowing, dreading.
And there he was.
Alduin.
He tore through the sky with impossible grace, his massive wings slicing through the storm with the precision of a blade. Each beat of his wings stirred the tempest into a frenzied howl, the very air bending to his will. His black scales shimmered like obsidian in the angry red glow of the storm, their edges sharp and unforgiving. His eyes—twin orbs of burning crimson—radiated malice, power, and something even more oppressive: inevitability.
The air trembled as he roared, a sound so powerful it seemed to shake the bones of the mountains themselves. It wasn't merely a roar. It was a command, a proclamation of absolute dominion over all that dared to exist beneath his shadow.
The heavens responded. Lightning streaked down, not in jagged lines but in great, searing bolts that struck the stone walls of Helgen. Debris exploded outward, scattering chunks of rock and mortar into the chaos. Fires erupted where the bolts struck, their hungry flames licking upward as if eager to consume everything in their path.
"Dragon!" someone screamed, their voice shrill and breaking with terror.
Alduin descended from the storm landing with a thunderous crash atop the tower. The structure groaned under his weight, cracks spidering through its stone as his claws tore into its foundation. The ground beneath me quaked with the force of his landing, each tremor threatening to send me sprawling.
He roared again, but this time it wasn't just sound. It was a Thu'um, a word of power that tore through the air, reverberating through my chest, my bones, my very soul.
"Strun Bah Gol!"
The words carried with them the weight of the world, a command spoken in the tongue of gods. The storm above twisted violently, the dark clouds bleeding into a deep crimson that painted the world in a hellish glow. The sun vanished behind the roiling mass, leaving the courtyard bathed in an unholy red light.
And then the meteors came.
The first streaked down like a fiery spear, slamming into the tower. The structure crumbled under Alduin's weight, the stone exploding outward in a shower of rubble and fire. I barely kept my footing as the ground heaved, cracks spidering through the courtyard with each impact.
Another meteor struck a building near me, the blast obliterating the building in an instant. Flames erupted from the wreckage, the heat searing against my skin even from a distance and shrapnel opening small stinging cuts as it flew past. The air itself seemed to burn, thick with smoke and the acrid tang of molten stone.
They kept coming. A relentless swarm of fiery death, crashing down from the heavens with unyielding fury. Each impact sent shockwaves through the ground, shattering walls, leveling buildings, and sending soldiers and villagers alike fleeing in all directions.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Alduin wasn't just a dragon—he was a god of destruction, ancient and unstoppable, a force of nature incarnate.
The executioner, who had moments ago stood poised to bring down his axe, dropped it with a dull clunk and fled without a backward glance. His courage, like that of so many others, had been obliterated under the sheer weight of Alduin's presence. Soldiers scrambled for cover, their shouts lost in the deafening roar of the storm and the unrelenting crash of meteors.
Somehow, my legs obeyed. The crushing weight of Alduin's gaze lifted for a fleeting moment, and I turned, stumbling toward the open doors of the keep.
The heat of the storm chased me, roaring and consuming as I ducked through the threshold. Fire licked at the walls behind me, the flames a living, hungry thing that devoured everything in its path.
I gasped for breath, my chest heaving as I turned back for a single fleeting moment.
And there he was.
Alduin stood atop the ruins of the tower, his wings spread wide against the crimson storm. Meteors continued to rain down around him, their fiery trails casting shifting shadows across his black scales. His eyes burned with an unholy light as they locked onto mine, twin orbs of malice and inevitability.
In that instant, I felt small, insignificant—a speck of ash caught in the storm he commanded.
And yet, beneath the fear, beneath the weight of his godlike presence, something else stirred deep within me.
Anger.
How dare he loom over me, stripping me of everything, reducing me to nothing? The fury boiled in my chest, a visceral rage at my own helplessness.
And excitement.
This was no ordinary dragon. No weak creature to be brought down by mortal hands. This was power incarnate, raw and unrelenting, the very embodiment of destruction.
And for a fleeting moment, as I stood amidst the ruins of his wrath, I glimpsed something else—a vision of the power I could one day wield.
Alduin's might was overwhelming, but it wasn't insurmountable. He was not untouchable, not invincible. He was a god of this realm, yes, but gods could fall. I would see him beneath my boot, his strength broken, his soul mine to claim.
This wasn't the end. This was the beginning.
One day, his power would be my own, and I would rise to the very height of this realm. Nothing would stand above me—not Alduin, not the Divines, not Harkon or Miraak, no one.
Authors Note
Fuck it, I'm finally writing my own fic after helping authors like Alpha, USS, Zod, Smurf, Zero, and Myth. This is a true self-insert—me waking up in Skyrim, with all the baggage, struggles, and awesomeness that comes with it. No shortcuts, no idealized version, just me, and the points of view you see are mine until the life I now lead in the story changes them. This is my fight to survive and thrive in a brutal world of dragons, war, and magic.
Vampires will be terrifyingly powerful, werewolves feral monsters of raw strength, and dragons true gods of destruction. Magic will be overwhelming and earned through hard-fought growth. The civil war will be a real war, with massive sieges, devastating battles, and land-shaping consequences.
Companions from mods like Inigo, Lucien, and others will make this world feel alive, each adding depth to the world. Relationships will grow naturally, shaped by time and trials. With mods like Falskaar, Path to Elsweyr, and Legacy of the Dragonborn, this story will span years and expand far beyond Skyrim.
It's going to be raw, messy, and hopefully legendary. Let's do this.
