The small house felt even smaller that evening as Owen sat with his parents at their worn wooden table. The familiar scent of Tina's hearty stew filled the air while the crackling hearth cast dancing shadows on the walls. Outside, the wind howled its usual song against their sturdy walls, a constant reminder of the North's harsh embrace.

Tina ladled generous portions into their bowls, steam rising in delicate wisps. The bread was fresh-baked, its crust still warm from the day's baking.

Olyvar broke off a piece of bread, dipping it into his stew. "Son, there's something that's been weighing on my mind since the lords left to rest for the evening." He paused, his weathered hands stilling. "You told them you were planning for us to leave for Essos. That the weapons were meant to fund the village once we left."

Owen's spoon froze halfway to his mouth. His heart hammered against his ribs as he carefully set it back down.

"I was going to tell you both when Torren returned with the gold from the Stalhrim sale." Owen's voice came out steadier than he felt. "But then the lords arrived with him and... well, you know how that went."

Tina's blue eyes widened. She placed her hand over Owen's. "Leave Longshore? But why?"

"The whole continent?" Olyvar's brow furrowed deep. "Owen, this is our home. Your mother and I have lived here all our lives. The forge has been in my family for generations. What could possibly make you think we should abandon all of that?"

Owen pushed his stew around with his spoon, unable to meet their concerned gazes. How could he explain the winter that was coming? The wars, the death, the destruction that would tear through the Seven Kingdoms? The knowledge sat heavy in his chest, threatening to burst forth.

"Think about it," he said instead. "No more brutal winters. No more struggling through months of darkness and cold. In Essos, we could find a city with warm summers and mild winters. With my skills-" he gestured vaguely, encompassing all that the Celestial Forge had given him, "we could live comfortably. More than comfortably."

"We manage just fine here," Olyvar countered, though his voice held more curiosity than anger.

"But we could do more than just manage." Owen leaned forward, warming to his argument. "We could have a proper house, with glass windows and stone walls. Mother wouldn't have to work such long hours at the tavern. You wouldn't have to worry about whether we have enough stored for winter."

Tina's hand tightened on his. "We've never needed luxury, Owen. We've always had enough."

"I know," Owen said softly. "But I could give you so much more. A better life, an easier life. Away from..." He caught himself before saying 'away from what's coming.' "Away from the hardships of the North."

Olyvar set down his spoon, his expression growing serious. The firelight caught the silver threads in his dark hair as he straightened in his chair. "The old gods don't bestow gifts like yours without purpose, son. They chose you, here in the North, in Longshore. That has meaning."

Owen's shoulders tensed. He hadn't told them about the Celestial Forge yet, letting them believe his abilities came from divine intervention. The guilt of that deception twisted in his gut a bit.

"The gods didn't choose me to be tied to one place," Owen said. "If they gave me these abilities, wouldn't they want me to use them wherever I could do the most good?"

"And where could you do more good than here?" Tina's voice was gentle but firm. "The North has always been harsh. Our people struggle through every winter, through every storm. Your gifts could change that."

"Longshore has survived centuries without magical weapons or automated mines," Owen countered. "The village will continue to survive after we're gone. And the North?" He gestured toward the window, where beyond lay the vast expanse of the kingdom. "The North has endured far worse than harsh winters."

Olyvar's calloused hand wrapped around his mug of ale. "You speak of survival, but what of prosperity? What of growth? The old gods blessed you with these abilities - abilities no other smith in the Seven Kingdoms possesses. They didn't do that so you could run off to Essos to live in comfort."

"Father-"

"No, listen to me, son." Olyvar's voice carried the weight of his conviction. "Every gift comes with responsibility. Every blessing demands service in return. The gods chose you to help our people, to strengthen the North. Running away from that duty... it wouldn't just be abandoning Longshore, it would be turning your back on the very powers that blessed you."

Tina reached across the table, her fingers brushing Owen's arm. "Think of all the good you've already done here. Not just the weapons. The tools you've made for the farmers, the bows and arrows for our hunters. Each piece helps someone provide for their family, helps them survive the harsh seasons." Her blue eyes searched his face. "Would you really be content living a life of leisure in Essos, knowing you could have helped your own people here?"

"I'm not..." Owen struggled with the words. "I'm not turning my back on anyone. But why does it have to be here? Why does it have to be the North?"

"Because this is where you were given your gifts," Olyvar said firmly. "The old gods don't make mistakes, Owen. They chose you, here, now, for a reason. They chose you to help the North grow stronger."

"And what about what I choose?" Owen's voice rose slightly. "Don't I get any say in how I use these abilities?"

"Of course you do," Tina said softly. "But choices aren't made in isolation. They affect everyone around us. Your gifts could transform not just Longshore, but the entire North. Is a comfortable life in Essos worth abandoning that potential?"

Owen stared down at his cooling stew, the weight of their words pressing against him. They didn't understand - couldn't understand - what he knew about the future. About the wars and destruction that would sweep through Westeros. Yet their arguments struck at something deeper, something that had been nagging at him since he'd first conceived his escape plan.

"I could help people anywhere," he said, but his voice lacked its earlier conviction.

"Aye, you could," Olyvar agreed. "But these are your people, Owen. This is your home. The old gods chose you to be their instrument here, in the North. Running from that... it wouldn't just be leaving home. It would be denying your purpose."

Owen stared into his bowl, his parents' words echoing in his mind as memories from his past life crashed over him like waves. The truth of what was coming weighed heavily on his shoulders - a burden he alone carried in this world.

In his previous life, he had devoured the books of A Song of Ice and Fire, following the tales of war, betrayal, and death that swept through Westeros. But George R R Martin had never finished the story by the time he died. The last he knew, the Seven Kingdoms were tearing themselves apart while the ancient evil of the Others gathered strength beyond the Wall.

Daenerys Targaryen would soon hatch her dragons across the Narrow Sea, but that was just the beginning. The War of the Five Kings would rip through the realm like wildfire, leaving destruction in its wake. The Starks - the noble, honorable Starks - would be scattered to the winds. Lord Eddard, beheaded in King's Landing. Robb and Lady Catelyn, betrayed and murdered at the Red Wedding along with thousands of Northern lords and soldiers. Sansa, trapped in the Vale under a false name and pretending to be a bastard. Arya, lost somewhere in the Free Cities as No one. And Jon Snow...

Owen suppressed a shudder. Jon Snow's fate at the Wall haunted him - betrayed by his own brothers of the Night's Watch, stabbed in the darkness. "For the Watch," they had said, plunging their daggers into him.

True, he had seen the television adaptation where humanity ultimately triumphed against the White Walkers. But this world wasn't that story. The man who had visited his forge earlier bore little resemblance to the actor who had portrayed him. This was Lord Eddard Stark as written in the books - a different man in a different tale, one whose ending could be just as quick as it had been before.

His gaze drifted to his parents' faces, lined with concern and love. The thought of them caught in the coming storm made his chest tighten. He loved Longshore and its people - from Derrick and his fellow guards to the fishermen who brought in their daily catch, from the village elders who shared tales by the fire to the humble cobblers who kept their feet warm through winter. They were his people, had been for fifteen years in this life.

But the White Walkers were coming. In the books, they remained undefeated, an unstoppable force of winter and death slowly marching south. No heroic last stand at Winterfell, no moment of triumph against the Night King. Just the endless advance of the dead while the living tore themselves apart with petty wars and politics.

By the last book, Rickon Stark was supposedly hiding on Skagos, of all places. Arya was training with the Faceless Men in Braavos, while Daenerys struggled to rule Meereen. Jon was dead and Sansa passing as a bastard. None of them were here to face the threat beyond the Wall. And without them, without that victory he'd seen in the television show, what hope did the North or westeros really have?

"They could have you." a voice whispered in his head.

The weight of possibility settled over Owen like a heavy cloak. His stew grew cold before him as his mind raced with visions of what he could accomplish if he stayed. The North, with its proud people and ancient traditions, had always prepared for winter - but never like this. Never with the advantages the Celestial Forge could provide.

Through Cidhna Mine's endless bounty, he could forge weapons and armor beyond anything seen in centuries. Not just for lords and knights, but for every soldier, every guard who would face the coming storm. Stalhrim axes that could bite through wight flesh, ebony swords that wouldn't shatter in the cold, armor light enough to move in but strong enough to turn aside ice spears.

But weapons were just the beginning. The mine's wealth could purchase enough grain to fill every storehouse from the Neck to the Wall. Ships from Essos could bring dried fruits, salted meats, and hardy vegetables - enough to sustain the North through years of darkness. The old saying claimed that "the North remembers," but what good were memories on empty stomachs?

"The Night's Watch," he whispered, drawing curious looks from his parents.

The Watch needed more than men - they needed resources. Their nineteen castles lay mostly in ruins, defended by a fraction of their former strength. But with the mine's gold, those ancient strongholds could rise again. Stone by stone, tower by tower, the Wall's defenses could be restored. He could send them proper weapons, warm clothing, preserved foods - everything they'd need to stand against what stirred in the far North.

And the Free Folk... Owen's hands clenched beneath the table. Thousands of them would die trying to flee south, only to rise again in the Army of the Dead. But if someone convinced Lord Stark to offer them peace, to let them through the Wall before winter came...

"Owen?" Tina's gentle voice broke through his thoughts. "What are you thinking about, love?"

He looked up at his parents' concerned faces, seeing them as if for the first time. They weren't just his family - they were Northerners, as much a part of this land as the Weirwoods in the Godswood. And like every other soul north of the Neck, they would face what was coming.

Unless someone changed things. Unless someone who knew what was coming used that knowledge to prepare. Unless someone with the power to make a difference chose to stay and fight rather than flee across the Narrow Sea.

The old gods hadn't given him these abilities - the Celestial Forge had. But maybe his father was right about having a purpose here, even if it wasn't divinely ordained. Maybe running away wasn't the answer. Maybe...

"I could help them," he said softly, more to himself than his parents. "All of them. The whole North."

Olyvar looked at his son, a quiet pride lighting his weathered features. "You could," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his conviction. "You could be an inspiration to many in the North, son. A young man from humble beginnings who helped build the North into a kingdom every Northerner could be proud of."

He leaned forward, the firelight casting deep shadows across his face. "The name Owen would be said with the same respect as Brandon the Builder or the Starks, and you would make everyone know that from a humble village like Longshore came a man to change the North for the better. That a simple blacksmith's son could rise to do great things."

Owen gazed at his parents' expectant faces and nodded. The remaining soup in his bowl disappeared quickly, and he rose from his chair. He kissed his mother goodnight on the cheek, her blonde hair catching the warm glow of the hearth fire. His father's strong hand patted him on the back as he made his way to his small room.

The furs and blankets welcomed him as he settled into bed, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. Just as sleep began to creep at the edges of his consciousness, a familiar warmth bloomed in his soul. The Celestial Forge flared to life, and visions flooded his mind.

Gray-skinned elves with long beards and bright blue eyes appeared before his mind's eye. Their knowledge, their crafts, their secrets - everything poured into him like molten metal into a mold. Their greatest achievements, their deepest mysteries, all became clear as crystal in his mind. A bright flash illuminated his thoughts, and the words "DWEMER LEXICON" burned themselves into his consciousness.

Owen blinked as his mind settled under the weight of this new knowledge. He let out a long sigh, staring up at the wooden beams of his ceiling.

"Guess I know how to build magical powered automatons now," he groaned. "Fuck me when it rains it pours." With that final thought, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

POWERS GAINED FROM THE FORGE

-Dwemer Lexicon | Knowledge of Infinity (Elder Scrolls Skyrim SB) (1000CP) Dwemer Lexicon (400CP)

A complete record of the Deep Elves's knowledge and technology, ranging from their mechanical monsters to tonal tech. This ranges from the things as simple as their standard architecture to their advanced automatons and things like the Aetherial items. Also for those already asking, the knowledge of how to in theory remake the Numidium is here, however you'll notice it's not going to give a step by step guide, and the requirements and skill necessary will be far beyond all but the greatest, and most legendary Tonal Architects. Make sure to use this with care, the Dwemer were among the most powerful races to live and the damage that could be done with their advancements is immense

Master Smith | Ahzidal's Apprentice (Elder Scrolls Skyrim SB) (800CP)

Master Smith (400CP)

So, how many iron daggers did this take to get? Regardless of the answer to that question the results have surely shown themselves to you and everyone else. You're a master of smithing and the working of metal, forging weapons out of Glass and Ebony is well within your capacity, and even Daedric items may be forged with proper equipment and materials. Your craftsmanship is nothing less than perfection and your opportunity to grow is great as well. Given times you may yet forge tools, weapons and armor that rival even the likes of Daedric artifacts.

Behold Haxcalibur (Modded Skyrim) (400CP)

Congrats, you broke the crafting system. Anything and everything you make, build, enchant, or otherwise create is now ten times better than it really ought to be. Make an ordinary dagger that does 12 damage? Now it does 120. Pick up an endgame weapon and enhance it for its supposed max of 200 damage? 2000. Guns that hold more bullets and do more damage, magic staffs that massively amplify your magic, armor that shrugs off OHKO's, potions that let you ignore 110% of fire damage, weapons with ten or twenty enchantments. And if that wasn't enough, you'll learn anything crafting related ten times as fast, just to blow the competition out of the water even more.

Cidhna Mine (Elder Scrolls Skyrim SB) (200CP)

Nobody escapes Cidhna Mine, that's how the saying goes anyways. Cidhna mine is an extensive set of tunnels snaking into Nirn which the Silver-Blood Family uses as a prison and as a source of much wealth. Yours isn't that same dreaded mine, though it's similar in many ways. Placed in a reasonable location of your choosing is a copy of the mine, while the original was predominately used for silver mining yours is much greater. Throughout the mines are extensive reserves of just about all of the ores found in Skyrim at the time, ranging from Ebony to Stalhrim and will produce an incredible amount. These reserves will replenish themselves once they begin to run dry and the mine will be manned by NPC guards and workers, though you could always appoint your own workers and guards if you wished. In future jumps it updates to include new material in the mine.