I snap back to awareness. I'm lying down with my head next to the block that moments ago I had been leaning my neck against. The headsman is beside me, with his black sack-like headwear dyed red.

There is chaos around me. People screaming, and there are sounds of heavy impacts.

I notice that it's unbearably hot. My previously frozen body felt akin to being pricked by thousands of needles. Fire and debris are flying about in the air, and high above me, there is a being straight from nightmares with scales like the night sky and wings wide as a giant is tall. It's a dragon, a monster only spoken of in legends. It is flying in circles above the city, killing people indiscriminately. Fire spews out every time its maw opens. I'm mesmerized by this terrible visage above me.

Something grabs the back of my neckline and yanks me onto my feet. That something was Ralof, and he is yelling into my ear. I can't make sense of what he is saying, dazed as I am, but with him pointing at the watchtower overlooking the execution square, I could easily guess what he wanted.

Ralof was already running by the time I'd gathered my wits. So after a couple of unsteady steps, I was off.

Gasping for air and my heart racing, I got to the tower. Inside were seven Stormcloaks, the rest of them nowhere to be seen. While trying to catch my breath, Ralof is already talking to Ulfric Stormcloak, whom I note to have ungagged himself.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

I let out an exasperated huff at that. Legend? Innocent townspeople were dying out there, and he was wondering about the beast's existence. Honestly, right now, the only thoughts should be of one's own survival. I don't say any of this out loud because the previously gagged man spoke.

"Legends don't burn down villages."

There is something I can't place about his voice. It's like an undertone of power, yearning to be unleashed at every word. I wonder if this is the Voice the General was talking about earlier.

Now that I've caught my breath, I can adequately assess my surroundings. The inside of the tower is circular, there are no arrowslits on the first floor, and the only other thing of note is the stairs leading up the building.

I'm starting to doubt the safety of this tower. There is only one exit, which is the door that's currently being barred with everything not nailed down by two of the rebel soldiers. Out of nine of us in here now, all but one are in relatively good shape.

The wounded soldier sitting on the ground has a piece of wood lodged in his thigh. The wound is oozing dark red blood, which means no major arterial bleeding currently. However, with the injury in his thigh, the likelihood of a severed or pierced arterial vein is high. So, if the wood is dislodged, the man will likely bleed out in less than a minute. In this situation, without a healer present and no way to take him to one, he is likely living on borrowed time.

Wait, how do I know this?

The Jarl orders us up the tower, and Ralof is nudging me to follow him.

"This way, kid. Move!"

He seemed to have noticed that I had fallen into my head again. I follow his hurried steps up the stairs to the second floor. The way, however, is blocked by fallen debris. There is already a man there trying to pick out a way through.

There isn't a warning before the solid stone wall beside him crumbles. The dragon peeks its head in through the hole, snaps open its mouth, and swallows the poor man whole.

Yol… Toor… Shul!

And there is fire. Luckily the two of us avoid the worst of it, but the sheer heat radiating from the dragon's flames is enough to dry out my eyes.

The dragon flies off. Ralof and I are left standing on the stairs, narrowly avoiding a grisly fate. I glance at Ralof's face, still blinking my dried-out eyes, and feel the blood drain from my face at the speculative expression on his face. He is looking outside of the hole at the nearby two-story building. He has clearly noticed the possible second exit. He is not saying anything, though.

I gnaw at my lips. With the imperials in the courtyard and the danger that the open brings, the door is simply not an option. So jumping into the building is obviously the only reasonable choice, and Ralof must think so too.

The thatch roof has caved in, and the wooden planks of the second floor are visible. The drop is considerable but survivable. The distance is on the edge of doable, possible but missing the landing and breaking my legs is a real possibility.

Ralof still hasn't said anything. Maybe he is waiting for the others to come up the stairs, but I'd rather not risk the beast coming by again.

I metaphorically grab myself by the bootstraps and take a running start, avoiding the leftover flames. I take long strides and plant my right foot near the edge. Bend it and leap.

Soaring through the air, I suddenly fear I might not make it. But by the smallest of margins, my feet go over the supports of the collapsed roof, and I thump onto the second floor. My legs fold beneath me, and I roll over my right shoulder. The radiating pain indicates that the shoulder isn't broken and will only form a bruise.

I glance back at the tower, but Ralof is nowhere to be seen. What? Did I misread him? Why isn't he following? I gnaw at my lip in worry. What am I supposed to do now? I might have just lost the relative safety that came with numbers. I glance about the room but find no stairs down. I feel my brows furrow in confusion. Well, at least there seems to be a hole in the floor following a trajectory of a large chunk of stone, which flew in through the wall. I scamper over with my achy legs and sit by the hole. Grab the edge on my right with two hands and lower myself. The drop was nothing compared to jumping from the Hircine damned tower.

I exit to an open road. There I see countless townspeople and Imperial soldiers. The soldiers with no ranged weaponry are leading the civilians away. Archers and mages are spread about on the open and the walls overlooking the burning city.

I pay no attention to the dead.

I can't afford to trust that the soldiers won't just kill me and be done with it. So I try to make a run for cover. As I'm running, I pass a trio of a soldier, an elder, and a child. The soldier I recognize as the 'list man.' I run faster but soon have to pivot and dive for cover as the massive dragon lands on a nearby house. This is the first time I genuinely realize the sheer size of it. It's about as big as the house it sat on. Weights probably about as much, considering the way the building is creaking under it.

I find myself in an alleyway between a building and a wall. The dragon isn't paying me attention, so I continue making my way through the warzone. There are burning buildings and collapsed stone walls all around. More than twice, I've had to duck through a barely standing building. I try to avoid the soldiers as best as I can, not that they seem to pay any attention to me. Not that I blame them, I am just a man in a roughspun tunic and pants. Meanwhile, a dragon is burning down the world around them.

While making my way through the city towards one of the only gates I remember seeing from the birdseye view I got during the cart ride. The particular gate I'm aiming for is the one by the keep, on the far side of the entrance we came in from.

Still haven't seen a single Stormcloak since the tower, nor, now that I think of it, a single one of the hundred Thalmor I remember seeing earlier.

Speaking of the Daedra, there's Ralof. Running alone with his hands unbound and carrying a single war-axe. He is heading through an opening in the wall leading to the stone keep. He doesn't see me and soon disappears from view. With the gate in sight, I hesitate to follow him.

The gate is the same metal-reinforced wood as the one I went through earlier. The problem is, it's closed. I run up to it and try to push it open, but no matter the effort I put in, it doesn't budge. I try to look for some mechanism that would indicate that there would be a leaver or a chain to open the gate. I see nothing and decide to abandon the gate as a possible exit. It would have been a bad idea anyway, as the open air would have brought the likelihood of being burnt to a crisp.

I turn around and head for where I saw Ralof last. I stop in my tracks, for I see Ralof and the 'List Man' yelling at each other with their weapons drawn. I tried to look around for a weapon in case it came down to a fight, but the only thing of note that I noticed was that the keep had two entrances. I gather my wits and try to approach without either of them catching me, but that was for naught.

"Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

"We are escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!"

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovengarde."

The brown-haired Nord turns to address me.

"Follow me if you want to live, prisoner!" and heads into the keep through one of the entrances.

I barely spare him a glance and start running for the other entrance with Ralof.

While opening the door, he greets me.

"Good to see that you made it, kid. Gave me a proper shock you did, jumping like that."

I hum for the lack of an answer. What am I supposed to say to that?

Once inside the keep, we enter a circular room with three exits. One behind us, one closed off with a wooden gate mechanism and one with metal bars and a door. Behind the metal door, I can see stairs leading underground, possibly into a dungeon. While I was studying the room, Ralof approached the only other occupant in the room. A dead Stormcloak with his weapon still tightly held in his hands.

"We'll meet again in Sovengarde, brother."

Ralof mutters to the cold corpse. Funeral prayer of sorts, I presume. However, I see that the man didn't die of any visible lingering injuries, so that must mean he was murdered here. Most likely by passing Imperial soldiers, which means they will probably kill me alongside Ralof were we to meet them. Not good.

"First thing first. Let's get you out of those binds." He grabs my hands tightly with one hand, and with the other, he starts sawing off the rope with his war-axe.

My mind focuses on the only weapon in the vicinity now that my hands are freed. The one in the dead man's grip.

It's a short spear coming probably up to around my armpit. It seems like a simple weapon, different and cheap compared to the spears I remember the Imperial soldiers wielding. If I had to guess, the spear's prior owner was one of the townspeople, and the rebel had looted it during the chaos of the attack. The shaft is of wood, nothing fancy but well made and uniform in width. The spear tip is of simplistic iron make. No wings under the point, just a smooth, shiny iron head. The spear has seen lots of use. The shaft and the tip are both worn and chipped in places. The spearhead is still dripping with blood from the fight, which led to the man's death.

I do a double take from the blood and quickly scan the room once more.

I try to voice my discovery with my still, very dry, and scratchy voice.

"The on-"

I have to take a second to clear my throat.

"I mean, there is a trail of blood leading through the iron gate. So…"

Ralof went back to crouching next to the corpse. He is nodding at what I'm saying.

"So, they probably have a reason for going down during an attack. An exit possibly."

Ralof wrenches the spear from the stiff fingers. Then, he stands and thrusts the spear's shaft sideways at my chest, forcing me to take it in my hands.

"Listen, we don't have much time until the Imperials follow. We'll talk more in a moment." He doesn't seem to be in a mood to humor me. I grip the spear tighter.

"Ok, you ever fought with a spear before?"

I shake my head.

"You ever been in a fight?"

I shake my head again.

"Never, I think."

He starts to pace, a worried expression on his face. Probably because he now has a dead weight like me hanging onto him.

I roll the shaft of the spear between the palms of my hands.

He seems to decide something as he comes to a stop and turns to me.

"If we had the time, I'd have you take Gunjar's gear. But no use crying over spilled ale. Now listen up. You grip the shaft with your hands and point it at your enemy. You stab the tip at gaps in the armor or through light armor. You can use the sides of the tip to cut, but only at exposed flesh. You want to keep the enemy far because the spear is longer than your average weapon. Stab and sweep at the enemy and hope that you hit something. Go for the kill, don't show mercy because they won't."

He says this all quickly, and I try to absorb as much as possible.

"You got all that?"

I nod hesitantly.

"Well, good enough. Because it's show time. Get into cover."

He says the last part in a whisper.

At that moment, I, too, could hear the voices coming from behind the wooden gate. We get into position on the sides of the doorway. I can hear two distinctive voices. A masculine and a feminine one. I grab the spear with both hands and try to imagine its reach. Then, with the effective range in mind, I position myself accordingly.

Now that I'm somewhat ready, I take a moment to think about the absurdity of all that is the entirety of my life. I bury the overwhelming feelings and stand ready. Slightly crouched down with steady footing. Ready to kill. My blood starts rushing.

There is a sound of a chain being pulled, and the wooden gate falls down into the ground. Footsteps grow closer. The two soldiers walk through the opened doorway. One has the heavy imperial metal armor, and the other the light variant. The one in light armor is nearer to me.

I dash forward, my bare feet not making a sound. I come from low and stab upward with all my strength. He doesn't notice me until the last moment. Our eyes meet. And then my spear pierces at an upwards angle into his jaw. He drops and almost takes the spear with him, but I barely manage to yank it out in time.

I feel more than hear Ralof roaring and charging the female in heavy armor. He swings his war-axe hard, but she manages to bring up a shield in time and block the strike. That starts the fight between them. The Imperial blocking hits left and right while not worrying about glancing strikes due to her armor. Ralof seems to dance around her swings, her short sword not having a lot of reach, and the difference in mobility appears to leave them at a stalemate.

My eyes meet Ralofs, and I understand what he wants. I join the fight by slashing my spear in a wide arc from behind her. Aiming for the exposed space behind her knee, between the boots and the cuirass' skirt. The hit doesn't connect as she dodges at the last minute, but my joining the fight makes her falter. Ralof takes advantage of this and rushes her down. Inside her guard, he makes one, two, and then three hits with his axe. Finally, she is down for the count.

Then there is silence. Only the sound of Ralofs haggard breathing is heard. I lean on the spear and try to catch my own. That sure was a rush. I still feel the blood pumping through my veins.

Ralof checks that the woman is dead and bends down to rifle through her pouch. Soon he stands back up with a key held in his hand.

"And you said you'd never been in a fight before." He starts walking towards the metal door. I run up to walk next to him.

"Mhm"

The key fits into the lock, and the door swings outwards.

I have an idea.

"You alright, kid" Ralof expresses his concern, which I don't get. I feel amazing.

"Yup, I'm good. Great even." I jump and let out a whoo to emphasize my statement. I'm doing quite good, thank you very much. For some reason, Ralof seems really concerned. It might have something to do with this being my first kill, but I can't say I feel anything in particular about it. It just seems so minor compared to everything else today.

I double back for Gunjars corpse and start to drag him with my arms under the armpits.

Ralof's concerned expression turns to bafflement.

I rush to explain myself.

"See, I had an idea. Earlier, you said I should wear his gear, but we didn't have the time. Soo… Seeing as that door opens outwards, we can stack that cart over there and all the other random stuff in front of the door to ensure no one comes from behind us. Also, I'd rather wear something other than this sack if we have to fight." I pick at the fraying cloth.

"Sensible." He seems to agree and comes to help drag the corpse of his former comrade.

Moments later, in proper light armor, I'm pulling on the fur gloves and boots. Ralof is leaning against the stone wall next to the stairs leading deeper into the keep.

"So two things. Firstly the next fight won't be as easy, they were surprised, and we were evenly matched in numbers. Secondly, that thing you said earlier. Yeah, there is a reason people are heading into the keep. These kinds of places almost always have a secret way out. Whether it be a sewer, a manmade exit tunnel, or a cave. It's pretty much the law."

He stops for a moment.

"Also, good fighting… for a milk drinker" His beard twitches in what I'm assuming to be a smile.

Wait. Was that an insult? What does that even mean?

He starts descending the stairs, so I pick the spear from where I had left it and ran after him.