The Last Dragonborn: Novella's Legacy *On Hold*

A Miracle or Nightmare

The wagon creaked and groaned as it rolled into Helgen, the sound echoing against the stone walls of the ancient fortress. A strange stirring gripped my soul, a sensation that sent shivers down my spine. Something was off here, a palpable magic that lingered in the air, thick and heavy, as if the very fabric of reality was fraying. I felt as if I could sprout wings and soar above the treetops, escaping the grim fate that awaited us.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" An imperial guard barked, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade. My heart sank slightly at the thought of the infamous chopping block where traitors and thieves met their end. The weight of my fate pressed heavily upon me. This was a man tasked with guarding a country I loved, and yet here I was, being led to slaughter.

"Good. Let's get this over with," General Tullius replied, his tone laced with a ferocity that sent a chill through the air. His armor gleamed in the dim light, a stark reminder of the authority he wielded.

From the back of the wagon, a ragged man trembled, his voice a desperate whisper. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me." He clutched at the fraying edges of his tunic, casting his final hopes upon the pantheon of gods, pleading for mercy in the face of certain death.

"Look at him," Braids-a-lot muttered, his voice thick with disdain as he nodded towards Tullius. "General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it seems the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this." His fists clenched, knuckles turning white as anger tinged his voice. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still brewing that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Ah, sweet memories. Funny, isn't it? When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel safe."

I could sense the sadness in Braids-a-lot's voice, a longing for a time when the Empire seemed a bastion of hope rather than a harbinger of tyranny. The irony stung; now, as a rebel, he was forced to witness the Empire's incompetence unfold before his eyes. The air crackled with tension, the weight of our choices pressing down upon us, as the shadows of Helgen loomed ever larger.

As I turned my head to get a better look at Helgen, the sight before me was both haunting and strangely poignant. A little boy stood by the threshold of a modest home, his bright eyes wide with curiosity, while his father glared at us with an expression that mingled annoyance and fear.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" the boy asked, his voice innocent and untainted by the harsh realities of the world.

"You need to go inside, little cub," his father warned, his tone firm as he attempted to pull the boy back into the safety of their home.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers!" the boy protested, trying to shrug off his father's grip, his eyes still glued to us, filled with a mixture of wonder and trepidation.

"Inside the house. Now." The father's voice brooked no argument as he lifted the boy slightly, pushing him through the door with a gentle but unyielding force. I could see the boy's face twist in disappointment as the door closed behind him, sealing away his fleeting glimpse of the world outside.

Turning back to the scene unfolding before us, I watched as our wagon pulled into a clearing where several grim-faced guards waited, their armor glinting ominously in the pale light. One of them stood with a list, a tally of our fates.

"Why are they stopping?" the thief beside me whispered, his voice quivering with fear as he cast a wary glance at Braids-a-lot.

"What do you think? End of the line," Braids-a-lot replied, his voice devoid of sympathy. I could see the panic wash over the thief's face, his bravado crumbling under the weight of impending doom. "Let's go, we shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us," Braids-a-lot added, his bravado almost infectious. As strange as it felt to be heading to the chopping block alongside rebels and thieves, I had to admit there was a certain bravery in his acceptance of fate. If only I could muster the same courage to face my end with such resolve.