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

A Fate Worse Than Death

It had to be a dragon; of all the fates that could intervene in my impending beheading, it was a damn dragon. It loomed like a shadow of doom atop the crumbling tower, its scales gleaming like obsidian in the dim light of the stormy sky. With a deafening screech that echoed through the valleys of Skyrim, it unleashed a torrent of flames, sending flaming rocks and boulders tumbling from the heavens. I watched in horror as the earth trembled beneath our feet, the cries of the innocent drowned out by the dragon's wrath. Men and women alike were crushed beneath the fiery debris, their screams mingling with the roar of destruction.

For the love of Mara! I struggled against the ropes that bound my wrists, the fibers cutting into my skin. The chaos around me was a symphony of panic—shouting, cursing, and the crackling of fire—yet all I could focus on was the beast above, raining terror upon us. Ralof stood a mere few feet away; his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that pierced through the chaos.

"Hey, Imperial!" he shouted, urgency lacing his words. I had a name, you know, and it's Novella. Yet, at this moment, titles mattered little. "Get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" He coaxed me away from the block, urging me to rise even as jagged stones rained around us.

A fire coursed through my veins, an agony that threatened to consume me whole. My skin felt as if it were crawling away, every hair standing on end, goosebumps prickling my flesh. Ralof waved his hand, beckoning me toward the crumbling watchtower. The Imperial within me wrestled with conflicting desires; joining the Imperials in battle was tempting. Perhaps I could slay the beast and claim my redemption, a chance to pay for my life that had been so carelessly placed on the chopping block. But Ralof was here, alive and fighting, and deep down, I knew that facing a dragon was beyond my mortal strength. They weren't supposed to be real, were they?

I narrowly avoided the rain of fire-covered rocks, my heart racing as I ducked and weaved through the chaos. The cries of Imperial soldiers echoed all around me, their voices mingling with the roars of the dragon that loomed above like a harbinger of doom.

"What in the Eight Divines is this thing?!" one soldier shouted, his voice laced with disbelief and terror.

"Keep your eyes on it!" another bellowed, just as a massive stone crashed, crushing a comrade beneath its weight. By the Divines...

"How in Oblivion do we kill this thing?!" shouted a desperate soldier, his arrows flying with frantic hope. Soldiers send their projectiles skyward, praying one would find its mark.

"It's still coming!" a soldier cried, eyes wide with fear.

"By Ysmir! Nothing kills it!" another shouted, his voice cracking under the strain of hopelessness.

"Die! For the love of the gods, die!" The anguished scream of a soldier was the last thing I heard before I stumbled into the watchtower behind Ralof. My arms screamed for relief, but my heart thundered in my chest. I had narrowly escaped death, and deep down, I knew this fight was far from over.

My throat was parched, words escaping me like the fleeting embers from the dragon's breath. Thankfully, Ralof was there, his voice breaking through the chaos.

"Jarl Ulfric! What in the name of the Divines is that thing? Could the legends be true?" His voice came out in ragged gasps, revealing the fear beneath his fierce exterior.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied, his gaze turning to me, icy and calculating. I felt the weight of his cold stare, which I had glimpsed on the wagon. Did this man ever look anything other than annoyed?

A thunderous roar echoed outside the tower, shaking the ground beneath us. "We need to move. Now!" Ulfric commanded, his voice cutting through the panic like a blade.