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

Game of Survival Part 1

Inside Helgen Keep, the air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood. Shadows danced across the stone walls, flickering with the embers of a dying fire. I felt a strange calm wash over me, my breath evening out amidst the chaos. The solemnity of the scene weighed heavily on my heart, especially as I watched Ralof, the steadfast Stormcloak, lean over one of his fallen comrades. Seeing another brave soldier who hadn't escaped the battle stirred a deep sorrow.

I could see the anguish etched into his features, the way his hands trembled as they brushed against the lifeless body. My heart ached for him; this had to be the worst day of his life. I felt utterly powerless, unsure of what words might offer solace if any could at all. I had never truly experienced loss—only the sting of empty pockets and the fading echoes of a life once filled with laughter.

"We'll meet in Sovngarde, brother," Ralof murmured, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. The weight of his sorrow hung heavy in the air, a palpable presence that made my troubles feel insignificant. I wanted to reach out, to offer him a comforting embrace, but my hands remained bound by coarse rope, a cruel reminder of our predicament.

"Ralof, I'm so sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I approached him. I managed a meek smile, though it felt weak and hollow in the face of his grief. "I'm sure he was a great man."

"Aye, that he was," Ralof replied, his gaze distant, lost in the memories of battles fought and brothers lost. "But war is not kind to anyone." He glanced around the dimly lit keep, the sound of distant flames crackling like the very breath of the gods. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon. No doubt about it."

I wanted to roll my eyes, to scoff at the absurdity of it all. A giant elk breathing fiery rocks down on us, perhaps?

"Just like the children's stories and the legends," he continued, his voice rising fervently. "A harbinger of the End Times."

The mention of the End Times sent a shiver down my spine, memories of tales I had heard in Cyrodiil—of dragons returning to reclaim their dominion, of darkness swallowing the light. It had always seemed like a distant myth, a tale spun to frighten children. But now, in the shadow of Helgen Keep, it felt all too real, as if the very fabric of our world was unraveling before our eyes. Apparently, it wasn't just a tall tale.

Ralof scanned the darkened chamber one last time, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows that danced like wraiths. He turned back to me, his expression resolute. "We should keep moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off."

I extended my arms, the rough ropes digging into my skin. Ralof drew a dagger from his belt, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. With a swift motion, he sliced through the rope, severing my bonds. I felt a rush of relief as the restraints fell away, though pain shot through my wrists as I rubbed the sore spots. At least now, they could heal.

"There you go," Ralof said, his voice steady. "You might as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore."

I glanced over at Gunjar's lifeless body sprawled near the table, a grim reminder of the battle that had unfolded. It felt so utterly wrong to strip the dead of their belongings, to take from someone who would never rise again. Yet, the tattered rags I wore would surely betray my position as a prisoner. The thought of facing the Imperials again sent me a chill, but a dragon? That was a fate worse than death.

With a heavy heart, I knelt beside Gunjar, closing my eyes for a moment to honor his sacrifice. I took a deep breath, steeling myself against the weight of what I was about to do. "Forgive me, brother," I whispered, my voice barely audible. I removed his armor carefully and respectfully, though I knew the act violated his rest.