A Tale of Could-be Heroes Book 1: Hero, Dragon, Elf

Whispers in the Snowbound Spire: part 2

Aeyrie's voice cut through the vaulted chamber of the Arch-Mage's quarters, crisp as the crack of ice in a thawing stream. She stood tall before Savos Aren, her pale cloak brushing the marble floor, her eyes gleaming with determination. The Magelight floating above cast pale blue shadows across the Arch-Mage's aged features, emphasizing the weight of centuries carved into his face.

"Speak plainly," she said, her tone measured—not harsh, but leaving no room for frivolity. "I do not care for trivial pursuits, nor do I seek to be made a fool. I came bearing a gift for your mages—a Draugr Overlord, its magicka core intact, a prize most scholars would covet." Her words echoed through the chamber like the clash of blades. "And I seek answers. I have need of knowledge that will allow me to walk the path set before me by the gods themselves."

Savos' hands folded behind his back, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he studied her in silence, the kind that seemed to stretch like spider silk—fragile, tense, easily broken. Then, at last, the corner of his mouth tugged into something between curiosity and respect.

"You speak as one accustomed to being obeyed," he mused, his voice smooth yet edged with the practiced authority of a master of the arcane. "And yet you stand here, asking—not demanding. That alone intrigues me." His eyes glinted, dark and fathomless. "A Draugr Overlord's core, intact, you say? That is no small feat. Such a relic carries with it the echo of souls long since bound to shadow. Dangerous... and very, very useful."

From the upper balcony came a sudden audible gasp, sharp enough to ripple through the silence. The source, a young apprentice, a Nord boy with flaxen hair barely past his shoulders, leaned dangerously over the railing.

"By Shor's bones..." he whispered, too low for most to hear, but his voice carried all the same. His wide eyes never left Aeyrie. "To trap such a thing... intact... even the Arch-Mages of old would think twice before daring it."

The boy straightened quickly, as though realizing he had spoken aloud, but the flush on his pale cheeks betrayed his wonder. He clasped the railing with white-knuckled hands, gaze fixed upon Aeyrie as if she were some heroine stepped from the pages of a saga.

Savos Aren's eyes flicked upward, a shadow of amusement tugging at his otherwise grave expression. "Leif," he called, his Dunmer voice carrying like a calm tide over the chamber. "Control your tongue, lest it wag too freely and betray your inexperience."

The boy swallowed hard and gave a clumsy bow from the balcony, though his gaze lingered on Aeyrie with unabashed admiration.

Savos returned his attention to her, the faintest spark of something—approval, perhaps—glimmering in his red eyes. "It seems even the youngest of my students can recognize the weight of what you have brought. That, if nothing else, should tell you that your gift is not a trifle to be dismissed."

The silence that followed was not the hollow hush of indifference, but the heavy stillness of respect. Even Leif who moments ago whispered now watched her in reverent quiet, as though Aeyrie herself were a storm barely contained within mortal flesh.

Aeyrie inclined her head slightly, her long dreadlocks sliding across her shoulders like strands of burnished silver. "I risked much to bring the creature here. If you and your scholars will not accept the gift, then I will return it to the void myself. I did not come for admiration or applause, Arch-Mage. I came for truth."

Savos stepped closer, his robes whispering against the stone. His gaze bore into hers, as if weighing her soul against the burden of her claim. "Then tell me, child of fate—what answers do you seek that you believe even the College of Winterhold may provide?"

Aeyrie's lips parted, and though her words were quiet, they carried the gravity of prophecy.

"I seek knowledge of what binds Nirn to Oblivion. I seek the threads the gods have woven, and the shears Daedra would wield to cut them. The gods point one way, my dreams another. If I am to fulfill what destiny demands, I cannot walk blind."