The moment the announcer's voice said "Skyrim 6 trailer delayed—again", something inside me snapped.
A rush of anger, disappointment, and years of waiting boiled over at once.
"WHAT?! Delayed AGAIN?! You've gotta be kidding me!"
My hands slammed against the wooden table.
And that… was the last thing I remembered.
A violent jolt ripped through my body—the smell of burning plastic, the taste of metal at the back of my tongue. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably, my vision shaking, blurring, collapsing.
Am I… dying? Over this?
The heat spread through my body like a wildfire, suffocating and merciless. My heartbeat thrashed in my ears, then slowly began to fade.
Darkness swallowed everything.
But even in that darkness, something… warm began to seep in. Not peaceful warmth. No.
This was scorching. Painful. Alive.
Then—
BOOM.
A deafening explosion shattered the void.
My eyes snapped open.
And I was surrounded by fire—real fire—dancing across collapsing rooftops. Smoke clawed at my throat. The sky above churned with black ash, and the air trembled with a monstrous roar that shook the ground beneath my feet.
"What is this…?"
My voice cracked, half-choked by heat.
People screamed. Soldiers shouted. The odor of burning wood, charred flesh, and hot iron filled my lungs.
Then I heard it:
"DRAGON!!! RUN!!!"
A shadow passed overhead—massive wings slicing through the smoke, sending dust spiraling like a storm.
Dragonfire erupted across the courtyard, the heat slamming into me so hard my skin stung.
My legs moved before my brain could follow—stumbling, shaking, desperate to survive.
Why here? Why now? Why Skyrim of all worlds?
And why the exact moment Helgen burns?
My breath froze. My blood ran cold.
A place I had seen a thousand times on a screen—now twisted into something terrifyingly real.
A woman lay unconscious nearby, bound at the wrists, face stained with soot. Instinct overrode terror.
I rushed to her side and shook her shoulder.
"Hey—hey! Wake up! We need to move! Now!"
Her eyes fluttered open in confusion.
"You… why are you helping me? I'm a prisoner. I was going to be executed."
Another explosion tore the sky open.
I grabbed her arm.
"I don't care! We're going underground—move!"
We ran through smoke and falling debris, the ground trembling from the dragon's landing. Every heartbeat felt like it might be the last.
When we finally stumbled into the fort's underground passage, the world above went silent behind the heavy stone walls.
But my heart didn't stop pounding.
Not because of the dragon.
Not because I almost died.
But because the realization hit me like a sledgehammer:
I wasn't dreaming.
I wasn't hallucinating.
I had reincarnated into Skyrim.
We continued deeper, turning a corner—and froze.
A Stormcloak soldier lay dead on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. His armor was battered, but intact enough to use.
I unbound the woman and tell her
"Take his gear," I said quietly. "You're completely unarmed."
She hesitated. "What about you?"
"I already have a sword."
I didn't mention I'd never used one outside a videogame.
She nodded and equipped the armor with practiced movements. Too practiced. She wasn't a random NPC — she was a warrior in the making.
Before we could move, the iron gate rattled.
The woman grabbed my wrist the moment we reached the shadows of the ruined tower, her breath trembling, her voice urgent.
"Listen… you should stay away from me," she whispered. "I'm a prisoner. Anyone near me will be dragged into my sentence."
Her words hit harder than the explosions outside.
I stared at her—dust on her cheeks, fear in her eyes, chains still clinging to her wrists.
"Sentence?" I asked. "What could you have done to deserve execution?"
She looked away, shame clouding her expression.
"I… crossed the border," she murmured. "Wrong place, wrong time. The Imperials were hunting Stormcloaks. They mistook me as one of their rebels. Before I could explain anything… I was chained with them."
My breath stopped.
Border. Mistaken for a rebel. Executed with Stormcloaks.
My chest tightened as realization hit me like a hammer.
This woman… she's the main character.
The Dragonborn.
"So the only crime you committed…" I said slowly, "was being unlucky?"
Her lips trembled into a tiny, bitter smile.
"Yes. I never committed any crime. But they still want my head."
Something inside me snapped—not out of rage, but out of a fierce, instinctive decision.
"Then I'm staying with you," I said. "No matter what comes."
Her eyes widened, shimmering in the smoke-filled light.
"You… you're choosing to risk your life for me?"
Before I could answer, the heavy stomp of armored boots thundered behind us.
The tower door slammed open.
Imperial soldiers stormed in.
"You!" the captain barked, pointing straight at the woman. "Prisoner! You're not escaping. Your execution is—"
I didn't think.
My body moved faster than fear.
Steel burned in my grip as I swung.
My blade tore across the captain's throat, hot blood exploding across my forearm.
The man collapsed with a wet thud.
My heart froze.
My stomach churned violently.
"I—god—"
I dropped to my knees and vomited, the world spinning, bile burning my throat.
The woman rushed to me, kneeling beside my shaking frame.
"Hey! Are you hurt?!" she whispered, gripping my shoulders.
"I… killed him…"
My voice broke under the weight of it.
Her expression softened—not with pity, but understanding.
"This world is cruel," she said gently. "But you saved us. Twice now. Please… stand."
Her hand wrapped around my arm—warm, steady, and frighteningly real.
I forced myself to breathe.
Because now, my fate was sealed.
I had killed a soldier.
I had chosen to follow her.
And I had stepped into the story…
beside the Dragonborn.
If I wanted to survive here, I had to accept that this wasn't a game.
I wiped my mouth and forced myself up.
"…Let's keep moving."
We took the captain's key, passing through the torture chamber.
In that fragile moment of quiet, a sudden thought struck me.
"I—I never asked your name," I said, wiping blood and sweat from my face. "What should I call you?"
She blinked, surprised that I remembered something so human in the middle of chaos.
"My name is Astrid," she said softly. Then her gaze lifted to me. "And you? What's your name?"
My mind froze.
Should I tell her my real name—the name from my past life?
Or should I use my in-game nickname?
Canon Meat.
God, no. There was no universe in which I would introduce myself as Canon Meat to a woman who just survived an execution attempt. And if I used my real name… what if someone in this world recognized this body? What if I wasn't supposed to be Alex here?
I clenched my jaw.
Ah, screw it. That's a problem for future me.
"…My name is Alex," I said finally. "Nice to meet you, Astrid."
She gave a small nod. "Yeah. Nice to meet you too."
Even exhausted, with dust clinging to her hair and a bruise darkening her cheek, she had an intensity about her—something fierce and bright, like a flicker of stubborn flame refusing to die.
Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.
"For a woman… you're incredibly strong," I murmured. "And your face… it kinda matches your name's meaning."
Astrid paused.
Her lips pressed together.
A faint, unreadable expression sparked across her face—surprise? embarrassment? annoyance?—I had no idea.
"…"
A mage lay dead on the ground, his robes scorched. Nearby, an iron cage held scattered lockpicks and spell tomes.
My heart skipped.
Magic.
Real magic.
"Can you lockpick?" Astrid asked.
"Uhh… no. Unless Skyrim the game counts?"
"It doesn't." She sighed. "Here—watch."
She guided my hands, positioning the pick and tension wrench with surprising gentleness. Her body leaned slightly against mine, the heat of her skin warming my shoulder despite the cold stone room.
"Feel the resistance," she murmured. "Don't force it. Let the mechanism speak."
The lock clicked open.
My jaw dropped. "I did it…?!"
She smirked. "Not bad. For a beginner."
I grabbed the spell tome. Lightning crackled across the cover.
"Sparks…" I whispered.
The moment I opened it, knowledge erupted into my skull—like a thousand needles of electricity stabbing my mind. My vision flashed white.
Then it settled.
Power hummed in my fingertips.
I raised my palm toward the wall.
BZZZZT—!
Lightning shot out.
"Holy—HAHAHAHA! I can use magic!"
My vision swayed. My knees weakened.
Astrid caught my shoulder.
"Stop! You're out of mana. Force it, and you'll fry your own soul."
"S-Soul?!"
She nodded. "Magic isn't a toy."
God. Skyrim never warned me about that.
"You can use magic too?" I asked.
She flexed her fingers. A faint warmth glowed at her palm.
"Flames."
Of course. The Dragonborn's starting spell.
"That's really cool," I whispered, genuinely impressed.
Her cheeks reddened slightly.
"…Let's just keep moving."
We delved deeper into the dungeon, passing cobwebs, old bones, and narrow stone corridors that echoed with distant growls.
I froze mid-step.
Because I remembered what came next.
The cave.
The shadows.
The sound of skittering legs.
The creature waiting in the dark.
I swallowed.
I had completely forgotten…
We were about to face that monster.