I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

The staircase spiraled down into the oppressive darkness, the air growing thick and heavy with the scent of damp stone and something faintly metallic. As they reached the bottom, the cavern opened before them: Blackreach. A vast, echoing space stretched as far as the eye could see, illuminated by strange, glowing fungi that cast an eerie, ethereal light. Towering stalactites hung from the cavern's impossibly high ceiling, while massive stalagmites rose from the uneven floor, creating a surreal, otherworldly landscape. The silence was broken only by the distant drip of water and the faint hum of unseen machinery.

"By the Divines…" Harin breathed, her voice hushed with awe, her eyes wide as she took in the vista. She turned to Ibnor, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's… breathtaking."

Ibnor scanned their surroundings, his eyes narrowed, his hand instinctively resting on the pommel of his sword. "Beautiful, but… unsettling. Keep your guard up." He glanced back at Harin. "This place feels… watched."

Following the guidelines, they took the path to the left, immediately out of the Alftand Cathedral. The road, paved with smooth, dark stone, wound its way through the cavern, disappearing into the distance. A low rumble echoed from the shadows ahead. A Dwarven sphere, its brass plating gleaming in the strange light, rolled into view, its glowing blue eye fixated on them. A Falmer lurked nearby, its hunched form barely visible against the dark rock.

"Looks like we're not alone after all," Ibnor muttered, drawing his sword.

"Ready when you are," Harin replied, nocking an arrow.

They dispatched the two quickly, Ibnor's blade finding purchase in the automaton's exposed gears, a shower of sparks erupting as it shuddered and fell, while Harin's arrows found their mark in the Falmer's gaunt frame.

They continued southeast, the path winding through a forest of towering mushrooms. They reached the first junction and turned right, heading southwest. The air grew colder, and the faint scent of damp earth was replaced by a sharp, acrid odor. Chaurus scuttled from beneath the large fungi, their clicking mandibles and hissing filling the air. Another Falmer joined the fray, wielding a crude, bone-tipped spear.

"More of these… delightful creatures," Ibnor said dryly, as he parried a chaurus's snapping jaws.

Harin rolled her eyes, but a small smile touched her lips as she loosed an arrow, hitting the Falmer squarely in the chest. The fight was short and brutal, the echoing cavern amplifying the sounds of combat.

As they traveled underneath a massive, arched bridge of stone, arrows whistled past them, impacting the ground nearby. Looking up, they spotted a Falmer perched on a ledge high above, nocking another arrow.

"Damn Falmer," Harin muttered, ducking behind a large stalagmite. "Think you can reach him?"

Ibnor squinted, judging the distance. "Too far for a clean shot. We press on. He'll waste his arrows soon enough."

They pressed on, keeping to the path, ignoring the sporadic potshots.

Two more chaurus blocked their path, their chitinous bodies glistening in the faint light. They were quickly dispatched, and the pair continued on until the path turned sharply west, leading them across a narrow bridge spanning a deep chasm. As they crossed, the Tower of Mzark came into view to the southwest, a small Dwarven tower perched atop a spire between two cascading waterfalls. A stone bridge arched over the river below, connecting to the tower's northern face. The trail led directly towards it.

"There it is," Harin said, pointing towards the tower. "Looks like our journey is almost over."

"Let's hope what's inside is worth the trouble," Ibnor replied, his gaze fixed on the imposing structure.

They crossed the bridge and entered the tower. Inside, a narrow, curving staircase hugged the walls, leading upwards. They ascended, the air growing colder and thinner with each step.

"Feels like we're climbing into the belly of some metal beast," Harin commented, shivering slightly.

"Just try not to think about it," Ibnor replied, though he shared her unease.

The staircase opened into a large, circular chamber: the Oculory.

The room was dominated by a massive Dwemer contraption: a giant sphere with numerous focusing lenses filled the entire first floor. A second level sat atop the sphere, and hanging from the ceiling, a series of more lenses concealed a container. Among scattered rubble, they found the skeletal remains of Drokt. Beside him lay his journal. Ibnor picked it up and quickly scanned the pages.

"Listen to this," Ibnor said, reading aloud. "'The light through the knowledge through the machine rests on the cube…' And here's another part: 'Place the lexicon into their contraption and focus the knowings into it.'" He looked at Harin, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Sounds familiar."

"Septimus's ramblings," Harin confirmed.

Following the clues, they found the control panel with four buttons and a Lexicon Receptacle. Harin placed the Blank Lexicon in the receptacle. The ceiling of the room opened, shining light onto the container beneath. This also activated the two buttons on the right.

"Alright, let's see if we can get this contraption working," Ibnor said, approaching the control panel. He positioned himself so he could see both the Lexicon and the central floor. "Ready?"

"Ready," Harin confirmed, drawing her bow and scanning the room for any unexpected threats.

Ibnor pressed the second button from the right four times in a row. The lenses shifted and clicked, focusing the light onto the floor. The Lexicon opened, activating one of the buttons to the left. He pressed the second button from the left twice. The lenses in the ceiling shifted again, aligning the light shining through the container with the corresponding lenses on the floor.

"It's working," Harin whispered, watching the intricate mechanism with fascination.

The last button to the left became active. Ibnor pressed it once. The upper lenses moved aside, and the container slowly lowered from the ceiling. It reached the floor with a soft thud and opened, revealing the Elder Scroll, its surface shimmering with arcane energy.

Harin gasped. "There it is…" She carefully retrieved the Elder Scroll, its touch sending a shiver down her spine. "Incredible…"

Ibnor took the now-inscribed Runed Lexicon from the receptacle. "Let's get out of this place," he said, his voice tight. The vast, echoing cavern, once awe-inspiring, now felt oppressive, the silence heavy with unseen dangers. He placed a hand on Harin's shoulder. "Ready?"

Harin nodded, clutching the Elder Scroll tightly. "Let's go home."

They emerged from the depths of Blackreach, blinking against the sharp contrast of the Skyrim sky after the cavern's perpetual twilight. Harin clutched the Elder Scroll, its weight a tangible reminder of the strange, unsettling power it radiated. They hurried back to Septimus's outpost, the Runed Lexicon tucked safely away.

Septimus, a wiry figure with wild, unkempt hair, paced frantically within his cluttered workshop, muttering to himself. Dust motes danced in the faint light filtering through cracks in the cave walls, illuminating the strange assortment of tools and arcane paraphernalia scattered across every surface. 

"Have you… have you got it? The Lexicon?" he demanded, his voice high-pitched and strained.

Harin presented it to him. Septimus snatched it from her hand, his eyes widening as he traced the newly inscribed runes with a trembling finger. 

"Extraordinary," he breathed. "I see it now. The sealing structure interlocks in the tiniest fractals. Dwemer blood can loose the hooks, but none alive remain to bear it. A panoply of their brethren could gather to form a facsimile. A trick. Something they didn't anticipate, no, not even them. The blood of Altmer, Bosmer, Dunmer, Falmer, and Orsimer. The living elves provide the key." He turned to them, his eyes gleaming with manic intensity, a disturbing light in their depths. "Bear you hence this extractor. It will drink the fresh blood of elves. Come when its set is complete." He thrust a strange, metallic device, cold and oddly shaped, into Ibnor's hands: the Essence Extractor.

As they turned to leave, a mass of writhing tentacles erupted from the ground near the cave entrance, blocking their path. The very air seemed to thicken, a sense of ancient, oppressive power filling the small space. A deep, resonant voice, like the grinding of stone upon stone, echoed through the outpost.

"Come closer. Bask in my presence."

Harin and Ibnor exchanged a wary glance, a shiver running down Harin's spine. They cautiously approached the mass of tentacles, which they now recognized as the Wretched Abyss – a physical manifestation of something far more sinister.

"Who are you?" Harin asked, her voice steady despite the unease that gripped her. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her blade.

"I am Hermaeus Mora," the voice boomed, the very sound seeming to vibrate the air around them. "I am the guardian of the unseen, and knower of the unknown. I have been watching you, mortal. Most… impressive."

"What do you want of me?" Harin asked, her tone hardening. She didn't like being watched, especially by something like this.

"Your continuing aid to Septimus renders him increasingly obsolete," Hermaeus Mora explained, his voice laced with cold indifference. "He has served me well, but his time is nearing its end. Once that infernal lockbox is opened, he will have exhausted his usefulness to me. When that time comes, you shall take his place as my emissary. What say you?"

Harin bristled, her eyes flashing with defiance. "I'll never join you, vile demon!"

"Be warned," Hermaeus Mora's voice rumbled, a hint of ancient, chilling menace in its tone. "Many have thought as you do. I have broken them all. You shall not evade me forever." The tentacles receded into the ground as abruptly as they had appeared, leaving behind only the lingering sense of dread.

"He's using Septimus," Harin said, her voice filled with disgust. "And he wants to use us too."

Ibnor nodded grimly. "You are free to continue helping Septimus if you want," he said, his gaze distant. "It will help you a bit, but… Hermaeus Mora, you'll meet him again."

"What do you mean?" Harin asked, a furrow forming on her brow.

"There's… another Dragonborn."

"Another Dragonborn?" Harin couldn't believe it. The idea seemed impossible.

"Yeah… And Hermaeus Mora is backing him." Ibnor said, his voice low and grave.

"Using him, you mean," Harin corrected, her lips tightening.

"Well… yes. But that is something far in the future. Right now we have Alduin to settle first." He clapped her on the shoulder, a reassuring gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Right…" Harin agreed, her mind still reeling from the revelation. The weight of their current quest, already heavy, now felt compounded by the knowledge of a future conflict, orchestrated by a Daedric Prince.

Having endured Hermaeus Mora's unsettling proposition, Harin and Ibnor pressed on toward the Throat of the World. The wind buffeted them as they ascended, a constant reminder of the mountain's immense height. A renewed sense of urgency propelled them, their footsteps echoing on the worn stone path. They found Paarthurnax in his usual meditative stance, the swirling winds of the summit whipping around him, tugging at their cloaks. His massive form was still and silent, only the slow rise and fall of his chest betraying his life.

"Dovahkiin," the ancient dragon rumbled, his voice resonating across the mountaintop, a deep vibration that seemed to emanate from the very rock beneath their feet. "You have it. The Kel – the Elder Scroll. Tiid kreh… qalos." He shifted slightly, his massive head turning towards Harin. 

"Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal. Go then. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs." 

A few paces northwest, the Time-Wound shimmered, a visible distortion in the air that warped the light, making the rocks behind it appear to ripple and flow like water. The air around it seemed to vibrate with unseen energy. Harin approached cautiously, her hand resting on the heavy pack containing the Elder Scroll. She could feel a faint warmth radiating from within. She stepped into the center of the swirling anomaly, the wind abruptly ceasing, the air around her growing cold and still, a stark contrast to the biting wind of the summit. With a deep breath, the cold air stinging her lungs, she drew the Elder Scroll. The ancient markings on its surface seemed to writhe and shift as she unfurled it, the parchment feeling strangely smooth and warm against her skin.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, the world tilting and swaying. Then, a blinding flash of white light engulfed her senses. When her vision returned, she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to move, a silent observer in a scene from the distant past – the Merethic Era. The world around her was bathed in a reddish hue, like looking through blood-tinted glass, the edges of her vision blurred as if she were suffering from a fever. The strange carvings on the Elder Scroll remained visible, shimmering faintly in her peripheral vision, a constant reminder of her connection to this moment in time.

Before her, the ancient Nords, Hakon One-Eye and Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, battled a dragon amidst a raging storm on the very same mountaintop. The wind howled like a tormented spirit, and rain lashed down, blurring the scene further, turning the stone beneath their feet slick with mud and blood. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the scene in stark flashes of white.

"Gormlaith! We're running out of time! The battle…" Hakon shouted, his voice strained against the wind and the dragon's roars, his face grim, a trickle of blood running down his temple.

The dragon roared, its voice like a thunderclap that shook the very mountain, sending tremors through the ground beneath Harin's feet. 

"Daar sul thur se Alduin vokrii. Today Alduin's lordship will be restored. But I honor your courage. Krif voth ahkrin. Die now, in vain." Smoke curled from its nostrils, and its eyes burned with malevolent light. 

Hakon roared in defiance, his one good eye blazing with fury, charging forward, his sword flashing in the storm-wracked air, leaving a trail of water droplets in its wake. 

"For Skyrim!"

Gormlaith, a fierce warrior with long, braided red hair that whipped around her face in the wind, her face smeared with mud and blood, charged into the fray with a battle cry that was almost swallowed by the storm. She leaped onto the dragon's back with surprising agility, her boots finding purchase on its rough scales. She drove her sword deep into its hide, eliciting a roar of pain that shook the very air. 

"Know that Gormlaith sent you down to death!" she cried, her voice ringing with triumph. 

The dragon thrashed violently, its massive wings beating the air, before collapsing to the ground with a resounding thud, shaking the very mountaintop.

The two Nords sheathed their weapons, the clang of metal against metal echoing in the sudden lull of the wind. They walked past the smoking corpse of the fallen dragon, the air thick with the smell of burnt flesh and ozone.

"Hakon! A glorious day, is it not!" Gormlaith exclaimed, a wide grin splitting her rain-streaked face, her chest heaving with exertion.

Hakon's expression remained grave, his gaze fixed on the battlefield below, where distant shouts and the clash of steel could still be heard. 

"Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade?" he replied, his tone heavy.

"What else is there?" Gormlaith asked, her grin fading slightly as she noticed his somber expression.

"The battle below goes ill. If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost."

"You worry too much, brother. Victory will be ours." 

At that moment, Felldir the Old emerged from behind a large rock outcropping, his face etched with worry, his brow furrowed. His robes were soaked through, clinging to his thin frame.

"Why does Alduin hang back?" Hakon asked Felldir, his voice tight with anxiety, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "We've staked everything on this plan of yours, old man."

"He will come," Felldir assured him, though his eyes betrayed his own unease, darting nervously towards the storm clouds gathering above. "He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?"

"We've bloodied him well," Gormlaith boasted, wiping blood from her sword with a dismissive gesture, a dark smear remaining on her cheek. "Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day."

"But none have yet stood against Alduin himself," Felldir countered, his voice somber, his gaze distant. "Galthor, Sorri, Birkir…" He trailed off, the unspoken names hanging heavy in the air, a silent testament to their fallen comrades.

"They did not have Dragonrend," Gormlaith retorted, her confidence unwavering, her jaw set. "Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head."

"You do not understand," Felldir said, his voice laced with urgency, his hand reaching inside his robes. "Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll." He revealed the ancient scroll, its surface glowing faintly with an inner light, causing Hakon to gasp, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Felldir! We agreed not to use it!" Hakon protested, his voice filled with alarm, his hand reaching for his own weapon.

"I never agreed," Felldir replied, his gaze resolute, his grip tightening on the scroll. "And if you are right, I will not need it."

"No. We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now."

"We shall see soon enough. Alduin approaches!" Gormlaith declared, her hand tightening on her sword hilt, her eyes fixed on the storm clouds gathering above, now swirling with unnatural speed. 

"So be it," Hakon said, drawing his weapon, the steel flashing in the intermittent flashes of lightning, his face grim, a mixture of fear and determination etched on his features.

A deafening roar, far louder than any dragon's, tore through the air, shaking the very mountaintop. The wind intensified, whipping their hair and cloaks around them. Alduin descended from the storm clouds, a dark silhouette against the turbulent sky, landing heavily on the nearby word wall, the very ground trembling beneath his immense weight. Chunks of stone broke away from the wall, tumbling down the mountainside.

"Meyye! Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu'u hin daan!" Alduin roared, his voice filled with ancient, terrifying power, the words echoing across the ravaged landscape.

"Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!" Gormlaith cried, raising her bloodied sword towards the World-Eater, her voice filled with defiant courage.

Then, the three Nords unleashed the Dragonrend shout, their voices combining into a single, earth-shattering force.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!!"

Harin felt the ancient words resonate within her very being, a surge of power coursing through her. The shout ripped through the air, striking Alduin with a force that seemed to physically push him downwards, the air around him distorting and shimmering.

"Nivahriin joorre! What have you done? What twisted Words have you created?!" Alduin roared, his voice filled with shock and rage as he was forced to land heavily, his wings scraping against the stone of the word wall. "Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck! But first… dir ko maar. You will die in terror, knowing your final fate… To feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!"

"If I die today, it will not be in terror," Gormlaith retorted, her voice ringing with defiance, her eyes locked on Alduin's, a flicker of something other than rage – perhaps surprise, perhaps even a hint of fear – reflected in their depths. A thin trickle of blood ran from a cut on her cheek, but her stance remained firm, her grip on her sword unwavering. "You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes. Skyrim will be free!"

The three Nords attacked Alduin with a ferocity born of desperation, a whirlwind of steel and fury against his immense power. Hakon's sword flashed, leaving shallow cuts on Alduin's legs, while Gormlaith, nimble despite her heavy armor, darted around him, attempting to find a weak spot in his thick scales. But their efforts were ultimately futile. Alduin, with a swift, brutal movement that spoke of ages of experience in battle, seized Gormlaith in his jaws. Her scream was cut short as his teeth clamped down, the sound of crushing bone echoing across the mountaintop. He flung her body across the battlefield like a discarded rag doll, the impact against the jagged rocks a sickening crunch.

"No, damn you!" Hakon roared, his voice raw with grief and rage, his sword falling from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He stumbled towards Gormlaith's broken form, then turned back to Felldir, his face contorted in a mask of despair. "It's no use! Use the Scroll, Felldir! Now!"

Felldir, his face ashen, his hands trembling, clutched the Elder Scroll as if it were a lifeline. He raised it high, his voice barely a whisper at first, then growing in strength as he began the incantation. 

"Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!" The words, ancient and powerful, rolled off his tongue, the air around the scroll shimmering with arcane energy.

"Faal Kel…?! Nikriinne…" Alduin roared in confusion and rage, his head snapping back as if struck by an invisible force. His form flickered and distorted, the light around him bending and warping. A burst of blinding energy erupted from the scroll, engulfing the World-Eater. Then, just as suddenly, he was gone, vanished from sight as if he had never been there.

Felldir lowered the scroll, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his face pale and drawn. 

"You are banished!" he repeated, his voice echoing across the now-silent, rain-swept mountaintop, the storm beginning to subside.

Hakon slowly approached Felldir, his eyes wide with disbelief, still fixed on the empty space where Alduin had stood. 

"It worked… you did it…" he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Felldir's gaze was distant, his eyes filled with a deep sadness. He looked at Hakon, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. 

"Yes, the World-Eater is gone…" he replied, his voice heavy with foreboding. He looked towards the darkening sky, the clouds beginning to break, revealing the first faint stars. "…may the spirits have mercy on our souls."

With that, the vision ended. The reddish tint faded, the blurred edges of Harin's vision sharpening. She found herself back on the Throat of the World, the wind picking up again, the Time-Wound dissipating around her like smoke. The knowledge of Dragonrend was now hers, a chilling testament etched into her memory, the echoes of Gormlaith's scream and Alduin's furious roars still ringing in her ears. The weight of what she had witnessed settled upon her, heavier than any physical burden.