I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

Just as the reddish tint of the vision faded from Harin's eyes, the Elder Scroll jerked upwards, as if yanked by an invisible string. It spun in the air, radiating a light that intensified from a soft glow to a blinding white, thin tendrils of energy, like miniature solar flares, erupting from its surface. The air around the scroll shimmered and distorted, thin cracks spider-webbing across the empty space as if the very fabric of reality were shattering like thin ice. A high-pitched whine grew into a deafening roar, like tearing silk, as a gaping, swirling vortex ripped open in the sky. It pulsed with chaotic energy, pulling at everything on the mountaintop – loose stones skittered towards it, the wind howled with renewed ferocity, and even Harin felt a tug against her boots. She braced herself, digging her heels into the rough stone, her knuckles white as she clenched her fists. 

A deafening crash, like a mountain of glass collapsing, echoed across the summit, making her flinch. She snapped her head towards the sound and saw Ibnor. His eyes, wide with stark terror, were fixed on the swirling vortex above. His boots slipped on the uneven ground, sending small pebbles tumbling over the edge of the precipice. He scrabbled desperately for purchase, his fingers scraping against the rock, leaving bloody streaks that mirrored the strange markings that had appeared on his hands after touching the scroll earlier, but the relentless pull of the vortex was too strong. With a choked cry, he was lifted into the air, his body spinning helplessly as he was drawn inexorably into the swirling chaos of the sky-wound. A small, familiar silver ring, the one he always wore on his left hand, slipped from his finger and tumbled down the mountainside, disappearing from view.

"No!!!!" Harin screamed, her voice a raw, desperate cry swallowed by the howling wind and the crackling energy. 

She lunged forward, her hand outstretched, fingers grasping at empty air where Ibnor had just been. But there was nothing she could do, a helpless witness to his vanishing into the sky's gaping maw.

The vortex intensified for a heartbeat after Ibnor disappeared, the swirling energy churning and spitting, the air crackling with raw power, ozone stinging Harin's nostrils. Then, with a sudden, almost violent shift, the vortex reversed its spin, the chaotic energy surging outwards instead of inwards. A shockwave of air slammed into Harin, pushing her back a step, followed by a flash of blinding light that forced her to shield her eyes. When she could see again, the sky-wound was gone, vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the sky above them stormy but otherwise normal. The Elder Scroll, its unnatural glow extinguished, dropped to the ground with a soft thud, landing at Harin's feet.

But Harin's gaze was fixed on the figure sprawled a few feet away, where the vortex had deposited its unexpected cargo. Her heart pounded in her chest, a chaotic mix of hope and dread churning within her. 

"Ibnor? Is it… could it be him?" Countless possibilities flashed through her mind as she rushed towards the fallen figure, her breath catching in her throat.

The figure stirred, pushing themselves up onto their hands and knees, then slowly, unsteadily, rising to their feet. Harin's breath hitched. The figure was a man, tall and powerfully built. Even through the tatters of his clothing – his upper body bare, his pants ripped and torn as if clawed by some unseen beast – the defined lines of his muscles were visible, hinting at the raw strength contained within. But the most striking feature, the one that immediately drew and held Harin's gaze, was the mask that covered his entire face. It was smooth and featureless, obscuring any hint of his expression. Only his short hair and the long, thick, dark beard that flowed down his chest were visible.

A wave of confusion washed over Harin. This was not Ibnor. Disappointment, sharp and bitter, pierced through the fragile hope that had blossomed in her chest. But as she looked closer, a strange sense of familiarity tugged at her, a nagging feeling that she knew this man, despite the mask. Her brows furrowed in confusion, her eyes narrowing as she tried to place him.

"Damn. That was a rough landing," the man said, his voice a gravelly rasp, as if sandpaper had been rubbed across his vocal cords. He turned, the mask swiveling with a disconcerting smoothness, the featureless surface offering no clue to his expression.

Then, a sound erupted from him – not a laugh, not at first. It began as a low chuckle, a dry, rattling sound deep in his chest, before escalating into a booming, almost painful-sounding guffaw that echoed across the mountaintop, scattering a flock of snow petrels that had dared to land nearby. The laughter, while undeniably loud and boisterous, had a hollow, brittle quality to it, like dry leaves skittering across stone. It sounded forced, strained, as if he were trying to replicate a sound he barely remembered how to make.

"If it isn't little Harin." He paused, his masked head tilting slightly, as if he were studying her with an unseen gaze. A subtle shift in his posture, a slight tension in his shoulders, hinted at a playful glint that couldn't be seen behind the mask. 

"Did you miss me?" His voice dropped to a whisper, the rough edges softening slightly. "Or should I say… miss me?" He gestured vaguely towards the sky with a tattered sleeve, the movement almost dismissive, as if brushing away a bothersome insect.

Harin's eyes widened, a cold wave of realization washing over her. The pieces of the puzzle, scattered and confusing moments before, suddenly snapped into place, forming a horrifyingly clear picture. Recognition, sharp and piercing, was followed by a chilling dread that settled deep in her bones. Her jaw tightened, the muscles clenching, and her lips thinned into a hard, unforgiving line. Her face, moments before etched with worry and confusion, now hardened into a mask of stern anger, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"Loki!" she hissed, the name escaping her lips like venom, each syllable sharp and distinct, laced not just with frustration, but with a deep-seated anger and betrayal.

The man's jovial demeanor vanished instantly, like a candle snuffed out. The laughter died in his throat, and the air around him seemed to grow colder, a palpable shift in the atmosphere. His masked gaze shifted past Harin, first towards Paarthurnax, who had remained a silent, watchful presence throughout the ordeal, and then to the Elder Scroll lying on the ground. A beastly aura radiated from him, a tangible sense of menace that made the hairs on Harin's arms stand on end. His hand instinctively went to his left hand, where a faint white line could be seen on his ring finger where a ring once sat. He flexed his fingers, the movement almost a caress.

"Let's see if you've improved," Loki said, his voice now low and dangerous, each word measured and deliberate. He shifted into a fighting stance, his muscles tensing beneath his tattered clothing, his hands flexing into fists. He winked, a gesture that seemed oddly out of place given the menacing atmosphere. "Or if you've just gotten… older."

Just as Harin instinctively moved to attack, her hand reaching for her sword, Loki held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks.

"Your opponent is coming," he said, a cruel smile evident in his voice, even though his face remained hidden behind the mask. He tilted his head back, as if listening to something Harin couldn't hear.

A deafening roar, far more powerful than any she had heard before, tore through the air, shaking the very mountaintop. The wind whipped up again, carrying the stench of sulfur and burning flesh. Alduin descended from the sky, a vast, black silhouette against the stormy sky, landing heavily on the word wall with a force that sent tremors through the ground. His massive form eclipsed the sun, casting a long, ominous shadow across the mountaintop.

"Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor," Alduin roared, his voice filled with ancient malice, the words echoing across the ravaged landscape. "My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin. Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

"Lost funt," Paarthurnax's voice boomed, cutting through Alduin's pronouncements of doom. 

The ancient dragon, his scales gleaming like polished jade in the stormy light, positioned himself between Harin and the World-Eater. 

"You are too late, Alduin! Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

With a powerful beat of his wings, Paarthurnax launched himself into the air, meeting Alduin's furious charge head-on. The two dragons clashed in the sky above the Throat of the World, a whirlwind of scales, claws, and fire. The very air vibrated with the force of their battle, the roars of the two behemoths echoing across the mountains. It was a chaotic spectacle of tooth and claw, nearly impossible to distinguish one dragon from the other amidst the swirling snow and the gathering dusk. Harin watches Alduin incessantly, allowing her to track the World-Eater's movements.

Paarthurnax wheeled and dove, snapping at Alduin's wing, drawing a roar of rage from the black dragon. 

"Use Dragonrend, Dovahkiin! Now!" he bellowed, his voice strained with the effort of the fight.

Harin focused, drawing upon the memory of the ancient Nords' shout, the words resonating deep within her soul. As Alduin momentarily broke away from Paarthurnax, hovering in the air, a perfect opportunity presented itself. Harin took a deep breath and unleashed the shout.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

The words tore through the air, striking Alduin with immense force. He roared in surprise and pain, his wings faltering as he plummeted towards the ground, crashing heavily onto the stone word wall.

"My teeth to your neck, Dovahkiin!" Alduin snarled, his eyes burning with hatred as he regained his footing.

Harin didn't hesitate. She charged towards the grounded dragon, drawing her sword and striking with every ounce of strength she possessed. The steel bit into Alduin's scales, drawing dark blood. Loki, still masked, watched the battle with an unsettling stillness, his hand still resting on his bare ring finger.

"Dovahkiin, you call yourself? Arrogant mortal," Alduin roared, lashing out with his tail, sending Harin stumbling back. 

"STRUN BAH QO!"

He unleashed his "Dragon Storm Call," and fiery meteors began to rain from the sky, impacting the mountaintop with earth-shattering force. Harin rolled to avoid the fiery blasts, the heat scorching her skin. Remembering Paarthurnax's advice, she quickly gathered her breath and shouted "Clear Skies" 

"LOK VAH KOOR!" 

The clouds parted momentarily, the meteor shower abruptly ceasing. It was just enough time to gather her strength and unleash another Dragonrend shout.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

Alduin was forced to the ground once more, his roar of frustration echoing across the mountains. 

"You may have picked up the weapons of my ancient foes, but you are not their equal!" he bellowed.

Harin pressed her attack, striking blow after blow against the grounded dragon. 

"I will feast on your soul in Sovngarde!" Alduin roared, snapping at her with his massive jaws. She narrowly dodged the attack, feeling the heat of his breath on her face. "You are no match for me, joor!" he taunted.

The battle raged on, a brutal dance of fire, steel, and ancient power. Paarthurnax continued to harass Alduin from the air, drawing his attention and creating openings for Harin to strike. Alduin unleashed another volley of meteors, forcing Harin to take cover. 

"Maar saraan ko Sovngarde," he hissed. "I have feasted on many greater than you."

Harin, bruised and battered but determined, continued her assault, using Dragonrend whenever she could to keep Alduin grounded. Each time he was forced down, she pressed her attack, drawing more of his dark blood. 

"You will pay for your defiance!" Alduin roared, his voice laced with pain and fury.

Finally, after a grueling battle, Alduin staggered, his movements becoming sluggish, his roars weakening. His health was failing. Harin saw her chance and pressed her attack with renewed ferocity.

"Meyz mul, Dovahkiin," he gasped, his voice weak and ragged. "You have become strong. But I am Al-du-in, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you... mortal!"

With a powerful beat of his wings, Alduin launched himself into the sky, disappearing into the storm clouds. The battle was over… for now. The echoes of his roars still lingered in the air, mingling with the howling wind and the faint scent of sulfur. Harin, her breath coming in ragged gasps, leaned heavily on her sword, her muscles aching, her armor scratched and dented. She was bruised, battered, and exhausted, but she had survived.

Harin turned her attention to Loki. He wasn't pacing, or even standing in a posture of vigilance. He was sitting cross-legged on a jagged rock, seemingly unfazed by the recent life-or-death struggle. He was fanning himself with a tattered piece of his ripped shirt, the motion languid and deliberate, as if he were swatting away flies at a summer picnic. The utter nonchalance of his posture, the casual fanning, the complete lack of any indication that they had just faced down the World-Eater, was jarring, almost comical in its absurdity.

Harin stared at him, her brow furrowed, her chest heaving with exertion and lingering adrenaline. "You… you just sat there," she managed, her voice hoarse and strained. "You didn't even lift a finger."

Loki lowered the makeshift fan, a slow, almost predatory grin spreading beneath his mask, visible in the subtle upward curve of his beard. 

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he replied, his voice laced with amusement, a playful lilt in his tone. "I provided… moral support." He winked, then gestured towards the sky with a dismissive wave of his tattered sleeve, as if dismissing a minor inconvenience. "Besides," he added, "it wasn't my fight."

Harin clenched her fists, the rough leather of her gloves digging into her skin. Frustration, hot and sharp, bubbled within her. 

"Ibnor is gone," she said, her voice trembling slightly, the words catching in her throat. 

The image of him being sucked into the vortex, the terror in his eyes, flashed through her mind, a fresh wave of grief and helplessness washing over her.

Loki tilted his head slightly, his masked gaze fixed on her. The amusement in his voice deepened, taking on a teasing edge. 

"Ibnor? Oh, looks like you found someone you liked, hmm?" He drawled the word "liked," drawing it out with exaggerated emphasis.

Harin's anger flared. "Why are you here?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Where did you go? Why appear now?"

Loki raised his hands in mock surrender, his masked face still tilted in that unsettlingly playful way. "Whoa… looks like you really care for this Ibnor," he teased, emphasizing the name with a light, almost mocking tone, "that you even blame me for saving you back then."

"You abandoned me!" Harin snapped, her voice cracking with emotion. "And now… he's gone too…" Her voice dropped to a low, choked whisper, the pain of loss evident in every syllable.

Loki's head tilted again, a silent acknowledgment of her pain, but the teasing glint remained, though it was now tempered with a strange undercurrent of something else – perhaps regret, perhaps sadness, but it was difficult to tell behind the mask. 

"Hold on now, I didn't abandon you," he countered, his voice softening slightly, though the playful edge was still present. "I asked you to leave… for your safety." He placed a hand over his heart in mock sincerity.

"It doesn't matter!" Harin retorted, her voice rising again, tears pricking at her eyes. "You were… you are my only family," she said, the word catching in her throat, the unspoken "were" hanging heavy in the air. "And you left!"

Loki's masked gaze finally met hers directly, the amusement fading completely, replaced by something unreadable, something deep and complex that Harin couldn't decipher. He remained silent for a long moment, the only sound the howling wind and the distant rumble of thunder. Then, he sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of centuries, of countless untold stories. He stood up slowly, stretching his limbs with a fluid grace that was oddly familiar, as if shaking off the stiffness of ages.

"Time… is a funny thing, little Harin," he said, his voice now tinged with a profound weariness, the teasing mask completely dropped. He walked towards the edge of the mountaintop, his back to her, his gaze sweeping across the vast expanse of Skyrim spread out below. The wind tore at his tattered clothing, whipping his long, thick beard around his face, but he stood unmoving, a solitary figure silhouetted against the stormy sky. He seemed to absorb the wind's fury, as if it were an old, familiar friend.

Harin followed him, her eyes fixed on his back. The way he held himself, the slight slump of his shoulders, the almost hesitant way he placed his weight on his left leg… each movement was a painful echo of Ibnor. The faint, almost faded markings on the backs of his hands, barely visible in the fading light, were the final pieces of a horrifying puzzle. The pieces were falling into place, clicking together with a sickening certainty, but her mind still recoiled from the full picture.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice small and tight with a growing sense of dread. The wind snatched at her words, carrying them away across the mountains.

Loki didn't turn. "Let's just say… some journeys take longer than others," he replied, his voice barely audible above the wind's howl, each word weighted with a sorrow that resonated deep within Harin. He paused, a long, drawn-out silence hanging in the air between them, broken only by the wind. Then, almost as an afterthought, his voice laced with a deep, aching sadness, he added, "And sometimes… they lead you back to where you began." He finally turned then, his masked face facing her.

Harin's carefully constructed composure shattered. "Stop with the cryptic riddles!" she cried, her voice rising, raw with frustration and grief. "Stop with the Prince of Persia reference! I'm tired of hearing it! I don't have time for this!" Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision.

"Come! Let's finish what we started!" She said

Loki's masked gaze softened, a flicker of understanding, perhaps even pity, showing through. He lowered his head slightly, as if in apology. The mask, which had seemed so menacing moments before, now seemed almost fragile.

"Why are you still hanging on to that silly oath?" Loki asked, his voice gentle, a stark contrast to his earlier teasing. "You know you can live your life as you wish, right?"

Harin's jaw tightened. "My word is my bond." She placed a hand over her heart, her fingers pressing against the fabric of her tunic. "Without it…" She trailed off, unable to articulate the hollowness she felt at the mere thought. "You taught me that."

Loki sighed, the sound lost almost instantly to the wind, yet Harin saw the subtle slump of his shoulders. "My stubborn little Harin…" A flicker of something akin to exasperated affection crossed the slits of his mask. 

"Your stubbornness…" He trailed off, then straightened. "Fine. The oath it is. The most important thing is to defeat me, yes? We never specified how. No more complaints." He drew a deep breath, the sound whistling through the gaps in his mask. "Let's end this. Once and for all."