Talion's pike pierced the guts of one of the zombies as the horde crashed into them, its bloody nails clawing for his face, hunger in its dead eyes. The pike pushed deeper into its guts as the creature tried to get to him. He dropped the pike, stepping back.
There was a dying man next to him, pleading for help. Talion took the sword from his weakened fingers and hacked at the zombie's neck—once, twice, three times—until he broke through to the spine. The corpse fell limp.
He breathed hard, looking around for Kairm. He had lost sight of him in the confusion of battle.
"Kairm!" he shouted, but it was useless over the cacophony of war and death.
Something hit him from the side, and he was sent rolling, his left arm dislocated or broken by the force—he wasn't sure which. His head was swimming. Refocusing his vision, he saw a Dremora clad in black Daedric armor standing over him, its gauntlets drenched in blood.
The Dremora raised its massive mace high over Talion's head—bits of brain matter still stuck in the tines—and brought it down with a powerful slam that cracked stone. Talion rolled away just in time, using the sword to hack at the exposed back of the Dremora's knee. It let out a monstrous howl of pain and fell forward, using the mace as a crutch. It struck out wildly, breaking Talion's nose with a gauntleted fist.
Talion spat blood as the thing struggled to get to its feet. He struck down hard with a vicious overhead swing, but the Dremora caught the blade with one hand, the steel biting into its exposed palm. It grunted in pain but began to rise. Talion kicked at its wounded leg, and it dropped back down, its arm lowering just enough for Talion to thrust the point of the blade into the weak spot between helm and breastplate.
The Dremora's black blood spilled from between the plating. It clutched its bleeding throat, gurgling out bubbles of blood, then fell forward—dead.
Talion collapsed to his knees, his head swimming. He couldn't move his left arm. He stared around, his mind in a daze. Packs of zombies overwhelmed the tired defenders, while Dremora fought in groups of two or three to kill anyone who posed a real threat.
His mind registered the truth—the only reason one had come after him alone instead of in a group was because he was just a kid. The Dremora wanted a toy, not a challenge.
The battle was lost. He knew it. He needed to find Kairm and get him out of here.
He ran to the spot where he had last seen him, his left arm hanging useless at his side, but Kairm wasn't there.
"Kairm!" he shouted.
A growling came from behind him, but it was on him before he had time to react.
The creature slammed into his back, knocking him forward. His head struck the side of an overturned wagon. He turned and raised his sword to block a weapon—but instead of steel, bloody, rotting teeth closed over the blade. The sword cut deep into the zombie's mouth, but it pushed forward, indifferent to the blade splitting its face.
A soft squeak of fright sounded beside him.
Under the overturned wagon, he saw Kairm.
"Help me," Talion said through gritted teeth.
But Kairm didn't move. He lay there, eyes wide, shaking in fear.
Talion mustered all his strength and drove the blade through the back of the zombie's head, drawing the steel against bone. The instant he felt it give way, the zombie fell limp, pinning him to the ground.
"Kairm, I need you to get this thing off of me, please. You need to be brave," Talion pleaded with his brother.
Kairm crawled out slowly from under the wagon and started pushing the corpse off his elder brother, but it barely budged.
"I... I can't," he stammered.
"Same time," Talion said.
"O-okay," Kairm nodded.
Together, they pushed with all their might, rolling the body off Talion. They sat there, breathing hard for a moment.
"This battle is lost," Talion said finally. "We need to get out of this city, or we're both dead."
"But how?" Kairm asked.
Talion closed his eyes, trying to think through the fog in his head.
"The waterfront district," he said finally. "We'll take a fishing boat to the mainland."
He knew the odds were thin, but it was all they had.
Talion rose on shaky legs, Kairm supporting him as best he could.
The fighting had broken through to the main city. Bodies littered the streets. Homes were ablaze. Citizens and fleeing soldiers ran everywhere.
Talion held Kairm's hand as tightly as he could, guiding him through the back streets. Then, he got his first glimpse of a Thalmor sitting high on his horse, both the elf and the beast clad in ornate golden armor. The elf swung his sword left and right, cleaving innocents and soldiers alike.
Up ahead, Talion spotted the entrance to the waterfront district. The gate was clear, but the streets were heavy with fighting.
He waited for an opening—then ran, holding Kairm's hand tight.
Something passed by his ear.
He turned and saw Kairm frozen to the spot, an arrow stuck in his shoulder, a greenish glow surrounding him. Tears welled in his eyes as he fell sideways, like a toppled statue.
Talion raised his sword, ready to defend to the death his helpless brother.
The Thalmor stepped out of the shadows, appearing as if from nowhere. There were six of them, each carrying a bow, their arrowheads glowing with that same eerie green hue. They surrounded Talion, malice twisting their faces into cruel smiles.
"Drop the sword," one of them ordered, raising his bow.
"I'd rather die," Talion growled.
"Die?" Another laughed. "No, no, not yet."
Faster than Talion could react, a bow was raised—an arrow already loosed.
It struck. The wind was knocked from his lungs.
But he couldn't move.
The elves laughed.
"Put them with the rest," one of them said.
The elf who had shot him approached. A woman, he realized. She knelt to eye level with him, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.
"Paralysis poison," she said. "You won't be able to move for hours. But don't worry—you'll be back to normal for tonight's entertainment."
"Elenwen, stop playing with your food," another elf scoffed. "The higher-ups want at least two dozen more."
"See you tonight," she whispered.
With a single finger, she pushed him over onto the cobbles.
==
"Hey, wake up!"
Talion felt a boot kick his foot as he woke. He blinked in the morning light.
"We're here, Helgen's just up ahead," Ralof said.
Talion saw the Imperial standard high on the palisade walls.
"Looks like the Thalmor came to see the job was done," Ralof added.
Talion raised his head and saw two of them—a woman and a man clad in ornate golden armor. They were talking to General Tullius. He did a double take at the elf woman. Elenwen. He would never forget that face.
He chuckled to himself. For two decades, he'd wanted to meet this woman again, and only now did she appear. This had to be the work of Sheogorath; the coincidence was just too much. He stared her down, but she ignored him. She wouldn't have recognized him anyway—just some corpse that doesn't know it's dead yet.
"Where are they taking us?" Lokir, the horse thief, asked.
"Where do you think? End of the line," Ralof said sadly.
The wagons came to a halt in front of the south gate entrance of the village.
"Everyone out of the wagons. Single file. When I call your name, step up to the block," the Nord in Imperial armor said.
"Damn traitor," Ralof muttered under his breath.
Talion caught his puzzled look and nodded toward the Imperial captain.
"Hadvar," Ralof explained. "He never left the army even after the treaty. Now he kills his own kinsmen. The Empire's dog," he snarled.
Talion had grown up alongside Hadvar and Ralof in Riverwood. Hadvar wore the armor of an officer now—a captain, then. Well, Hadvar had always been ambitious, Talion thought. He needed a plan. He had no intention of dying in this place. Lokir was in front of him, shaking with fear. Talion touched the Nord's hand, leaving a mark. A small blue runic symbol blazed to life on the back of Lokir's hand. He didn't even notice.
Hadvar began reading the names.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."
Ulfric walked forward with as much dignity as a man could manage, bound and gagged as he was.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said to the Jarl's back.
"Ralof of Riverwood," Hadvar continued.
Ralof stepped forward.
"Lokir of Rorikstead," Hadvar called.
"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir pleaded.
Sorry, Lokir, Talion thought.
From behind Lokir, hidden from view, he cast a spell of fear on the Nord. Overcome by terror, Lokir ran for it. It didn't take much—the man was already terrified; all he needed was the right push.
"Archers!" the female captain shouted.
The archers lined up their shots and loosed their arrows. Talion cast telekinesis. The guards were distracted, but he needed to be subtle. He turned the arrows ever so slightly—they missed. One clattered against the cobbles, another sank into the door of a nearby home.
Lokir ran hard—faster than he had probably ever run in his life—but the archers kept firing, arrow after arrow.
When Lokir neared the gate, Talion missed.
"Damn it," he muttered.
The distance was too much for Talion. The arrow slid between Lokir's ribs, and he fell mid-stride to the ground, twitching for a moment before falling still. His heart's blood spread in a pool beneath him.
"Anyone else feel like running?" the captain asked, gripping her sword in warning.
The rest of the prisoners quelled.
She turned to Hadvar. "Continue," she said, her tone clipped.
"As you say, Captain."
Hadvar looked at his list, then at Talion.
"Wait—who are you?" Hadvar asked.
Ralof gave a mirthless laugh.
"I'm not surprised you don't recognize your old friend, Hadvar," Ralof said. "You seem to have forgotten a lot of friends lately," the Nord added bitterly.
Hadvar looked down at his feet.
"I recognize him now, Ralof. Though I thought him long since dead."
Hadvar looked Talion in the eyes, then said loudly, "Talion of Riverwood."
He looked sadly at Talion, then turned to his superiors.
"Captain, he's not on the list. What do we do?"
"You could let me go," Talion suggested, holding out his wrists. He gave a laughed before dropping his hands.
"Though I am no Stormcloak, I remember what you seem to have forgotten," Talion said.
Though he was staring Hadvar right in the eyes, he was speaking to the entire garrison.
"Our enemy is the Thalmor, not each other," he said, raising his voice for the entire village to hear. "I remember what the Thalmor did to the Imperial City. I was there when the city fell. I saw the butchery. The rapes. Their sick games they played with the few survivors—for sport."
His voice broke as his words dredged up old memories.
"I'm no Stormcloak," he repeated. "But if this is the depths to which the Empire of Talos has fallen… perhaps I should have been."
He looked to Tullius and his Thalmor minders, spat on the ground, and said, "Do what you will."
There was silence. The soldiers of the garrison looked to each other. None wanted to move.
Suddenly, General Tullius strode forward and gave the command.
"To the block with them all, by the order of your Emperor, Titus Mede II."
"To the block, Talion," Hadvar said, whether by shame or disdain, refusing to look his old friend in the eyes.
Talion stepped into line, waiting for the headsman.
General Tullius approached Ulfric.
"Ulfric Stormcloak," he said. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."
"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."
Ulfric stared Tullius down, defiant to the end.
A sound echoed from the distance, like gathering thunder. Talion looked around. He wasn't alone—others stared, trying to find the source.
"What was that?" Hadvar asked.
"Nothing. Carry on," said Tullius.
"Yes, General Tullius," said one of the captains.
A priestess of Arkay, distinguishable by her brown robes with golden trim, stepped forward and began the Commendation to Arkay.
"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you—"
A Nord stepped forward.
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" he said impatiently.
"As you wish," the priestess growled.
The man stepped to the block and knelt of his own accord, exclaiming, "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"
Talion smiled.
The executioner stepped forward, slowly raised his axe, and swung.
The axe bit into the Nord's neck, taking his head with one swing. Blood sprayed the earth, and the Nord fell limp.
"As brave in death as he was in life," Ralof said solemnly.
"Next, Talion of Riverwood," the female captain said.
Ralof looked at him.
"Die well, and I'll see you in Sovngarde, my friend."
Another distant rumbling echoed off the mountains.
"Step forward, Nord," the captain said impatiently.
Talion did.
He saw the severed head staring up at him. It was smiling.
Talion threw his head back and laughed.
"Is there something funny, traitor?" General Tullius growled.
Talion turned his eyes on him.
"Yes," he said, as a burst of light exploded from his hands, burning away his bonds as he vanished.
"What in Oblivion?" Tullius said, his eyes wide.
Talion reappeared beside the corpse of Lokir. "Sorry, Lokir, but you were already a dead man," he said quietly.
Suddenly, the entire town shook, and a roar filled the air. Talion looked up and saw a great black dragon land atop the tower overlooking the headsman's block. He was stunned at the sight of it, but something deep inside him stirred—a longing, a craving to meet that creature in battle.
He moved forward unconciously, watching the great beast. It breathed fire upon Stormcloak, Imperial, and innocent alike. He heard Tullius shout, "Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"
Ralof and Ulfric ran into a nearby tower. Talion shook his head, refocusing. He ran after them. Well, at least they're not trying to kill me, he thought.
The dragon roared at the sky, "Ven Mul Riik!" Talion felt as though he should know those words; A memory on the edge of recollection.
A black cloud suddenly engulfed Helgen. Moments later, flaming stones rained down, burning everything they touched. The dragon brought destruction wherever it went, breathing fire on homes, snatching up archers before dropping them to the stones below.
Talion sprinted through the chaos, dodging flames and death, making his way to the tower. He burst in just as Ralof was cutting Ulfric's bonds. The Jarl rubbed his wrists, then looked at Talion.
"Jarl Ulfric, could the legends be true?" Ralof asked.
"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric said calmly.
He nodded to Talion. "I fought in the Battle of the Red Ring. I saw what they did to the Imperial City—or at least the aftermath. I wish we had come sooner."
"I was gone long before the Imperials took the city back."
"Slavers?" Ulfric asked.
Talion nodded. Ulfric's expression darkened. "Damn elves," he muttered.
The two men nodded a mutual understanding forming between them.
"You should join us," Ulfric suggested.
Talion shook his head. "No. I didn't come home after all this time to fight my kinsmen."
"Ralof, get Jarl Ulfric out of here," Talion said. He had made up his mind.
"Where are you going?" Ralof asked.
Talion sighed. "As little as I like it—to save General Tullius." He said, rubbing his temples in frustration.
Ulfric stepped forward, outraged. "The man tried to have you killed mere minutes ago. Why would you risk your neck to save his?"
Talion met Ulfric's eyes. "The Second Great War is coming, and the Empire will need skilled generals to defend it. Or would you rather Skyrim stand alone when the Elves come to our shores?"
With that, Talion touched the stone floor of the guard tower, leaving a glowing blue runic symbol etched into the stone, then stepped out into the fires of Helgen.
The village was in flames. Charred corpses littered the streets. The few survivors ran for their lives—save for the soldiers. They surrounded the dragon, fighting valiantly to save as many lives as possible.
The beast bit a soldier in half, flinging his torso into the side of the watchtower before swallowing his legs. Then, it swung its tail, sending half a dozen soldiers flying before burning the survivors with its breath. It was too easy for the dragon.
Before he knew it, Tullius was alone, face to face with the beast.
The dragon swiped at the general, leaving a gash across his fine plate armor and sending him crashing against the wall of a collapsed tower.
Talion cast Windform, his body losing its material form, increasing his speed tenfold. He dashed to the general, standing in front of him in less than a second.
As the dragon reared its head, flames rolling in its open maw, Talion raised his hand—his Greater Ward already conjured. The dragon's fire burst forth, burning everything around them, but not Talion nor Tullius.
The general lay wounded but alive, his mouth agape, shocked at what he was witnessing.
When the dragon's breath ran out, the beast tilted its head in confusion.
"I did not think there would be any in this age capable of withstanding my Thu'um," the dragon said, its deep voice sending tremors through the ground.
Talion met the beast's black eyes. "And I thought Argonians were the only lizards that could talk."
The dragon made a deep, guttural sound—a laugh?
"You are braver than most humans. Die now, so you do not become a hindrance later."
The dragon raised its head, opening its wide jaws. Its teeth snapped shut, its massive muzzle crashing into the bricks where Talion had stood a moment before.
But Talion and Tullius were gone.
The dragon looked around in confusion, then roared in anger, spraying fire in every direction, crashing its powerful tail into buildings, bringing them down in clouds of smoke and dust.
"You cannot hide from me, human," the dragon shouted, its voice vibrating in Talion's ears. "I will burn this village to the ground to find you. There is no escape. I will drink the marrow from your bones."
The dragon took flight, raining fire down upon the already burning village.
Ulfric and Ralof were gone from the guard tower. Good. Ralof had done his job, then, Talion thought.
Now, it was only Talion and Tullius.
The general spat blood onto his golden armor. The beast did the old soldier serious injury when it knocked him back.
"I don't know why you stuck your neck out for me, all things considered," the general said weakly. "But I think you should go. I'm done for. Save yourself. I doubt the Empire will follow you—I owe you that much."
Talion was no master of the Restoration school, so he couldn't heal the man quickly. But he could set a Circle of Healing. With luck, perhaps the man would survive.
He held out his hands over the injured man, conjuring the runic symbols channelling his magical energies into it. The intricate green pattern stretched out across the stone floor, illuminating it with a ghostly glow.
"Stay within the circle," he said. "It will take some time to heal you, but if you're patient and stay in the circle, it should mend your injuries."
"I doubt we have much time," Tullius muttered.
"I agree. That beast will find us. That's why I'm going to draw him off."
"Why would you do this for me?"
Talion laughed. "You know, Ulfric asked me the same thing. I'm not doing it for you, Tullius. I'm doing it for the Empire."
"A patriot, then." Tullius coughed, blood dripping from his lips. "Don't see many of those these days."
"Perhaps the Emperor should ask himself why," Talion said coldly.
He stepped through the tower door just as the dragon passed overhead, scouring the village for any sign of him. He wouldn't have much time to get away, so he ran—channeling magicka into his legs to fortify his speed, pushing his body to its limits.
He darted into a side street.
The dragon swooped down, landing hard in front of him, shaking the earth. Talion stumbled, falling just as the beast's fangs snapped shut where his head had been a moment before.
Acting on instinct, he drew on his magicka, shaping it into electrical energy. A bolt of lightning shot from his palm, striking the dragon's face. The beast reared back, roaring in agony. Talion ran past the dragon, ducking low to avoid the thing's swinging tail diving past into the shell of a burned-out building.
He didn't slow. He couldn't. The beast was right behind him.
Up ahead, he saw the fortress. A battlement bridge connected two sides of the wall. If he could just reach it—
The dragon landed on the bridge, its weight buckling the stone beneath it.
"Did you think you could hide from me?" the dragon rumbled, flame gathering in its jaws.
Talion did the same. He poured as much magicka as he could into his hands, forming two powerful fireballs. He threw them.
BOOM
The fireballs struck the bridge on both sides, the explosion sending chips of superheated stone flying. The bridge gave way.
The dragon let out a roar as the battlement collapsed, sending it crashing to the ground below.
Talion didn't stop. He gathered what little strength he had left and ran for the fortress doors.
Just get inside.
He burst through, slamming the door behind him and barring it.
CRASH
The dragon slammed into the wood. Once.
Twice.
On the third strike, its head burst through, sending Talion sprawling onto the stone floor. Its fangs snapped at his legs as he crawled away, its maw getting closer and closer.
His hand brushed against something. A sword—a dead Imperial lay beside it.
Talion grabbed the weapon, slashing wildly.
The blade sliced across the dragon's left eye.
The beast screamed in agony, rearing up and smashing into the ceiling.
Talion focused, pouring every last drop of magicka he had into one final spell. Lightning crackled in his palm. He thrust out his hand—
A surge of electricity exploded forth, striking the dragon.
Tendrils of lightning danced across its scales. The beast thrashed, smashing furniture, breaking stone.
Then, its head withdrew as the doorway collapsed, sealing the dragon out and Talion in.
His arms fell limp at his side. He was completely drained.
He let out a deep sigh of relief, resting his head against the wall.
Then, out of nowhere, a laugh bubbled up from his chest. Loud and uncontrollable.
He wiped the tears from his eyes.
He survived.
He heard a weak voice from the shadows.
"Talion…?"
Talion turned slowly. He was so exhausted he could barely move.
Hadvar was there, clutching a bloody hand to his guts.
"Help me… please."