Harald stalked through the snowy terrain of the Whitewoods, his breath misting in the cold air, his boots crunching softly on the fresh powder that had fallen overnight.
The Whitewoods were a small forest near Castle Whitemore, perhaps a few square miles of dense oak and pine that had somehow escaped the deforestation that plagued much of the lands ruled by House Hoare. Whitemore itself, the small castle which was currently his temporary seat of power, had once belonged to the Justman Kings, serving as their personal hunting lodge in the days when they ruled a united Riverlands.
The Whitewoods had good game deer, boar, rabbits, and even the occasional elk if you were lucky. That was what he was hunting today, taking a break from the endless administrative work of ruling a rapidly expanding kingdom.
Harald heard a twig snap behind him and turned his head to see his new squire, Robard Hickory, make an apologetic face as he realized his mistake.
Harald only smiled at the boy and motioned for him to be more careful and quiet, holding a finger to his lips. Robard nodded earnestly, his young face scrunched in concentration as he tried to move more stealthily.
Robard was a good kid gangly in that way boys were when they were growing too fast, but eager to learn and quick-witted. Harald had accepted him as a squire mostly to get the other lords off his back about the honor of having their sons serve the king directly, but also so that Robard could stay close to his sister Gwen. Gwen was going to marry Jonnel Blackwood soon, a wedding that had been delayed by the campaign but would happen as soon as Jonnel returned from Blackwater Bay.
Jonnel was away with the rest of the First Legion, who were wintering in the Blackwater territories. It had been a difficult decision to make, but Harald was sure he had made the right one. The Blackwater was still a mess traumatized by the Stormlander invasion, dealing with displaced populations, struggling to restore order after months of warfare. There were many bandits taking advantage of the chaos, deserters from both sides who had turned to brigandage, and other issues that needed proper military protection.
Food was no longer an issue thanks to the steady supply caravans from the Heartlands proper, but security very much was. So the First Legion would winter there under the centurions' command, maintaining order, protecting the people, and building goodwill with the new subjects of the Heartlands. It also gave the legion continued training and experience in garrison duties, which would be valuable as Harald expanded his military forces.
Harald continued hunting, moving slowly and deliberately through the snow-covered underbrush. Behind him, Robard tried to mimic his movements with varying degrees of success. Harald paused periodically to teach the boy pointers things he had picked up from the best hunters in Tamriel, techniques used by the Bosmer wood elves and the Nord huntsmen of Skyrim.
"Watch where you step," Harald whispered. "Snow makes it easier to move quietly if you're careful, but every mistake is louder. See how I'm placing my feet on the packed snow rather than breaking through the crust?"
Robard nodded, adjusting his stance.
"And keep your bow ready but not drawn," Harald continued. "Drawing and holding wastes energy and makes your aim shake. You draw only when you're ready to loose."
They moved deeper into the woods, following tracks that Harald had spotted a small herd of deer that had passed through recently, judging by the freshness of the droppings and the disturbed snow.
"Why not just use magic?" Robard asked suddenly, his young voice curious. "You could just... I don't know, make the deer come to you? Or freeze it in place?"
Harald chuckled softly. "I could. But that takes all the fun out of it. Hunting is about skill, patience, and the connection between hunter and prey. Using magic would be like... like having someone else paint a picture for you and claiming you made it yourself."
"Oh," Robard said, seeming to understand. "Like cheating at dice."
"Ehh, sure," Harald confirmed with a smile.
They crept forward another few dozen yards when Harald suddenly froze, his hand coming up in a stopping gesture. Robard froze as well, his eyes going wide.
There, perhaps fifty yards ahead, partially obscured by a snow-dusted pine tree, stood a magnificent buck. He was grazing on some exposed grass, completely unaware of the hunters.
Harald motioned Robard forward slowly, positioning the boy for the shot. Robard's hands trembled slightly as he nocked the arrow, more from excitement than cold.
"Easy," Harald whispered directly into his ear. "Breathe slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Let your heartbeat slow."
Robard did as instructed, his breathing becoming more controlled.
"Now draw," Harald continued. "Smooth, steady. Don't jerk the string. Good. Good."
Robard pulled the bowstring back, his young arms straining slightly with the effort.
"Aim for just behind the front leg," Harald coached. "That's where the heart is. Account for the distance the arrow will drop slightly. You're aiming low, so aim a bit higher to compensate."
Robard adjusted his aim.
"When you're ready, release on an exhale," Harald said. "Don't think about it. Just let it happen naturally."
Robard exhaled slowly, his finger beginning to release—
Another arrow flew from a completely different direction and struck the deer right in the eye. It dropped instantly, killed before it even knew it was in danger. A perfect, clean kill.
Harald and Robard both turned toward the direction the arrow had come from.
There, standing victoriously about thirty yards to their left, was Elsa Tully. She wore a full white furred coat that made her blend almost perfectly with the snowy landscape. Her red hair spilled out from beneath a fur-lined hood, bright as fire against the white backdrop. Her cheeks were red-tinted from the cold, contrasting beautifully with her pale skin and the winter environment around her. In her hands was a bow of fine make, and on her face was a grin of absolute triumph.
Harald looked annoyed, though there was amusement in his eyes. Robard, however, looked genuinely upset.
"You stole my kill, Lady Tully!" Robard protested, his voice cracking slightly.
Elsa laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the quiet woods. "You should have been faster, little lord."
She walked toward them with confident strides, completely at ease in the winter wilderness. "Besides, you were aiming too low. You would have hit its leg, wounded it, and then we'd have spent the next hour tracking a bleeding deer through the snow. I did you a favor."
"I was not aiming too low!" Robard argued, his face flushing. "King Harald was teaching me—"
"And King Harald teaches well, I'm sure," Elsa interrupted, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced at Harald. "But teaching and doing are different things, aren't they, Your Grace?"
Harald smiled despite himself. He liked having Elsa around, and that surprised him. While many lords had paraded their daughters, granddaughters, nieces, and more around him since his coronation hoping one would catch his eye and be made queen, Elsa was different.
She had no romantic interest in Harald, or at least none that she showed. She was simply intrigued by what he was and wanted to know who or what he truly was. Was he truly chosen by the gods? Was his magic learned or innate? What really was he? What did he dream about when he slept?
She was a straightforward woman, a strange woman some would say. She reminded him a bit of Aela, or perhaps Lydia in her better moods.
"That was a good shot," Harald admitted, walking toward the fallen deer. "Right in the eye, in this light. Very impressive."
Elsa beamed at the praise. "My uncle taught me when I was young. He said a lady of House Tully should know how to provide for herself." Her smile turned slightly sad as she walked over to them. "He wanted me to be strong, in case... well, in case things went badly for our house."
A woman like Elsa should have been married by now. She was five-and-twenty namedays, well past the age when most highborn ladies were wed and bearing children for their lord husbands. But she wasn't, and it was all due to Dagon Hoare.
Elsa had been involved in a scandal six years ago when Dagon Hoare had raped her during a visit to Riverrun. But Dagon had made it seem that she was a willing participant. He had planted false witnesses, spread rumors, and reveled in her humiliation, as she had told him. Due to the Ironborn's iron grip over the Riverlands at the time, the Tullys could not object without risking open rebellion they weren't ready for.
Edmyn and Elsa's father had been a proud man, and the shame of being unable to defend his daughter's honor had eaten at him. He died two months after the incident, and many whispered it was from shame and a broken heart. The Ironborn openly mocked the Tullys for it and made crude songs about Elsa that were sung in their halls, each verse more vile than the last.
But Elsa had not let that define her or rule her life. She had held her head high, refused to hide away in shame, and lived her life on her own terms. And she had a good brother in Edmyn to support her. He had never once blamed her, never once suggested she had done anything wrong. He had killed two men in duels over insults to his sister's honor, and one of the many reasons Edmyn had unquestionable loyalty to Harald was due to him killing Dagon.
"Well, your uncle taught you well," Harald said, examining the deer. "Robard, come. I'll show you how to properly handle a kill."
Robard, still slightly sulking about losing his shot, walked over reluctantly.
Elsa joined them, kneeling in the snow without any concern for her fine coat getting dirty. "I'll help. I've done this more times than I can count."
As they worked together, making the initial cuts and beginning to remove the hide, Robard looked around at the empty woods.
"Do you think the others would have gotten one as well by now?" he asked.
Elsa laughed. "Oh, I'm sure the great Merrick Frey and his magic bow would have gotten fifty by now!"
She straightened up, puffing out her chest in an exaggerated manner and affecting a deep, booming voice in imitation of the Frey lord. "And then I loosed my arrow, and it flew true as the gods themselves guided it! Straight through the heart of the beast, which fell before it even knew death had come! And then, barely pausing to catch my breath, I spotted another nay, three more deer! And I loosed three arrows at once, each finding its mark! Twenty deer I felled that day, each shot more magnificent than the last!"
Harald chuckled at Elsa's impression. The Frey lord was indeed the most boastful man in the Heartlands when it came to hunting, though to be fair, Merrick was actually an excellent hunter. He was just also very, very competitive about it and never missed an opportunity to regale anyone who would listen with tales of his prowess.
"You've captured him perfectly," Harald said. "Though I think you were generous—he would claim thirty deer, not twenty."
Robard giggled, his earlier disappointment forgotten.
When they were done, they summoned the servants who had come with them and had them haul the deer back to Whitemore.
The trek back was pleasant. Elsa rode alongside Harald, who rode a spectral horse its glowing blue-white form stood out starkly against the snowy landscape.
"So, what have you been doing with Wren, the child of the forest?" Elsa asked, starting a conversation.
"Earthsingers," Harald corrected gently. "That's what they prefer to be called. And their true name in their own tongue is..." He spoke in the language of the children.
"Dothrae'kalineth'sora'vehlinar'tesh'komora'shai."
"Aye, I will stick with earthsingers then," Elsa exclaimed.
"Probably wise," Harald agreed with a slight smile. "It roughly translates to 'Those-Who-Sing-the-Eternal-Green-Song-of-Earth-and-All-Growing-Living-Things-Beneath-the-Watching-Trees.' Their language doesn't really do short names."
"But what have you been learning from her?" Elsa pressed, her curiosity evident. "Surely something interesting, or you wouldn't spend so much time with her."
"Wren has been teaching me how to skinchange," Harald said simply.
Elsa's eyes widened dramatically, and she pulled her horse to a sudden stop. "Truly? You can enter the minds of animals?"
Harald nodded. "I'm still learning. It's not easy, and it requires a particular mindset that doesn't come naturally to me. But yes, I can touch the minds of animals now, see through their eyes, feel what they feel. With practice, I should be able to control them."
He looked thoughtful. "Once, many in the Seven Kingdoms were capable of it. It was a common gift among the First Men, passed down through bloodlines. But it's gone now, or nearly so. Skinchanging became associated with dark magic due to the Faith of the Seven. Even in the North, as much as they would like to say they hold to the Old Ways and honor their First Men heritage, the influence of the Faith of the Seven lingers. They call skinchangers 'beastlings' now, say they're cursed or possessed by demons."
He shook his head sadly. "What was once revered is now seen as evil. The greenseers who guided communities, the skinchangers who protected their people by scouting through animal eyes or driving away predators—all forgotten or twisted into monsters in children's tales."
Elsa nodded slowly, understanding. "My aunt was a Blackwood. She would tell me stories of skinchangers and greenseers when I was a girl..."
She looked at Harald with renewed interest. "Could I learn it? Skinchanging, I mean?"
Harald considered the question carefully. "Maybe. Wren says it runs in certain bloodlines more strongly than others, but that almost everyone has at least a spark of the ability if they know how to look for it. The Tullys have First Men blood, certainly, though mixed with Andal over the centuries."
He met her eyes. "I'll look more into it. If you're serious about learning, I'll see what can be done."
Elsa's face lit up with genuine excitement. "I am serious. Very serious. To see through the eyes of a hawk flying, or a wolf prowling through the woods..."
"I have only just begun," Harald said, his tone becoming more serious. "And I'll warn you it's a strange feeling. Your consciousness splits, becomes something other. You feel the animal's instincts warring with your human thoughts. The first time I touched a wolf's mind, I nearly lost myself..." He shook his head. "It's quite dangerous."
Harald, Robard, and Elsa joined up with Merrick, Edmyn, Hother, and the others as the now large hunting party made its way back to Whitemore. The group had spread out through different parts of the woods and were now reconvening for the journey home.
Elsa, with a mischievous glint in her eye, called out, "Lord Merrick! How many did you kill today?"
Hother Blackwood groaned audibly. "Why did you have to ask?"
Merrick Frey sat up straighter in his saddle, his chest puffing out with pride. "Five! Five magnificent beasts, each one a testament to the hunting prowess of House Frey!"
He launched into his explanation without any prompting. "The first was a doe at eighty yards. I spotted her through the trees, barely visible, but my arrow found its mark right in the heart. Then, as I was tracking deeper into the eastern woods, I came upon a boar, a massive beast, easily three hundred pounds! It charged at me, but I stood my ground and loosed straight into its mouth…"
The others looked mortified, exchanging glances that spoke of suffering through yet another of Merrick's hunting tales. Edmyn rolled his eyes. Hother looked like he was contemplating riding ahead. Even Harald had to suppress a smile at the man's enthusiasm.
Merrick continued, oblivious or uncaring of his audience's reaction. "The third was a stag, ten points on his antlers, standing proud on a ridge. I had to account for the wind, you see, and the upward angle—"
"We get it, Merrick," Edmyn interrupted gently. "You're an excellent hunter. We're all very impressed."
"Well, I haven't told you about the fourth and fifth yet!" Merrick protested.
"Perhaps you could save those stories for the feast tonight?" Harald suggested diplomatically. "I'm sure everyone would love to hear them in full detail then."
Merrick beamed. "An excellent idea, Your Grace! I shall regale the entire court!"
As they rode, they passed through the still under-construction Castle Cyrodiil.
The construction moved at a slower pace due to winter, but Harald made sure the skies remained clear like they were now using his Clear Skies shout periodically to prevent too much snow from accumulating where the construction was taking place. The ash golems he'd summoned could work in any weather, but the human masons and carpenters needed reasonable conditions.
Castle Cyrodiil was being built on a hill which Harald himself had raised up using magic. The hill now stood perhaps two hundred feet higher than the surrounding terrain, a commanding position that would make the castle visible for miles in every direction.
At the very top of the hill rose the structures that would form the heart of his power.
The White Tower was already taking magnificent shape the tallest structure, rising like a beacon toward the sky. It was being built of white marble. This would house Harald's personal chambers, the royal apartments, and the most secure vaults where he planned to keep the many artifacts he had in his possession.
The Great Keep stood opposite it, only slightly shorter but far broader. This would contain the throne room where Harald would hold court, the grand hall for feasts that could accommodate hundreds of nobles and guests, and the council chambers where the future of the kingdom would be decided. The walls were going up steadily, and Harald could already see the outline of the massive windows that would let light flood the great hall.
The Central Citadel connected the tower and the keep, a fortified core with walls ten feet thick and multiple defensive positions. This would contain the armory and the administrative offices for the hundreds of functionaries needed to run a kingdom.
Descending from the upper fortress, the rest of the hill would be divided into rings with walls around each district. Harald had designed it similar to Whiterun; it would have districts for each level. He wanted to make sure that the settlement that he was sure would be made into a city in the future was properly planned. There was a lot of work to be done, yes, but it would all be worth it in the end.
They began following the road to Whitemore now, and that reminded Harald of one of the most important things he had to do after winter was over.
Roads.
Proper roads connecting all major locations in the Heartlands.
Right now, all the roads were shit like, very bad. The Ironborn simply had not cared for roads during their occupation. Why would they? They traveled by ship, raiding coastal settlements and using the rivers. Roads were for the conquered, not the conquerors. The ones in the Blackwater were even worse, decades of neglect leaving them little more than rutted dirt tracks that became impassable mud in rain and frozen nightmares in winter.
Harald was very intrigued by these Valyrian roads in Essos that he'd heard about. He wondered if they were like roads on Earth—with tar and proper foundations—but what he'd learned so far suggested they were made with dragons melting stones together and other magics the Valyrians had mastered.
He needed to visit Essos just to see them for himself, to study their construction.
But for now, Harald planned to make roads in the style of the ones he had seen in Tamriel—like the ones in Cyrodiil itself. They were very similar to Roman roads but tougher, more resilient. Multiple layers of stone, gravel, and carefully fitted paving stones that could withstand heavy wagons and harsh weather for centuries.
Roads were the lifeline of trade. That, along with the rivers that crisscrossed the Heartlands, would make the kingdom become the beating heart of Westeros. Goods would flow freely, armies could move quickly, and prosperity would follow the roads like seeds following a plow.
==========
They arrived back at Whitemore as the sun was beginning to set. The hunting party dispersed, servants taking the deer and other game to be processed, lords heading to their quarters to wash off the day's dirt before the evening feast.
Harald, however, left immediately to find Leobald, who he knew would be at the Temple of the Covenant.
The temple was a modest structure. At its center stood a weirwood tree that Harald had transplanted here with the help of the Earthsingers, a young tree, but growing rapidly thanks to his magical encouragement.
What made this weirwood unique were the nine branches that spread from its trunk, each one carved with symbols representing different aspects of the divine. The Old Gods had begun sprouting these nine-branched trees at Harald's request, a physical manifestation of the Covenant, the unity of old and new faiths.
Around the base of the weirwood stood seven carved idols representing the Seven—the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, and the Stranger. Each was beautifully crafted, positioned so they seemed to be watching over the weirwood, protecting it, or perhaps being protected by it. The symbolism was intentional two faiths, one purpose.
Harald saw Leobald and Wren, the Earthsinger whom he had made equal to Leobald's rank in the temple, standing near the tree, deep in conversation.
"Leobald. Wren," Harald said as he walked up to them.
Both turned, and their expressions shifted to relief when they saw him.
"Good, you are here," Leobald said, his voice carrying an urgency that immediately put Harald on alert.
"What is it?" Harald asked, his casual demeanor from the hunt evaporating.
It was Wren who replied. "I have received a message from the gods. They have felt another presence—those of the Daedric Princes you asked them to watch for."
"Are you sure?" Harald asked stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Is it not the two I already know are here?"
When Harald had first connected with the Old Gods and enhanced the weirnet, he had asked them to watch for the presence of Daedric Princes. He already knew two were here: Hermaeus Mora and Molag Bal.
"No," Wren said, shaking her head. "These ones are new. Two new presences. One is very faint, barely a whisper. The other..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The gods described it as like a new sun being born. A being of destruction, of change, of ambition without restraint."
"How much danger are we in?" Leobald asked Harald, his face pale.
Harald closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He felt guilty. He had brought them here. It was his fault.
Hermaeus Mora, because the Prince of Knowledge thought he was denied Harald's soul. Molag Bal, for the same reason. He had thwarted many of the princes' plots along with Serana. The being of destruction had to be Mehrunes Dagon, whom Harald had also made an enemy of with that Razor business.
Dammit, why did he even get involved in that? Harald thought of the adventure that began when he answered a flyer for a museum opening in Dawnstar.
It was Lydia's fault mostly, Harald thought.
"The fourth presence," Harald said, opening his eyes. "What did the gods say about it?"
"The gods said they felt something," Wren replied. "That is all. It was faint, fleeting, as if it was touching this world only briefly before withdrawing."
Harald thought carefully. That could be Sheogorath. He knew this place existed; it was that madman who had put Harald here in the first place, after all.
"Tell the gods my thanks for their vigilance," Harald said to Wren. He then turned to Leobald, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "It will be fine, my friend. I have fought them before. I can do it again."
Leobald nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "Where could these devils be, Harald? If they're in our world now, where would they go?"
Harald considered. "Mora craves knowledge above all else. So either the Citadel in Oldtown or perhaps even Essos, or beyond. The ruins of Valyria might interest him, or the grand libraries of the Free Cities."
"The Citadel?" Leobald's eyes widened in alarm. "The maesters already plot against us! Now, what if they fall to this monster? What if this... Hermaeus Mora... corrupts them, uses their network against us?"
"Calm yourself, my friend," Harald said firmly. "It is a possibility, yes. That is precisely why we must be careful. Hermaeus Mora is my primary concern. If he is influencing the maesters..." Harald's voice grew harder. "Then I will personally lead the legions against the Reach itself if necessary. I will burn the Citadel to the ground before I let a Daedric Prince use it as a foothold in this world."
Both Wren and Leobald looked shocked at the vehemence in his voice.
"What of the other two?" Leobald asked after a moment.
Harald was quiet for a moment, thinking through the implications. "I cannot be sure. There are many candidates for where they might focus their attention. But I believe they will try to influence the Targaryens."
The Targaryens had dragons, it was as simple as that. After Harald himself, they were the most powerful in the world, other than maybe some magic users in Asshai or beyond.
"The dragons," Leobald said quietly.
"Exactly," Harald confirmed.
Wren spoke softly, her voice troubled. "Dragonlords supported by these Princes will not end well. For anyone."
Harald nodded grimly. "No, it won't."
Leobald was quiet for a long moment, then said, "Perhaps we should have a dragon of our own."
Harald smiled slightly, extending his hands in a gesture that encompassed himself. "You already have one."
Leobald returned the smile. "Well, not you. But one of those many you told me about the ones that talk, the ones from the other world, your world, the ones you fought and killed."
Harald paused, the smile fading from his face as he considered this seriously.
He had thought of summoning a dragon before specifically Durnehviir. But he had not done so because he didn't want the Ideal Masters to become aware of this world.
But what about Odahviing?
Could he simply call Odahviing here?
Could the dragon even find this world?
Paarthurnax had said that dragons could travel anywhere, that they existed partially outside normal space and time. Their very nature as fragments of Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, meant they could move between moments, between places, in ways mortals couldn't comprehend.
If Harald called, would Odahviing hear?
And if he did hear, could he come?
Odahviing could be a great help here, and perhaps one day Harald could even leave and return to Tamriel if the dragon was able to come here.
"Harald?" Leobald called, seeing him standing silent, lost in thought.
Harald turned from them and looked to the sky.
Harald drew in a deep breath, feeling the Thu'um building in his chest.
He opened his mouth and shouted the dragon's name, the syllables thundering through the sky with power that shook the very air:
"OD–AH–VIING!"
.
.
.
At the peak of the Throat of the World, Paarthurnax held a meditation session.
The ancient dragon, his green-grey scales weathered by millennia, sat coiled around the Word Wall as he had for countless years. But he was no longer alone in his meditation. Around him, other dragons had gathered those who had come after Alduin's fall to follow in the Way of the Voice.
There was Viinturuth, once a lieutenant of Alduin, now seeking redemption. Relonikiv, who had hidden for centuries and now emerged cautiously.
"Peace, sky, freedom. This is the way we must—" Paarthurnax began to say.
A roar split the sky.
All the dragons turned their heads as one, their ancient eyes tracking the approaching shape. The red dragon circled once, twice, then landed with ground-shaking force on the snow-covered peak.
"Drem, Odahviing," Paarthurnax said calmly, though his eyes were curious. "Ah, you have finally come to learn the Way of the Voice. I am pleased. Your jun, your wisdom, will grow here—"
"Ni, Paarthurnax. Zu'u ni kos," Odahviing interrupted, his voice sharp. "I have not come for that."
The other dragons stirred, surprised by the interruption and the tone. One did not interrupt Paarthurnax lightly.
"Pruzah," Paarthurnax said, his voice still patient. "Then why have you come, zeymah? Why, brother?"
Odahviing's eyes blazed brighter. "Zu'u viist dii Thuri krotaan. The Dragonborn krent to me."
The gathered dragons fell silent. Even Paarthurnax's eyes widened slightly.
"Goraan?" Paarthurnax asked. "When? Faal krent nis koraav nol Nirn."
Odahviing nodded, his massive head moving with certainty. "Geh. Los ni nol Nirn. Los... horvut. Very far. Lot fah," he said, his voice mixing the tongues naturally. "It was... distant. Unmistakable. His voice, calling my name nol I cannot name. From beyond."
Paarthurnax's eyes narrowed in thought and something like concern. "Dii munax lost tul the Dragonborn kos kroson wah Akatosh," he said slowly. "I believed he had gone to rest with our father, after defeating Alduin. I told his companions, his friends, that he walked now nol the halls beyond mortality."
"Ni," Odahviing said flatly. "He is not at rest. He called for me. Thu'um does not travel beyond death, only the living can Shout. And I felt his voice, Paarthurnax."
He spread his wings, already preparing to leave. "Zu'u fen krii. Zu'u fen siiv Aetherius. Zu'u fen search the ends of the golden realm for him if I must."
"Odahviing," Paarthurnax said, his voice taking on a tone of warning. "Unahzaal. Aetherius is old and hungry. Many dovah who chased the stars were never seen again. Krent from beyond can trick the mind and lure the heart. Zu'u voth zeymah, my brother; hi los ahrk dreh naal krii. If you leap blind, you risk being cast out of sky and time, lost for all seasons."
Odahviing's eyes met Paarthurnax's without flinching. "Zu'u koraav. I understand. I will not abandon one who showed me there is more to our nature than domination and destruction. I will find him."
Paarthurnax regarded him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "Pruzah. Hi los grind. You are determined. Mu kos ni staad hi. We will not stop you. But, zeymah, before you go... will you accept praan? Counsel? The journey you contemplate is one no dovah has completed. Perhaps never attempted."
Odahviing's wings, which had been tensed for flight, relaxed slightly. "Geh. Praan. Zu'u fen mindok wah hin dreh. I will listen to your words."
They spoke for some time, discussing the nature of Aetherius, the paths between worlds.
Finally, Paarthurnax said one last thing: "Bormahu kos wah hi, Odahviing."
"Geh. Zu'u fen vahraan hin boam. The Father of All sees my fire. The Dragonborn is my lord, and I will cross stone and star with unyielding will to reach him. No realm is too distant. No light too blinding. Zu'u fen find him, Paarthurnax. My battle, my spirit, belong to him alone," said Odahviing as he launched himself into the air.
Odahviing flew up. Straight up.
He continued upward, his form growing smaller but not slowing.
The sun grew larger and larger as he approached a massive wound in the sky, a hole torn in the fabric of Mundus itself, the hole left behind when Magnus escaped. Through it, golden light poured forth the pure radiance of Aetherius.
Odahviing did not hesitate. His wings beat one final time in the air of Nirn, propelling him forward and up, and then he plunged into the sun itself.
On the other side lay Aetherius—the Immortal Plane, the realm of pure magic and infinite possibility. It stretched before him in impossible vistas: rivers of starlight flowing through golden void, distant shapes that might be gods or might be dreams given form.
And somewhere somewhere in this infinite expanse his Thuri was calling.
Odahviing roared once more, a sound that echoed through the golden realm, and began his long perhaps unending journey through Aetherius.
To find the Dovahkiin.
To answer the call of his Thuri.
To fulfill the oath he had made.
.
.
Odahviing has a long journey ahead of him, don't expect to see him soon.