Skyl took to the College of Winterhold like a fish to water. The theory of magic here was so rich that after spending just a week finishing all the prerequisite coursework, he started buying spell tomes in bulk from the instructors.
He learned spells in bundles every day. In four or five hours, he could master twenty-odd new spells. He practically lived in the Hall of the Elements—on the second floor in the library, on the first floor in the practice hall.
His bed in the dormitory was on the verge of going moldy from disuse.
"How are you doing this?" the dark elf Brelyna Maryon finally couldn't help going up to ask.
She had been paying attention to this new student from the very beginning. Ever since their first conversation, Brelyna had felt that this gentle, sharp-minded human mage was destined to become outstanding. All he needed was time—and a few well-timed hints—and he would advance by leaps and bounds. Brelyna had never forgotten how Skyl helped her correct her Firebolt, so she'd been waiting for him to run into a bottleneck, ready to offer her assistance—because setbacks were inevitable in the study of magic. No one mastered magical theory without a few bumps in the road.
And that was how she ended up witnessing a scene that completely overturned her worldview.
This proud dark elf mage watched with her own eyes as Skyl went from casting the most basic Destruction spell, Flames, all the way up to the expert-level Wall of Flames.
It took him two minutes.
She had poured her heart into a Conjuration spell, expert-level Conjure Storm Atronach, and after three months she still hadn't made any progress. Skyl got the spell tome one day and successfully summoned a powerful storm atronach the next.
He was like a bottomless, pitch-black well—any knowledge thrown in would be swallowed and assimilated—and still there was no seeing the limits of his magical potential.
The dark elf's reaction went from shock, to fear, to numb resignation, and the whole process took one day.
Brelyna's expression turned hazy. She had seen the radiance of a true genius, dazzling like the sun. In comparison, she, scion of an ancient Dunmer noble house and a mage in her own right, was nothing more than a firefly hovering over a summer pond.
Is it that I'm too stupid… or is this Skyl simply too clever?
It has to be the latter.
But how can anyone study magic like this? No sleep, no rest, learning a spell the moment he sees it—does he not need to think at all? Even the most renowned mages in her family measured their time spent on magical theory in decades.
Brelyna became convinced Skyl was hiding some kind of secret, something that allowed him to absorb magical knowledge at such an outrageous pace.
She wasn't the only one stunned by Skyl's learning ability. Other apprentices, scholars, lecturers, even the head of the college himself, Arch-Mage Savos Aren, were all shaken.
There was no doubt that Skyl's explosive surge in magical ability had become the biggest topic at the College of Winterhold this year. The usually steady, conservative Arch-Mage even remarked bluntly that if Skyl kept learning at this rate, the college would soon have nothing left to teach him.
One day, Brelyna intercepted Skyl as he was heading straight for the library. She gathered her courage and asked:
"How are you doing this?"
"Mm? Doing what? Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing today?"
"No, not your appearance. I mean—how are you learning so fast?"
Skyl chuckled when he heard that, and answered her very frankly:
"You really don't need to put me in the comparison set. My situation is… unusual. You should focus on your own ability. Your talent is remarkable in its own right."
"But—I can't accept it. Why is it that the same obstacle that stops me cold is something you just step over without effort? I've worked hard too. I've read through every line of theory on Conjure Storm Atronach, I do hundreds of calculations every day, but I still can't derive the exact configuration. From dawn till night I've shortened my mealtimes to the bare minimum for the sake of my research. Other than magic, I have no distractions at all. If even that isn't enough for me to master that damned spell, then there's only one explanation: fate isn't ready, and the spell itself still isn't perfect."
Brelyna argued for herself. At first she sounded a bit shy and defensive, but the memory of those dozens of days and nights of bitter thought and repeated failure soon made grief surge up in her chest, and her tone turned hard.
"Mm, it really isn't easy," Skyl said evenly. "All right then, bring me your calculation notes."
"Why do you need to see my notebook?"
"So we can discuss it. I'd like to see just how difficult this spell configuration is that it's managed to stop Master Maryon in her tracks."
Skyl had already worked out the spell model for Conjure Storm Atronach. Calling it a "discussion" was really just his polite way of saying "I'll teach you."
Brelyna understood exactly what Skyl meant. Her heart gave a jump, as if a stream of fire had flared up from her diaphragm—it was both delightful and startling.
But she quickly smothered that flame. Difficulties in magic wouldn't break a true scholar. She wanted to reach the result by her own efforts. Besides, she had come here to help Skyl—how had it suddenly turned into him helping her? Brelyna, Brelyna, have you no shame?
"I… I'll pass. I can handle it myself."
"Let's discuss it anyway," Skyl said. "Sometimes I wonder whether you lot are really studying when you suffer like this every day, or if you're just putting on a show of diligence to numb yourselves."
Faced with Skyl's sharp tongue, Brelyna clenched her fists in fury. She tossed out a stiff "Wait there!" and turned on her heel.
Her steps got faster and faster until she was practically running, and she ended up taking a fall in the courtyard. Mirabelle Ervine hurried over to pull her up.
"Careful. Watch where you're going."
"Thank you." Brelyna felt both embarrassed and flustered.
Back in the Hall of Attainment, she started rummaging madly through her research materials.
"This is ridiculous. I never should've gone to him—it makes it look like I'm begging him for charity… Huh? Where did I put my notes? They're not on the table. How can they not be?"
"What are you looking for, Maryon?" apprentice Katarina happened to be passing the doorway.
"My spell research notebook. I must have forgotten where I put it."
"Something like that ought to be kept safe, shouldn't it?"
"And now I can't find—oh, right! Safe. I locked it in the safe. Thanks."
By now Skyl was probably getting impatient. No, knowing him, he had likely already gone into the library.
Realizing how long she'd delayed, Brelyna panicked, scooped up a thick stack of scratch paper, and rushed toward the Hall of the Elements. But out in the courtyard, the ceaseless wind off the Sea of Ghosts decided to play a trick on her. One sheet slipped from her arms and was snatched away by the wind. She grabbed for it in a panic, only for more pages to fly free.
They scattered all over the courtyard.
"My notes!" The dark elf mage broke out in a sweat as she bent down to snatch them up one by one. Most of the apprentices walking by barely spared her a glance, but the Nord mage Onmund came over to help without being asked. Tolfdir, who happened to be having breakfast in the courtyard plaza, used Telekinesis to snag a flurry of sheets out of the air, and between them they finally helped Brelyna gather her notebook back together.
"Thank you, thank you both. May Lady Azura bless you."
"Why are you in such a hurry, Maryon?" Onmund asked, puzzled.
"It's Master Skyl. He said he wanted to discuss magic with me," Brelyna replied as casually as she could. "It's nothing special."
"Can I come along?"
"I don't know. It might be too late already."
Brelyna dashed into the Hall of the Elements. Once she was through the door she deliberately slowed down, schooling her features into a calm, indifferent expression—but sweat was still running down her forehead.
Seeing the sweaty, bedraggled state she was in, Skyl lifted a hand and cast Clean Up on her.
"Nice spell. Thank you," Brelyna said, catching her breath. She saw that Skyl was rearranging the order of her pages. "Sorry, I dropped them just now. It was that damned wind."
Onmund had followed her in, but was standing a little distance away pretending to admire the view. Ah yes, he thought to himself, what a very wall-like wall.
Skyl flipped through the stack, then pulled out a few pages.
"Your spacetime coordinates for the storm atronach's plane of Oblivion are wrong," he said. "From this section onward, everything needs to be discarded and redone. Your overall approach is sound, though. The flaw is in how you constructed the binding runes."
"What? That's impossible…" Brelyna grabbed the pages and looked them over, struck dumb. She couldn't exactly admit that she'd calculated them over and over and still couldn't get the coordinates right. If she were capable of that, she wouldn't have needed Skyl's help in the first place.
"You don't know how to calculate spacetime coordinates?"
"…That's very advanced work. Ever since the Oblivion Gates closed, every coordinate measurement has had inherent deviations."
"Then bring your methods up to date a little."
Skyl pulled a quill from inside his robe and began filling in the missing parts of the formula for her.
"There. That should do it. You can go back and study it again."
Brelyna's eyes shone as she scanned the pages back and forth, surprise and delight fighting for space on her face.
"You're using new mathematical tools. I've never seen anything like this…"
"Sure. So?"
"I—I don't understand any of it."
"Want to learn? I'll teach you."
Off to the side, Onmund had finally had his fill of staring at stone walls. He turned around and called out to Skyl:
"Good day, Master Skyl. May I consult you about magic as well?"
"Of course you may," Skyl said.