As he spent more time talking magic with others, Skyl's name grew louder and louder among the new students. The apprentices who usually clustered around him secretly formed a study circle and started organizing informal lectures in their spare time. They invited Skyl to join, but he turned them down, citing "heavy coursework, no time for distractions."
That wasn't the end of it. The study circle kept going, and the mess it stirred up eventually forced Skyl to step in and deal with it.
The proud apprentices of the College of Winterhold were unwilling to bow to the senior members, but they were quite willing to bow their heads to Skyl, the "latecomer" newcomer. The reason was simple: he had displayed a depth of talent and genius they simply could not fathom.
For such a lofty, unreachable prodigy, every one of his actions was treated as a model to be followed.
Being refused didn't discourage the study circle; if anything, it made them work even harder to earn Skyl's approval.
They began openly calling Skyl the next Arch-Mage of the college, and said the same thing in private as well. That claim naturally rubbed some people the wrong way—after all, there were scholars who had their eyes on the Arch-Mage's position themselves.
Opposition bred cohesion. When the members of the study circle heard those grumblings, they began to split people into "their own side" and "the enemy."
In barely a week, every new student—Skyl himself being the only exception—had either actively or passively joined the study circle, nominally as part of an academic society for mutual exchange.
The circle then tried to win over upperclassmen, resident scholars, and higher-ranking mages, which in turn provoked resentment from some of them.
Hidden currents were stirring. By the fourth day of Sun's Height (July), just after Mid Year had passed, three clearly separated factions had taken shape inside the college: the study circle who supported Skyl as their leader, the scholars' faction who opposed the circle, and the bystanders who wanted no part in the struggle.
The funny part was, Skyl himself belonged to the bystanders.
He only realized this rather late. At Winterhold he buried himself so deeply in magical research that he paid no attention whatsoever to his classmates' lives. Just as Hogwarts had always felt warmer to him, he was also more partial to his classmates there.
He first noticed that something was off on the sixth day of Sun's Height.
Skyl usually spent his days on the second floor of the Hall of the Elements, in the library. Its collection was incredibly rich, a paradise in the eyes of any seeker of knowledge. Skyl spent so much time there that, aside from studying, his main work was to use Copying Charms to duplicate volumes and store them in his Tower of Tomes.
The librarian of Winterhold's collection was an old orc named Urag gro-Shub. No matter how formally he dressed, he still carried a savage air about him. But despite their rough appearance—green skin, tusks, brutish features—his people were in fact a branch of the elves. In the Elder Scrolls world, most intelligent species were essentially either elves or humans, with most other races as offshoots of those two.
Urag didn't particularly like Skyl, and that was partly due to Skyl's attitude. On Skyl's very first day at the college, when he visited the library, Urag had given him a stern warning.
"You're standing in the Arcanaeum. You may consider this my plane of Oblivion. If you do anything that breaks the rules, I'll tear you to pieces with the fury of the elements."
Skyl had been amused. Back when he'd heard this line in the game, it had actually intimidated him a bit. He'd wondered if this old orc librarian was secretly some Daedric Prince walking the mortal world in disguise. Listen to that tone—"my plane of Oblivion," really. He only later understood that Urag was speaking metaphorically: he meant that his authority in the library was as inviolable as that of a Daedric Prince in their own realm.
"You say this is your plane of Oblivion. Have you always been this arrogant?"
Urag's expression went from green to black in an instant. He growled in a muffled voice, "Arrogant or not, you'd better not try my patience."
"Sorry. If I get the chance someday, you might see what a real plane of Oblivion looks like—one that also stores books and knowledge," Skyl replied mildly. He was simply being honest, but to Urag it didn't sound friendly at all.
"Hmph. Just take care of yourself. May you drown in the sea of learning, you arrogant mage."
From that first meeting on, Skyl practically lived in the library every day, staying until late at night when Urag finally announced closing time.
In Urag's eyes, all young newcomers like Skyl were the same. They always put on this look of passionate devotion to knowledge, full of confidence and arrogance, as if the truth of magic were within easy reach. But soon enough the tortuous, knotted theory, the obscure notes of their predecessors, and the ocean of metaphor and cryptic hints would wear down all that enthusiasm.
Faced with the depths of magical knowledge, they would inevitably start doubting themselves, take a beating, and then slowly piece their shattered confidence back together through repeated experiments and calculations. Only then would they gain a steadier attitude. Only mages like that deserved to delve into the higher mysteries and call themselves experts.
Urag was waiting to watch Skyl's fall from that first flush of enthusiasm, so he secretly observed the newcomer from behind the counter every day.
He watched Skyl carrying armfuls of books back and forth between the shelves, watched him doing calculations at a round table. He was waiting for Skyl to give in and come ask the librarian for advice.
But Skyl never came to him for help.
Day after day, Urag watched Skyl switch out the stacks of books in his hands at an astonishing pace. More than once, the notes and scratch paper piled beside him rose from the floor all the way up to the edge of the table. The boy was endlessly patient, silent, never making a disturbance. The only sound around him was the soft scraping of a quill moving across paper.
He always stayed until Urag himself was struggling to keep his eyes open before leaving, and then he would head downstairs to the first floor to conduct magical experiments. He seemed tireless, and the sheer energy he displayed was startling.
Over the next few days, Urag went through self-doubt and frustration, and only after a long period of observation and quiet testing did he slowly gather his confidence back together—along with a new conviction that Skyl was, indeed, a genuine prodigy.
He never admitted it aloud, but in his heart Urag acknowledged Skyl's ability and learning. That was why he warned everyone who came into the Arcanaeum not to disturb Master Skyl, or he'd tear them to pieces with the fury of the elements. The seat and desk where Skyl usually worked were marked off as his exclusive spot; no other mage was allowed to occupy them.
Members of the study circle had once asked him in delighted surprise, "Master Urag, since when did you become one of Master Skyl's supporters?"
"I'm not his supporter. I hate him," Urag replied, his expression as sour as ever.
And members of the anti-circle faction in the college would complain to Urag as well. "Why does Master Skyl get his own personal seat in the Arcanaeum?"
"Because every second of his time is immeasurably precious to the magical world," Urag answered coldly. "The effort he has poured in is unmatched in this college. Letting mediocrities like you have your own seats in the library is nothing but a waste of resources."
That day, Skyl as usual spent his entire morning in the library. He had already completed all of his "learning tasks" inside the Tower of Tomes; he reserved the college for his original research. Work like that required time and inspiration. The All-Seeing Eye could help him master knowledge quickly, but it could not provide creativity.
Creativity belonged to every sentient mind—a jewel of thought that even the gods could not claim solely for themselves.
In the quiet library, hurried footsteps suddenly echoed, followed by a low, sharp argument.
An Altmer scholar, Nirya, said in a cutting voice, "…Enough. I will not tolerate your insolence any longer. I have to make him understand: either he abandons this shameless, unethical behavior, or he can wait to be expelled from the college!"
A Breton apprentice, Veno, answered in a quick, agitated tone, "Lady Nirya, this matter is not Master Skyl's fault. Please hear us out. We're willing to make restitution."
Urag stepped in front of them. "Silence. The Arcanaeum is not a place for your squabbling. Take your problems downstairs."
Nirya drew a long breath. "I'm here to see Master Skyl. His followers broke into my quarters without permission and tried to steal my research notes. That is a serious violation of college rules. He owes me a proper explanation."
Veno rushed to clarify, "We've already said over and over that Master J'zargo wasn't trying to steal your research."
"Then how do you explain him being in my room?"
"…We picked up some signs. Disturbing signs," Veno muttered, eyes flickering.
"This is your last warning," Urag said, his voice like ice. "Now. Leave."
"What's going on?" Skyl walked over.
"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, Master Skyl. It's just a misunderstanding, one that will be cleared up very soon," Veno said, sweat beading on his face.
"Then why are you so nervous?" Skyl asked.
Nirya gave a cold laugh. "Allow me to explain."