Dawn was nearing, and the crowd gathered on the rooftop of the College of Winterhold not only failed to thin out—it actually grew.
When that deep-purple vortex appeared again, two people stepped out from the Gate of Oblivion: Skyl, and Moonshadow. The mages erupted into applause, congratulating the young wizard on completing the feat of an Oblivion journey. It was the kind of accomplishment that could make his name spread to every corner of Tamriel, earning him the admiration of all who pursued the secrets of the arcane.
Those who witnessed it felt a thrill they could barely put into words. It was like standing at a space center, watching an astronaut take their first steps on the Moon. The achievement had nothing to do with them—not even a little—but just being part of the celebration as background scenery made them feel proud all the same.
In truth, traveling Oblivion was even harder than humans landing on the Moon. The absolute distance between any given Oblivion realm and the planet Nirn could not be defined by ordinary physical dimensions. Even if you boarded a lightspeed ship and traveled for hundreds of millions of years, you still wouldn't reach any realm of Oblivion—because in the planes of Oblivion, distance itself had no meaning.
And yet, once you mastered the technique of opening a Gate of Oblivion, the farthest horizon could be folded into arm's reach. Skyl had left detailed records in The Tower of Tomes; any scholar who joined the tower had the right to borrow and study them.
The mages stepped forward and saluted Skyl with a hand over the chest. It was gratitude toward a pioneer on the path of magic, and the lofty duty of passing on arcane truth weighed solemnly on their hearts.
Their reverence was so heavy that even the night wind seemed to fall silent.
Skyl returned each salute in turn.
"Allow me to introduce to everyone a new member of the College—Lady Moonshadow."
Skyl presented the Dark Elf woman at his side. The mortal body she had prepared for herself was still breathtakingly beautiful, but at least it wouldn't blind mortals with sheer radiance.
Brelyna narrowed her eyes. The moment she saw Moonshadow appear alongside Skyl, her heart jumped. After taking a closer look, she couldn't help but feel secretly dejected. This Dark Elf woman's beauty was, without exaggeration, enough to leave even the most silver-tongued bard at a loss for words. Face and figure alike were flawless—perfectly aligned with the mainstream tastes of most races.
Of course, in a fantasy world, local kinks came in every possible shape. The timeless masterpiece The Lusty Argonian Maid was proof enough. The book was wildly popular across Tamriel, a classic bedside read that made both adults and children blush hotly to the ears. Its aesthetic preferences were so cursed you almost couldn't bear to look—yet plenty of people ate it up.
Brelyna realized with mounting despair that unless Mage Skyl's particular tastes leaned toward Argonians—those humanoid lizards—Moonshadow's looks would land squarely in his sweet spot.
Aranea, on the other hand, looked completely bewildered. She walked up to Moonshadow, hesitated, and swallowed her words.
"What is it?" Moonshadow had always been gentle toward obedient believers.
"I… I feel like you're very familiar, but I can't say why. Are you from Lady Azura's realm?"
"Child, stand behind me." Moonshadow lightly pressed a finger to Aranea's brow. "Dawn will shine upon your fate."
As the College's day-to-day administrator, Mirabelle Ervine would arrange Moonshadow's room. Life as a mortal was something quite novel for Azura.
From tiny bits of everyday behavior, you could see how she differed from mortals. Moonshadow usually didn't choose to walk—she floated through the air instead. Mortals were born bound to the earth and moved on two feet, but for the Original Spirits, there was no such thing as "gravity" when they were born. Of course they were accustomed to flying.
With dawnlight faintly emerging, the scholars who had stayed up all night on the rooftop simply gave up on catching sleep. Hungry as wolves, they decided to grab something simple to eat and begin a new day of work and life.
The College's meals used to be painfully monotonous, like a monastery packed with ascetics: always bran bread, frozen fish, and alcohol. The bread was dry and rough enough to scrape your throat raw; the frozen fish was so salty and foul it rivaled a can of fermented herring; and the drink had gone sour—less like alcohol, more like watered-down vinegar.
Now, with wheat, potatoes, and fresh vegetables produced by the agricultural greenhouses, and meat, eggs, and dairy from the livestock pens, the mages' table had finally become abundant. The College had even hired a dedicated cook to handle all three meals. The new kitchen didn't use firewood, but enchanted elemental stoves, consuming one petty soul gem per month—roughly the total soul energy of a chicken.
Everyone gathered in the cramped dining hall and quietly ate stew, roast meat, fried eggs, and white bread. Having lived through an age of scarcity, the memory of hunger pushed people to swallow even the last crumbs.
After breakfast, Moonshadow toured Winterhold with Aranea accompanying her. She also noticed the soul-gem assembly line at the slaughterhouse, and praised it as the orthodox path. In the future she knew, the soul-gem industry would be highly developed—capable of producing fantastical creations like starships, artificial intelligence, and higher-dimensional cannons.
The glory of magical civilization could not exist without soul gems.
The problem was that soul gems were consumables, like disposable batteries. Once the stored soul-energy was released, it damaged the crystal structure inside, rendering the gem useless.
Winterhold consumed soul gems by the hundreds every day, and in the foreseeable future that consumption would only rise. There were no soul-gem mines near Winterhold, so the mages had always relied on handcrafting soul gems—low yield, high price, nowhere near enough for production needs.
Skyl's solution was a duplication spell: produce a vast stockpile of blank soul gems and store them away.
Moonshadow proposed another solution: using special soul gems that wouldn't be consumed—such as her Daedric artifact, Azura's Star.
Inside Azura's Star was a small slice of Oblivion. Its nature was stable, which meant it could be charged and discharged an unlimited number of times.
However, many years ago this treasure had fallen into the hands of a necromancer named Malyn. Arrogant to the extreme, he sought to seize the slice of Oblivion within Azura's Star, using it to grant himself immortality.
Spellcasters really did love courting death.
But Malyn actually succeeded.
His flesh rotted away, yet his soul entered Azura's Star—and endured forever.
Azura had long since foreseen Malyn's downfall. Just as she said: all Daedric artifacts bore destiny. Malyn being able to obtain Azura's Star, and his attempt to usurp its power—this, too, was part of the divine arrangement. In the end, the chaos Malyn created would be resolved by a champion chosen by Azura.
That sort of script had played out countless times across the world's cycles.
But this time, there was no need to choose any champion.
Azura herself had come down in person to collect what was owed.
Skyl didn't think a single Azura's Star would be of much help to the enchanting industry anyway—this wasn't something you could replicate with a mere spell.
Still, since Azura was willing to help, he might as well let her.
Before Moonshadow departed, Skyl wished her a swift return. "I'm preparing to go to Solstheim. If you're interested in adventuring with us, come back before the evening three days from now."
"Would you really let two ladies go adventuring in dangerous Skyrim?" someone asked.
Skyl didn't budge—if anything, he looked like he was about to laugh. "You can recruit companions at the College. I'm sure they'd be delighted to protect two beautiful ladies."
Moonshadow's destination was Falkreath Hold, in the far south of Skyrim. There and back, if you didn't use magic, would definitely take more than two months. She set her sights on Dumbledore and invited him to join her adventure.
"Child, would you like to seek the great Azura's Star with me?"
When the young and lovely Moonshadow called the white-haired, aged Dumbledore "child," the old wizard was momentarily speechless—but he still agreed to accompany her.
Dumbledore cast a flying charm on a small fishing boat to serve as their means of travel. Moonshadow, meanwhile, demonstrated profound enchanting skill: a complex set of layered enchantments gave the little skiff a cruising speed comparable to a warship, while also generating an exceptionally high-quality protective barrier—blocking wind and rain and even purifying the air.
A sharp glint flashed in Dumbledore's eyes. He wore the kindly smile of an old educator, calm and unhurried.
"Lady Moonshadow—have you heard of Hogwarts? It is a magical school in another world, on an island called England. It has a long history, a thousand years of accumulated foundation, and it is currently recruiting a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Excellent benefits, generous salary…"
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