The dragon's fire washed over Helgen, a chaotic baptism of ash and screams. Jason, a knot of buried rage tightening in his chest, ripped at his bonds. The coarse ropes, weakened by the inferno's heat, snapped under the brutal, practiced movements honed in years of Gotham's shadowed alleys and clashes with supervillains. He moved alongside Ralof, the Stormcloak rebel, their shared plight forging a grim camaraderie amidst the collapsing timbers and panicked cries.
They scrambled through the burning ruins, the shadow of the monstrous dragon, its scales like obsidian, a constant threat against the smoke-choked sky. As they fled the destruction, Jason felt a peculiar energy stirring within him, a potent thrumming beneath his skin that defied explanation. He saw others fall – Imperials in their dented armor, Stormcloaks defiant to the last – all consumed by the dragon's fiery breath. An unfamiliar surge of protectiveness, sharp and unexpected, clenched in his gut.
Emerging from the fiery maw of Helgen, they stumbled into the stark, breathtaking landscape of Skyrim. The jagged peaks of distant mountains pierced the bruised sky, a chilling wind whipping through the sparse vegetation. Ralof turned to him, his face smudged with soot, a complex mixture of suspicion and raw gratitude etched in his weary eyes.
"You fight like a man possessed by the Old Gods themselves," Ralof rasped, his voice hoarse from smoke and exertion. "Who in Oblivion are you?"
Jason hesitated, the lie already forming on his tongue. How could he even begin to explain Gotham's relentless darkness, the chilling embrace of the Lazarus Pit, the countless times he had stared into the abyss of death and been dragged back? "Just a survivor," he growled, the words feeling thick and clumsy. "Name's… Jason."
Ralof considered him, his gaze unwavering. Finally, he nodded slowly. "We're headed to Riverwood. My sister, Gerdur, has a logging mill there. You're welcome to come, stranger."
Jason, adrift in this strange, new reality, the echoes of fire and screams still ringing in his ears, saw no other path. He gave a curt nod of agreement, the icy wind of Skyrim biting at the exposed skin of his neck, a stark reminder of his vulnerability.