???
Akatosh
In the formless place beyond space and time, where all timelines converged and fractured like glass under pressure, he sat. The dragon whose wings beat across eternity. The First. The Beginning. The End.
Akatosh, Chief of the Divines, the Father of Time, opened his golden eyes.
The planes of Aetherius pulsed around him—threads of fate, millions upon millions of them, unspooling through the mortal world below. Every breath of a mortal, every blink of a god, every scream of a Daedric Prince—all of them were woven into his endless tapestry. And for the first time in an age, it was fraying.
Rarely did Divines and Princes meddle so openly in mortal affairs. Rarer still did they speak to one another beyond their cryptic influences and manipulations. But now? Now, the stars themselves bent in anticipation. Mortals walked paths never before seen. The Pattern was... bleeding.
'And all because the last line of the prophecy had been fulfilled'.
Alduin, the World-Eater, had returned.
And the Last Dragonborn had risen to challenge him.
The ancient prophecy, etched into the Elder Scrolls by tongues long dead, had spoken of this battle. Victory would be achieved by the Dragonborn. But not without price. The ripple of such a clash would spill beyond Mundus, shaking even the outer planes. Nirn would become scarred—uninhabitable, some had claimed.
Initially, the Nine had agreed to remain aloof. Fate must take its course, they said. After all, they were its architects.
All but one.
Zenithar, the god of labor, of honest toil and spiritual reward, had stood against it.
"Letting the world perish after such devotion is a betrayal," he had said. His voice, rarely raised, had echoed even in the hollow halls of Oblivion.
They had rebuffed him—dismissed him.
Until he proclaimed a Champion.
Something that hadn't happened in eons. Not since Pelinal Whitestrake. Not since Tiber Septim.
At first, they watched out of divine curiosity. Gerron Ironbreaker—a mortal of no great renown—became the focus of their attention. Not because of power. But because of potential.
And when the man got entangled with the Dragonborn? When he stood against monsters and beasts and the threads of destiny itself?
Then the others began choosing Champions of their own, intrigued by the actions that Gerron Ironbreaker had shown. Skyrim became a cauldron, boiling with Divine and Daedric attention. Each seeking something. Each hoping to reshape the end.
But amid all the chaos, one remained silent.
Akatosh turned his will across the Aether, peering into the slivered edges of madness.
"Sheogorath," his voice thundered through dimensions, vibrating through entropy and order alike. "You have been oddly quiet."
There was a pause, and then—a ripple of laughter that came from nowhere and everywhere.
"Akatosh! Ol' buddy, ol' pal!" came the unmistakable trill of the Mad God. "To what do I owe the displeasure of this very punctual visit?"
"Your silence," the Dragon God replied. "It is worrying. When you are quiet, the plots you come up with are usually catastrophic."
"Hahaha! You always think the worst of me!" Sheogorath exclaimed cheerily. "But nooo~! Not this time! I'm not planning anything~!"
Akatosh stared flatly at the man who rules over the domain of chaos and insanity.
"Oh don't look at me like that!" Sheogorath giggled. "It's not like I'm the one at fault for the current circumstances! Why would I need to splurge when you Divines and Princes are doing it for me! Choosing champions all willy nilly. It makes me tingle!"
"You exaggerate." Akatosh narrowed his gaze. "I have seen the future timelines. None of them are—"
"Look again." Sheogorath gave him a knowing smile, resting his chin on his palm.
Akatosh froze.
A rare thing.
A moment passed in silence. Then two.
Then he saw it.
Hidden threads. Temporal blind spots. Entire offshoots of fate that did not exist yesterday. Realities bending in on themselves.
"You…" Akatosh said slowly, "you've done something."
"Moi?!" Sheogorath placed a hand over his chest with mock offense. "Blame your bestie Zenithar for that one. He started this domino dance with his little champion. Exactly what did he think would happen when he gave that mortal a gift as powerful as the Forge Eternal?"
Akatosh's eyes burned brighter.
"Okay okay! I may or may not have given things a teensy weensy shove." The Mad One twirled his cane.
"You were the one who set them on this path." Akatosh finally realized.
"You give me too much credit there." Sheogorath waved away. "All I did was give 'em a little nudge. You remember the fateful Battle at the Watchtower? Only one dragon was supposed to show up, yes?"
Akatosh nodded slowly. He remembered. One of Alduin's kin was meant to test the Dragonborn. In all the timelines, only Mirmulnir was ever supposed to appear.
"But two did," Sheogorath giggled. "I whispered to a certain winged friend called Silklovkul. Told him there was a sweet roll hidden beneath the tower."
"You nudged the World-Eater's spawn into battle..." Akatosh whispered.
"And look what happened!" Sheogorath grinned. "The Dragonborn and the Artificer joined forces! Just look at everything they've done so far! Ain't it fun?!"
"I see." Akatosh exhaled deeply, "Strength invites challenge, and Alduin grew stronger as a result."
"That's right! Strong enough to tear your tapestry. While his power has not quite reached the strength he once possessed in the Merethic Era, he grew something else in return. He no longer follows the timeline."
"The power to shatter the strings of fate itself." Akatosh exhaled deeply. "Though that means... he cannot see the future either."
"Bingo!" Sheogorath clapped once. "Like fighting blind in a room full of furniture made of knives!"
It was a double-edged sword.
Alduin's ability to devour fate meant he could now sidestep the predestined death Akatosh had foreseen. But it also meant he stumbled forward without guidance, as blind as the rest of them.
And in such a world... variables multiplied.
Variables like the Elder Scrolls—dangerous anomalies that even gods feared to meddle with.
Variables like Gerron Ironbreaker. Isran. Harkon Volkihar. Calixto. Aeranea Ienith. Karliah. And seemingly others who have yet to make a choice.
It was why the first thing Alduin tried to do when he got out of the time stream was to try and remove the Dragonborn so he would stand unchallenged. However, since Kiera Fendalyn had not yet awakened her abilities, Alduin merely had a direction instead of a target. The small town of Helgen burned as a result.
And the Dragonborn yet lived because of it.
"You see now why I haven't done much?" Sheogorath spread his arms, laughing in delight. "The world is already in chaos. Everything is so delightfully messy! All I need to do now is sit back and enjoy the show~."
"So you're not interested in raising your own Champion?" Akatosh questioned.
"Me? Please," the Mad God scoffed. "What would I do with a Champion? Tell them to wear a cheese hat and bark like a dog? The world already looks like one of my tea parties!"
Akatosh was silent for a long moment.
Then, with the slow pull of divine presence, he began to retreat from the conversation.
"Ta ta!" Sheogorath waved cheerily, disappearing into a cloud of butterflies and mead.
The Dragon God watched the rift in timelines spiral outward.
And as he faded into golden light, one thought lingered in his immortal mind—
'When the Prince of Madness is the most reasonable voice in existence... what does that say of the world?'
…
4E 202, Dreamscape
Gerron Ironbreaker
Gerron dreamed.
He floated weightlessly in a vast, endless night. Stars shimmered in every direction, their soft glow casting pale lights across his armorless form. It was peaceful—eerily so. No wind, no sound. Just the slow spinning of constellations and the rhythmic thrum of existence.
But then, one star grew larger. A pale blue one. It pulsed—once, twice—and then pulled him in.
Gerron didn't scream. There was no time to. One moment he was watching from afar, the next he was engulfed by it.
The world turned white. And then silence.
When the brilliance faded, he stood at the foot of a mountain-sized man. No, not a man—a being. He radiated power, but not the kind that crushed you with its weight. This presence was warm. Grounded. The being's skin looked sun-touched, and his long beard flowed with the slowness of eternity. His robes were simple, of deep orange and dusky blue, as if stitched from the skies of dawn and dusk.
The giant knelt, just enough for Gerron to meet the eyes that had seen empires rise and fall.
"What… is this?" Gerron whispered, still in awe of the sight before him.
The being smiled, voice like the rustle of wheat on the breeze. "You pray to me every morning, yet you do not know my face?"
"…Zenithar?" Gerron blinked.
"The one and the same." The god nodded once. "It is time we spoke, Champion."
Gerron's breath caught. Champion. He knew what he was, especially since the system told it to him. But to have it acknowledged like this… For this to even speak with one of the Nine was quite surreal.
"What's happening?" he asked, more grounded now. "Why am I here?"
Zenithar's tone turned serious. "Because the world as you know it nears its brink. Chaos stirs from the depths of Oblivion. The Divines have begun to act, and so have the Princes. Mundus is facing a crisis far larger than what Dagon attempted centuries past. Alduin stirs, and the Princes are choosing their champions."
Gerron furrowed his brow. "But what can I do?"
"You need to stop limiting yourself and think, my child." Zenithar said gently, but firmly. "You bear the Forge Eternal, a gift far beyond mortal comprehension. And yet you limit yourself to creating artifacts of mundane quality."
"What? But I—"
"Do not lie to yourself, nor to me." Zenithar gave him a piercing stare. "Be truthful, child. The power you wield scares you."
Gerron's fists clenched, breath growing unsteady. "I… It's not that simple."
'Scared? Was that what it was?' He thought to himself.
"Every tool, every weapon, every art. You carry within yourself to change the world as you know it. But you fear that power for the potential to be misused. " Zenithar's gaze hardened. "That is not a reason to do nothing. You hide behind limitations of your own making. Not because you are wise… but because you are afraid."
The words hit deeper than Gerron wanted to admit. Visions flashed across his mind; machines that could terraform the earth, armors that could defy the laws of gravity, constructs that could rival dragons.
The only thing limiting him is time and resources, and even that could be solved with the right schematic.
He'd looked at them all. And shelved them.
Because they scared him.
And because… deep down… he didn't believe he was worthy of wielding such power.
Zenithar continued. "You pray to me for strength, for guidance, for clarity. And now I give you all three. Embrace the Forge. Shape the world with your hands. Help it survive what is to come."
Gerron's breath steadied. Slowly, the fear ebbed—not gone, but no longer unchallenged.
"…Then I will," he said at last. "No more excuses. No more hesitation."
Zenithar smiled. A father's smile. Proud. Hopeful.
"I see your resolve has strengthened. You need nothing less to survive what is to come.I shall remain with you when I can. But if ever you are lost, seek my shrines. Speak my name. Remember, the truest worth of your craft lies not in what you make, but in why you make it."
Gerron bowed his head. "Thank you."
The world began to fade, the stars retreating into nothingness. A blue light pulsed one last time before giving way to darkness.
Then he woke.
His eyes flew open to the familiar ceiling of his chamber in the College of Winterhold. A breath caught in his throat.
A glint of steel.
His eyes widened as he instinctively rolled.
The dagger sliced through the air, aimed at where his throat had been not a heartbeat ago.
'Assassin!' His senses exploded into focus.
Above him, a figure garbed in shadows, raised the dagger for a second strike.
…
AN: Finally starting to show the cosmic aspect of this fic. We're entering a whole new stage of the story now. There shouldn't be that much left of Act 2 before we head on to Act 3!
Gerron meets Zenithar finally! A whole thirty chapters ish after being declared his champion. The end of the dream is followed by an Assassin wanting for his head. Fun.
More chapters on my Pat_reon! A whole 10 chapters ahead! Chapter 55 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!