The wind tore across the tundra like a thousand frozen blades, carrying the sharp scent of ice and stone. The sky was a dull, oppressive gray, as if Sovngarde itself had turned a blind eye to the mortal world. I had been retracing my steps from the College's outer wards, gathering components for the evening lecture, when a subtle disturbance in the snow caught my eye—something out of place, fragile against the white expanse.
At first, I dismissed it—a drift, or perhaps a trick of the lingering aurora shimmering faintly on the horizon. But no… there was shape there. Something alive.
I approached cautiously, robes whipping around my legs in the bitter gale. My fingers tingled, not from cold, but from the weave of magicka humming faintly beneath my skin. I murmured the incantation under my breath, letting the warmth of the spell ripple outward like the faint pulse of a heart.
"By the Eight…" I whispered, narrowing my focus. Decades of study sharpened my mind. The aura was mortal. Alive, though perilously so. Exposure to the northern winds this long… she could not survive much longer.
Kneeling in the snow, I traced a subtle circle of warding, the faint glow shimmering across the frozen drifts. A fragile warmth wrapped around her, enough to slow the frost from claiming her limbs. She was tiny against the vast, indifferent tundra, her body stiff, pale, trembling. Her clothes were strange, unlike anything I had seen in Winterhold—but that detail could wait. Survival came first.
"Fear not, child," I murmured, voice low but resolute. The wind tore at us, but I kept the words steady, a tether against the storm. "You are found. Winter's grasp shall not claim you tonight."
With the gentlest levitation, I lifted her as one might cradle a fledgling frostbite-bound hatchling. Each movement was deliberate, careful. Magicka flared around her, invisible yet potent, shielding her fragile body from the ice that sought to pierce it. My fingers stung from the cold, but I barely noticed—my focus was absolute.
Halfway back to the College walls, her eyelids fluttered, and a faint, shivering sigh escaped her lips. I murmured another charm, letting the magic coil around her like a living cocoon of warmth.
"Steady now," I whispered, voice a tether in the storm. "You have only fallen prey to Skyrim's winds. But you shall live, by my word… and by the mercy of the Eight."
By the time we reached the outer gate, her breathing had steadied, faint warmth returning to her fingers and toes. The wards I maintained carried her safely beyond the College threshold, and the stone walls swallowed her from the wind's relentless bite. Hearth and sanctuary awaited.
I placed her gently upon a prepared cot in the Hall of the Elements, chanting restorative enchantments as I monitored her pulse. Slowly, deliberately, color returned to her cheeks, her chest rising and falling with a steadier rhythm. Though Winterhold's snows raged outside, she would awaken.
The faint scent of warmed stone and simmering stew filled the room. The girl stirred beneath the blankets, eyelids fluttering as if fighting against the remnants of the cold that still clung to her bones.
I adjusted the ward of warmth, making sure it was steady but gentle. Then I stepped closer, clearing my throat softly so as not to startle her.
"Ah… there you are," I said, my voice a mixture of relief and quiet scholarly admonition. "You have finally returned to consciousness. Do not be alarmed—you are safe. Winterhold, and more specifically the College, shall keep you from the snow's cruel grasp."
She blinked, confusion swimming in her gaze, and I offered the faintest of smiles, though I feared it looked more like a grimace of concern.
"I am Tolfdir," I continued, settling onto the edge of the cot. "You were… fortunate. The northern winds are merciless, and had you lingered any longer, I fear Sovngarde itself might have claimed you."
Her lips parted, a weak sound escaping, and I quickly interjected, "No need to speak just yet. Rest and warmth are more pressing. You will have time to explain yourself once your body has thawed and regained its strength."
I gestured to the window. Outside, the ruins of Winterhold sprawled across the tundra, half-swallowed by snow. "Do you see? That wasteland you were wandering… it is Winterhold, or what remains of it. The Great Collapse claimed much, but what you see beyond these walls is the endurance of this land—and of those who study the arcane arts here."
She tried to sit up, shivering, and I quickly placed a hand under her elbow, steadying her. "Do not strain yourself. One step at a time, as I am sure you have learned from experience—albeit a harsh lesson of the north wind."
I paused, glancing down at her still-faltering frame. "For now, eat, rest, and regain your strength. Once you are able, I will introduce you properly to the College… and perhaps to some of its more intimidating denizens, though you need not concern yourself with them immediately."
I leaned back slightly, hands folded in my lap, feeling the lingering chill in my robes. "And perhaps… consider yourself fortunate that your first encounter with Winterhold was not entirely alone. Few survive the cold without intervention—and few are found by those who know how to temper the frost with magic."
Her eyes lingered on mine, still foggy with cold and exhaustion, but I knew that by morning, she would understand. And by morning, Winterhold would seem less a barren wasteland and more a place of cautious sanctuary.