I returned to Whiterun just as the afternoon sun dipped behind the Gildergreen, casting long golden shadows across the stone walls. The wind carried the mixed scents of hay, iron, and cooked meat—Whiterun's usual, oddly comforting blend.
This time, the guards standing by the gate straightened when they saw me. Their helmets hid their expressions, but their posture said enough. Recognition. Wariness. A hint of respect.
"Let him through," one murmured to the other. "He's the one who took out the bandits up north."
I hadn't even told them yet. Skyrim's rumor mill truly deserved its own magic school.
Once the heavy gate thudded shut behind me, I headed toward Dragonsreach. The grand hall towered over the city, its wooden beams catching the light like the ribs of some ancient beast. As I pushed open the heavy doors, a wave of warm air—firewood, roasted meat, and incense—washed over me.
Inside, Jarl Balgruuf sat on his throne, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, like a man perpetually waiting for bad news. His steward, Proventus Avenicci, stood a step beside him, hands clasped behind his back in that stiff, bureaucratic way that screamed civil servant even in a world without paperwork.
I stopped a respectful distance, straightened my back, and gave a small bow—palms together and head dipped.
"Forgive me for disturbing your time, my Jarl."
Balgruuf tilted his head slightly, studying me. His eyebrow rose, just a little. "Who are you, and what business do you have with me?"
"My name is Alex," I said calmly, though my heart thumped against my ribs. "I came to inform you that the bandit camp to the north—Halted Stream Camp—has been cleared."
Proventus blinked, visibly surprised. Balgruuf turned toward him.
"Proventus, is there truly a bandit camp to the north?"
"Yes, my Jarl," Proventus replied, adjusting his robes nervously. "I was actually preparing to post a bounty for its removal. But since this young man has already dealt with it…" He glanced at me, almost incredulous. "…the bounty is no longer necessary."
Balgruuf leaned back on his throne, tapping a finger on the armrest. "I see. Then it is unfortunate the bounty was never officially posted, and you cannot claim the reward." His stern expression softened, just a fraction. "However… I am not a petty ruler. Tell me—what do you want as compensation?"
I didn't hesitate.
"I wish to be allowed to trade freely with Farengar, your court mage."
Balgruuf's brows knitted. "That is all?"
"Yes, my Jarl."
His lips tugged into a faint, approving smile. "Very well. He is to the left of the Main Hall. You may speak with him."
I bowed once more. "Thank you, my Jarl."
Turning away, I headed toward Farengar's wing. The moment I stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted completely—like stepping into a pocket of another world.
The air was thick with the scent of crushed herbs, burning oils, and something distinctly arcane—sharp, metallic, almost electric. Candles flickered in strange colors, casting dancing shadows across shelves overloaded with scrolls, crystals, and ingredients I couldn't even begin to name. The soft hum of magic resonated from the enchanting table, its glyphs glowing faintly like breathing embers.
Farengar hunched over an alchemy table, muttering to himself while stirring a bubbling green concoction. His mage robes were slightly crooked, ink stains dotted his sleeves, and the air around him felt… heavier, as if knowledge itself chose to orbit him.
Exactly the kind of man who would forget to eat for three days because he discovered a new rune.
He didn't turn as I approached, but his eyes flicked toward me—sharp, curious, and glinting with that unique brand of mage-like impatience.
"Hello, sir. I've been granted permission to meet with you," I said as I stepped closer.
Farengar finally lifted his head. His eyes—sharp, tired, and glowing faintly with that mage-who-sleeps-two-hours-a-day intensity—narrowed as he examined me. His gaze traveled from my face to my hands, then paused somewhere around my chest, as if he were sensing something inside me rather than looking at me.
"Oh?" His lips curled slightly, intrigued. "Hmm… you possess a rather high degree of Conjuration skill, it seems."
I stiffened. "How in the world did he—"
Right. Mage senses. Skyrim logic.
"I do," I admitted. "I'd like to trade with you… and if possible, learn enchanting from you."
Farengar brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear, his movements precise and slightly impatient, like he had a dozen experiments waiting for him. "Very well. I can teach you."
His tone was casual, but the air around him vibrated faintly, responding to his excitement. He may have tried to sound indifferent, but the man clearly loved magic the way a blacksmith loved steel.
I approached the enchanting table. The surface glowed with pale blue runes, shifting like living veins under glass. The faint hum filled my ears, almost like a heartbeat. The scent of hot metal, burned herbs, and old paper blended into a strange, comforting warmth.
Enchanting worked almost exactly like the game.
Break an enchanted item, learn the enchantment permanently. No going back.
As I absorbed several enchantments, my fingertips tingled with static energy. It crawled up my arms, leaving faint pinpricks of warmth beneath my skin.
To craft enchantments, I needed filled soul gems—so I bought several empty ones. Farengar handed them over with a strange look, as if silently judging me for clearly preparing to slaughter something.
Then I purchased spellbooks: Bound Sword, Bound Bow, Conjure Flame Atronach.
As I flipped through their pages, purple-tinged light rose from the ink, dancing around my fingers. Every spellbook felt heavier than it looked, humming with power waiting to be claimed.
I absorbed them quickly, one after another.
Bound Sword. My pulse warmed.
Bound Bow. My vision shimmered for a moment.
Flame Atronach. A faint spark danced in the air before vanishing.
Then came the perk allocation, a translucent interface only I could see. Points pulsed softly like stars in the void. I touched each perk, and the sensation flowed through me like water made of lightning.
Then came the perk allocation. For Conjuration:
Novice Conjuration: novice spells cost half MagickaApprentice Conjuration: same for apprentice spellsMystic Binding (5 points (max)): bound weapons deal +100% damageSoul Stealer: bound weapon attacks automatically apply Soul Trap
Eight perk points spent. With 18 total level ups, I still had ten left.
I allocated for sneak:
Stealth (1), 20% become harder to detect while sneaking
Archer:
One perk to Bow Overdraw, increasing bow damage by 20%
Enchanting:
One perk to basic Enchanting, boosting enchant power by 20%
While I optimized my build, Farengar began talking to a woman near the far bookcase. I caught a glimpse of her—a sharp gaze, confident posture, and a cloak that looked like it had seen too many secret missions.
Delphine.
Had to be.
Their voices were low, urgent. Something about "patterns," "sightings," and "the throat of the world trembling again."
Yeah. Definitely Blades business.
I didn't pry. I was too deep in the satisfying glow of character progression, the quiet hum of magic, and the soft flicker of candles reflecting off potion vials.
That's when—
"Hey, Alex. We meet again."
My breath hitched—not from fear, but from unexpected relief.
Astrid stood in the doorway, framed by warm orange light from the hall torches. Her hair was slightly windswept, cheeks flushed from running… and her eyes softened the moment they landed on me.
For a second, the tension in my shoulders melted.
She came back. Already.
Our separation really didn't last long. And somehow… that made my chest feel a little lighter.
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