If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Aerion stepped back from the bookshelves, his chest heaving slightly as his physical brain processed the astronomical influx of raw, unfiltered magical knowledge. He closed his eyes, centering his breathing, feeling the terrifying, absolute power coursing through his expanded Magicka pathways.
The sheer, unprecedented volume of academic knowledge flooding into Aerion's consciousness triggered a massive, cascading chain reaction within his system interface.
He had just absorbed the fundamental matrices, geometric weaves, and theoretical foundations of nearly every recognized school of magic in Tamriel in a matter of minutes.
The system struggled to process the sheer density of the data, but his Fast Skill Levelling perk aggressively forced the integration.
A rapid, blinding sequence of golden text exploded across his vision.
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 67!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 68!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 69!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 70!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 71!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 72!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 73!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 74!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 75!]
Nine consecutive level ups. Nine unallocated attribute points sitting in his mental reservoir, waiting to be spent.
Aerion closed his eyes, leaning his back slightly against the towering oak bookshelf to steady himself. He needed to distribute the raw, cosmic energy carefully to maintain the perfect, lethal equilibrium of his Altmer vessel.
He directed the first two points into his physical constitution.
[Health increased by 20! Current Health: 350/350]
A sudden, intense surge of pure, warm vitality rushed through his veins. His heartbeat slowed to a deep, powerful, rhythmic thud. The residual, freezing ache in his joints from the brutal ride through the Pale evaporated instantly, replaced by the feeling of absolute, peak physical perfection.
Next, he allocated four points directly into his endurance.
[Stamina increased by 40! Current Stamina: 350/350]
[Maximum Carry Weight increased by 20 KG!]
His muscle fibers coiled tighter beneath his skin, growing denser and vastly more efficient without adding unnecessary, bulky mass that would compromise his agility. His lung capacity expanded, drawing in the dry, parchment-scented air of the library with effortless ease. Simultaneously, he saw the boundaries of his spatial void, the invisible, dimensional pocket anchored to his soul, stretch and expand as his maximum capacity grew to 475 kilograms.
Finally, he pushed the remaining three attribute points into his arcane core.
[Magicka increased by 30! Current Magicka: 480/480]
The sensation was akin to standing beneath a freezing, crystalline waterfall. A cold, absolute clarity washed over his mind. He could actually feel the internal well of his Magicka pool deepen and widen, the raw, swirling blue energy within him becoming incredibly refined, dense, and eager to be unleashed. The restrictive ceiling of his mortal limits had been violently shattered and rebuilt higher.
This brief, hyper focused "study tour" had been profoundly, undeniably worthwhile. He was now a walking arcane armory.
Just as Aerion let out a long, deeply satisfied breath, the harsh, grating sound of heavy boots on stone broke his concentration.
"Do you find the accumulated knowledge of our ancestors unworthy of your attention, Elf?"
The voice was deep, rough, and dripping with profound insult. Aerion didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. The heavy, musky scent of old leather and Orcish sweat gave it away.
Aerion slowly opened his eyes and turned. Urag gro-Shub was standing at the end of the aisle, his massive arms crossed over his barrel chest, his prominent lower tusks jutting out aggressively. The Orc Librarian looked absolutely furious.
"I have been watching you from my desk," Urag growled, stepping closer, his heavy gaze tracking the shelves Aerion had just run his hands across. "You flip past the spines, you touch the covers, you open the tomes for a fraction of a second, and then you shove them back onto the shelves. You read like a bored, illiterate child wandering through a market."
Urag took another intimidating step forward, looming over the High Elf. "I find your absolute lack of scholarly respect highly insulting. What, are the texts housed within these walls not sophisticated enough for your refined tastes? I hate to break it to you, but this isn't the Summerset Isles. We don't read books simply to admire the binding."
Aerion immediately understood the librarian's outrage. To an outside observer, Aerion's system assisted absorption process looked exactly like a disrespectful, arrogant noble casually skimming and dismissing priceless, ancient texts.
Aerion immediately deployed his most polite, disarming smile, completely neutralizing any hint of defensiveness in his posture.
"My deepest apologies, Master Urag, if my methods appeared dismissive," Aerion replied smoothly, his tone respectful and utterly calm. "I assure you, I hold the contents of this library in the highest possible regard. I was not discarding the texts as unworthy. Rather, I am currently engaged in a comprehensive survey of your archives."
Aerion gestured gracefully toward the sprawling rows of bookshelves. "Before I commit myself to a specific, intensive path of study, I always find it necessary to look over the titles, the authors, and the brief introductions of the available literature. I simply wanted to map out exactly what the Arcanaeum has to offer before I select a specific book to sit down with and truly internalize."
Urag's heavy, scarred brow furrowed. He stared at the High Elf, his suspicious gaze searching Aerion's face for any sign of mockery. The explanation was highly unusual, but it was academically sound. A true scholar wouldn't just grab the first book they saw, they would survey the field first.
Urag let out a loud, wet snort, though the homicidal edge had left his voice.
"A comprehensive survey," Urag mocked dryly, uncrossing his arms. "Well, you have been pacing through my aisles since you arrived, and you have finally reached the end of the Conjuration section. Your survey is complete. So tell me, Elf... what specific book have you deemed worthy of actually reading?"
Aerion nodded his head in graceful concession. "Indeed, I have reached a decision."
He turned back to the shelf, his eyes scanning the thick spines. He reached out and pulled down a heavy, leather bound volume detailing the theoretical hazards of crossing the Oblivion threshold, alongside a much thinner, practical spellbook titled Summon Familiar.
He held the two books up for the Orc to inspect. "I believe I will begin my practical studies with the foundational mechanics of spiritual tethering and minor entity summoning."
Urag looked at the books, then back to Aerion. He gave a slow, firm nod of approval. The choice was a solid, grounded starting point for any mage looking to delve into the dark arts.
"A wise choice. Read them carefully. Conjuration is not a school that forgives sloppy execution," Urag warned, his tone shifting from angry tyrant to strict teacher. "Good luck, Apprentice."
With that, the massive Orc turned on his heel and lumbered back toward his elevated central desk, his watchful eyes already scanning the other students in the room.
Aerion let out a silent, internal sigh of profound relief, gently shaking his head. Urag gro-Shub truly saw every single thing that happened within the Arcanaeum. One had to wonder if the Orc possessed some form of clairvoyant magic, or if he had quite literally enchanted the books to act as his own personal network of spies.
Regardless of how Urag did it, Aerion's bluff had boxed him into a corner. He couldn't just put the books back and leave immediately, that would instantly reignite the Orc's suspicion. He actually had to sit down and read.
Resigning himself to the tedious charade, Aerion walked over to one of the heavy, polished oak reading tables nestled between two towering bookshelves. He sat down in a high backed wooden chair and opened the thick theoretical text.
Lupin, who had been following Aerion through the aisles with eager curiosity, let out a long, incredibly dramatic sigh. The fox collapsed onto the intricately woven rug beneath the table, resting his chin heavily on his front paws. For a creature of the wild, a silent library was the absolute height of boredom.
Aerion spent the next thirty minutes turning the parchment pages at a slow, methodical, entirely human pace. It was a torturous exercise in patience. Every single word, every complex magical diagram, and every theoretical warning printed in the book was already perfectly, permanently seared into his brain by the system. He was essentially reading a child's primer on an alphabet he had already mastered.
Finally, judging that he had spent an acceptable, academically appropriate amount of time studying, Aerion closed the tomes. He stood up, carefully returned the books to their exact, original positions on the shelf, ensuring the spines were perfectly aligned to avoid Urag's wrath, and gestured for his familiar.
"Come, Lupin. Let us stretch our legs," Aerion murmured.
The fox leaped up instantly, his bushy tail wagging in sheer relief.
Aerion left the quiet, scholarly sanctuary of the Arcanaeum, pushing through the heavy wooden doors and descending the curved stone stairs back into the grand antechamber of the central keep.
As he approached the wide, open archway leading into the Hall of Elements, a pair of distinct voices echoed out from the massive, glowing room.
Aerion paused just outside the archway, utilizing his enhanced Altmer hearing to eavesdrop.
Standing near the edge of the swirling, blue magical well in the center of the hall were two figures.
The first was an elderly Dunmer with dark, ash gray skin, heavily lined with the weight of decades of stress. He wore the sweeping, highly ornate, multi layered robes of the Arch-Mage. It was Savos Aren. He looked incredibly tired, rubbing his temples as if trying to physically ward off an impending migraine.
The second figure was a stark, jarring contrast. He was a tall, sharp featured High Elf, standing with a posture of absolute, unbending arrogance. He was clad in the sleek, immaculate, black and gold hooded robes of the Aldmeri Dominion.
It was Ancano.
Aerion leaned silently against the cold stone wall, keeping himself perfectly concealed in the shadows of the antechamber, and listened intently to the political sparring.
"This passive stance of yours is entirely unacceptable, Arch-Mage," Ancano was saying, his voice a smooth, cold sneer dripping with thinly veiled condescension. "The hostility of the local Nordic populace is escalating daily. I have received reports of our apprentices being verbally assaulted simply for purchasing supplies in the town square. As an official advisor to this institution, I strongly suggest you implement significantly harsher protocols. We must make it abundantly clear to these racist barbarians that the College will not tolerate their insolence."
Savos Aren let out a heavy, exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had clearly had this exact argument a dozen times before.
"Your concerns are noted, Ancano," Savos replied, his tone laced with forced diplomacy and profound weariness. "And I assure you, the safety of my students is my absolute highest priority. I will issue a formal missive to the Jarl of Winterhold. We will make a firm, official stance demanding that the town guard ensure the members of this College are not disturbed while conducting their business."
Aerion, listening from the shadows, almost scoffed aloud. It was a masterful, utterly hollow political deflection.
Aerion knew exactly who Savos Aren was. The Arch-Mage was a coward, deeply traumatized by the loss of his friends in Labyrinthian decades ago. Savos was an absolute pacifist who would go to any length to avoid direct confrontation or conflict.
He would write a strongly worded letter to the Jarl, but he would absolutely never authorize the mages to defend themselves or strike back against the town.
Savos would do nothing to change the status quo, and his passive negligence would eventually lead directly to his own gruesome death when Ancano inevitably seized control of the Eye of Magnus.
'The Eye of Magnus,' Aerion thought, his mind rapidly shifting from the pathetic politics of the Arch-Mage to the cosmic, world breaking artifact currently buried deep within the ruins of Saarthal.
The Eye was a source of infinite, raw magical power. It was an artifact so dangerous that it threatened to unmake the entire world if handled improperly. In the original timeline, Ancano attempts to use it to achieve godhood, leading to the destruction of the College and the intervention of the Psijic Order.
A sudden, highly ambitious thought struck Aerion.
What if he simply stole it?
If his dimensional inventory wasn't bound by a strict physical weight limit, he could theoretically walk into Saarthal, touch the massive, floating magical sphere, and instantly shunt the entire artifact into his spatial void. No one else would ever know it existed. He would have absolute, uncontested control over one of the most powerful batteries in the universe.
But reality quickly crashed down on his ambitions. The Eye of Magnus was massive, it likely weighed tons. It would instantly exceed his current 475 KG carrying capacity.
Furthermore, even if he could somehow increase his capacity to hold it, stealing the Eye would instantly draw the terrifying, omniscient attention of the Psijic Order. Those monks existed outside of time itself, they would know exactly what he had done, and they would hunt him down.
No, he needed to play the long game. He needed to let the events play out exactly as they were destined to, allowing Ancano to expose the artifact to the world.
Then, in the ensuing chaos, Aerion could step in, neutralize the Thalmor threat, claim the title of Arch-Mage, and secure the Staff of Magnus, an artifact that was light enough to easily fit into his inventory.
Deciding that he had heard enough pathetic political stalling, Aerion pushed off the wall and stepped smoothly through the archway, intending to simply walk across the Hall of Elements and exit the building.
He didn't make it five steps.
"You there."
The voice was sharp, commanding, and laced with immediate, inherent suspicion.
Aerion stopped. He slowly turned around.
Ancano had broken off his conversation with the Arch-Mage and was staring directly at Aerion. The Thalmor agent's pale green eyes narrowed as they raked over Aerion's tall frame, his golden skin, and his immaculate, unmarked dark robes.
Aerion offered a polite, deeply respectful bow, playing the part of a humble student flawlessly. "Is there something I can assist you with, sir?"
Ancano took a slow, deliberate step toward him, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of assumed authority. "I have not seen your face within these walls before. Nor do you wear the standard robes of this institution. Are you a newly arrived apprentice?"
"I am," Aerion nodded politely, his voice calm and melodic. "I arrived just this morning and successfully passed the entrance examination."
Ancano's sharp features softened just a fraction, a glint of arrogant, racial solidarity flashing in his eyes.
"Well, well," Ancano murmured, a cold, thin smile touching his lips. "This is certainly a rarity. It is the first time since my arrival that I have seen a fellow High Elf lower themselves to become a mere apprentice in this... place."
Ancano glanced dismissively over his shoulder at the Arch-Mage, before turning his full, condescending attention back to Aerion. "I must say, brother, I believe you have made a rather poor choice in your academic pursuits. Back home in the Summerset Isles, we possess academies of magic that dwarf this freezing ruin in both scope and majesty."
"It is frankly beneath a Mer of your obvious standing to study in a college that so freely accepts the lesser, unrefined races of men and beasts, creatures who barely possess the mental capacity to comprehend the arcane, let alone wield it."
It was a blatant, highly offensive test of political alignment. Ancano expected the new High Elf to immediately agree with his supremacist rhetoric, establishing a bond of Thalmor solidarity.
Aerion did not take the bait. He maintained his polite, unshakeable smile, but his golden eyes hardened with absolute, unyielding academic conviction.
"I must respectfully disagree with your assessment, sir," Aerion replied smoothly, his voice echoing clearly through the massive hall. "I did not travel to Skyrim to surround myself with the familiar comforts of the Summerset Isles. I came here to broaden my knowledge."
Aerion gestured casually around the Hall of Elements. "I find the varied affinities of the mortal races to be a fascinating study in arcane diversity. By observing how a Nord channels Destruction through raw emotion, or how a Khajiit weaves Illusion through subtlety, I gain a much deeper, more holistic understanding of how magic interacts with the soul. There are many paths to uncovering the absolute mysteries of the arcane. Closing one's eyes to the methods of others is the death of true scholarship."
Ancano froze. His thin, aristocratic smile completely vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated fury. He gritted his perfectly straight teeth, his pale green eyes burning with sudden hatred.
He had not expected this. He had expected a sycophant, a loyalist to the Aldmeri cause. Instead, he had found another rogue element, another High Elf who completely rejected the Thalmor ideology, just like the infuriating Gatekeeper, Faralda.
Ancano opened his mouth, preparing to deliver a scathing, highly threatening rebuke regarding Aerion's lack of loyalty to his own blood.
Before the Thalmor agent could speak a single word, the Arch-Mage finally stepped forward, placing himself physically between the two High Elves.
"That is quite enough, Ancano," Savos Aren interjected, his voice surprisingly firm, carrying the absolute authority of his position for the first time in the conversation. "Do not cause trouble for our newest apprentice on his very first day. We encourage a diversity of thought within these walls."
Savos then turned his back completely on the furious Thalmor spy, facing Aerion with a warm, apologetic smile that didn't quite reach his tired eyes.
"Please forgive my associate, Ancano," Savos said, his tone kind and welcoming. "He has a habit of... imposing his highly rigid worldview upon others. His behavior was rude, and I apologize."
Savos extended a weathered, ash gray hand. "I am Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. It is a pleasure to meet a student with such an open, philosophical approach to magic. And what might your name be, young man?"
Aerion took the Arch-Mage's hand, offering a respectful bow of his head. "The pleasure is entirely mine, Arch-Mage. My name is Aerion."
"Well, Aerion, welcome to the College," Savos greeted him warmly, releasing his grip. "You have a long, fascinating journey ahead of you. I see no reason to keep you standing here any longer. You are free to go and do whatever you wish. Familiarize yourself with the grounds, and may your studies be fruitful."
"Thank you, Arch-Mage. I shall take my leave," Aerion replied gracefully.
Without sparing a single glance back at the seething Thalmor agent, Aerion turned and walked out of the Hall of Elements, Lupin trotting happily at his side.
As the heavy wooden doors closed behind him, Aerion's polite smile vanished, replaced by a look of cold, calculating certainty.
He had just made a highly visible, incredibly dangerous enemy. Ancano was paranoid, deeply arrogant, and absolutely ruthless. By publicly rejecting his supremacist ideology in front of the Arch-Mage, Aerion knew with absolute certainty that he had just painted a massive target on his own back.
'Ancano will definitely be a thorn in my side, Aerion thought to himself, striding across the snowy courtyard. He is going to make life miserable for every apprentice in this college. But out of everyone here... I am now firmly at the absolute top of his watchlist.'
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 350/350 Stamina: 350/350 Magicka: 450/450 Level: 66 ➝ 75
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+1)/Lightning/Frost) (Level 18/79/20), Restoration (Healing/Purify) (Level 49/16), Alteration (Level 22), Alteration (Level 4), Illusion (Level 25), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning) (Level 21/24) - NEW, Persuasion (Level 85), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 26), One Handed (Level 67), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 23), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 19), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 60), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Steel Dagger, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, Iron Shield, Steel Mace, Steel Warhammer, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Steel Dagger of Minor Souls, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Ancient Nord Bow, Dragonstone, Ancient Nord Battleaxe Of Blaze, & Potion of Minor Pickpocketing
2x Iron Mace, Steel Axe, Steel Greatsword, & Lockpicks
3x Iron Greatsword, Steel Sword, Scroll Of Fireball, Glowing Mushrooms, & Potions of Minor Stamina
4x Potions of Minor Magicka & Spider Eggs
5x Lesser Soul Gem
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 109.07 KG / 475 KG
Septims = 54,872