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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Lydia immediately raised her ebony shield, her dark eyes filled with conflicting loyalties and deep concern, while Jenassa dropped into a wary crouch, her hands hovering near her daggers. Aerion instantly snapped out of his shock, realizing exactly how his laughter had sounded. He lowered his hand, quickly closing his fist to obscure the glowing sphere, and held his other hand up in a placating gesture.
"Peace, Master Tolfdir. Stand down, Lydia," Aerion commanded, his voice returning to its smooth, composed, highly rational cadence. He reached up and pulled the mask of Krosis off his face, allowing them to see his calm, golden eyes.
"I sincerely apologize for frightening you," Aerion reassured them smoothly, projecting absolute sanity. "I assure you, I am still entirely myself. My mind is my own."
Tolfdir remained tense, his eyes locked on the High Elf's face, searching for any sign of possession or madness. "Then what happened, Aerion? Why did it change? Why did you laugh?"
Aerion offered a highly believable, scholarly explanation, smoothly integrating the truth into a manageable lie.
"When I touched the surface of the artifact, it suddenly tethered itself to my magicka pool," Aerion explained, holding his open palm up so they could see the miniature Eye. "The connection caused the massive discharge of light you witnessed. It appears the artifact possesses an inherent defense mechanism, it compressed its physical form to accommodate the bond."
He offered a self deprecating, slightly embarrassed smile.
"As for the laughter... I must confess, it was purely academic shock," Aerion lied flawlessly. "The absolute moment the artifact connected to my mind, the flow of its ambient magicka illuminated several highly complex problems in my own destruction research that I have struggled to solve for years. The sudden, overwhelming clarity simply caught me off guard. I apologize for my lack of decorum."
Tolfdir slowly relaxed his posture, letting out a long, shaky breath. He stepped closer, peering at the miniature sphere and then up at Aerion's face. The High Elf was calm, eloquent, and perfectly composed. There was no sign of the frantic, rambling mania that usually accompanied Daedric possession.
"I see," Tolfdir murmured, wiping his brow. "Well... I suppose if the artifact has somehow chosen you, or accepted you as its bearer, there is little we can do to reverse the process here in the dark."
The old master looked at the glowing orb, a mix of intense curiosity and deep caution in his eyes.
"I do not pretend to understand why it reacted to you specifically," Tolfdir admitted quietly. He looked at Aeloria's retainers. "Perhaps your role as the companion to the Dragonborn... your involvement with the ancient beasts... perhaps even the will of the Divines themselves has placed you in a position where you will require this power to survive what is coming to Skyrim."
Aerion nodded thoughtfully, neither confirming nor denying the hypothesis.
"However," Tolfdir pressed, his tone turning serious, "I ask that you promise me this, Aerion. Whenever you encounter something connected to this artifact, or whenever you require assistance in understanding its nature or managing its flow... you will allow me to study it, or at least discuss the theoretical principles with you."
"You have my absolute word, Master Tolfdir," Aerion promised with a warm, genuine smile. "Whatever reason led this artifact to my hand, I will treat its power with the utmost caution. And I will seek your counsel regarding its properties."
With the crisis averted and the academic boundaries set, Aerion closed his gauntleted hand over the miniature Eye of Magnus. He did not simply slide it into his pocket. He mentally engaged his transmigrator System, and the glowing sphere instantly vanished into his boundless, dimensional inventory with no weight added whatsoever, ensuring absolutely no one else could accidentally interact with it or steal it while he slept.
"Let us leave this place," Aerion declared, replacing the bronze mask over his face. "We have lingered in the dark long enough."
The group turned their backs on the empty abyss and began the long, arduous trek back up through the winding, ancient corridors of Saarthal.
The return journey was relatively quiet. They retraced their steps, navigating the open gates and shattered walls they had left in their wake. Aerion anchored the front, his heavy greatsword resting on his shoulder, while Lydia and Jenassa maintained a vigilant watch on the flanks.
The silence allowed the group to process the monumental events of the past hour. Tolfdir muttered quietly to himself, lost in a whirlwind of magical theories regarding spatial compression and artifact tethering.
Aerion, however, remained outwardly vigilant while his mind raced with the enormous, terrifying implications of his new reality. He was now effectively a god of magic, limited only by his physical durability. His entire geopolitical strategy for Skyrim had just shifted from a careful, calculated game of chess into something vastly more direct.
When they finally climbed the last set of wooden stairs and emerged back into the massive, magically lit entrance hall, they were met by Arniel Gane and the three apprentices.
"Master Tolfdir! Aerion!" Arniel called out, rushing forward, his face pale with anxiety. "You were gone for hours! We heard explosions deep in the ruins. What in the name of Julianos did you find down there?"
Aerion stepped forward, smoothly taking control of the narrative before Tolfdir could mention the Eye.
"We found exactly what we expected to find, Arniel," Aerion reported, his voice a calm, metallic rumble. "We encountered heavy resistance. Dozens of Draugr and several heavily armored Scourges holding the lower choke points. We fought our way through the central crypts and eventually reached the final burial chamber."
Aerion paused, adding the dramatic weight required to satisfy the scholars. "There, we encountered the primary guardian. It was a brutal engagement, but we were victorious."
Arniel's eyes widened eagerly. "A primary guardian? Who was it?"
"It was Jyrik Gauldurson," Aerion stated bluntly.
Arniel Gane physically staggered backward, his jaw dropping in absolute shock. As a seasoned historian, he knew exactly the weight of that name. "Gauldurson? Here?! By the Divines... that means the legends of the First Era were true! You fought one of the Betrayers!"
The three apprentices exchanged confused glances.
"Who is Jyrik Gauldurson?" Onmund asked, scratching his head. "I've never heard of him."
Before Aerion could answer, Tolfdir stepped forward. The old master's eyes twinkled with a sudden, mischievous academic spark. He had just survived a death trap, and he was eager to return to his pedagogical duties.
"That, Onmund, is an excellent question," Tolfdir smiled, clasping his hands behind his back. "You only need to know that he was an exceptionally powerful, incredibly dangerous figure from our ancient past. As for the rest... I believe that sounds like an excellent topic for your next assignment."
The three apprentices groaned in unison.
"When we return to the College," Tolfdir instructed cheerfully, entirely ignoring their complaints, "you three are to proceed directly to the Arcaneum. You will research the history of Archmage Gauldur, his three sons, and the events that led to their erasure from the historical record. I expect a full report by the end of the week."
"We almost get eaten by ice wolves, and our reward is more homework," Brelyna muttered miserably, kicking a small stone across the floor.
Even Aerion couldn't help a soft chuckle at the sheer, mundane normalcy of the punishment following the apocalyptic discovery below.
"I believe it is time we return to the surface," Tolfdir announced, turning toward the heavy entrance doors. "The hour grows late, and I fear the blizzard has only worsened."
They climbed the final wooden ramps, pushing open the heavy doors and stepping back out into the freezing, howling abyss of the Saarthal crater. The journey back to Winterhold was grueling. The sun had long since set, plunging the tundra into absolute darkness, illuminated only by the faint, dancing light of Tolfdir's floating magical orbs.
Aerion, Lydia, and Jenassa maintained a tight, protective perimeter around the exhausted mages, but the local wildlife, perhaps sensing the overwhelming magical predator walking among them, kept a wide berth.
By the time the ruined, snow-covered walls of Winterhold appeared in the gloom, it was deep into the night.
They reached the Frozen Hearth inn.
"Go inside," Aerion ordered his retainers, his voice gentle despite the metallic distortion. "Get a hot meal and sleep. You have both fought exceptionally well today. The intelligence gathering can wait until tomorrow."
Lydia and Jenassa, both shivering violently despite the ambient heat spells, nodded gratefully and slipped into the warmth of the tavern.
Aerion turned and accompanied Tolfdir and the complaining apprentices across the treacherous stone bridge, entering the quiet, imposing courtyard of the College of Winterhold.
Tolfdir dismissed the students immediately, sending them scurrying toward the Hall of Attainment to sleep off the freezing cold.
Once they were alone in the courtyard, the howling wind masking their conversation, Tolfdir turned to the High Elf.
"We should proceed directly to the Arch-Mage's quarters," Tolfdir said quietly, rubbing his hands together. "Arch-Mage Savos Aren must be informed of what happened at Saarthal."
Aerion agreed with a nod, but he stopped walking, posing the most critical question of the night.
"And what exactly shall we tell him regarding the Eye of Magnus?" Aerion asked softly.
Tolfdir paused, his brow furrowing as he weighed his academic duty against the terrifying political realities Aerion had outlined in the crypt. The old mage looked up at the towering spires of the College, knowing that Ancano, the Thalmor spy, was sleeping somewhere within those walls.
"You named the artifact, Aerion," Tolfdir replied, his voice thoughtful and measured. "The Eye of Magnus. For now... I believe that name, and the fact that we found an artifact, is enough."
Tolfdir turned back to Aerion, his expression resolute.
"We shall report that we breached the lower levels, defeated Jyrik Gauldurson, and discovered an ancient, powerful artifact that has been safely secured off site by you, Thane of Whiterun, and will handed it to the Dragonborn for safekeeping, " Tolfdir decided, choosing caution over glory. "We do not need to reveal its exact nature, its power, or the fact that it is currently bound to you. The Arch-Mage trusts my judgment, and he will understand the need for discretion until we know more."
"A wise course of action, Master Tolfdir," Aerion agreed smoothly, deeply satisfied that the secret was contained. "The less the Thalmor know, the safer this College remains."
With their stories aligned, the two men walked side by side toward the towering doors of the Hall of the Elements.
Aerion remained outwardly calm, a silent sentinel in heavy steel, but beneath the bronze mask, his mind was a whirlwind of infinite possibilities. He walked into the College carrying a secret vastly more dangerous than anything they had found in the crypts. His plans for Skyrim, and perhaps the entire continent, had just shifted irrevocably.
Aerion reached back, unclasping the ancient bronze straps holding the mask of Krosis in place. He pulled the heavy artifact from his face, allowing the frigid air of the College courtyard to bite at his skin. He stored the mask in his inventory, completely shedding the terrifying, faceless warlord persona, and returning to the aristocratic, golden-eyed High Elf that the College recognized.
He fell into step beside Tolfdir as they crossed the courtyard, heading toward the central tower.
They climbed the spiraling stone stairs, passing the quiet, dusty shelves of the Arcaneum, until they finally reached the highest level of the College.
Tolfdir pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the Arch-Mage's quarters.
The room was warm, circular, and saturated with the scent of old parchment and burning incense. Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage of Winterhold, was seated comfortably near the central arcane enchanter, a heavy leather bound tome resting in his lap. He looked up at the sound of the opening doors, his tired, dark eyes widening in pleasant surprise.
"Tolfdir. And Aerion," Savos greeted them, closing the book and standing up, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "Welcome back to the College, Aerion. It has been quite some time since you graced these halls."
Aerion offered a respectful, formal bow. "My apologies for the prolonged absence, Arch-Mage. The roads of Skyrim have been less than accommodating, and my recent endeavors outside the College have kept me significantly occupied."
"So I have heard," Savos chuckled lightly, walking over to pour three cups of spiced wine. "News travels remarkably fast, especially in a province as cold and bored as this one. Word reached the College several days ago that our most promising Adept has been named a Thane of Whiterun, and has been seen riding alongside the Dragonborn herself."
Aerion smiled, accepting a cup of wine. "I see the scholars of Winterhold possess the same appetite for gossip as the merchants of Solitude."
"Scholars are merely gossips with better vocabulary," Savos quipped dryly.
Tolfdir, however, was still thrumming with the adrenaline of the crypt. He stepped forward, unable to contain the martial revelation any longer.
"What the gossip has failed to mention, Savos," Tolfdir announced, his voice filled with obvious, lingering admiration, "is Aerion's sudden and terrifying transition in combat doctrine."
Tolfdir gestured toward the heavy, fur lined Nordic Carved steel that Aerion was wearing, and the massive Ebony Greatsword, Ebony Bow, and Staff resting on his back.
"He does not merely wear that heavy armor for intimidation, Arch-Mage," Tolfdir elaborated. "He fights like a warlord born to the ice. Just an hour ago, he stood toe to toe against a Draugr Deathlord in the deep crypts of Saarthal and severed its head from its shoulders."
The light amusement instantly vanished from Savos Aren's face. The Arch-Mage set his cup of wine down on the table with a sharp clack, his dark eyes locking onto the High Elf.
"A Draugr Deathlord?" Savos repeated, his voice dropping into a dead serious register. He looked at Tolfdir for confirmation. "You breached the lower levels of Saarthal?"
"We did," Tolfdir confirmed solemnly.
The confirmation seamlessly transitioned into the debriefing.
Aerion and Tolfdir took turns recounting the events beneath Saarthal. They adhered flawlessly to the narrative they had agreed upon in the courtyard. They spoke of the collapsed corridors, the highly sophisticated mechanical traps, and the massive, coordinated waves of Restless Draugr and Scourges that had ambushed them on the stone bridge.
Savos listened with intense, unblinking focus, occasionally interrupting to ask highly specific questions about the types of magical wards they had encountered and the exact structural integrity of the lower crypts. The Arch-Mage's posture grew increasingly rigid as he realized exactly how close his Master of Alteration had come to being entombed.
But when Tolfdir reached the climax of the story, explaining the final burial chamber and naming the primary guardian they had faced, Savos's reaction shifted from professional concern to something much deeper.
"Jyrik Gauldurson," Tolfdir stated. "He was sealed in the lowest chamber. We found his Writ of Imprisonment."
Savos flinched. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw, but Aerion caught it. For a fraction of a second, a flash of dark, painful memory crossed the Arch-Mage's eyes, a visceral reminder of ancient dead and buried magical threats that he would clearly rather not revisit. Savos quickly clamped down on the emotion, returning his face to a mask of stoic authority.
"Gauldurson," Savos murmured, rubbing his temple. "I know the legends. A bertayer from the First Era. It is a stroke of fortune that the two of you were the ones to breach that chamber. Had ordinary apprentices bypassed the upper wards and stumbled into him... the consequences would have been an absolute massacre."
"Indeed," Tolfdir nodded grimly. "But the danger was not merely the Draugr."
Tolfdir looked at Aerion, signaling him to deliver the final, curated piece of intelligence.
"We discovered an artifact in the chamber, Arch-Mage," Aerion explained, his voice entirely calm. "A heavily enchanted, unidentified relic of immense power. It was acting as a magical battery, tethering Jyrik Gauldurson to the mortal plane and granting him invulnerability until we managed to disrupt the frequency."
Savos leaned forward, his scholarly curiosity instantly ignited. "An artifact of immense power? What is its nature? Where is it?"
"I do not know its true nature," Aerion lied flawlessly. "And because its power was so vast, and its stability entirely unknown, I refused to bring it into the College. The risk of a catastrophic magical discharge within these walls was simply too high."
Savos frowned, disappointment warring with caution. "Then where is it, Aerion?"
"I have secured it in a hidden location entirely outside the jurisdiction of Winterhold," Aerion answered smoothly. "I intend to retrieve it only when I depart the city, at which point I will transport it directly to the Dragonborn for safekeeping."
Savos stared at the High Elf for a long moment. As the Arch-Mage, his instinct was to demand the artifact be brought to the Arcaneum for immediate study. But as a survivor of magical catastrophes, he understood the brutal necessity of containment.
"It is a bitter pill for a scholar to swallow," Savos sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. "But... if both you and Tolfdir believe the artifact is too volatile to be studied safely, then keeping it hidden and far from the College is undoubtedly the prudent choice. The Thalmor have eyes everywhere, and we do not need to hand Ancano a mystery that could level the city."
The tension in the room slowly bled away, the crisis officially managed and contained.
Savos stood up, walking around his desk to look closely at Aerion. He didn't look at the heavy steel armor, he looked past it, tuning his senses to the subtle, invisible flow of magicka radiating from the High Elf.
Savos's brow furrowed slightly in genuine surprise.
The last time he had seen Aerion, the young noble possessed a vast, potent reservoir of magicka. But now... the density, the absolute stillness, and the terrifying depth of the magical presence surrounding him felt fundamentally different. It felt like standing on the edge of a bottomless ocean.
Savos did not know it was the Eye of Magnus resting in the High Elf's inventory, but he recognized the undeniable tempering of a true master.
"Your experiences outside these walls have changed you, Aerion," Savos noted, his voice carrying a quiet, profound respect. "Your magicka... it is vastly denser. More refined. Your current rank on the roster is an insult to your actual capabilities."
Savos Aren straightened his posture, adopting the formal tone of the Arch-Mage.
"Aerion. Your actions in Saarthal, and your evident mastery of the arcane arts, have proven that you are no longer a student," Savos announced. "I believe you are ready to be formally promoted to the rank of Expert Mage."
Tolfdir beamed, clapping his hands together softly.
Aerion bowed his head deeply. It was a significant political and social milestone within the magical community of Skyrim.
"I am honored, Arch-Mage," Aerion accepted respectfully.
"The formal ceremony will take place tomorrow afternoon in the Hall of the Elements," Savos explained. "You will be required to demonstrate several Expert level spells before the senior faculty to formalize the promotion. Following that, you will officially graduate from the student ranks. You will be a peer of the College."
"I shall prepare accordingly," Aerion promised. He added a touch of genuine humility to his persona. "I must admit, I have not attended as many formal lectures as my peers, but the Arcaneum has been invaluable. The depth of knowledge preserved within those walls has been the true catalyst for my advancement."
Savos smiled, deeply pleased to hear the College's greatest asset praised. "Urag gro-Shub will be insufferably smug when he hears that. Now, both of you. Go and rest. You have spent hours fighting the ancient dead. The rest of the investigation into Saarthal can wait for the morning."
Aerion and Tolfdir offered their final respects and exited the Arch-Mage's quarters.
They descended the spiraling stairs in comfortable silence, eventually parting ways in the frigid courtyard. Tolfdir headed toward the Hall of Countenance, seeking the warmth of his bed, while Aerion turned toward the Hall of Attainment, where his old student quarters were still maintained.
However, as Aerion closed the heavy wooden door to his small, circular room, he had absolutely no intention of sleeping.
He didn't remove his armor. He simply walked to the center of the room and closed his eyes.
The military phase of his assignment had officially begun.
Aerion reached out with his mind, tapping deeply into the unique, highly specialized matrix of his Animal Affinity skill. He didn't broadcast a general aura of calm, he targeted specific, localized frequencies, pushing his consciousness out beyond the stone walls of his room.
He started small. He connected with the mice scurrying behind the baseboards of the College. He felt the cold, sharp minds of the snowbirds roosting in the eaves of the towers. He touched the primitive, instinctual awareness of the frostbite spiders clinging to the shadowed cliffs below the bridge.
He didn't dominate them; he mentally organized them. He wove their simple, instinctual perceptions into a vast, interconnected web of observation. He could feel what they felt, hear what they heard, and interpret their movements as raw data.
Once the entire College grounds were saturated with his invisible watchers, Aerion silently opened his door.
He slipped out of the Hall of Attainment, moving like a shadow across the courtyard and out the main gates. He walked through the ruined, frozen streets of Winterhold. He did not skulk in the alleys or draw the suspicion of the shivering hold guards; he simply walked at a steady, purposeful pace, expanding his network as he went.
He reached out to the stray dogs huddled near the inn, the ravens perched on the collapsed roofs, and the countless mice navigating the frozen cellars of the settlement.
Once the network blanketed the city, Aerion issued a single, simple, directive to several of the critters to be spread across the entire web. "Observe the Jarl's longhouse. Listen for the word 'Stormcloak'. Watch the roads. Do not attack. Do not interfere. Simply watch, and report." With his silent, invisible intelligence agency perfectly deployed, Aerion turned and walked back to the College. He returned to his quarters, finally removed the heavy Nordic Carved plates, and allowed himself to sleep.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 710/710
Stamina: 740/740
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 200
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), EYE OF MAGNUS (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+4)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 73/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/75), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 19), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 33), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting(+1) (Level 2), Light Armor(+2) (Level 0), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii Gron (Fade Spirit Bind), Su (Air), Laas (Life), Yol Toor (Fire Inferno), Kaan (Kyne), & Zul Mey Gut (Voice Fool Far)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Potion of Minor Magicka, Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Dwarven Sword, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Gold Emerald Circlet, Scroll of Fire Storm, Iron Garnet Circlet, Iron Sapphire Circlet, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Glass Boots, Dwarven Sword, Dwarven Shield, Wuuthrad's Fragments, Staff of Fireball, Mage Boots Of Weight, & Master Robes Of Destruction
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), Elven Sword, Amethysts, Potions of Plentiful Magicka, Scroll of Conjure Familiar, & Scroll of Magelight
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, Iron Necklace, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), & Potions of Minor Magicka
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 92.41 KG / 670 KG
Septims: 81,082