I.

This was the fall of the Imperial City.

At the controls of the Sunbird, Telvanni Kalas Sul Saren watched thousands of soldiers sacrifice their lives for a cause they couldn’t possibly understand. Candle towers were pouring bursts of fire and light at the Altmeri ships, and lines of Imperial soldiers were casting waves of them into the advancing Aldmer lines. Sky and land seemed aflame with the light of magic, tek and their fusion. He could not imagine the level of carnage below, or how the three Khajiit and lone Altmer would make their way through it, into the City, and below to the Heart chamber. It would take a miracle.

Or a reasonably good Sunbird pilot. It responded to his coaxing, and fire fell upon the Imperial lines.

“Insurgency One,” he signaled them, watching the soldiers scatter. “Approach has been rendered. You are clear.” Each of them acknowledged, and Kalas wheeled left to swing back along the battlefield, hoping the mimetic-logic core would pick out his team and funnel their positions directly into his brain. The Sunbird screeched of its own accord and he saw the danger: candle towers turning towards his position. Only a thought later and the pure magic manifested from the Sunbird littering the towers with magic-that-was-flame. He glanced below as the Bird swirled for another attack.

And suddenly his mind was alight with skin crystallized into char and both he and the Bird screamed in unison as killing light tore through them. Far below Ra’zhiin watched as they hung suspended as if by belief alone, then slowly turned, racing past a tower – the Sunbird’s fiery wing severing it mid-spine – before crashing into the heart of the Aldmer line, trailing carnage and Aldmer blood. Broken bones and severed limbs could not free him from his harness and he heard the Bird’s final screech as an inferno exploded out of it, sending white infinity in coruscating images that had been lives and lives-that-could-have-been.

*

But his eyes flickered open, and Kalas recognized the scent of gold kanet.

But that was impossible.

Pulling the covers from his body he sat his feet on the cold floor of his St Delyn apartment. He felt groggy, like he’d indulged in a little too much sujamma the night before. He looked down at his hands, arms, legs and the scars that should have been there. As he tried to focus his eyes on the room around him he saw a gossamer-white nightgown laying over on the window-sill. His heart went very, very cold.

He retrieved his clothing by memory alone. He did not need to look through the drawers, cupboards, or chests to find his robes and shoes; nor did he need to remind himself to grab his belt, keys, and dagger – these movements had been happening for decades. They were as much a part of him as…as…

He opened the door to the city of Vivec.

A light breeze was blowing through the canols, pulling gently at the flags lining the cantons. There were children…children…running along the walkways, daring each other to dive into the canols. A little red-haired girl grew weary of being tormented by an older boy and punched him right in the face; he fell backwards, toppled over the edge, and fell the fifty feet into the water. The language he yelled up at her was quite imaginative; her smile was priceless.

I’m dreaming, he thought, it has to be a dream. But he could feel the familiar grit of the stone, the way the walkways had been worn smooth by millennia of walkers. He rounded the corner of the canton and was nearly blinded by the brightness falling past the High Fane, streaming through banners, falling around…the Ministry of Truth.

“I’ve never met such a lazy mer,” said his heart’s voice behind him. “It’s almost noon. No more sujamma for you, Kalas.”

He turned to see her dark, luxuriant hair, the silver gleam of her eyes, the ashen pale of her skin. “Jassa,” he whispered rushing towards her. He saw her surprise – he had never been affectionate in public – his hands were almost to her shoulders…

…when the Ministry fell, and fire and water destroyed their world.

*

His yataghan severed the last of the Altmer at the throat, and the body fell before him. He was clear all the way to the vehkship.

Kalas ran like his life depended on it – his life did depend on it – but there was no way he was going to miss that ship. To his side he could see Ra’zhiin staggering out of the ruins of White-Gold, a tall figure striding proudly beside him. Was that…?

Dark light of disbelief fell all around him as the ground fell to pieces. He had an image of eyes filled with death-by-negation and heard words that sounded like “NEVER AGAIN.”

The shadow of a Dwemeri boot fell upon him, just before the boot itself – the size of an airship - fell. Numidium stepped away but Kalas did not see the severed head of Anumidium fall upon his broken corpse. He was already spinning through endless Time, falling through infinities of impossibilities; all to the screaming of a million Dwemer souls.

*

“Dur daar goltnu” rumbled a Voice that was everywhere, filling every part of his body. “Is it…tiid…Time, yet?”

“Votrul uzgrolein,” another growled. “It has always been, will be… promiin…Time.”

Kalas looked up from the ground to see himself surrounded by dragons.

II.

“Where,” he managed. “Where am I?”

A great shadow loomed over him. In the swirling un-light he saw sharp edges, pitted skin, and eyes that burned with hunger. “More important, daan kuyiz, is how.”

Kalas blinked into its dull red eyes. “How am I?”

The dragon grunted its approval and turned away.

He was…it was difficult to understand. He was on a great stone circle, inlaid with scratches, runes, Daedric sigils, and other markings he did not recognize – and as a Telvanni that was saying something. It extended around him hundreds of feet, only to fall away into a swirling vortex of blues, blacks, purples, and ephemerals whites. He felt certain that if he stared too long at that sky he would descend into madness. But the dragons quickly drew his attention.

There were three of them. In the center crouched the one who had spoken to him, massive, radiating a barely controlled violence. To his left was a smaller dragon, no less fearsome with its horns and the spikes jutting along its jawline; but the silver eyes seemed to have an infinite depth to them, and he could almost hear echoes of ancient wisdom looking down upon him. Finally, to the right of the center dragon was…Kalas blinked. A moment ago he had seen a terrible visage of white flesh, great horns, and dragonfly wings, but now…a monstrous, horned tiger with butterfly wings sat regarding him as if bored. The wings fluttered, and the tiger licked its paw.

“How, indeed,” growled the central dragon. “You, doom-driven, are a Prisoner of Time; you have always been a Prisoner of Time.”

“All mortals are prisoners of time,” Kalas heard himself say. “Bound to winding ephemerality until released through illumination.” He was not entirely certain why he said that, or that he had ever thought it before that moment.

A sound came from the tiger not unlike a laugh. “I told you he would not understand. Their minds are too small, too…linear.”

“You were not always dov, Tosh,” said the dragon with red eyes, his voice thick with disdain. “Once your mind was linear as well.”

Tosh’s body flickered, revealing an image of something almost human, but then the tiger returned.

“Brother,” the third dragon admonished. “He was not brought here by our Father to hear three dov argue about the…vokorasaal…fractal nature of Time.” It turned to look at Kalas. “Greetings, kogaan Akatosh, blessed of our Father. I am Paarthurnax; these are my brothers. And you, doom-driven…

“You stand in the Window of Akatosh.”

Alduin, the dragon in the center, threw his head back and roared into the vortex.

*

more to come...