Forged in Skyrim

Months later.

The cave was damp and cold, the kind of cold that seeped into bones and made joints ache.

Torin's breath plumed in the dim light as he ducked under the werewolf's wild swipe, its long claws passing over his head with a sound like tearing leather.

The creature was massive—easily three heads taller than him, its fur matted with old blood and filth, its yellow eyes burning with feral rage.

He drove his shoulder into the creature's chest, ramming it hard against the cave wall. The impact sent a shudder through the stone, and the werewolf let out an angry growl that echoed through the chamber.

It recovered quickly, swiping down at his back with its other arm, but Torin was already stepping back, the claws cutting through nothing but stale air.

He closed the distance again, fist clenched, and drove it into the underside of the creature's snout. The blow connected with a satisfying crunch, and the werewolf howled in pain—but it didn't falter.

It swiped at him again, faster this time, its claws aimed at his throat.

Torin didn't dodge. He caught the werewolf's paw.

The creature snarled, its yellow eyes widening in confusion as it tried to overpower him. It strained, muscles bulging, but Torin's grip held firm. He'd been training for years, had wrestled with bears and trolls and anything else the wilds of Skyrim could throw at him.

A werewolf, even a feral one, was no match for a man who could hold his ground against a charging mammoth.

The werewolf tried again with its other hand. Torin caught that one too.

With both its hands tied, the creature resorted to its last weapon—its jaws.

It lunged forward, its massive maw opening wide, its teeth aimed at Torin's face. He leaned back, the teeth snapping shut inches from his nose, and then, with enough force to crack a stone wall, Torin headbutted the beast.

The impact was brutal. The werewolf yelped—a high, pained sound that cut through its snarls—and its grip on his hands slackened. Torin followed up with two more punches to its torso, each one driving the air from its lungs, and the creature's eyes rolled back in its head. It slid down the cave wall, limbs twitching, and went still.

Torin let out a long, slow sigh, his breath steaming in the cold air. He flexed his hands, cracked his neck, and brought two fingers to his mouth. Blowing air into them, he let out a loud whistle that echoed through the cave.

Not long after, Auri emerged from the far entrance, her bow in her hand, her amber eyes scanning the chamber. She took in the scene—the unconscious werewolf, the cracked wall, Torin standing over it with his fists still clenched—and raised an eyebrow.

"It seems I didn't have to guard the other end of the cave after all."

Torin rolled his shoulders, working out the tension that had built up during the fight. The werewolf lay motionless at his feet, its chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.

"Better safe than sorry. I couldn't afford to let this one escape." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're very close to finding a cure for lycanthropy—Galiono is more confident than ever—but feral werewolves are becoming harder and harder to find."

Auri let out a hum, crouching down to inspect the chains they'd brought. They were heavy—thick iron bands with reinforced locks, designed to hold even the strongest beast.

"I suppose you can't afford to waste any opportunities," she said, "with your trip to High Rock fast approaching."

Torin narrowed his eyes at her.

"I still resent having to go alone." He winced, the thought of navigating Breton politics without her sharp wit and sharper eyes already making his head ache. "Just the idea of having to deal with those stuffy Breton nobles is making me itch. I'd rather fight werewolves and drag them back to the College."

Auri shrugged, her expression unreadable.

"I wanted to go too. I've never been to High Rock, you know? I've heard the forests are beautiful." She let out a sigh, her gaze drifting to the cave entrance. "Unfortunately, I have to go back to Valenwood. I have unfinished business there." A pause. "Apparently."

Torin looked at her for a long moment. He'd already asked about this so-called business—weeks ago, when she'd first told him she couldn't accompany him to High Rock—but she'd refused to say even a word about it. Just a vague mention of old obligations, a distant expression, and a firm change of subject.

It was something of a pattern Torin was starting to notice lately. First Bar-Dar, with his secret project that he still refused to discuss. Now Auri, with her mysterious "unfinished business." At this rate, everyone would have secret business to tend to, and the entire province of Skyrim would stop functioning altogether as they all disappeared to attend to their private affairs.

Still, it was none of Torin's business. Auri had earned her privacy. If it was serious—if it was something she needed his help with—she'd say so. He trusted her to do that much, at least.

So he just nodded.

"Well, whatever the case might be..." Torin reached into his satchel and retrieved a scroll. "Let's just get this over with so we can go back and start preparing for our trips."

He held one end of the scroll and let it unfurl. The parchment crackled as it unrolled, revealing the intricate patterns the twins had inscribed—circles within circles, runes within runes, all connected by lines that seemed to shift and move when viewed directly.

The runes began to shine, a soft purple glow that grew brighter with each passing second, and the paper itself began to disintegrate into particles of light.

The particles swirled, coalesced around the unconscious werewolf, and then, in the span of a heartbeat, the beast's body simply disappeared. No flash. No bang. No dramatic tearing of reality. Just a soft shimmer, a faint whisper of displaced air, and then nothing.

Auri nodded, impressed, her amber eyes still fixed on the spot where the werewolf had been lying.

"Those Breton twins certainly know what they're doing." She glanced at Torin. "You chose well."

Torin chuckled, tucking the remains of the scroll back into his satchel.

"They're talented and hardworking, I'll give them that. But otherwise..." He shook his head. "They lack any real social awareness or skills. No filter, no sense of when to stop talking, no understanding that some things are better left unsaid."

He winced. "I really hope that isn't the case for all Breton nobles. Otherwise, I have a few tough months ahead of me."

Auri shrugged, a small smile playing at her lips.

"Knowing your luck, the ones in High Rock are probably worse."

Torin glared at her.

"You shut your cursed mouth."

Auri laughed and began walking toward the entrance.

"Come on. Let's get back before it gets dark. I still want to catch the hunters in the Frozen Hearth before they go to their homes..."

Torin followed, shaking his head, but a smile tugged at his own lips despite himself.

...

Several days later. Standing atop the snowy mound, Torin smiled as he watched two bears—one brown, one white—heading toward him, followed by two smaller ones. Cubs. Their fur was white at the base, brown at the ends, creating a unique shade that was a perfect mixture of both parents' colors.

The big white bear, Berg, stopped some distance away. He sat back on his haunches, his yellow eyes fixed on Torin with the wary patience of a man who had learned to tolerate his mate's strange friendship with a two-legged creature.

Echo, however, continued forward, and the two cubs tumbled after her, their little legs struggling to keep up with their mother's long strides.

"There you are," Torin said, reaching down to give Echo a pat on the head. Her fur was thick and warm beneath his palm, still carrying the scent of the cave they'd been sleeping in.

"And I see you brought Orson and Orsa with you again." He scratched behind their ears, and they leaned into his hand, their small bodies wiggling with pleasure.

They'd grown used to him quickly, having accompanied Echo on her visits since they were old enough to venture out of the cave.

Torin grinned, studying the cubs. They were healthy—plump, active, their eyes bright and curious. Their fur was glossy, their claws were sharp, and they wrestled with each other constantly, biting and tumbling in the snow.

"Seeing how healthy they look, I suppose you're not finding any trouble finding food in this frozen waste." He grabbed Echo's face with both hands and scratched her cheeks. "Aela would be proud. She always said you had the instincts of a true huntress."

Echo endured the affection for a moment—then put her paw on his face and pushed him away. She shook her head, ruffling her fur back into place, and gave him an annoyed huff that clearly said that's enough of that.

Torin just chuckled as he got up, brushing snow from his knees.

"It's good to see you too, girl."

He let out a long sigh, his breath pluming in the cold air. The cubs had lost interest in him and were now chasing each other in circles around Echo's legs, their small paws kicking up snow.

"Unfortunately, I have to get going." He looked at Echo, his expression softening. "And chances are, I won't be back for a while. I have to go to High Rock, and I don't know how long it'll take."

Echo just stared at him, her head tilted, her dark eyes tracking his movements.

Torin rolled his eyes.

"I suppose you don't know what I'm talking about." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little foolish. "I got so used to you understanding me, I forgot you're not supposed to."

He let out a sigh. "Anyway... I'll have to go now. I've got a ship waiting for me at the docks of Solitude."

With that, Torin gave Echo a last pat on the head and turned to leave.

He walked with his arms crossed, his boots crunching against the frozen ground, his mind already racing ahead to High Rock.

He'd done his research—read every book on Breton culture he could find in the College's library, pestered the Bontain twins for details about their homeland, even sent a letter to Torygg asking for any information the crown had on the region.

From what he'd gathered, the Bretons were basically a fantasy version of medieval Europe. Knights in shining armor. Counts and dukes and barons squabbling over territory. Chivalric codes and courtly love and elaborate feasts where the food was more art than sustenance. Political intrigue so tangled that it made Skyrim's civil war look like a playground squabble.

Daggerfall, where he was going, was officially the capital of the Daggerfall Kingdom—one of the many petty kingdoms that dotted the Breton coastline—and to a lesser, unofficial extent, the capital of the entire High Rock province.

It was currently the largest city, the wealthiest, the most politically significant. The kind of place where diplomats went to negotiate and merchants went to trade and adventurers went to find trouble.

The kingdom's patron deity, because Bretons had that for some reason—a specific god or goddess that each kingdom claimed as their special patron—was Kynareth. The goddess of the winds, the sky, and the hunt.

Torin couldn't help but sigh at the thought. His fate had been somewhat tied to Kyne—that much was already clear to him.

From the visions along the Seven Thousand steps, to the hawk amulet he still wore around his neck, to the storm that had helped him destroy Shriekwind Bastion, her influence seemed to follow him wherever he went.

Suffice to say, being sent to a kingdom that revered her as its patron deity didn't feel like a coincidence.

And now I'm starting to think like Kodlak, he mused, shaking his head. Seeing patterns where there are none.

Still, aside from his dread of dealing with snotty nobles, and his burning desire to avoid troublesome things—which he couldn't do this time, no matter how much he wanted to—Torin was a little excited about the trip.

The cold was refreshing to a Nord like him, but staring at endless expanses of white caking the ground for months on end every year got old very quickly. He was ready for a change of scenery, even a temporary one.

And there was the possibility of learning new magics that might not be available at the College. The Bretons were known for two things, after all: political skullduggery and magic.

If he could pick up a few new spells, a few new techniques, a few new perspectives on the arcane arts, the trip would be worth it even if he had to endure a dozen formal dinners... and fight sea giants.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Torin was ready to pick up the pace—to put one foot in front of the other and start the long walk toward Solitude, toward the ship, toward High Rock and all its complications.

He halted his steps at the sound of snow crunching behind him.

He turned around to see Echo following behind him. She stopped as he did, her head tilting in that familiar, questioning way, her dark eyes fixed on his face. She'd followed him—hadn't just watched him leave, but had gotten up and started walking after him.

He blinked at her.

"You want to tag along?" He scratched his head. "What about your babies?"

Echo let out a low growl and turned around. Torin followed her gaze to the snowy mound.

Berg was standing over the cubs, his massive white form blocking the wind. Orson and Orsa had abandoned their wrestling match and were now biting at his front legs, their small teeth sinking into his thick fur with no effect whatsoever.

Berg was staring at Torin resentfully, his yellow eyes fixed on the Nord with an expression of pure, undiluted annoyance.

The look on his face was unmistakable.

This is all your fault, it seemed to say. You two-legged demon. You've disrupted my peace. You've stolen my mate's attention. And now I'm stuck babysitting.

Torin couldn't help but chuckle.

"Alright." He looked at Echo, then back at Berg, then at Echo again. "Since Berg seems so eager to get some alone time with the cubs..." He shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "Why not?"

Echo's twwitched once, and she fell into step beside him as he turned and began walking.

Behind them, Berg let out a long, rumbling growl that might have been resignation or perhaps the promise of future revenge.

Either way, Torin didn't look back.

...

I'm motivated by praise and interaction, so be sure to leave a like, power stone, or whatever kind of shendig this site uses, and more importantly do share you thoughts on the chapter in the comment section!

Want more chapters? Then consider subscribing to my pat rēon. You can read ahead for as little as $1 and it helps me a lot! -> (pat rēon..com / wicked132)

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!