---
The path down from Bleak Falls Barrow was slick with lting snow and old mud.
Thalia Grace jogged easily, her boots crunching over the earth, the stolen Dragonstone wrapped tightly in a wolf pelt at her side.
She breathed deep.
The air was sharp and cold, but filled with the slls of pine and river mist. Far below, she could just make out the clustered wooden roofs of Riverwood, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. The promise of warmth. Food. Answers.
And maybe, if she was lucky, a real bed for once.
Adjusting the rough leather armor she'd looted off one of the dead bandits, Thalia picked up speed, her mind racing nearly as fast as her feet. She needed to get the Golden Claw back to Lucan Valerius — the shopkeeper who'd begged her to recover it — and then get this Dragonstone into the hands of soone who could tell her what it ant.
And maybe — just maybe — figure out what exactly was wrong with her.
Because ever since she had touched the Word Wall deep within the ruin, sothing had been crackling under her skin.
Sothing ancient. Sothing powerful.
Lightning danced between her fingertips even when she wasn't trying anymore.
She grinned to herself.
Yeah. She wasn't from around here. But sohow... Skyrim felt like a place that knew storms.
---
The little bell above the Riverwood Trader's door jingled as Thalia pushed it open.
Lucan's face lit up the mont he saw the wolf pelt bundle in her hands.
"You've found it!" he exclaid, rushing around the counter. "The Golden Claw!"
Thalia tossed it lightly into his hands.
"Yeah, wasn't exactly a simple lost-and-found mission," she said dryly. "Bandits, undead monsters, ancient Nordic traps. You're lucky I like a good fight."
Lucan stamred his thanks, shoving a handful of coins into her palm — a fair amount, she had to admit — and promising a "lifeti discount" at his shop. His sister, Camilla, hovered nearby, looking half-impressed, half-worried.
"You're heading to Whiterun next, aren't you?" she asked. "You should talk to the Jarl — warn him about… whatever's happening."
Thalia nodded grimly.
There were dragons. She was almost sure of it now.
Sothing had woken them up — and it sure as Hades wasn't good news.
---
The road north toward Whiterun was broad and well-worn, curving gently along the White River.
Thalia walked with easy confidence, the weight of her new coin purse bouncing against her hip, her storm magic humming faintly under her skin.
In the distance, she could already see Whiterun: a city built like a sword thrust into the sky, its stone walls and timber towers clinging to the base of a massive rocky outcrop.
But as she rounded a bend near a wheat farm, she heard it — shouting, the clash of steel on bone, the heavy thoom of sothing huge hitting the earth.
Thalia sprinted toward the sound, instincts flaring.
She crested a rise just in ti to see a giant — a massive, gray-skinned creature swinging a tree-trunk-sized club — laying waste to a trio of warriors.
Two n and a woman were fighting it: one wielding a greatsword nearly as tall as Thalia herself, another loosing arrows from a longbow, and the last — a lean woman with sharp, predatory eyes, moving with the deadly grace of a born hunter.
They were holding their own, but barely.
Thalia didn't even hesitate.
Lightning roared to life in her hands.
She sprinted forward, dodging past a wild swing of the giant's club, and hurled a bolt of raw electricity into the creature's side.
The giant bellowed in rage, turning — and the swordsman seized the opportunity, slashing deep into its thigh.
The archer pumped another arrow into its exposed chest.
Another pulse of lightning from Thalia — this one crackling with so much force it lit the afternoon sky — and the giant finally staggered, dropping to one knee.
The woman loosed one final arrow straight into the creature's eye without hesitation.
The giant collapsed like a felled tree, shaking the earth.
Silence fell over the field.
Thalia wiped her hands on her armor, breathing a little harder but smiling. That had felt good.
The woman with the bow approached, planting it against the ground and regarding Thalia with a sharp, appraising look.
"You handled yourself well," she said, voice low and sure. "Better than most who think they're warriors."
Thalia shrugged, smirking. "What can I say? I like a good brawl."
The woman's mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
"You should consider joining the Companions. We're warriors — true warriors. No politics. No nobles with soft hands giving orders. Just battle, honor, and the strength of your arm."
Thalia tilted her head thoughtfully.
It wasn't a bad offer.
But first… she needed to find out what this whole "Dragonborn" business ant.
"Maybe later," she said with a half-smile. "I've got bigger things to fry right now."
The woman nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"If you change your mind, co to Jorrvaskr. We're always looking for strong hearts."
With that, the Companions gathered their weapons and moved on, disappearing toward the distant city gates.
Thalia watched them go, a strange feeling stirring in her chest. Not quite hosickness.
More like… maybe this frozen, savage land had room for her after all.
She adjusted her gear, checked the pelt-wrapped Dragonstone at her side, and set off toward Whiterun's towering gates.
The real storm was just beginning.
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