I stepped out of the big building, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the fading light. The rain had left Helgen glistening, water droplets clinging to the charred remnants of homes and shops.

My footsteps echoed off crumbling walls as I explored, hoping to find something - anything - useful. But Helgen had been picked clean, either by fleeing survivors or opportunistic scavengers.

A familiar silhouette caught my eye - the tower where Ulfric and Ralof had taken shelter in the game. My heart quickened as I approached, half-expecting to hear shouts or the clash of steel. But only silence greeted me as I pushed open the heavy wooden door.

The interior was disappointingly empty. No convenient chests full of supplies, no forgotten weapons leaning against walls. Just bare stone and the faint musty scent of disuse. I sighed, shoulders slumping as I trudged back outside.

The rapidly darkening sky made me pause. I tilted my head back, breath catching in my throat. The clouds had cleared completely, revealing a view of stars unlike anything I'd ever seen. The Milky Way, or something that looked like it at any rate, stretched across the heavens in a brilliant swath, more vivid than in even the clearest night sky back home.

But it was the moons that truly stole my breath away. Two celestial bodies hung impossibly large in the sky - Masser, a crimson giant dominating the horizon, and Secunda, its smaller, bluish-grey companion.

"Goddamn," I whispered, awe and a touch of vertigo washing over me. This, more than anything else, drove home the reality of my situation. I wasn't on Earth anymore. I was in a whole other world, with different laws of nature and dangers I could barely imagine.

I stood there for a long moment, drinking in the alien beauty of the night sky. But as the temperature began to drop, practicality reasserted itself. I let out a frustrated sigh, giving the ruined town one last sweeping glance. With night falling fast, I knew it was time to move on.

My feet carried me towards the massive gates on the far side of town, each step crunching on debris and soggy ash. I pulled up the map panel, confirming my hunch - this way led towards Whiterun Hold. If I was lucky, maybe I could make it to Riverwood before collapsing from exhaustion or hunger.

"Here goes nothing," I mumbled, placing my hands on the weather-worn wood of the gate.

I pushed, muscles straining against the weight. The hinges groaned in protest, a sound that seemed to echo through the empty streets behind me. Slowly, painfully slowly, the massive doors swung open.

A gust of frigid air hit me, carrying the scent of pine and fresh snow. As the gap widened, a breathtaking scene revealed itself. Moonlight bathed the landscape in an otherworldly glow, casting long shadows across a blanket of pristine white. The stone road stretched out before me, winding its way through a forest of towering evergreens.

I set off down the road, grateful for the moons' glow. It wasn't exactly bright, but it was just enough to keep me from face-planting into a tree. The forest was alive with sound - rustling leaves, hooting owls, and the occasional raven's harsh caw echoing through the night.

As I rounded a bend, something in the distance made me stop dead in my tracks. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight. Mountains stretched across the horizon, their jagged peaks etched against the starry sky. But it was the structure perched atop one of those peaks that really got my attention.

"Holy shit," I said, a grin spreading across my face despite my exhaustion. "Bleak Falls Barrow."

The ancient Nordic ruin was unmistakable, its arched stonework silhouetted against the night sky like something out of a gothic fairy tale. A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Knowing what lurked inside those crumbling walls - draugr, giant spiders, and who knows what else - I was more than happy to admire it from afar.

Still, seeing the barrow gave me a much-needed boost of confidence. I might be lost, hungry, and questioning my sanity, but at least now I had a landmark. Riverwood should be somewhere ahead, nestled near the base of those mountains.

"Alright, Alex," I said, rubbing my hands together for warmth. "You've got this. One foot in front of the other. Try not to become wolf chow before sunrise."

A flash of russet fur caught my eye, and I froze mid-step. There, not twenty paces away, a fox paused in a moonlit clearing. Its bushy tail twitched as it sniffed the air, ears swiveling to catch every sound of the night forest.

"Well, hello there," I breathed, a grin spreading across my face. My stomach rumbled, reminding me just how long it had been since that meager sip of water. Suddenly, that fox looked a lot less cute and a whole lot more like dinner.

Moving slowly, careful not to make a sound, I willed the bow to be equipped and reached for the wooden bow that was now slung across my back. The familiar weight settled into my palm as if I'd been using it for years. Muscle memory I didn't know I had took over as I nocked an arrow, the fletching tickling my cheek as I drew back.

But the fox must have caught my scent on the breeze. Its head snapped up, amber eyes locking onto mine for a heartbeat. Then, quick as a blink, it was gone – a streak of red vanishing between snow-dusted boulders.

"Dammit," I grunted, lowering the bow with a sigh. The growl in my stomach seemed to mock me as I watched the spot where my potential meal had disappeared. "Next time, furball. Next time."

The forest closed in around me, branches reaching out like gnarled fingers. Darkness crept in, swallowing the path ahead until I could barely see my own feet. I stumbled, cursing as my toe found yet another hidden root.

"Screw this," I grumbled, taking out the torch from my inventory. To my surprise, it burst to life the moment I touched it. Magic, I guess. Handy.

The flickering light cast dancing shadows as I pressed on, following the winding road. My stomach growled, reminding me just how long it had been since that bowl of stew. Just as I was contemplating the nutritional value of pine needles, a faint glow caught my eye.

Lights. Up ahead, nestled in the hills.

Hope and dread warred in my chest. Civilization meant food, shelter... and probably people who'd be all too happy to introduce me to the business end of a sword. But what choice did I have?

The road split before me – one path meandering towards Riverwood, the other climbing towards those lights. I hesitated, chewing my lip. "Well," I said, "might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Or, you know, not die. That'd be nice too."

I started up the hill, legs protesting every step. The torch's glow must have given me away because a gruff voice suddenly rang out: "Oi! Who goes there?"

I held up my hands, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "Easy there, friend. Just a weary traveler looking for shelter. I mean no harm."

The man's eyes narrowed, suspicion etched across his weathered face. He took a step forward, the torchlight catching on the blade of a rusty sword. "Aye, and I'm the High King of Skyrim. Get lost, stranger, 'fore things get ugly."

I sighed, shoulders slumping. So much for diplomacy. "Look, I'll just be on my way then-"

But he was already moving, closing the distance with surprising speed for such a scrawny fellow. Moonlight glinted off his raised blade as he let out a guttural war cry.

"I knew it," I muttered, fumbling to stow my torch and draw my shield. The darkness seemed to press in, making every movement feel clumsy and slow.

Metal rang against metal as I barely managed to deflect his first wild swing. The impact jarred my arm, but adrenaline surged through me. I lashed out with my sword, more instinct than skill guiding the desperate strike. A satisfying scrape told me I'd at least connected with his shield, even if it didn't do much damage.

A flicker of movement caught my eye – another figure back by the lights, silhouetted against the glow. Before I could process the danger, white-hot pain exploded in my arm. An arrow protruded from my unarmoured bicep, the shaft quivering with each ragged breath I took.

"Fuck!" I howled, my sword clattering to the ground as my fingers went numb. The scrawny bandit seized his opportunity, his blade whistling through the air.

I stumbled backwards, but not fast enough. Fire bloomed across my neck as his sword bit deep. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth as I fell to my knees, vision swimming.

Desperation lent me strength for one last, clumsy block. But it was too little, too late. The bandit's blade found its mark, and I collapsed to the ground.

oo0ooOoo0oo

I blinked, disoriented, as the familiar interior of the Helgen great hall swam into focus. The fading purple light of twilight filtered through warped windows, casting long shadows across the empty room. My hand instinctively went to my throat, half-expecting to feel the sticky warmth of blood, but there was nothing. No pain, no gaping wound - just the phantom memory of cold steel biting into flesh.

"Well," I said, knocking my helmet against the wall. "That's... different."

I hauled myself up, muscles protesting after who knows how long spent sprawled on the hard floor. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I'd died - again - but this time, I hadn't woken up under that crystal-clear blue sky where I'd first appeared in Skyrim. Instead, I'd snapped back to this moment, right before I'd left Helgen.

"Okay, Alex, think," I said, pacing the length of the hall. "Why the change? New spawn point? Or..."

A crazy thought struck me. What if... what if this was my new "save point"? Like in a video game, where you'd restart from your last checkpoint after dying. But why here? Why now?

I froze mid-step, a grin slowly spreading across my face. "Because I rested," I breathed, the pieces clicking into place. "I slept here for most of the day. That must have... I don’t know, anchored me somehow?"

"Alright," I said, cracking my knuckles. "Round two, here we go."

This time, as I stepped out into the deepening twilight, I moved with purpose. No more stumbling blindly into a bandit camp. I had information now - I knew what lay ahead on that winding path.

The moons hung impossibly large in the sky as I made my way through Helgen's broken gates. Masser's crimson bulk dominated the horizon, while Secunda's smaller, bluish form seemed to wink at me. The alien beauty of it all still took my breath away, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

Bleak Falls Barrow loomed in the distance, its ancient stonework etched against the starry sky. But this time, instead of heading towards the bandits, I veered onto the path leading down towards Riverwood. Better to play it safe, find some proper shelter, maybe even scrounge up some food that wasn't furry and prone to running away.

I moved my way carefully down the moonlit path, and my mind wandered back to that moment of "respawning." The more I thought about it, the more I realized how lucky I was. If I'd woken up back at the very beginning, under that blue sky... well, I might have gone mad, stuck in an endless loop of constantly losing all of my progress.

"Okay," I told myself, ducking under a low-hanging branch, "find safe places to rest. Often."

The torch's flickering light was starting to strain my eyes, so I switched hands, giving my left arm a much-needed break. I rounded a bend in the path, and a faint sound caught my attention - a rhythmic tick-tick-tick coming from somewhere off to my right.

I knew better now, so I extinguished the torch, plunging myself into near-darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted as I crept towards the noise, grateful for the meager moonlight shining through the canopy.

There, in a small clearing, I spotted the source of the sound. A man was hunched over, his pickaxe rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he worked a vein of ore. A bow was slung across his back, and a shaggy dog lay nearby, its ears perked up at my approach.

I hesitated, weighing my options. The man looked capable enough, and that dog didn't seem like the friendly type. But I was lost, hungry, and desperate for some human interaction that didn't involve swords to the throat.

"Uh, hello there!" I called out, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Name's Alex. I'm a traveler, just passing through."

The man's pickaxe froze mid-swing. He turned slowly, eyeing me suspiciously. After a moment, he lowered the tool, though his hand never strayed far from the bow at his back.

"Mort," he grunted by way of introduction. "What brings you out here at this hour, traveler?"

I held up my hands in what I hoped was a universal gesture of 'please don't shoot me.' "Just looking for directions, honestly. I'm trying to get to Riverwood. Any chance you could point me in the right direction? And, uh, maybe give me an idea of how long it'll take?"

Mort studied me for a long moment, his weathered face unreadable in the dim light. Finally, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Follow the road north-east. You'll hit Riverwood in about four hours, if your legs hold out."

I sagged with relief. "Four hours? That's... well, it's not great, but it's doable. Thanks, Mort. I really appreciate it."

He grunted again, already turning back to his work. "Watch yourself out there. Woods ain't safe at night."

As if to emphasize his point, a wolf's howl echoed in the distance. I swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of just how vulnerable I was. "Right. Thanks again. I'll, uh, let you get back to your... mining."

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

I backed away slowly, not wanting to turn my back on Mort or his dog until I was safely back on the road. Only then did I let out the breath I'd been holding. Four hours to Riverwood. It wasn't ideal, but at least now I had a destination.

The torch appeared back in my hand as I followed the road. I'd lost track of time, but it felt like I'd been walking for at least an hour. My legs ached, and hunger gnawed a bit at my belly, but I pressed on. Just as I was starting to wonder if I'd somehow wandered off course, I came across yet another fork in the road.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I groaned. "Is this whole country just one giant choose-your-own-adventure book?"

I glared at the diverging paths, half-expecting a sign to pop up saying 'Certain Death This Way!' It was getting ridiculous how often I seemed to be faced with life-or-death choices. Was Skyrim really this dangerous, or was I just spectacularly unlucky?

Mort's gruff warning echoed in my mind. Sighing, I ignored the westward path that my map panel helpfully informed me led to Falkreath Hold. "North it is, then," I said, pressing onward.

While I walked, I became aware of a gradual change in the air. The biting chill that had dogged me since I first woke up in this world was slowly giving way to a more tolerable coolness. The snow-covered ground thinned out, replaced by damp earth and scattered leaves.

"Well, at least I probably won't freeze to death," I said to no one in particular, a wry smile tugging at my lips. After nearly becoming a Nord-sicle back in Helgen, even this slight improvement in temperature felt like a small victory.

The stillness of the night was shattered in an instant. A blur of tawny fur and antlers burst from the underbrush, nearly bowling me over as it thundered past. My heart leapt into my throat, a startled yelp escaping my lips before I could stop it. The elk's eyes were wide with terror as it vanished into the darkness, leaving me breathless and trembling.

Before I could even process what had just happened, a bone-chilling roar echoed through the trees. My blood ran cold as something became very clear – where there's prey, there's often a predator. And this one sounded big. Really big.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," I cursed, quickly willing the torch back into my inventory. The sudden darkness felt suffocating, but it was better than being a well-lit snack. I pressed myself against the rough bark of a nearby pine, praying to whatever gods might be listening in this strange world.

Another roar, closer this time. The ground seemed to tremble beneath my feet as heavy paws pounded the earth. I held my breath, eyes squeezed shut as if that might somehow make me invisible. The bear's huffing breaths filled the air, so close I could almost feel them on my skin.

Leaves crunched as the massive creature paced in front of my hiding spot. I could hear it snuffling, no doubt catching the scent of fear rolling off me in waves. My legs shook, every instinct screaming at me to run. But I knew that would be suicide.

An eternity seemed to pass in those few agonizing moments. Then, with a final, earth-shaking roar that left my ears ringing, the bear charged off in pursuit of its original quarry. I sagged against the tree, knees weak with relief, as the sounds of the chase faded into the distance.

"A fucking bear!" I let out, sliding down to sit on the damp forest floor. My heart hammered in my chest as if trying to escape. I let out a shaky laugh, caught between terror and exhilaration. "Welcome to Skyrim, Alex. Try not to get eaten."

I caught my breath for a few moments before hauling myself to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced them to keep moving. The road stretched on, winding its way through the darkened forest.

About twenty minutes later, the sound of rushing water reached my ears. A grin tugged at my lips as I realized I must be getting close to the White River. At least, I was pretty sure that's what it was called. Fictional geography wasn’t my best skill.

I rounded a bend in the road, and my breath caught in my throat. There, bathed in the ethereal glow of the twin moons, stood three massive standing stones. The Guardian Stones. I'd seen them a hundred times on a computer screen, but nothing could have prepared me for the sheer presence they commanded in person.

My pace quickened, fatigue forgotten as I approached the ancient monoliths. A notification popped up, confirming what I already knew:

The Guardian Stones Discovered

Excited, I reached out to touch the Thief Stone. A message flashed before my eyes:

This stone does not react to your touch.

"What the hell?" I muttered, frowning. I tried the Mage Stone next, only to receive the same disappointing message.

When my fingers brushed against the cool surface of the Warrior Stone, another pop-up appeared:

You already possess the blessing of this stone.

I leaned my forehead against the ancient stone, tilting my head back to gaze at the star-strewn sky. I knew I already had the Warrior's blessing, and I pulled up the effect description:

Stone of the Warrior: The Warrior strengthens those who bear his blessing. Damage with all weapons is increased by 10% and armor penetration with all weapons is increased by 10.

It wasn't earth-shattering, but hey, I'd take any edge I could get in this death trap of a world. Still, something about it rubbed me the wrong way. I hadn't chosen this blessing – it had been thrust upon me, along with the heavy armor and greatsword I'd woken up with.

"Guess whoever dumped me here had some ideas about my 'build,'" I grumbled. But then I paused, reconsidering. I'd ditched the greatsword for a sword and shield combo, and I'd managed to learn a couple of spells. So maybe I wasn't as pigeonholed as I'd first thought.

A gust of frigid wind cut through my musings, sending a violent shiver down my spine. I shook my head, ready to continue my trek, when something caught my eye. There, nestled at the base of the Warrior Stone, sat a small knapsack.

"Hello, what's this?" I murmured, reaching out to brush away a layer of damp leaves. My fingers closed around the worn leather. Peering inside, I found an unexpected treasure trove: a surprisingly plump tomato and a slim, leather-bound book. I lifted it closer to my torch, squinting at the black lettering on its spine.

"'The Thirteenth Stone,'" I read aloud, a thrill of excitement running through me. "Now that sounds intriguing."

Glancing around the moonlit site, I shrugged and settled myself against the cool stone. The ground was damp, but after the night I'd had, a little moisture was the least of my worries. I cracked open the book, its pages crinkling softly in the night air.

"Might as well take a breather," I sighed, adjusting the torch to better illuminate the cramped handwriting. "Let's see what secrets you're hiding, mysterious book."

My limbs stiffen, and the sky grows cold. I must write, while I still can.

I am Cyrus Arman, a mage and scholar of Cyrodiil, and unwillingly a student of the stones of Skyrim.

We have copies of "Watcher of Stones" in the university, of course. It was known that for certain individuals, the stones did indeed respond. I knew, reading it, that I would be one such person. I thought perhaps the Mage stone, outside of Riverwood, might be mine, or perhaps one of its charges.

The Guardian stones were the easiest to find. I came to them without much incident, and passing through from Bruma to the town of Helgen. Understand; we of the university take a rigorous approach to our investigations, and thus it was that I worked through the stones from left to right, as I came to them.

As I touched the Thief, expecting nothing, I felt it. It was a blessing, but dark and deeper than anything I had imagined. I had a brief sense of quiet, mischievous joy. Fingers, quick in pockets. Sliding through the shadows. Locks gliding open, just a little, making a complex lock simple and a simple one opened by even those with no skill at all, like myself. There was something piercing in it, too; I felt the sharpness of the little dagger I wore, and knew it would extend to smaller swords, or even axes and hammers, and to a bow that I had never once wielded, but for which I had a sudden, unexpected desire.

Beaming at my discovery, I reached eagerly for the Mage stone. Was touching a stone enough to set my fate in it? I do not know. The Mage was nothing more than rock to me. I stared at it for a long time, my hand resting on the damp, cold moss. I moved to the warrior; even that was preferable to the guilt that accompanied my new-found sense of skill.

The Warrior gave me nothing, either. I had a blessing, but it was not one I cared for. Thus it was that I determined to find the others. There were twelve stones, we knew; twelve, for the twelve constellations of the sky. I have found them all. As I said, I will not share all their locations. My limbs stiffen, and the sky grows cold. I have little time.

I went first to the west, and found the Lover stone. It took the blessing of the Thief stone from me, leaving me with a strange charisma in its place. I saw the worth of those I spoke to, and gave my own in return. I was, I realised, quite charming. My smile came easy to my face, though not without removing the sense of mischief that wove through it. It was a blessing, though. Perhaps, I thought, other stones might also respond.

I found the Apprentice. Nothing.

The Shadow answered, letting me slip through dark and light alike, completely unseen. The masters of Illusion would have been fascinated.

The Ritual, close to Whiterun, did nothing.

It was when I finally discovered the location of the Tower that I met the other travellers: a Dunmer refugee, small and slight, and a Nord. The place was bitterly cold, and the wind vicious as any of the frost spells I wielded. I approached, showing my hands unarmed, and they invited me to their fire.

"We came for the Tower stone," the Dunmer said. "I am Llorvase."

The Nord stuck out a big hand. "Enrik."

"Have you tried it?" I asked, anxiously.

They nodded, and from their faces I could tell that nothing had come to them. I went to the stone and placed my hand on it.

It was as deep as the Thief that I had first experienced. It did not just give me access to the hidden places, but it was a hidden place itself. I felt as if I might vanish from existence at any point, with the knowledge inside of me. A charge of the Thief it certainly was, but it gave me no stealth, nor piercing. Instead, it was as if the locks... they simply had no purpose. All the places were also my palace. I could see within chests and behind locked doors, as if I already stood there, in all places, while still standing on that snowy slope. The locks were meaningless. I closed my eyes and tried to embrace the feeling, but could not do so perfectly. Perhaps one who was adept at picking locks already could have mastered any door. I do not know, nor will I ever be able to try it.

I picked up my pack, feeling it light and easy in my hands, as if some part of it had also moved out of existence. The others could see, in my face, that something had changed. "What happened?" Llorvase asked.

I explained the sensations I had felt, and she laughed. "It is ironic," she said. "I am a thief, and yet it's the stones of the Mage and its charges that respond to me."

She shared the effects of the stones she had felt. The Mage stone, in Riverwood, had allowed her to draw in more of the magic of Aetherius. "I could have cast some big spells... if I knew any. It's the Apprentice I prefer," she said. "We Dunmer don't mind fire so much, and while the stone may have made me more vulnerable to that magic... well, all magic really... look how much more quickly I can draw it in."

She demonstrated, filling her hands with light, then letting it die, then doing it again and again. She sighed as she let the little glowing sphere settle behind her shoulder. "That's almost the only spell I know. There was another I could have learned, but... ugh."

She told me of the Ritual stone, and the woman she had found there, guarding it. "Every skeleton in the place came to life at her call," Llorvase said. "I ran."

"Did you visit the Atronach stone?" I asked her, and when she nodded, grinning, I insisted, "I must know how you got past the guardian there."

"I'm a thief," she laughed, again. "Atronachs are stupid. It wasn't hard. You don't want it, though. Ah, I felt it in me. So much power! I felt as if I could cast even the greatest spell with ease... but no magic came to me. It was as if I had been emptied out. It was only when the atronach turned back, and hit me with a bolt of lightning, that I felt my magic return to me."

"What did you do?"

"The only other spell I know is a ward, so I cast that. A good thing too, because the second spell did not fill my magic. It just hurt. It looks as if half the time it works, and half the time it doesn't. I went back to find the Apprentice Stone again before coming here."

I thanked her for saving me the time and trouble. "How about you, Enrik?" I asked.

"Well," he began slowly, "I joined the Stormcloaks...."

"Ah. A warrior."

His smile fell into a thin line, and he shrugged. "Of course." I thought at the time he simply didn't like the swiftness of my categorization of his race and allegiance. "Are you also bound to the warrior and his charges? What are they like?" we both listened eagerly.

"A few of the Stormcloaks are bound to them," he said, "and like you, they cannot choose any other. The Warrior grants skill in battle, as you might expect. Any weapon, including bows."

I nodded, remembering the lethal keenness of weapons that the Thief stone had provided to me.

"The Lady... she makes you fast. It isn't as if you're strong, but your strength recovers more quickly. You can run faster, catch your breath." He spoke in short words, his accent strong on his tongue.

"And the Lord?" Llorvase asked.

"Harder skin. Harder against magic, too. The Steed makes you stronger, simple as that. You can run further, though you won't recover any more quickly than if you were just that strong anyway."

"Can you carry more?" I asked, thinking of the lightness of my pack. He shook his head.

"They all sound useful, though, for a Stormcloak," I said. "What brought you out here? Or did you come for the Shrine of Talos? I'm not judging," I added quickly. "I'm a mage, not a politician."

"Yes," he grunted. "That was it. I was thinking, though, of going to the Warrior stone. I haven't tried that one; just heard about it from the others. I am a Nord. If I'm not a warrior, what am I?"

"I'm heading south," I told him. "I've seen them all. I'll be taking the pass to Bruma, if you want to come with me."

He nodded. We bid farewell to Llorvase, then set off the next morning.

We reached the stones after a few days of travel. It was cold; bitterly cold. It still is.

My fingers tremble as I hold this quill. I must write the last of it, while I can. I hope that I can.

The stones... they draw you in. I do not know what it was that made me touch the Thief stone again. As I lie here, I tell myself that I wanted only to try its power. I tell myself that my fingers on Enrik's purse were nothing more than an experiment, no different to any other. The desire that came with it, though, was overwhelming.

Truly, I think that perhaps I was always meant to be a thief. They say that thieves are driven by their luck, and that eventually, it runs out. They live shorter lives, compared to others. It would make sense. My life is almost over, now. This warning is the only legacy I can leave.

Enrik caught me. He spat at me, on my face, and my legs gave way immediately. I gasped. It was hard to breathe. He stared down at me, contemptuous. I stared back, uncomprehending.

"There is a thirteenth stone," he told me. "The Stormcloaks sent me to it, and this is the gift it has given me. It is... dark. It is a darkness that moves through the stars and between them. It is mortality. It is death." I saw the sorrow there, then, and the haunted shadow in his eyes. He put his hand on the Warrior stone, and the faint flicker of a smile flashed across his face; but it was a smile of resignation, not delight. He moved past me, touching the Mage, and then the Thief. Then he came back, and he shrugged. "Everything I knew of the warrior stone and its charges, I knew from others. These were the last stones for me, in the whole of Skyrim. I am blessed by the Serpent, and no other."

"I am... sorry..." I managed.

"Yes," he responded. He looked down at me. "I have never seen sorrier. You should not have tried to steal from me." He looked up at the clouded sky. The rain had ice in it, and was turning to snow. Somewhere I could hear a long, low howl. "If the weather does not take you," he said, "the wolves will do the job. I will be long gone from here by then. Farewell, Thief." Then he walked away.

I did not know that there was a thirteenth stone, and that, the darkest stone of all.

Enrik, if that was his name, told it true. The poison has killed me, and the snow has killed me, and so have the stones. I cannot walk, and even my arms are weak. Each breath is harder than the last. I try to call, but my voice is thin, and only the wolves answer. They are close, now.

My limbs stiffen, and the sky grows cold.

I closed the book with a soft thud, my mind reeling from what I'd just read. The leather-bound diary felt heavy in my hands, weighted with the grim fate of its author. I stared at the Thief Stone in front of me, its surface etched with constellations that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.

"Well," I whispered. "That's... intense."

I'd known about the thirteen stones from the game, of course. But reading this firsthand account, feeling the desperation in every hastily scrawled word... it drove home just how real this world was. This wasn't some carefully scripted RPG anymore. These standing stones held genuine power, and that power came with very real consequences.

The diary revealed that certain people could indeed receive blessings from the Stones, but they were locked into a specific set based on their innate nature. Which begged the question – was I innately a warrior? Or had whoever dumped me in this world overridden the Stones' judgment?

"Who knows?" I said, leaning back against the cool stone. "Maybe I should be grateful I'm not stuck with the Serpent's charming 'gift of mortality.'"

Still, the information opened up some intriguing possibilities. If I truly was aligned with the Warrior's constellation, that meant I could potentially access the Lady, Lord, and Steed Stones as well. Speed, endurance, strength, or increased damage and armor penetration with all weapons... each blessing had its appeal.

I closed my eyes, letting the gentle lapping of the nearby river wash over me. The choice ahead felt important, even if I couldn't act on it right this moment. Did I want to be faster? Tougher? Stronger? Or just hit better with whatever weapon I could get my hands on?

"Decisions, decisions," I murmured, a wry smile tugging at my lips.

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint howl of a distant wolf. My eyes snapped open. Riverwood was still a ways off, and I'd wasted enough time playing amateur scholar.