Unbroken

The reflection that greeted him in the mirror was familiar yet also new.

A white streak of hair ran in-between his inky black ones - a contrast that reminded him of the Moon in the night sky. Where once pale, sick skin was, now one could see a healthy, yet fair palette of snow.

Most important of all, though: the glint of untapped power in his eyes.

Dawn peaked at the horizon, the Sun warming up Nirn as it emerged from afar - along with it came a veritable drum of power. It thrummed in the earth, pulsing like a heartbeat, eager to flourish under the blinding sunlight.

Everything felt like changing, shifting into a new phase - one which Sevyn felt in his very bones.

It wanted out... his Magic wanted to lash at the outside world, eager to be used in any which way.

Were it Dusk, on the other hand, his Magic would want the very opposite: to rest, to flow through one's body like a calm river would amid the forest. He, of course, had his theories about such phenomena.

'Magnus, in his hurry to escape Mundus created the Sun - a hole through which Magic pours from Aetherius. So, during the day, Magic is at its peak, while at night, it is dormant. Then, the only source of Magic available should be that of the stars and the Sun's refraction on both Moons, Masser and Secunda.'

Such theories, Sevyn feared, remained yet to be tested and proved. Speaking of which... he'd probably need a new Journal, as his current one was proving to not be sufficient.

What he knew for a fact, however, was that he owed Azura's ritual for this new awareness. To feel aware of the transient state of Magic between Night and Day... one too many alarm bells went off at that.

Alas, whether or not he should be thankful for such a gift remained yet to be seen. He'd take anything he could get for now, anyhow.

Heaving a sigh, one to expel all uncertainties from his head, he took his wooden leg studs lying beside the bed. With practiced ease, he locked them into the harness that adorned his knees - one which allowed for a minimum amount of flexibility and maneuverability when bending one's knees to prowl or turn around.

A dry thud echoed in the room as he put his 'feet' on the ground, his Magic steadfast to assist him in getting up. For a second or two, he basked into the bliss that was power flowing through his body - like diving into the river and letting it take one far away.

Nevertheless, he did not stand around for long. Winterhold's College awaited him, at last.

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Sevyn was a unique sight in Winterhold.

Whenever he walked, his wooden studs would bend under the effects of gravity every time he raised his legs, shifting in their harness' axis to somehow resemble legs made of flesh.

Yet, with their sharp lines and contours, it made for an odd visage of elegance and swiftness.

Still, as weird as it appeared - something the people of Winterhold were very much not fond of - it elicited some respect as well. The boy could stand on his feet... despite having none, for that matter.

Something most didn't notice, though, not even Sevyn, was how he did no longer feel the bite of cold from the North - if anything, he even felt more comfortable in it. Coupled with the now developing muscles underneath his frame, one could even mistake him for a direct descendant of Atmoran blood.

After all, were the legends true, Atmorans were known for their physical prowess - something very much proved by the fact that an Atmoran little girl was capable of killing an army general.

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Her skin had a golden sheen, and her ears were slim and sharp - Faralda was a High Elf - an Altmer - through and through.

Currently, she observed him from the corner of her eyes. The boy had no crutches to aid him in walking, yet he sauntered with practiced finesse.

Eyes set onto the magnific walls of Winterhold's College, he resembled some of her best students yet - the way they behaved, confident and determined.

Still, as much as she wanted to test the boy herself, she wasn't the one tasked with such duty that day. Instead... she almost scoffed when the man's name resurfaced in her mind - Ancano was.

It pained her to accept the fact that Ancano was an Altmer just like her.

Arrogant, haughty, and - worst of all - a pain in her ass. Clearly, one that was there to oversee Aldmeri interests, as the College of Winterhold was a separate entity from the rest of Skyrim.

If she were to find the reason for all her new pains, however, she would have to curse Ulfric Stormcloak as well.

It all traced back to the Markarth Incident - an incident where Jarl Ulfric and his Militia men retook the Reach from a Forsworn Uprising and re-instituted the worship of Talos: a blatant disrespect to the White-Gold Concordant edicts.

The Thalmor - the governing council of the Third Aldmeri Dominion - of course, made great use of this. By imprisoning Ulfric and his "Stormcloaks", they successfully planted the seeds of discord within Skyrim; which, should they grow, could result in a full-blown Civil War.

Now there were whispers of revolution - that the Empire became lapdog to the Thalmor. Some, the most extremist of the bunch, even talked about returning Skyrim to the true sons and daughters of Skyrim.

It all began at 4E 175 - now being 4E 196, with tensions at an all-time high. Should a Civil War happen as some predicted, however, it would weaken the Empire just like the Aldmeri Dominion wanted.

'Idiots, the lot of them.' Being an Altmer herself, though, it was for the best to keep such opinions to herself.

Regardless... now the College had more trouble being neutral amid such chaos than it had to teach its own students. Which brought her back to the situation at hand: her number one pain in the ass.

To keep Ancano away from meddling with the College's affairs, Savos Aren, the College's Arch-Mage, saw it wise to keep the man together with Faralda in guarding the bridge.

When Ancano was to test new students, Faralda, on the other hand, would use the free time to grade and review papers.

Still, it was hard to be focused on such a task - not when Ancano found the most idiotic of reasons to not accept new students. She would then have to go and search for the promising ones sent away, which only added to her workload.

'I'm not paid enough for this.' She thought, trying to pull her mind away from the rising argument Ancano had with the odd boy.

'If only I knew-'

Something shifted in the air then, the cold during Dawn suddenly even more biting. A whisper hissed in the recesses of her mind, and her eyes bolted at once to the disturbance.

She saw it all in slow motion: Ancano turning away from the boy, dismissive, the clouded expression that flashed across the boy's face, and...

Ice. Sharp, lethal, ice forming from the very ground, rushing like vice towards one unaware Ancano's throat.

She raised her arm in practiced expertise, and a Ward immediately settled around Ancano's throat, shielding it from the attack. She was already running towards the scene, but just as the pike of sharpened ice got too close to the shield, it stopped - just a hair shy of impact.

An icy gust of air escaped the boy's lips, and he said without any intonation in his voice:

"Does the cripple fulfill your expectations now?"