So, Skyrim, huh?

"A video game... you said?" Michael asked, curious about the unusual choice for a present. "So, no book this year. What changed, little rose?"

It was a windy afternoon in the early October, when Michael took his daughter to a stroll around the local park before celebrating her 11th birthday in a restaurant that he booked earlier that day. Being in this line of work, he tended to get busy. Yet—he always made sure to make time for his daughter. He wanted her to have a better childhood than his, after all.

Raising her as a single father was challenging, even more so when he usually had both hands full of work. However, being able to see her smile every he returned home made all the hard works more worth it. With his daughter held his hand tightly, he led both him and her towards the hill, strolling to their favourite spot to watch the sunset.

"Well, I came across it when I surfed the net during my study break and got curious," she replied, tapping her chin as she looked thoughtfully. "I gotta admit, the trailer looked promising. And the reviews are largely positive. Though, aren't you gonna say anything about video games make me violent, or things similar to that?"

"Don't worry. I'm not one of those ignorant morons." Michael chuckled and ruffled her long red hair, earning a small adorable pout from the girl. "As long as you don't neglect your studies with Sophia, I don't mind. And it'd be hypocrite of me to forbid you from playing video games when I played them in the past. Nothing wrong if you enjoy them moderately."

She blinked, surprised. "You are... I mean, that is it? I thought you were going to protest more, or try to change my mind?"

"And why should I?" Michael asked back. "Sure, I didn't expect you to not ask for any book this year. Then again, a video game is fine, as long you don't neglect your study, like I said."

Allowing a wide beam plastering across her face, she briefly hugged him. "Thanks, papa~!"

"Anything for you, my little rose."

The pair of father-daughter made their way to their favourite spot. Before long, they started sitting next to each other on the soft green grass, making themselves comfortable, as they gazed towards the darkening sky, slowly turning orange and red with the sun retreating into the horizon.

"So—" he casted a questioning look to her "—how do you feel about home studying? Do you like it better than school?"

"A lot better in fact," she answered gleefully, as he detected no lies in her words. "Auntie Sophia taught better than those so-called teachers in the school. Though, I do have one complaint."

His daughter squinted her beautiful purple eyes—like a pair of amethysts—into a flat line, making him chuckle lightly.

"She is spoiling me too much... and I'm starting to enjoy it too much as well." She shuddered. "I can't escape her hug. I knew she is hugger, but once she got me, I couldn't do anything but turn into a useless chunk of meat in her embrace. Auntie's motherly vibe is nice... and terrifying."

Which Michael burst into a light-hearted laugh, stroking her hair again.

"That's her specialty, alright. And she really loves you a lot, little rose," Michael remarked fondly. "You might not know, Rose, but she was there when you were welcomed to this world. Holding you like her own babe, especially right after your mother's... passing. From that moment on, she started looking after you. Helped me a lot in raising you too."

Rose, his daughter, blinked, before she smiled softly. "Wow. I... didn't know. Should I start calling her mom from now on?"

"I think she'd faint, or cry her eyes out if you start calling her that," Michael speculated, laughing internally as it was probable to happen. "For that teaching part, it is to be anticipated. Sophia was learning to become the teacher before we were running out of eligible men and started drafting women into the army."

Rose only offered a nod, as she looked to the sky with a distant gaze. Michael already knew what she was thinking about. The man softened his face and lowered his brows, putting a hand on top of her head. He got her attention, sent her an assured grin.

"I wouldn't mind you calling Sophia mom."

His daughter looked quiet for a moment before she smiled gratefully. The same smile then turned into a sly one. "About time already~. With what you and auntie do every late weekend night, I'd be surprised you two don't give me a younger sibling to dote anytime soon."

Michael pauses. He did not like where this was going.

"D-Don't give me that face!" The sly smile turned into a blushing mess. "It isn't my fault th-that I got curious about what the heck you and auntie do every night with all the noises you m-m-made! I swear you two are like nothing but b-beasts in heat in bed, y'know!"

His face blanched significantly. "Just... how much are you aware already?"

Which she rolled her eyes, deadpanned. "Like how auntie grinded her bum against your crotch, while you played with her bust whenever you two are in the kitchen?" Rose stated rather bluntly, with a mock disgusted look on her face. "At least watching live actions gives me a better picture than imagining all those sex scenes written in the smu—"

Rose slapped her hand over her mouth, sweating like bullets at her slip. All the while she watches Michael's eyes twitching, as though unable to believe what he heard.

"Y-You read... what?! At your age?!"

"Wh-What's wrong with it?!" she defended with a profound blush. "I'm going learn about it soon, right? Better sooner than later, y'know!"

In response, he simply dragged his hand across his face with an exasperated sigh.

"Sophia's so going to skin my arse alive," Michael said in a defeated tone. "I'm... not gong to ask how you were able to watch us, or where you got those smut novels. But this isn't definitely how I imagined I'd start a serious talk about the birds and the bees."

Rose stuck her tongue out playfully. "I regret nothing~."

Michael gave her a blank stare, before sighing again. Then he chuckled, started messing with her hair. "I guess that's to be expected. You've always been the matured one among your peers. But I didn't expect you'd be curious about it so soon. On the other hand, it's our fault."

"I'm so going to tease auntie when we arrive at the restaurant~," she claimed with a mischievous grin—a grin which translated to nothing but bad news, at least to her auntie.

"Just don't go overboard," Michael told her, before smiling. "In any case, we should head to the Central Mall and look for that video game soon. What is the game about anyway?"

"Well, the main character is someone who has a dragon soul, with the main goal to stop a dragon from destroying their world. Kinda a normal premise for fantasy gerne."

"Uh-huh. And its name?"

She tapped her chin. Soon, his daughter turned to him with a smile. "I think the full name is The Elder Scrolls 5: Skyrim. Called Game of the Decade too, I think?"

====================

Michael releases another sigh as he walks past another pine, thinking about the answer which the boy he saved earlier gave him.

Skyrim. He is currently in Skyrim, more precisely one of the many woodlands which span across the great plains of Whiterun Hold and half-a-day walk to a small town named Riverwood.

And the important bit is, Michael sensed no lies from each word Bjorn spoke.

What on Earth has he gotten his sorry arse into this time? Who out there did he piss off so much to make them transport him into a world that is supposed to exist only in a video game?

Either the boy was exceptionally good at lying—Michael cannot fathom what he would gain from lying to him, aside watching him suffer—or the reality that the impossible became, well, possible. He is inclining towards the latter more as every minute passes.

His reasoning? The quality of the air. Needless to say, while the Industrial Revolution did some... significant damages to the air, it was not until the very end of the Third World War, the war that could have been easily prevented, that the human population started to notice just how damaged the ozone layer is. It got so bad, to the point the first decade after the war almost every available resource is used to restore the air quality.

In spite of every effort that has been put into work, even though it was brought back to a livable state, it never feels the same way he felt before the war again. Even in parts of the world with the cleanest airs, it still has this... foul scent of the aftermath of the war.

He cannot put in words. But he knows the sudden spike in lung cancers and heart diseases from air pollution related mean something.

Well, just the usual humanity and their infinity wisdom of stupidity. Him, including.

Here, however, there is no such foulness. It is pure, untouched, untainted; as though it belongs a completely different world. It is an unreal thing. Yet, here he is, taking in the nth deep breaths to reconfirm his suspicion. This is nowhere near polluted enough to be Earth's air.

At the same time, this place could be a very tiny part of an unknow land on Earth that managed to stay out of the war—which is impossible. The satellite confirmed no location is spared from air pollution. And the boy's words. Seriously, what would he gain from lying to him?

"Enough," Michael says to himself. "There's only one way to confirm this: Riverwood."

Which is where he is heading to at the moment, in order to put down all doubts. Though, a tiny part of him knows he is really here, in Skyrim. A world where magic is the norm. A world where creatures like dragons exist. A world where a god-like being is threatening its very existence.

A world that should not exist in the first place.

And a world that made his daughter smile with its many (mis)adventures and alike. A world that introduced her to many new friends who shared her same passion. A world where the community wholeheartedly welcomed her with wide open arms, despite of her age.

Being too matured for her own good—seriously, what kind of a 11-year-old reads porn, and talks about sex casually—Rosalind had a difficult time finding friends who could understand her. Well, there was him; but since he was her badass and cool papa, for a time, it does not count.

Frankly, he would rather not talk about how his precious daughter progressively transformed into a closet pervert. She got that from him, all thanks to him fooling with her auntie around with her constantly spying on them, because in her words, "live action is better than visualisation."

His fault, definitely. Leastwise the birds and the bees talk got easier for both parties.

Things got slightly worse when she got into Japanese cartoons and comic books. Not to mention, that brief chuunibyou(?) phase. Still, was it chuunibyou when she truly had hidden powers? Food for thoughts.

Back to the matters at hand.

"How am I supposed to determine the timeline now?" Michael muses. "It's been ages since I last touched Skyrim. Even then, it was Rosalind pestering me into playing the damned game all the bloody time. Right. Brain, at least recall the main story. And... Damn, I forgot to ask him if there are dragons sighted yet."

Michael sighs exasperatedly. How could he forget such an important thing?

Speaking of the boy, it turns out that he was forced to join the morons, who all wanted to put his memorization of the Whiterun Hold to good use, evident by the innocent travellers they managed to catch off guard and the Hold's patrols they evaded. A bunch of bastards, that they were, but... he has to admit they were quite resourceful. Credit where credit is due.

Unfortunately for them, they just had to go and try to rob him when his mood was not the best.

Pretty sure he crippled all of the morons and put at least one in coma.

Then there was the matter of looting the morons. At first the boy was against, logicizing it would be stealing from the ones he already stole. Michael returned with one simple question: At whose hands the money is going to be put in better use? Him, who regretted his actions—something that was out of his control—or outlaws who will rob again if they were not crippled?

Not unexpectedly, the boy decided to loot the morons with Michael, howbeit reluctantly. Though he did his best to assure him, which seemed to work. He got enough coins for essential supplies, along a weapon, and the boy got to have the rest; which was a lot. There were some protests but Michael was having none of it. He had no more need for much fortune.

They bid their goodbye after Bjorn thanked him once more, saying something about returning to his village first before joining a certain organization of vampire hunters called The Dawnguard to, as he quoted, "put my hunting and tracking skills to better use so I won't sully pop's memories any further."

Michael has a feeling their paths will cross again soon.

Then, there is the elephant in the room: Should this actually is Skyrim, would he involve himself into this land's affairs?

"...What am I even asking myself?" He snorts, grinning. "Obviously I am going to. I'm not going to let some flying overgrown lizards tearing apart the place that made my little rose happy."

He already felt a sense of gratefulness to the game—which also extends to this world.

It was an easy choice to make, that is for certain.

Regardless, there is a still the matter of this Skyrim. Is this the Skyrim he knows... or a completely different one? Then again, be that as it may, he would do what he does best: winging it.

====================

Michael exhales a contented sigh, as the sweet cold water quelches down his parched throat. He gathers more liquid with his cupped hand in the pond he came across minutes ago, inhaling the batch in one go; before another, then another, gleefully savouring the ever-so pleasant taste.

The ripples of the pond lessen, allow Michael to gaze at his reflection in the water. A frown. His wet fingers touching the sunken skin of the scar across of what was once his left eye. He breathes out with a sullen chuckle.

"Just when I was starting to get used to looking with both eyes again," Michael mutters under his breath, deadpanned. "Got to admit, though, she did pack quite a mean punch. Nearly... sent me to that godforsaken place too. She really took after her 'mother' in that regard."

Rosalind, or endearingly, Rose. His precious little rose. The very sole reason he would gladly go beyond to ensure her a childhood better than his. Now, she is nothing more than a distant piece of memory. He failed her in every way, as her friend, her teacher... her papa.

A grimace finds its way to his face. Which he quickly dismisses with a splash of cold water across his face, grunting in his throat. A deep breath to rein in his emotions.

"Calm down, Michael. She wouldn't want to see you like... this," Michael chides himself quietly, though the pain is still visible in his voice. "Acting gloomy is her forte during that phase; definitely not yours." He snorts. "Well, no rest for the wicked. You still have something to confirm."

Michael sips some more water. Little by little, his eye narrows. For some reason, he feels wrong, like something is happening right in front of him without his awareness. His hunch turns a reality, as he trails a droplet dropping from the fingertip, plunging into the pond surface, creating a small ripple.

The said ripple suddenly stops stirring. Then, there is no longer any sound nor movement to be heard. The birds cease their chirping, their flight, standing motionless on the branches. The winds blow into him no more. The teeming lives in the trees, under and above the earth, all come to a halt. Michael could practically feel every fiber, instinct honed from wars, screaming to him.

"Bloody hell," Michael curses, casting a wary gaze at his surroundings as he arises from his knees and gets ready for a possible fight; his posture tensing. "A time-stop, at this scale? This is the first, alright. This isn't going to end well, is it?"

"Perhaps yes. Perhaps no. It depends on you, Mr. Stone."

His ears twitching. A low crack on a dried branch. A gentle brush against the grass. Promptly he slowly turns his body around, laying his eye on the woman approaching him, dressing in a black gown with her elongated greyed hair letting loose, dragging the dark tips along the ground. And the gaze of her ivory pupils directing at him. She looks gentle, a bit concerned, yet something in him tells him to get away from her. An unnerving familiar sensation.

In the twinkling of his eye, something clicks in his mind. What he is feeling from her gaze is akin to how he exactly feels in that... room. Countless eyes constantly watching, and judging him.

"You..." he utters, swallowing a lump in his throat.

The woman simply breathes out, her clasped hands in front her belly, as she aims a rather irritated soft-glare at him. "You." Michael, in response, raises a brow, tilting his head over both shoulders, before pointing at himself. She rolls her eyes. "Yes, you. You are the bane of my existence... you know that? A normal person might be able to cheat me once or two, rarely thrice. But you! You are the singular cause for all of my headaches! And do not get me start with the teasing I received from others, all thanks to you! Not properly doing my job, my behind!"

...Is that a pout on her face?

"Uh. Excuse me, what?" Michael responses not-so-intelligently.

The woman breathes in deeply before exhaling, seemingly calming down. "Your existence is not normal," she states bluntly. "People just do not die and return to life like it is a normal routine. It is not how the circle of life operates."

"Hey, now. Don't blame me for what I cannot control." He crosses his arms. "While I did choose to walk down that path, I didn't anticipate those crazy fuckers to program those things to... oh."

Michael's words slowly trail off with a look of alarmed realization.

"Say, you're Death, aren't you?" he speculates blankly, pointing his finger at her.

Which prompts the woman to blink. "Huh. It appears your reputation as an exceptional detective precedes you, Mr. Stone. What gave me away? I am certain I concealed my aura," Death mouths the last part—which Michael easily lip reading her.

"Detective?" He chuckles. "Haven't heard that for a while. And to answer your question: my very nature. Like you said, people just don't die and return to life. Life doesn't work that way. And to add, you said people cheat you, then me, implying that I cheated you before—which is strange; I have yet to met you. The only thing in my life I cheated is death; numerous times. So yeah—" he shrugs nonchalantly "—it was merely an assumption that was confirmed by you."

Of course, there is her gaze; feels similar to that damn room. But she does not need to know.

"To confirm, yes. It was I who watch you appear in my territory every time you 'die.'"

Michael flattens his gaze. "Of course. You can read my mind," he deadpans, stating it as though it is the obvious. "In any case, now that we confirm who you are, let us head straight to the point: are... you here to take my soul? Because I'm ready to die."

"Unfortunately, as much as you want me to rip your soul, I cannot. God forbids us from directly involving in mortal's affairs." Her answer slightly disappoints him, but it is what it is. "I am... sorry about that. I truly wish to help you in that regard."

Seeing the sincere apologetic smile, Michael chuckles. "Don't blame yourself. it is what it is."

"You are taking things quite calmly so far, you realize?" Death continues, tilting her head in one curious manner. "Most people would freak before my presence. You, however, you are treating this like it is just another Tuesday... Your work is a crappy one, is it not?"

"You have no idea," Michael mutters. "When you're tasked to eliminate literal monstrosities that look like they escaped one of those Lovecraftian novels more often than not—all manmade too—you're bound to see things you shouldn't be. Meeting you, Death, or learning God actually exists, seems relatively pale in comparison. Not going to lie, you look way too beautiful to be Death."

Which gets a giggle out of her. "Thank you for the compliment. We realized taking female forms make our job easier, so it has become a tradition among us."

"...Right."

"Enough small talk. My time here is running out." Death looks slightly more serious, putting him on edge. "You must have questions regarding your current circumstances. I can confirm that this world is indeed Skyrim. The same Skyrim that your daughter came to love; though, it is not quite the same Skyrim she used to play. The differences, that is your job to find out."

"I see," Michael answers simply, letting the information sink in. "And... why am I here?"

"God offered a second chance to Rosalind when her soul stood before her," Death elaborates as his eye widens. She giggles fondly. "A new world to reincarnate with her choosing. As the fangirl she is, Rosalind chose Skyrim, immediately."

Michael laughs light-heartedly. "That's definitely her, alright. And she's here. Where is she now, by the by?"

"Again, that is your job to find out. But you will meet her soon."

Michael releases a long sigh, feeling some invisible weights casted off his heart, relived. "She is... alive. I-I'm glad. But... that didn't still answer my question."

Death tenders her gaze. "She asked God if she could bring you to Nirn, along one more."

"M-Me?" he whispers in disbelief.

"She loves you more than anything in this world, Mr. Stone."

"...Silly girl. She still loves me, even after what I... I did to her that... day?"

"Rosalind is an understanding child, more than you gave her credit for. She knows the pain you went through, and the difficult choice you had to make. Making a man choose between his duty and his family is... unpleasant. Rosalind fully understands what needed to be done."

Michael clenches his hand into fist, biting his lower lip while staring at his feet. "I... never deserved her, did I? That girl was way too good for me." He smiles bitterly.

"Let the past stay as the past. Your journey might not have the best start, but it could get a better ending." Death sends him an assured smile. "Use this second chance wisely; and try not to appear in my space too often, yes~?"

He snorts. "No promises. You know how I work."

Which earns him a roll of her eyes. "I swear, one day!" She brings up her index finger. "When I get your soul, I am going to work you to death for all the troubles you brought me!"

"Yeah, sure."

Death stares at Michael with half-lidded eyes. She sighs again before returns to her smile, reaching her hand into the cleavage of her quite sizable bosom, barely held together by her gown, taking Michael by surprise, before pulling out a piece of metal, a purse and... an eyeball?

"Here, catch." Death throws the objects at Michael, as they are caught with one hand easily.

Michael looks at them curiously. His nose catches the pleasant earthly and herby scent. "Smells... like chrysanthemums with a touch of ripe apple. Interesting."

"Consider them your welcome gifts, of sorts."

"I have an idea about the eyeball," Michael says, looking at the piece of metal more closely. "But what about this piece? What is it for—" Upon seeing her smile, he presses his lips. "Oh, right. You don't have to answer. It's for me to find out, isn't it?"

"You do not bother asking about the purse?" Death raises an amused brow.

"It's obviously a purse that's used to contain coins, ma'am."

"No, dunce. Not entirely correct." Death giggles. "I feel bad that your hard-earned money would go to waste. That coin purse in your hand can generate the amount of Septim equals to your net worth on Earth. It can also create more purses. Oh, remember, 10 Septim is 1 USD. You can do the math."

"I appreciate your generosity," Michael remarks gratefully, but worried, "but are you certain this is a good idea? You said yourself you're not allowed to be directly involved in our affairs."

"God gave me permission," Death reassures. "She said it would put a terrible taste in her mouth if you are not compensated for the trouble she put you through, alternatively throwing you from one world to another without your consent, quite literally."

Michael chuckles. "Then please tell her she has my sincerest gratitude."

"Oh?" Death puffs her cheeks cutely. "What about me? Did I do nothing for you, hmm?"

"Yes, yes. Thank you for your information and presents," he says flatly.

"Hmph! Ungrateful brat." Her eyebrows twitching. "Wait until I get my hands on your soul..."

Which Michael simply sends a playful wink at Death, prompts her to roll her eyes again. As she releases an amused sigh, the goddess(?) straightens her gown.

"One more thing, before I go back to my realm," she speaks. "Six months, Mr. Stone. You have six months to prepare for The World Eater's eventual return to Nirn. Likewise, this Skyrim is not the Skyrim Rosalind played. This is real life, real world. You know what it means."

"...Understood." Michael nods firmly, as he lowers himself with a hand to his heart, bowing. "My deepest gratitude, my lady. For allowing me a second chance to see my daughter again, and right my wrongs. This is the best present this old bone could've ever imagined."

"You are welcome. Godspeed, Mr. Stone. Do you mind if I start calling you Michael?"

"Michael is..." Michael pauses, looking up, only to see Death has already gone, and life resumes back to normal. He sighs, contented. "...fine. That was something. You know, for Death, she was pretty chill and easy to approach. Nothing like those stereotypes. Or there has to be some ulterior motives behind it, but that is just my paranoia simply being unreasonable."

Michael looks down to his hand, studying the gifts he received. Quickly, he binds the purse next to the one he looted from the morons, before returning his attention to the remaining two objects in interest. Observing the piece of metal keenly, the man all of a sudden senses a pulse originating from the thing, though it lasts only for a brief moment. He hums, waiting for something to happen again, but soon gives up and pockets the metal piece.

"Now, what to do with this eyeball?" He rolls it around his fingers, scrutinizing thoroughly. "You look kind of familiar. Hmm. Where have I seen you before?"

Out of the blue, four spider-like legs emerging from the bottom of the eyeball. Rotating the pupil with the same color as his, the eyeball turns to face him. It let out a mechanical squeak, proceeds to scan his face with a green laser light divided into squares.

[Target recognized: Cpt. Michael Stone. Proceed to replace the missing eye. Please stay still, and refrain from freaking out as the procedure takes place.]

"...Fuck."

The eyeball crouches down into a jumping position and launches into his empty eye socket, with a breakneck speed he cannot follow. A terrorized scream covers the entire section of the forest—soon it is replaced with a great deal of annoyed curses directing at none other but the A.I installed prosthetic eyeball itself.

Somewhere in Heaven, its creator clutches her belly and rolls on the cloud, guffawing jovially at the expense of her former captain's suffering. Before long, she wipes away the tears on her eyes, beaming radiantly at the thankful grin on Michael's face.

Candidly, he would not survive more than two days without her precious babies, after all.

====================

"Sister, you felt that too, right?"

The woman inclines her head, brushing her snow-white sidelock over her ear, as she cups tightly the cup of steaming tea in her hands, gently bringing it up to her mouth and sipping the honeyed-tasting tea. A grave expression flashes across her face, before a calm smile settles on her face.

"Geh," she replies simply, casting her kind green eyes at the bustling street, packed with travellers and merchants going on their lives, through the broad window. "The last piece of the artifact has emerged. With it, the qostiid is... fulfilled."

She glances back at her sister, noting the frown on her face. Yellow eyes only staring at her own tea cup. A strand of her fine blonde hair falling over her eyes, going unnoticed.

"So..." her sister starts quietly, "the eldest sister is resurfacing soon. The scroll failed, huh?"

"The Kel was not meant to kill her. It sent her forwards time." She takes another sip. "We were... simply delaying the inevitable, my dear Keinliivbrii. Our ahmul said as much before he sacrificed himself to weaken Alduin."

"I know." Keinliivbrii inhales deeply. "Sisters against sisters once more. Will she ever realize the errors in her ways? I wonder about it sometimes, Paarthurnax."

"We could always count on the Dovahkiin to put some senses into her thick head," Paarthurnax jests merrily, drawing a small giggle out of Keinliivbrii. "Fear not, sister. I am confident there shall be another way to oblaan all this without... much bloodshed. Akatosh reassured me."

"Akatosh?"

Paarthurnax nods. "They who hold the Bane of the Dovah shall rekindle the bitterly coldness in the heart of The World Eater," she states cryptically. The smile never leaving her face.

"Are you sure we can trust that?"

"The qostiid has not been proven wrong. Yet."

In response, the blonde beauty sighs, her eyes glimmering hopefully. "I hope so, sister."

Paarthurnax acknowledges her sister's worry with a nod. She closes her eyes, let her knowledge-filled ancient mind take her back to the fateful day.

The beginning of the Dragon War.

"I hope someone will be able to warm your frozen heart again, sister."

====================

Translation:

Geh = Yes

Qostiid = Prophecy

Kel = Scroll (The Elder Scroll)

Ahmul = Husband

Oblaan = End

Keinliivbrii = War Wither Beauty

====================