Chapter Text
- Varek -
“A little more to the right… just one more centimeter up… there! Stop!”
I tilted my head, narrowing my red eyes to analyze every angle of that carved wooden sign. If it were even slightly crooked, the whole project would look amateur, and I couldn’t afford to fail at something so basic. Not this time.
I adjusted the padded leather tunic, feeling the familiar weight of the metal plates against my chest and the tight pull of the buckles that held everything in place. The icy northern wind brushed against the shaved sides of my black hair, but I barely felt the cold.
And finally, I was Varek. That was the name I wanted to matter now. But I knew that, to the rest of the world, I would always be the Dovahkiin. The man who brought down Alduin and Miraak, the Thane of Whiterun, Meridia’s favored champion… The list of names they had given me was long enough to fill an entire book, and I had probably forgotten half of them already.
Here, between these reinforced stone walls that I had helped raise, I did not want to be a weapon of destruction. I wanted to be a merchant!
I stepped back a few paces, my heart beating with a strange mix of satisfaction and anxiety as I watched Lydia and Faendal finish fastening the sign.
Dremivon.
The name, written in bright gold on the wooden surface, was in Dovahzul, the language of dragons. Drem meant peace, and Mivon was a blend of trade, flow, or continuous movement. Seeing it finished brought me a kind of pride I rarely felt, a sense that, at last, I had finally completed my goal.
Lydia stood there with the same stoic expression she had worn since the day the Jarl appointed her my Housecarl in Whiterun. She still insisted on wearing that heavy plate armor, whose dragon claw marks I knew by heart. She was a Nord with fair skin, short brown hair at neck length, and dark eyes.
Beside her, Faendal was the perfect contrast: light, agile, and with that archer’s precision that never left him, not even while nailing up a sign. He had been one of the first to follow me back when I was nothing but a stranger wandering through Riverwood, and having his practical skill guiding the construction of Dremivon was what brought some order to my chaos. As a Bosmer, Faendal had a slimmer build, wearing green clothes, with blond hair tied in a ponytail and dark eyes.
I let my gaze run along the reinforced stone walls that surrounded the courtyard, and for the first time in years, I felt a satisfaction that did not come from a battle won, but from something built. I had done it.
“And to think that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been expelled from Winterhold.” I thought, feeling that old stab of melancholy.
It’s funny how the world sees me today, but my mind still betrays me, dragging me back to when I was only Varek Maryon, Brelyna’s younger brother. The “greatest failure of House Telvanni.” While my sister absorbed spells like a sponge, I was a disaster. I remember the frustration of being unable to cast even a simple healing spell.
Brelyna and I were always close, but her shadow was vast, and my family’s expectations weighed on my shoulders like ebony armor.
When we went to the College of Winterhold, the abyss only widened. I watched my sister bloom beside prodigies like J’zargo, Onmund, and of course, the damned Valenril Suncrown.
Valenril… the flawless Altmer. He mastered magic instantly while I struggled to light a candle. And it still hurts to remember how he and Brelyna grew close on secret missions while I was left behind.
Months later, Valenril became Arch-Mage and, with a stroke of a pen, signed my expulsion. I was escorted out like a criminal, wearing common clothes because even my novice robes had been confiscated. What haunts me the most, even today, is the image of Brelyna watching everything in silence, without saying a single word in my defense.
I was disowned, kicked out of my family and House Telvanni. I thought I would starve to death, but I crawled to Whiterun and knocked on the Companions’ door. I thought that if magic rejected me, steel would accept me. Sweet illusion. I was weak, mediocre with anything that wasn’t a sword. I fought for months, surviving by a thread in every contract, until Aela’s patience ran out. She practically threw me out of Jorrvaskr.
I can still taste the dust of Whiterun in my mouth and remember the laughter of that child who saw me tumble down the stairs.
And then… Helgen came. The dragon. The discovery that I was Dragonborn. The irony was almost funny: I, the failure in magic and the mediocre warrior, had a natural talent for the Thu’um that would leave the Greybeards speechless. In four years, I saved the world from Alduin, stopped Miraak, faced Daedra, and dealt with a vampire invasion, with barely a month or weeks between each catastrophe.
But none of that gave me the peace I feel now. I used every reward coin and every treasure from moldy tombs to raise this place. At first, I tried Falkreath, but someone else was faster and bought the land. Fate brought me back to The Pale, and here, Dremivon was born. A village focused on trade to help travelers and the desperate rebuild themselves, as I once needed to.
“You’re overthinking again.” A familiar voice sounded beside me, pulling me out of my trance.
I smiled without looking back, recognizing the tone. I turned to Serana. Her pale skin and red-orange eyes contrasted with the hood of her vampiric armor. She is my most reliable companion, the woman who was, without a doubt, my best friend.
“Just reflecting, Serana. It’s good to see this place finished.” I said, letting the smile widen.
“Finally is a very modest word for someone who basically raised a village from nothing while the rest of Skyrim is trying to kill itself.” she replied, crossing her arms and watching Faendal and Lydia put away the tools. “Most people in your position would be sitting on a throne in some mansion demanding tribute, but here you are… with dusty hands and worried about whether the sign is straight.”
I felt my face warm and ran a hand through my spiked hair, awkward.
“I was lucky with contacts, Serana. And Lydia and Faendal did most of the heavy work. Without them, I’d still be trying to figure out how to mix mortar…” I looked down at my boots. “I just wanted to be useful in a way that didn’t involve shouting at dragons or raiding moldy tombs.”
I felt a light touch on my shoulder. Serana stepped closer, her gaze softer. She knows when my mind drifts back to Winterhold.
“You know that isn’t true. Everyone here follows you because they believe in you, not out of obligation. And this village exists because you can’t see someone in trouble without wanting to give them a roof.” she forced me to look at the movement in the village. “But I know that look in your eyes. You’re already planning the next problem, aren’t you?”
“Well… the potion stock is low, Borgakh said the forge bellows are squeaking, and the southern routes need to be reviewed because of the snow…”
Serana let out a short, gentle laugh, interrupting my mental list.
“See? You’re a terrible hero. Legendary heroes should be drinking and lying about their exploits, not worrying about supply logistics. But I think that’s why Dremivon is going to prosper. They don’t follow the Dovahkiin, Varek. They follow the kind idiot who cares whether the inn’s sheets are clean.”
I felt the weight in my chest ease. I smiled at her, feeling that maybe I was finally on the right path.
“I just want it to work, Serana. So no one feels like they have no place in the world.”
“And it will.” she said with conviction. “Now, before you start counting the nails in the gate, let’s see if the kitchen already has that tea you like. That’s an order from your favorite advisor.”
- Varek -
I sat down on the stone bench in front of the fountain in the town square, letting my shoulders relax as the sound of the water pouring filled the village’s silence. Looking around, I couldn’t hold back a deep feeling of satisfaction. The original idea had been simple: to create a safe haven, a place with shops and supplies to help travelers, like the Khajiit caravans I had traded with so many times in my wanderings.
I observed the stone tiles that circled the square, the well-marked paths that led to the shops and, above all, to my own house, which stood solid at the edge of the territory, protected at the foot of the mountain. Dremivon was not enormous; it was roughly the size of Riverwood. There was my residence with several rooms, two shops with assorted goods, one for long-journey supplies, the apothecary, the forge, and the tavern.
And, of course, there was the tower.
I felt a particular pride in the library. Inspired by the aesthetic of Hermaeus Mora and Miraak — perhaps a way of turning past traumas into something useful — the tower was divided into three upper floors and several subterranean levels.
The upper floors were for the people: manuals, tales, and common stories, with study rooms and discussion halls on the ground floor. But the lower levels… those were complex. They dealt with magical theory and spells that grew more dangerous the deeper one went. With immense effort, together with Serana and her mother, we mixed my Thu’um with magic to create seals and barriers. They were traps meant to imprison anyone who tried to venture into knowledge they could not hope to control.
Magic was dangerous for a reason, and I, more than anyone, knew I was not the right person to handle it freely.
“I thought I would find you here.” a gentle voice remarked, making me smile even before I turned my head.
Saadia approached and sat beside me. I watched her from the corner of my eye; she was as beautiful as ever, with her dark skin and short hair, wearing a simple peasant dress. Saadia — or Iman, her real name — was one of my closest friends.
My mind drifted back to the days in Whiterun. I had been a disaster among the Companions, humiliated and mocked daily inside Jorrvaskr because of my ineptitude as a warrior. My only refuge was The Bannered Mare, where I met her. We began as customer and waitress, and she even flirted with me at first, perhaps seeking the protection of a Companion, as anyone in Whiterun would.
But, with time, that interest turned into a true friendship. When I was expelled from Jorrvaskr, she was the one who helped me stand again for the second time, even helping to pay for my room at the inn when I had nothing. The rest, as they say, was history.
“Saadia, how is the tavern? Do you have everything you need?” I asked, returning to the present.
“Of course we do. The stock is full and we don’t even have customers yet.” she replied, rolling her eyes with an amused glint as she handed me a bottle of mead. “Anyway, everyone is celebrating and enjoying this new phase. Even though Faendal is in there cursing Sven for winning over Carlotta…”
I let out a short sigh, taking a sip. “Yeah… I think that’s enough alcohol for our lovesick elf.”
Saadia nodded, laughing. “Indeed. I’ve already replaced most of his drink with honey-sweetened juice. He can’t even tell the difference anymore.”
We laughed together for a moment, watching the shimmer of the fountain’s water reflect the draconic inscriptions I had carved into the stone.
“Anyway, you should relax a little more. You deserve it.” she said, standing up and smiling at me. “Try not to stay out here too long.”
“Will do.” I replied, raising the bottle in a silent toast as I watched her walk back toward the warm light of the tavern.
I leaned back on the bench and looked up at the dark sky above the mountains of Skyrim. The aurora borealis began to dance over Dremivon, painting the heavens in green and purple. For the first time in a long while, the silence did not feel empty.
It felt like peace.
The afternoon sun bathed the outskirts of Irlam Village in a warm, welcoming glow. For Subaru Natsuki, that was a rare moment of peace, one earned through hardship. After the terror of the children’s kidnapping and the confrontation in the forest, playing with them was his “health bar” being refilled.
“…Hey, Petra.” Subaru called to one of the children — the one who was practically glued to his side — coming to an abrupt stop. His playful tone vanished, replaced by genuine confusion. “I’ve been walking around here a lot these past few days, but… I would have noticed that before, wouldn’t I?”
He pointed toward the foot of a hill where, just moments ago, there should have been nothing but trees and moss-covered rocks.
The little girl, Petra Leyte, had fair skin, light green eyes, and short orange-red hair with a red ribbon on her head, wearing a simple peasant outfit. Her eyes widened as she saw what looked like a stone wall with wooden gates and a sign just above the doors bearing the name ‘Dremivon’.
Immediately, she let out a startled cry, along with the other children when they noticed it, and they hid behind the young man.
“What is that, Subaru?” Petra whispered, her voice trembling. “That wasn’t there yesterday! I swear!”
The childish fear was palpable, but Subaru felt something different. A chill ran down the back of his neck, not the warning of imminent danger like in his previous deaths, but something closer to familiarity.
“A gate? In the middle of nowhere?” Subaru narrowed his eyes, analyzing the architecture. “This doesn’t look like Lugnica’s building style. It’s too… rustic. It looks like something straight out of a medieval western fantasy RPG, like The Elder Scrolls…”
He took a step forward, but Petra grabbed his hand tightly.
“Don’t go! It could be another monster trap! Or a bandit hideout!”
Subaru looked at the girl and smiled, trying to project a confidence he himself did not fully feel. He placed a hand on Petra’s head, gently patting her.
“If it were a monster trap, they wouldn’t even bother putting up a sign. I don’t think monsters could write that neatly, or build a stone wall that looks like it could withstand several Wolgarm. And if they’re bandits… well, they picked a very obvious place to hide.”
Of course, he did not mention that he was mainly counting on Return by Death at that moment. He looked at the gates again, seeing no watch posts or any movement nearby.
Subaru’s curiosity, that protagonist instinct that always got him into trouble, won out.
“Listen, kids. Stay here behind this big bush. I’m just going to take a quick look. If I don’t come back in five minutes, or if I scream for help in a really embarrassing way, you run back to the village and call Mr. Roswaal or Rem, understood?”
The children nodded vigorously, hiding behind a few rocks, with Petra still watching him.
“Good luck…” the little girl said in a low voice, making Subaru smile briefly before moving toward the gate.
Subaru took a deep breath and adjusted the collar of his butler uniform before pushing the doors open.
“Excuse me!” Subaru announced, his voice echoing inside. "Is there an innkeeper or a blacksmith? Although this place is starting to look like one of those tutorial villages from games, so… is there a tutorial NPC around here? I’m a potential customer… or at least a very confused traveler…”
Varek let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in the carved wooden chair of his office. In front of him, a pile of crumpled scrolls and résumés seemed to mock his ambition. He ran a hand through his spiky black hair, feeling the fatigue weigh on his red eyes.
“Useless. All useless.” Varek muttered to himself, tossing one of the scrolls onto the desk.
The problem was not the lack of applicants for a job, but the specific requirement he had imposed: prominence in magic. Since Dremivon’s tower-library housed tomes recovered from places most mortals would fear to tread, including the lower floors he himself had designed to contain more… unstable knowledge, he needed someone who would not be consumed by their own curiosity or by a poorly executed protection spell.
However, his reputation in Skyrim was a considerable obstacle. To the world, he was still just the Dunmer who had been expelled from Winterhold, a ‘failure’ who could not even maintain a simple light spell for long. No one there knew that the man sitting in that chair was the same one who, beneath a helmet, masks, and armor made with dragon bones, had made dragons fall from the sky with the power of his voice. Varek preferred it that way; the weight of being the Dragonborn was a burden he did not wish to carry while trying to build something of his own.
Feeling the air in the office grow stifling, he stood up. Varek walked down the corridor of polished stone to the exit of his residence, which stood in a privileged position in the village.
When he stepped outside, the cold air of The Pale struck his face, bringing a bit of clarity. He walked through the paved streets of Dremivon, observing the impeccable work that Lydia, Faendal, he himself, and the others had done. The buildings were solid, all of them finished, as were the high-quality stockpiles.
Even so, the silence was deafening.
“Maybe I chose the wrong place…” Varek thought, looking toward the frozen horizon. “Who would come to the middle of nowhere to trade with an elf expelled from his college?”
He approached the main gates, intending to check the surroundings, when a heavy metallic sound echoed through the courtyard. The creak of the oak hinges was not something he expected to hear so soon. Someone was pushing the doors.
Varek straightened, crossing his arms over his padded leather tunic, his expression returning to that of a serious, observant village owner.
Through the gap in the gates, a figure appeared that made the Dunmer’s eyebrows rise in confusion. It was not a Nord, nor a Khajiit merchant, much less a mage from Winterhold. It was a young man, wearing what looked like a strange black-and-white outfit, with a design Varek had never seen in all of Tamriel.
“Excuse me!” the young man announced, his voice carrying a nervous energy. “Is there an innkeeper or a blacksmith? Although this place is starting to look like one of those tutorial villages from games, so… is there a tutorial NPC around here? I’m a potential customer… or at least a very confused traveler…”
Varek blinked his red eyes, processing the strange words. Tutorial NPC? He took a step forward, emerging from the shadows of the gate so that the sun illuminated his grayish skin and metal plates.
“I do not know what exactly a ‘tutorial’ is, but I can assure you that we have many different services and products here.” Varek said, his voice calm but imposing. “And you are in luck. I am the owner of this place, Varek. Welcome to Dremivon.”
“…HOLY CRAP, A DARK ELF!”
“… That’s just rude.”
The interior of the tavern in Dremivon was the opposite of the biting cold of The Pale. The smell of pine wood, roasted meat, and the crackling of the fireplace created an almost magical atmosphere. Varek sat in front of the bar counter, beside Subaru.
Saadia approached with light steps, placing a steaming mug of mead in front of Varek and a glass of fresh milk in front of Subaru.
“A mug of mead for you, Varek, and a glass of milk for the boy.” Saadia remarked, setting the drinks down.
Subaru raised an eyebrow, looking at the glass. “Well, I’m still underage by the laws of my world, but…”
“You looked like you needed something to calm your stomach after shouting in my face, as if you had never seen a Dunmer before.” Varek took a sip of the mead, making Subaru look slightly embarrassed by what he had done. “Now, speak. Where did you come from? And what is an NPC?”
“Ah, you heard that? Sorry, it’s just terminology from where I come from and…” Subaru began to explain before interrupting himself and looking directly at Varek. “You said Dunmer?”
Varek raised an eyebrow, setting the mug of mead down with a dull thud on the wooden counter.
“Yes, Dunmer. That is what my people are called. Why? Do you call us by another name where you come from?” Varek asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Dunmer… Dark Elves of Morrowind…” Subaru murmured, his voice rising as excitement and desperation seemed to take hold of him. “Man, that’s impossible! Where I come from, my original world, Japan… there was a game franchise called ‘The Elder Scrolls’, and it had just released the fifth game last year called ‘The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim’. Everyone went crazy to play it when the trailer came out with a guy in a horned helmet shouting at dragons.”
Varek felt a weight in his chest at hearing about the ‘guy in the horned helmet’, exchanging a quick glance with Saadia, but he kept his face impassive and turned fully toward Subaru.
“What do you mean, a game?” Varek frowned. “Are you saying that my world, my life, and the ground we stand on are… entertainment for your people?”
“No! I mean, yes? It’s confusing!” Subaru messed up his own hair. “But if this here is Skyrim, and outside is Lugnica… then this place is…”
“Calm down, boy… first you said you came from Japan, now you’re saying it’s Lugnica?” Saadia asked, confused, drawing Subaru’s attention.
“No, look, it’s complicated, I’m originally from Japan, but I was taken from my world and brought to Lugnica a few days ago… but that doesn’t matter!” Subaru exclaimed, shaking his head and hands, trying to focus. “What matters is that I was in Lugnica, a land with knights, mages, and a selection of girls with colorful hair. I left the village of Arlam with some children and, suddenly, I saw the gates of Dremivon. I went in thinking it was a new shop or something!”
Varek rose slowly, his mind processing the information. If that boy knew the name of his race and details of his land without ever having set foot in Skyrim, there was something very wrong with Dremivon’s location. Even more troubling was the fact that Varek himself had noticed no difference, and if he was right, no one else had felt it either.
“You said you came from a village called Arlam?” Varek asked, his voice now more serious. “Saadia, how long has it been since we finished assembling the main gates?”
“Last night, a few hours ago. Why?” Saadia asked uncertainly.
“Right. Come with me, Subaru.” the Dunmer ordered, standing and walking toward the exit. “Let’s see what kind of ‘game’ reality is playing with us.”
The two left the tavern and walked across the stone courtyard to the great oak gates. The cold air of The Pale lashed at Varek’s tunic, but Subaru seemed not to notice, stopping in front of the gate, focused on what was about to happen.
“Open it.” Varek said, crossing his arms.
Subaru swallowed hard, grabbed the iron handles, and pushed with force.
The creak of the hinges was followed by an impossible sight. Where there should have been only snow, rocks, and the gray horizon of Skyrim, there was a dirt road surrounded by green grass and lush trees under a mild sun. In the distance, Petra and the other children stood frozen, mouths agape, staring into the village.
“This… this is Lugnica.” Subaru whispered, taking a step outside, feeling the gentle countryside breeze.
Varek followed him, stepping beyond the gate of his village. He felt grass beneath his boots. The air did not taste of northern ice and salt; it was sweet and heavy with pollen. He looked back and saw the walls of Dremivon perfectly fitted into the landscape of that new world.
“By the gods…” Varek murmured, the shock finally showing on his face. “Step aside.”
Immediately, Subaru and Varek went back inside Dremivon, closing the gates. Varek waited a few seconds, his heart pounding harder than in any fight against draugr, and opened the gate again, thinking of The Pale, of Skyrim.
This time, a blast of freezing wind hit Subaru’s chest, making him shiver and widen his eyes at what stood there. Snow was falling heavily, and Skyrim’s horizon, with its jagged mountains and dark sky, was back.
Varek closed the gate again, waited a few seconds, thinking of the village of Arlam, of what he had seen minutes before, and opened the gate once more. Again, the green land with trees and stones greeted him.
They repeated the process, alternating between realities as if flipping through a book, until Varek shut the gate with a final metallic crash. He leaned against the heavy wood, staring at the young man in strange clothes.
“…I have to admit that I am in completely new territory now…” Varek said, his voice low and laden with a new understanding. “I think your ‘terminology from where you come from’ is not the only thing out of place. My village is not only in Skyrim. It is in two places at the same time.”
Subaru let out a nervous laugh, running a hand over his sweaty face; he too seemed on the verge of losing it.
“Varek…” Subaru swallowed hard. “I think your trading village just gained a much more… privileged location than you planned.”
Varek fell silent, still stunned by what he had just seen.
“I wanted customers, foreigner.” Varek said, a cynical half-smile forming on his face. “But I think I just opened the door to other worlds somehow.”
The two stared at each other in incredulous silence, while the wind of Skyrim blew outside the walls, unaware that Dremivon was now the center of something far greater than a simple province.