I Became a Side Character in the World Of Skyrim

After we defeated the dragon and the echo of its death roar faded into the cold mountain wind, a heavy silence settled around us. The sky was still streaked with the last embers of dragonfire, the air thick with ash and the stinging smell of burnt grass. Astrid was catching her breath, sweat clinging to her brow despite the chill, while Delphine anxiously scanned the horizon as if expecting another dragon to appear at any second.

Watching the glow of the dragon’s dissolving soul fade away, something heavy sank into my chest.

Our journey wasn’t just dangerous anymore.

It was deadly.

And it was only going to get worse.

“Hey, you two,” I finally said, breaking the tense silence. My voice hung in the frigid air, fogging with every breath. “We don’t have much time. If we hesitate… we might end up watching all of Tamriel burn under Alduin’s resurrected dragons.”

Astrid stiffened at my words. Delphine slowly turned her head toward me, her arms crossed defensively, snowflakes landing on her leather bracers.

“I’ve decided,” I continued, feeling the seriousness of my own decision. “We split up. Astrid, Delphine—you investigate Alduin. I’ll head to the Orc stronghold and get us gear strong enough to butcher those dragons.”

Delphine’s brows shot up, her expression twisting into disbelief.

“What—? No. Absolutely not.” She stepped closer, irritation flaring in her eyes. “We can’t split up now. You don’t even know anything about me—or why I’m helping you.”

Her voice wavered slightly, as if she wasn’t used to showing this kind of vulnerability.

I smirked, tilting my head just a little, letting the mountain wind ruffle my hair. A sharp, confident grin tugged at my lips—maybe too confident.

“Oh, trust me,” I said, lowering my voice. “I know everything about you… and your clan.”

Her eyes widened—a subtle twitch, but she couldn’t hide it. The fact that a stranger knew anything about the Blades was enough to make anyone jump.

“And more importantly,” I added, letting my smirk deepen, “my task is crucial. I’m going to get gear that can rival a dragon’s power.”

Delphine blinked rapidly, stunned for a moment.

The snow around us crackled under her shifting boots, as if even nature was pausing to listen.

“What gear,” she asked, her voice tight, “are you even planning to get?”

I inhaled deeply, letting the dramatic silence hang for a beat.

Then I said it.

“Daedric armor.”

Delphine froze mid-breath. Her entire body stiffened—eyes wide, shoulders lifting, fingers curling involuntarily against her arms. For a moment she simply stared at me as if the snow had suddenly turned into fire.

Then—

“Daedric armor?” Her voice cracked with shock before rising sharply. “You want to make Daedric armor?”

She blinked once—twice—then exploded.

“…Hahahahaha! You’re insane! Absolutely insane!” Delphine threw her head back and laughed so loud her breath misted in the cold air, her arms dropping to her sides as if she had given up trying to understand me. “Daedric armor? Seriously?!”

Her laughter echoed through the snowy valley, bouncing off the rocks and trees, the sound almost absurd after the life-and-death battle we had just survived.

Astrid looked between the two of us, half startled, half amazed, her hand unconsciously gripping her sword hilt as if bracing for whatever insanity would come next.

Seeing Delphine’s reaction her mix of disbelief, shock, and mockery I let out a slow exhale, watching the mist of my breath swirl in the icy wind. Right… in this world, Daedric armor wasn’t just a powerful set of gear.

It was a legend. A taboo. Something tied to demons, danger, and Oblivion.

But in the game?

It was the second-best armor you could get—just one step below Dragon armor. With the right materials, patience, and plenty of grinding, anyone could forge it. And if your Conjuration was high enough maxed out you could bypass the forge entirely. Summon Daedric gear straight from the Atronach Forge beneath Winterhold.

A forbidden, secret method… something this world barely believed possible.

I clenched my fist with quiet determination.

“Give me two weeks. I’ll bring you that armor.”

Delphine scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes so hard she almost turned her head with it.

“Yeah, sure. We’ll see if you come back crying because you couldn’t make it.”

She crossed her arms again, huffing into the cold air, but there was a tiny glint of curiosity hidden behind all that skepticism. As if part of her… wanted to see whether I really could pull off the impossible.

Then, from beside me—soft footsteps crunching over snow.

Astrid stepped closer, the wind tugging at her braids and cloak. Her cheeks were still red from the earlier battle, and maybe from the cold… though the way she looked at me seemed to carry a different warmth.

“Alex…” she said gently.

I turned to her.

Her eyes—bright, hopeful, reflecting the pale winter sun—locked onto mine with steady confidence.

“I know you can do it. You always find a way.”

She didn’t shout it.

She didn’t laugh like Delphine.

She simply said it like it was the most natural truth in the world.

For a moment, the cold air didn’t feel so harsh. A hint of heat rose in my chest—warm, fleeting, but real. Astrid wasn’t smiling widely, just a small, soft curve of her lips that seemed meant only for me.

I smiled back without thinking.

“Don’t worry. I’ll prove to you I’m not just spouting nonsense.”

Astrid’s eyes widened slightly—as if surprised by how easily I answered her—and then she looked away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear in a subtle fluster. Her fingers trembled for a second, though she tried to hide it by tightening her grip on her bow.

Delphine, of course, noticed nothing.

Alex also didn’t think much of it. She was Alex comrade, after all. Someone Alex trusted in battle. It felt natural for her to believe in Alex, he taught.

But Astrid’s cheeks stayed faintly pink even as the wind grew colder.

We separated soon after.

Astrid hesitated for a moment—just a heartbeat—before turning away.

“Stay safe, Alex,” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

Then she followed Delphine toward Riverwood, their silhouettes shrinking against the snowy landscape.

I watched them leave for a moment, tightening the straps on my gear.

There was no time to waste.

I headed Southeast, toward the rugged mountains and steel-gray skies of Windhelm’s frozen outskirts. Beyond that lay the Orc stronghold—Narzulbur. And near it, buried deep in hard black stone, Gloombound Mine.

Home to ebony ore.

The strongest metal in Skyrim.

The wind howled around me as I began my journey. The sky darkened, carrying the heavy silence of ancient mountains—silent witnesses of the battles to come.

Two weeks.

Daedric armor.

Dragons that defied death.

Time to get to work.

With the supplies in my inventory, I could endure the cold—barely. The wind cut at my face like icy knives, and every breath felt thin, burning with frost. Snow crunched beneath my boots with each step, deep and uneven, hiding dangers beneath its surface.

Then I heard it—

a low, rumbling growl beneath the howl of the wind.

Snow wolves.

They emerged from behind the pines, white fur blending flawlessly into the winter landscape. Their eyes glowed a cold yellow, their breaths fogging sharply as they circled me.

I inhaled slowly and raised my hands.

Left hand—Bound Sword.

Violet light crackled as the spectral blade formed, humming sharply in the air.

Right hand—Lightning Bolt, sparks dancing between my fingers.

Firebolt was useless here—the freezing wind would choke the flames before they reached their target.

The wolves didn’t give me time to think.

They lunged.

The first one leapt straight for my throat. I swung my Bound Sword up defensively. Its jaws snapped down on the ethereal blade, the sound like teeth shattering on glass. The moment it bit, I thrust my right hand forward—

CRACK!

Lightning tore into its belly, illuminating its insides with a flash of blue-white light. The wolf convulsed, smoke rising from its mouth as it collapsed into the snow.

But more came—three, no, four—rushing from all angles.

They slammed their bodies into me, claws scraping against my armor, jaws trying to rip into my arms. Instead of dodging, I planted my feet and gritted my teeth. If I took hits, I could heal them. And every healing meant skill gains.

“Come on then!”

I thrust my palm downward.

BOOM!

Stray sparks exploded as I fired Lightning Bolt at point-blank range, the shockwave blasting wolves away in bursts of steam and burnt fur. One wolf crashed into a tree and didn’t get back up.

My Magicka drained fast, but the last wolf fell with a final zap, twitching before lying still.

The forest fell quiet once more—too quiet.

I wiped a smear of blood from my cheek, then pressed my hand over the scratches on my arm and cast a Healing spell. Warm golden light wrapped around me, the sting fading little by little as my wounds closed.

After a few minutes, my magicka had recovered enough to push forward.

I continued deeper into the frozen woods. The wind grew louder, colder—until a new sound cut through it.

A deep, thunderous ROAR.

A bear’s roar.

No… two roars.

I froze for an instant, heart dropping.

Polar bears.

The ground vibrated from their footsteps before I even saw them. Massive white shapes lumbered out from between the trees, fur caked with frost, breaths steaming like smoke from a furnace.

The moment their eyes locked onto me, I acted.

I raised my hand.

Conjuration circle.

Blue flames spiraled.

FWOOM—!

A Flame Atronach burst into existence beside me, flickering like a living torch in the snow. It darted forward to draw the attention of one bear.

The other one charged at me.

Fast. Too fast.

“Shit—!”

I dove into a roll, snow bursting around me. I fired a Lightning Bolt mid-roll—

ZAP!

—but it only slowed the beast, not stopped it.

It roared, sending hot breath and frozen saliva across my face.

Then it swiped.

I ducked at the last second. Its massive paw sliced the air above my head, the wind from it alone making my ears ring. I countered with a blast straight into its face, lightning burning across its fur.

The bear reeled back, furious—

then lunged for my shoulder.

I pivoted to dodge—

—and my boot sank deep into hidden snow.

Damn it—! Deep pit!

I was stuck.

The bear’s jaws opened wide, ready to tear into me—

FWOOOOSH!

A surge of flames collided with its skull.

The Flame Atronach had turned just in time, unleashing a point-blank fireburst.

The bear roared, flailing wildly—

—and crushed the Atronach with its massive weight.

BOOM!

The Atronach exploded in a wave of fire as it died.

The blast staggered the bear, buying me precious seconds.

I yanked my leg free, panting with frozen breath.

My hands shook as I uncorked a magicka potion—

GULP!

Cold liquid burned down my throat.

I raised both hands, electricity building violently between my fingers.

“YOU DAMN BEAST!

YOU THINK I’LL DIE HERE?!

NO WAY!!!”

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK—!!!

Lightning Bolt after Lightning Bolt slammed into the bear. Its fur sizzled, its muscles spasmed, its roars turned into choked gasps. Finally, with one last blast straight to the heart—

WHAM!

It collapsed into the snow, smoke rising from the charred fur.

I turned to the second bear—it was still alive but struggling to stand, badly burned from the Atronach’s final explosion.

I didn’t hesitate.

I thrust my palm forward, channeling every remaining spark—

FWOOSH—!

Flames engulfed the beast.

It collapsed with a low groan. The forest went silent.

“In this world…” I whispered, breathing heavily, “…one moment of carelessness, and nature kills you.”

I knelt beside the bodies, hands steady despite the cold, and began skinning the bears. The heat from their flesh was the only warmth in the freezing air. I sliced their meat clean, packed everything into my inventory, then cast Healing on myself again—warm light contrasting the merciless winter.

Following the tracks, I found a cave tucked beneath a thick ridge of ice. The entrance was low and dark, but fresh claw marks revealed it clearly as a den.

Inside—

Bones. Many bones.

But no cubs.

I gathered dry branches, stacked them carefully, then sparked fire with a flick of magic. Orange light danced across the cave walls, pushing back the shadows.

I sat close to the flames, listening to the wind howl outside, the pelts warming beside me.

Alone in the dark, surrounded by cold and death—

I knew one thing for certain.

This world would kill me the moment I grew complacent.

And I wasn’t planning on dying anytime soon.

I decided to check my status—something I realized I hadn’t done since leaving Whiterun.

A faint, bluish panel materialized in my vision like a hologram.

Status

Main Level: 22 → 25(after resting)

Perk Points: 1 → 4 (after resting)

Destruction: 31 → 35

One-Handed: 25 → 26

Restoration: 25 → 28

I exhaled slowly.

“…Not bad.”

My breath fogged in the freezing air and drifted into the cave’s darkness. The fire beside me crackled weakly, barely holding back the cold that gnawed at my skin even through my armor. I kept one hand on my Bound Sword, the spectral blade flickering softly like blue embers—just in case something decided to wander in.

I didn’t dare sleep deeply.

The howling wind outside carried distant cries—wolves, maybe sabrecats, maybe something worse.

Being torn apart while snoring? Yeah… no thanks.

Every few minutes I forced myself to open my eyes, scanning the cave, shivering even with the fire burning. After what felt like half an hour, I stood, stretched my stiff body, and let the flames die down.

“Alright… onward.”

I tightened the straps on my gloves, brushed snow off my cloak, and stepped back into the blinding white wilderness.

The world outside was a frozen void—snow drifts piled like white mountains, wind slicing across my cheeks like tiny blades. Each step crunched deep into the frost. Even with Frost Resistance and warm clothing in my inventory, the cold seeped into my bones as if it wanted to settle permanently.

Trees bent under the weight of snow, their branches creaking eerily. Every sound echoed far too clearly in the stillness.

Even my own footsteps felt loud.

Hours passed—or at least it felt like it. The sky was flat gray, the kind that made time meaningless. My magicka pulsed slowly in my veins, regenerating sluggishly due to the extreme climate. The chill burned my lungs with every inhale.

Then—

Through the haze of snow, something shaped like massive wooden spikes came into view.

I stopped, squinting.

“…Is that…?”

A tall wooden palisade.

Torches flickered weakly along its front wall, their flames struggling against the wind. Beyond it stood a fortress made of dark timber, its structure crude but sturdy—absolutely Orcish. Heavy logs, reinforced gates, sharp stakes everywhere.

Narzulbur.

Finally.

I approached cautiously, boots sinking into layers of fresh snow. The closer I got, the more I could hear: deep voices, metal clanging, the heavy rhythmic sound of someone hammering.

Smoke billowed from chimneys, carrying the scent of burning charcoal. It was almost warm—almost comforting—compared to the icy wilderness behind me.

I raised my hand and knocked on the thick wooden gate.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

My knuckles stung from the impact, but the sound echoed through the fort.

Moments later, the heavy clang of metal sliding aside came from the other side of the gate, followed by a low, rumbling voice:

“Who approaches Narzulbur?”

I straightened my posture, exhaled frost, and prepared to speak.

“Hey! Anyone inside?”

My voice echoed across the snowy valley, swallowed halfway by the howling wind.

A sharp, gruff shout replied from above.

From the watchtower, an Orc leaned forward—thick shoulders, braided black hair, eyes like molten gold peering through the snowfall.

“What business do you have here, outsider?”

I raised both hands in a non-threatening gesture, breath fogging in front of me.

“I want to mine ebony ore and trade with your stronghold. I’ve brought plenty of items to trade.”

The Orc didn’t look convinced at first, narrowing his eyes while gripping his spear. But after a moment, I heard heavy footsteps behind the gate.

A loud CLANK—RMMMB— echoed as metal bars slid aside.

The gate cracked open, releasing a wave of warm, smoky air smelling of coal and cooked meat.

An Orc stepped out—huge, towering, bare-chested despite the cold. Muscles like sculpted stone, skin a deep mossy green. His tusks curved upward like polished ivory.

“Fine,” he rumbled. “But don’t try anything stupid.”

He leaned in slightly, his breath hot compared to the icy air.

“If you do anything suspicious, we’ll drive you out—or kill you on the spot.”

I swallowed, raising an awkward thumbs-up.

“Relax. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

He snorted.

“We’ll see.”

The stronghold opened before me—a miniature fortress of raw strength and primitive beauty.

Snow-covered hide tents lined the inner walls, while wooden huts—reinforced with bone and iron—served as forges and workshops. The center of the settlement was dominated by a massive campfire, flames roaring high, around which several Orcs warmed their hands or roasted large chunks of meat on spits.

Children practiced with wooden daggers.

Warriors sharpened axes the size of small trees.

Two elder Orcs argued loudly while repairing a metal shield.

Everywhere I looked, the air was filled with the ring of hammers, the scent of iron and sweat, and the deep, rhythmic heartbeat of a warrior tribe.

Despite the cold, most Orcs didn’t bother wearing shirts—only fur-lined shoulder armor or heavy gauntlets. Their skin steamed faintly when flakes of snow melted on contact. Born warriors. Born smiths. Born to survive.

I started trading immediately.

One Orc woman—massive arms, ash-black hair tied into a high knot—gestured toward crates filled with ebony ore.

“You want metal? You pay. You want to mine? You work.”

“Deal.”

We exchanged items: I gave potions, enchanted rings, and a few weapons I picked off bandits. In return, they gave ebony ore, ebony ingots, and even a few silver swords. Not cheap, but fair.

Then came the alchemist.

A hunched Orc woman with glowing yellow eyes and a scar over her lips.

Her hut smelled of crushed herbs, troll fat, and… something burnt.

“That’ll be the price,” she rasped, pointing at Void Salts and Daedra Hearts laid out on a stone table.

I choked.

“Is this amount… normal?”

She shrugged.

“Rare items. Outsiders pay more. You don’t like it? Go hunt your own daedra.”

I ended up paying. Of course.

To balance the loss, I sold several enchanted rings I’d prepared earlier. She examined one—a ring with a faint sky-blue glow—then huffed.

“Your handiwork isn’t bad… for a human.”

I took that as a compliment.

Still, I kept the best rings stored in my inventory. I knew they’d fetch a higher price in Winterhold.

Since Orc strongholds had no inns, I slept inside the mine instead. Gloombound Mine was warm enough from the nearby smelter, and the distant dripping of water echoed like a steady lullaby. Occasionally, a miner grunted or coughed deeper inside, but overall, it was safer than sleeping outside with bears and frost trolls.

After working, mining, smelting, and surviving for two days, I checked my status.

Status Allocation

Main Level: 25

Perk Points: 4 (saved)

Health: 170 → 180

Stamina: 130 → 140

Magicka: 220 → 230

Not bad. Not great. But progress.

On the morning of the third day, I tightened the straps on my armor, packed my supplies, and stepped out of the mine. The Orcs barely glanced at me—already back to work, hammering, shouting, training, living as only Orcs could.

I exhaled, watching my breath swirl into the frozen sky.

“Winterhold next.”

I turned toward the snow-covered horizon and began walking.

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