I Became a Side Character in the World Of Skyrim

Winterhold ancient, windswept, and eternally cloaked in swirling snow.

A place where aspiring mages sought wisdom, and where I planned to create or summon my Daedric armor. Deep beneath the College lay the Midden, a cold, echoing labyrinth of stone where forbidden rituals once took place. Perfect for what I intended.

I had most of the materials stored safely in my pack: four jars of Void Salts that shimmered faintly like trapped lightning, four Daedra Hearts wrapped in frost-proof cloth, ten heavy Ebony Ingots clinking with each step, and three Silver Swords bundled together.

Only the Grand Soul Gem remained. I would buy it once I arrived.

The wind grew harsher as I approached the main bridge leading to the College. Snow slapped against my cloak, stinging my cheeks. The sea roared far below, waves crashing violently against ice-black cliffs. The air itself felt sharp enough to cut.

Before I reached the gate, a voice shouted through the storm.

“Stop. This path is dangerous, and the gate will not open.”

A tall High Elf stepped forward, her posture rigid as a spear. Her long, pointed ears twitched beneath the snow, and her golden-brown skin stood out starkly against the bleak white landscape. Her eyes cold, calculating studied me from top to bottom.

I narrowed my eyes. “And who are you, and why can’t I enter?”

She lifted her chin with practiced authority.

“I am Faralda. I guard this gate to prevent anyone from entering carelessly. This place is sacred to mages. Anyone seeking to train in magic must prove themselves first. If you wish to enter, you must pass my test.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Tell me what school of magic do you excel at?”

I raised my hand, letting my breath fog in the freezing air. A soft crackle echoed as I snapped my fingers. Sparks burst to life, tiny lightning arcs dancing between my fingertips and lighting the snowflakes around me.

“Destruction, of course.”

Faralda sighed and rolled her eyes, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as if she had seen hundreds of cocky mages like me.

“Very well, young mage. Try not to be too arrogant. Show me your magic. Cast your spell at the floor right there, in the center.”

She stepped aside, pointing to a circular pattern carved into the stone platform.

The wind howled around us as I gathered mana into my palm. My fingers tingled, then burned, then hummed with power.

Lightning Bolt.

The spell shot forward with a crack, exploding against the stone with a flash. The carved sigils glowed bright green, pulsing like a heartbeat before slowly fading back to grey.

Faralda nodded, satisfied.

“…Alright, you pass. Go. Inside, find Mirabelle Ervine she will guide you around the College of Winterhold.”

As I stepped closer, the massive iron gate groaned and opened on its own, reacting to some arcane mechanism. Warm light spilled out onto the snow.

Inside the terrace, the storm quieted slightly. In the center stood a shallow, circular structure almost like a well but instead of water, it held swirling blue arcane energy. It glowed and rippled softly, casting shifting reflections across the stone walls like a magical beacon.

The air around it felt alive, buzzing faintly at the edge of hearing. I stepped closer, the warmth of the magic brushing against my frozen skin like a gentle hand.

I had finally reached the heart of Winterhold’s legendary College.

A woman stood near the glowing well, locked in a heated argument with a male Altmer. Their voices echoed sharply through the stone courtyard, bouncing off the icy pillars and drifting with the cold wind.

The male Altmer’s face was twisted in frustration, his long fingers gesturing wildly.

“You cannot simply change the allocation of resources without notifying the rest of us, Mirabelle!”

Mirabelle Ervine calm but visibly irritated rubbed her temple as if dealing with a familiar headache.

“And you cannot keep pretending the rules don’t apply to you, Ancano. I’ve told you this three times already.”

The Altmer huffed, flicked his robes dramatically, and stormed off, muttering something in Elvish under his breath. His footsteps faded into the creaking halls of the College.

I decided that was my cue.

I stepped forward, lowering my hood.

“Excuse me… Are you Mirabelle Ervine? Faralda sent me.”

Mirabelle exhaled slowly, her shoulders sinking as the last traces of anger left her posture. The irritation in her eyes faded, replaced by a professional almost motherly smile.

Her breath misted softly in the chilled air as she turned to fully face me.

“Ah, you must be the new student.”

Her tone warmed noticeably.

“Here this is for you. Wear it.”

She handed me a folded set of clothing: a Novice Hood and Novice Robe. The moment my fingers touched the fabric, I felt a faint thrum of magical energy like touching warm, pulsing air.

The hood’s enchantment hummed with gentle, rhythmic mana regeneration. The robe felt lighter than it looked, the runes embedded within subtly shifting as if aware of my presence. It reduced Destruction spell cost… and increased my maximum mana.

A perfect for me to learn new enchantment.

I couldn’t hide the spark of excitement in my eyes.

“I… thank you. This is amazing.”

Mirabelle gave a knowing smile, as if recognizing the same excitement she once had as a young mage.

“Now then,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Let me show you around.”

As we walked, the sound of our footsteps echoed across the stone floors. Soft blue lights floated along the walls, illuminating the corridors with a serene, arcane glow. The faint smell of ancient parchment and alchemical herbs lingered in the air.

She pointed toward the nearest building.

“The Hall of Attainment this is where apprentice mages like you will stay. You’ll find your room upstairs. Basic, but comfortable enough.”

We continued across a bridge that overlooked the vast, stormy ruins of Winterhold far below. Wind tugged at our robes and made the wooden beams creak.

To the right, she gestured toward another tower.

“The Hall of Countenance. That is where the more advanced mages reside your future mentors and teachers. They can help you refine your magic. Conjuration, Illusion, Alteration… anything you wish to learn.”

Then she guided me toward the great central hall.

“And here,” she said, pushing open the heavy wooden door, “is the Hall of the Elements the lecture hall, where we hold our lessons, experiments, and research.”

Warmth washed over me from the massive central fire basin. Arcane flames danced in spiraling patterns, sending waves of shifting light across the tall columns. The air felt alive, charged with centuries of magical study.

When the tour ended, we stepped back outside.

I cleared my throat.

“Um… Mirabelle? Do you know where I can find Phinis Gestor? I want to ask about my Conjuration skill.”

Her expression brightened slightly, and she nodded with confidence.

“Of course. Follow me.”

She led me back across the windy courtyard toward the Hall of Countenance. With a small gesture toward the door, she said:

“He should be in here. You can meet him directly.”

Her voice echoed softly inside the stone hallway as I stepped forward, ready to begin the next part of my journey.

I entered the hall, pushing open the tall wooden doors. A wave of warm arcane energy washed over me the scent of herbs, burnt charcoal, and old parchment blending into the air.

Inside, the Hall of the Elements was quietly alive.

On the left, two apprentices hunched over an alchemy table. One stirred a simmering green brew, jaw clenched in concentration, while the other winced as her mixture hissed out a puff of purple smoke. Nearby, a pair of students hovered by an enchanting pedestal, runes flickering around a drained soul gem as they argued in hushed tones.

I scanned the room.

One man stood alone near the wall arms crossed, posture relaxed, eyes half-closed like he was listening to the flow of magic itself. No books in hand. No active spell. Just… sensing.

Since he seemed unoccupied, I approached.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying not to disturb the other mages. “Do you know someone named Phinis Gestor?”

The man slowly turned his head toward me. His eyes sharpened with sudden interest, brows lifting.

Then he inhaled quietly almost like he was tasting the magic around me.

“Goodness, child…” he murmured, leaning slightly forward. “Your Conjuration skill is extremely high. I can feel it radiating off you.”

His tone shifted between surprise and admiration. “Tell me what business do you have with me?” At this moment in the game, this is when his special dialogue triggers if your Conjuration reaches 90

I straightened my posture.

“I’d like to know if there’s anything more I should learn as a conjurer.”

His eyes widened with something close to excitement. The corners of his mouth lifted into a hopeful smile, as if he’d been waiting ages for someone to ask that question.

“Perhaps…” he said, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his arm. “There is something. Something only someone of your caliber can accomplish.”

He stepped closer and quietly slipped a spellbook into my hands. The leather felt unnaturally warm, the title burned into it with deep crimson letters:

Unbound Dremora

“Go to the top of the Hall of Attainment,” he instructed, voice low and serious now. “You’ll find a ritual circle with candles, Summon this dremora there. And then…”

He paused, meeting my eyes.

“Ask it for a Sigil Stone.”

The way he said ask made me uneasy. Dremora weren’t exactly known for polite conversation.

Still, I nodded.

“Understood.”

Without wasting a second, I headed for the stairs. My footsteps echoed off the stone walls as I climbed higher and higher. The air grew cooler, quieter, more isolated.

When I pushed open the rooftop door, a swirl of cold Winterhold wind greeted me.

Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air. The sky was an endless grey dome. And at the center of the rooftop

I Stand near the ritual circle.

A perfect ring, surrounded by candles whose flames somehow resisted the wind. Charred marks clawed across the stone floor, as if something had tried to scorch its way out.

I tightened my grip on the spellbook.

“Alright,” I whispered to myself. “Let’s do this.”

At the ritual circle, I learned the spell and cast it.

A massive, unbound dremora appeared untamed and uncontracted.

Dremora are humanoid beings of above-average size, usually appearing male with black-and-red faces. They are powerful warriors or spellcasters, always heavily armored. But  This one was clearly a warrior type.

“HEY, MORTAL! Who are YOU to summon ME!?”

The sound shook the rooftop, scattering a gust of snow across the stone floor.

My heart hammered, but I forced my shoulders back and raised my chin. I met his burning stare with a cold glare of my own, and barked:

“Obey me

and bring me a Sigil Stone.”

The dremora’s expression twisted. His lips peeled back, revealing jagged teeth. A guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest, vibrating the air like a drumbeat of war.

“Obey… YOU?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“No. I will NOT obey! DIE, mortal!”

With a violent motion, he unsheathed his sword. The black-and-red Daedric blade shrieked as it tore through the air.

I quickly drank a mana potion and spammed Lightning Bolt, but it barely affected him Daedric armor gives incredible magical resistance.

“Is this all, pathetic mortal?”

I thrust my hand forward.

“Flame Atronach!”

Fire swirled and rippled into shape. My atronach floated onto the battlefield, her form flickering like a living inferno. She raised her arms, launching fiery orbs at the dremora.

He turned toward her with a sneer of disdain.

“Hah! You dare bring a LOW-RANK creature before ME!?”

Perfect.

Good. He was distracted.

As his attention shifted fully to her, I slipped into the shadows cast by the tall ritual stones. My boots scraped lightly against the icy rooftop. I kept low, circling behind him, my breath fogging in short bursts.

Up close, I could see it clearly

his head was unarmored.

Exposed.

I darted forward and leapt onto his back. My fingers grabbed hold of one of his horns, my boots digging against the ridges of his armor for balance.

“WHAT ?!”

He staggered from the sudden weight, twisting violently, trying to shake me off.

I slammed my palm against the side of his skull.

Lightning surged through my veins.

Point-blank.

“Lightning Bolt!”

The spell detonated directly against his head.

“AAAHHHH!! CURSED MORTAL!!”

His scream tore through the air, raw and furious. His body flickered, warped by violent red light

 and then exploded into a burst of crimson sparks as he was yanked back into Oblivion.

I dropped to my knees, breathing heavily, the cold wind biting at my skin.

The rooftop fell silent.

Only the candles trembled in the breeze.

“Hah… maybe I got lucky. I underestimated him… Wait. I have an idea.”

Once my mana recovered, I summoned the atronach in front of him again and hid behind. Then I went for a sneak attack.

I executed many different strategies dagger strikes, bow shots, magic.

I Killed him again

And again

Then again

Again and

Again

I killed him once, twice,

Five times. Nine

By the tenth time, my breaths had become ragged, cold, violent puffs. My hands shook not in fear, but in hunger. A terrifying excitement simmered inside me.

On the eleventh summoning, the dremora appeared

 but instead of roaring, he collapsed to one knee instantly, armor clattering against the stone.

His breath came out in harsh, pained bursts.

“WAIT!!” he bellowed, though even his shout wavered. “Stop hah… hah…”

I approached him slowly, each step echoing across the rooftop like a judge stepping toward a prisoner. My vision tunneled, my heartbeat slow and heavy.

I could feel bloodlust tightening my chest, sharpening my voice.

“What?”

I tilted my head, eyes narrowed.

“You said you would never obey.”

The moment he met my eyes, the fire in his own wavered.

He trembled.

A dremora creatures born from war and hatred trembled at me.

His voice broke into a submissive rasp.

“Master…”

He bowed his head lower, the gesture foreign and forced.

“Please… forgive me. I was arrogant. State your desire.”

The word Master hit me like a slap.

My breath faltered.

Suddenly everything felt wrong my clenched fists, the darkness in my voice, the thrill in my pulse. I stood there, frozen, as the cold wind cleared the haze around me.

I had forgotten my goal.

Forgotten myself.

What… what was I becoming?

Was it the stress?

The exhaustion of constant travel?

The emptiness after parting from Astrid?

The loneliness that clawed at my ribs?

I didn’t know.

But my voice finally softened, steadied.

“Bring me a Sigil Stone.”

I swallowed.

“Now.”

The dremora placed a gauntleted fist on the ground in full submission.

“Yes, Master. Summon me again, and I shall return with the object you desire.”

And with a burst of red light, he vanished

leaving me alone on the rooftop with nothing but the cold wind and the echo of my own darkness.

Several minutes passed on the rooftop.

The candles flickered weakly in the cold wind, their flames shrinking, as if exhausted by the ritual. Snowflakes drifted lazily across the chalk circle soft, peaceful, completely at odds with what had just happened.

My breath formed slow clouds. My fingers twitched with leftover sparks of mana. The silence felt heavy, almost expectant.

“Alright…” I murmured, steadying myself. “One more time.”

I raised my hand and summoned him again.

A deep rumble shook the rooftop. Crimson fire spiraled upward as the portal snapped open. The dremora emerged but this time, he stepped out calmly, head bowed, posture restrained like a disciplined soldier.

In his hands, resting with reverence, was a glowing crimson sphere:

the Sigil Stone.

He extended it toward me, lowering his massive body in a gesture of submission.

“Here it is, my master…”

His voice was quieter, stripped of defiance.

“Lord Dagon is… displeased with its loss.”

The way he said “displeased” I feel little worried but I don’t care.

I carefully took the Sigil Stone from his hands. It pulsed gently, like holding a living heart made of molten glass.

The instant my fingers closed around it, the dremora vanished ripped back into Oblivion in a swirl of red embers.

The rooftop returned to silence.

I headed straight back into the College, the stone halls echoing my footsteps. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the frigid wind outside. Torchlight flickered across the archways, casting moving shadows along the walls.

Phinis Gestor was where I had left him, reading by a dim lantern. When he saw the Sigil Stone in my hands, his quill slipped from his fingers.

“You… already? That quickly?”

He blinked, astonished then a delighted smile crossed his face.

“Well done! Truly well done!”

I placed the Sigil Stone on the table.

“Here’s your Sigil Stone.”

He raised both hands as if startled by the idea.

“Oh no, no that Sigil Stone belongs to you.”

His tone softened, almost proud.

“I only need to examine it briefly.”

He lifted the stone, turning it carefully under the lantern. The swirling red energy reflected in his eyes. He muttered nonstop scribbling notes, adjusting his glasses, whispering theories under his breath.

The minutes stretched.

“So?” I finally asked, arms crossed. “What did you see?”

He blinked, as if remembering I existed, and handed the stone back.

“I’ve learned what I needed. The patterns inside… fascinating. Very instructive.”

Then he smiled warmly.

“And in return for your troubles here.”

He opened a small chest and handed me five fully-charged Grand Soul Gems.

The radiant blue glow inside them sparkled in my hands.

My eyes widened. Those were worth a fortune and now I wouldn’t have to spend a single coin.

“Thank you,” I said, unable to hide my excitement. My heart felt lighter for the first time today.

But as I turned to leave, he stopped me with a thoughtful frown.

“Before you go… your eyes.”

The concern he creeping into his voice.

“They look full of bloodlust. You should rest.”

I froze.

Bloodlust?

On my face?

Visible enough for others to notice?

A shock gripped my chest. My throat tightened. Had I truly gone too far? Had something changed in me?

“…I’ll rest,” I whispered.

I left him quickly, the words echoing in my mind as I made my way down the College’s staircase. Outside, the cold air hit me again, almost like a slap.

I walked to the inn with heavy steps.

What a long, harrowing day.

Status

Main Level: 28 → 29

• Perk Points: 6 → 7

• Health: 180 → 200

• Stamina: 140 → 160

• Mana: 230

Skills:

• Destruction: 40 → 42

• One-Handed: 30 → 31

• Sneak: 26 → 30

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