Freyja stared at the man in front of her, her mind racing. The memories of the Draugr closing in, the frost magic biting at her skin, and her sword meeting endless waves of rotting flesh flooded back in vivid detail. Then he had appeared—this near-naked brute who had torn through the undead like they were nothing more than nuisances. Her chest rose and fell as she took shallow, painful breaths. Her fingers tightened instinctively around the hilt of her sword, her knuckles turning white. The air between them was thick with tension, her gaze darting from his massive frame to the faint scratches that covered his bare skin. He didn't even look winded.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
The man folded his arms, tilting his head slightly. "Take your time," he said, in a foreign tongue, his voice calm but laced with faint amusement. "You just passed out. Not exactly a great first impression, but I've seen worse."
Freyja's fingers twitched. The tone of his voice—it wasn't mocking, exactly, but it grated on her nerves, it didn't help that she had no understanding of his words. She didn't trust him, not even for a second. Her hand instinctively went to her side, brushing against the deep bruise hidden under her armor. The sharp pain grounded her, pulling her thoughts into focus. She forced herself to push past the haze of confusion and exhaustion, her fingers shifting on her sword's hilt, that was conveniently next to her.
"You're lucky I showed up when I did. Those Draugr weren't going to stop."
His tone—calm, confident, and infuriatingly nonchalant—only made her grip her sword tighter. Her mind reeled at what she had seen. The way he moved, the way the Draugr's weapons had barely scratched him, the ease with which he had shattered them like dry twigs—it wasn't natural. Her breathing quickened as she thought about it. A man, wandering around Bleak Falls Barrow, dressed in nothing but a scrap of leather, tearing apart hordes of Draugr? It didn't add up. Nothing about him made sense. Her body moved before her mind could catch up. In one swift motion, she raised her sword and lunged at him, aiming for his chest.
The blade struck him squarely, the metal glinting faintly in the dim torchlight. But it stopped dead, caught in his bare hand. He didn't flinch, didn't even seem surprised. His fingers wrapped around the blade, holding it firmly in place.
"What's her problem?" he asked himself, frowning as he looked down at her.
Freyja's heart raced as she stumbled back, he spoke in a strange tongue, she couldn't risk him casting a spell, releasing the sword and pulling a dagger from her belt. She held it in front of her, her grip tight, her knees bent in a defensive stance. Her eyes darted to the sword in his hand. The blade was dented where he'd caught it, as if it had struck stone instead of flesh. "You think I'm just going to trust some half-naked stranger in one of the most dangerous places in Skyrim?" she spat in her native tongue, the words sharp and fast.
Tsun tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before responding, speaking the same language with a strange but clear fluency. "So you try to kill me because I saved your life? That makes sense."
Freyja's grip on the dagger tightened. She circled him slowly, her eyes scanning for an opening. "You're a monster," she said, her voice low and full of suspicion. "No normal man survives Draugr attacks like that. No normal man walks into a place like this without armor or a weapon. The only explanation is that you're a monster yourself."
Tsun sighed, tossing her sword to the ground with a loud clang. "A monster, huh?" He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost bored. "If I were a monster, don't you think I'd have killed you already?"
"Maybe," Freyja said, her voice trembling slightly. "Maybe you need me for something first. I've heard the stories—monsters that look human, that play with their prey before devouring them."
Tsun raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing over his chest. "So now I'm a man-eating monster? Great." He gestured to his bare chest. "Does this look like a guy who needs to 'devour' anyone to win a fight?"
Freyja didn't lower her dagger. Her breathing was still quick, her legs shaking from exhaustion, but her instincts screamed at her to stay alert. She had seen too much death, too much deception, to let her guard down now.
"What are you, then?" she demanded.
Tsun's lips curled into a small smirk. "Complicated. Let's just say I'm not here to hurt you, and I'm not here to hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it. That good enough for you?"
Freyja didn't answer immediately. Her gaze flicked to her sword lying on the ground, then back to him. She slowly straightened, though she didn't sheath her dagger.
"I don't trust you," she said bluntly.
Tsun shrugged. "You don't have to. Just don't try stabbing me again. It's a waste of energy—yours and mine."
Freyja stared at him, her chest still heaving as the adrenaline coursed through her. The silence between them stretched, the only sound the distant dripping of water echoing through the tomb. Finally, she lowered the dagger, though she kept it in her hand. "If you're not a monster, then why are you here? What kind of fool walks into a tomb like this without armor or a weapon?"
Tsun smirked again, his broad shoulders shrugging. "Would you believe me if I said I woke up like this?"
Freyja blinked. "What?"
"Exactly," he said, pushing off the sarcophagus and stepping past her. "Look, you're tired, you're hurt, and you're obviously not getting out of here alone. So how about we call a truce until we're out of this death trap?"
Freyja hesitated, her eyes darting between the torch he held out and the calm expression on his face. The firelight flickered across his features, his hand steady and unmoving as he waited. She tightened her grip on the dagger in her other hand, her thoughts racing.
This man—this thing—could kill her at any moment. He had made that abundantly clear with how easily he'd dispatched the Draugr. She didn't trust him, and she certainly didn't like him, but there wasn't much of a choice. He was her best shot at getting out of here alive.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she gave him a short nod.
When she finally took the torch, his lips curled into that infuriating smirk again. "Good, because I'm lost," he said.
Her eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the torch. "You're what?"
"Lost," he repeated, the word rolling out casually. "Been wandering around this place for a while. Thought I'd follow the noise. Guess I got lucky stumbling into you."
Her grip on the torch tightened as her exhaustion warred with disbelief. "You're telling me you came into one of the most dangerous places in Skyrim, and you don't even know where you're going?"
Tsun shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling as if none of this mattered. "Pretty much."
She stared at him, her mind struggling to process his words. The man was either insane, impossibly strong, or both. She wasn't sure which option was worse.
"This is a nightmare," she muttered, mostly to herself.
Tsun raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You're welcome, by the way."
Freyja shot him a glare. "For what?"
"Saving your life." His tone was casual, almost bored. "Wouldn't be standing there with that torch if I hadn't shown up."
Her jaw tightened. She wasn't about to thank him, not when her instincts screamed at her to stay on guard. She took a step back, her eyes scanning his face for any sign of deception.
"Who are you?" she asked finally, her voice low and wary.
"Tsun," he said simply. "You?"
"Freyja." The name left her lips before she could think of a reason to lie.
"Well, Freyja," he said, leaning against the sarcophagus behind him, "I figure we've got a better chance of getting out of here if we work together, considering I have no idea where I'm going."
Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't ask for your help."
"And yet, here we are," he said, smirking again.
Freyja's grip on her dagger didn't loosen, her knuckles white as she held it in front of her. This man—this thing—was far too calm, far too sure of himself. She glanced down at her boots, the exhaustion pressing in on her once more. Her entire body ached, her cuts and bruises screaming with every breath. The sensible thing would be to rest, but the thought of staying in this tomb longer than necessary turned her stomach.
"Do you need more time?" Tsun asked, his tone neutral.
She shook her head quickly. "I can keep going."
He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Fine. I'll go first."
"Good," she said, her voice sharp. "You should."
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't say anything else. He pushed off the sarcophagus and moved ahead, his bare feet crunching softly against the stone floor. Freyja stayed a few steps behind him, her torch held high as she scanned the shadows.
The air grew colder as they moved deeper into the tomb, the faint smell of rot clinging to the walls. Freyja's eyes flicked toward every alcove they passed, her fingers tightening around her dagger.
"You've got a lot of questions," Tsun said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.
She frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You're not exactly easy to figure out."
He didn't look back at her. "Maybe, but you haven't stopped staring at me since you woke up. Makes a guy self-conscious."
Freyja's jaw tightened. "You tore apart a room full of Draugr with your bare hands. Forgive me if I find that a little unusual."
"Unusual doesn't mean bad," he said lightly.
"It doesn't mean good either," she shot back.
Tsun glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Fair enough."
Tsun walked ahead, his steps steady and unhurried. The silence between them stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of the torch and the soft scrape of their footsteps against the stone floor. After a while, he glanced over his shoulder at her.
"So, where exactly are we?" he asked casually.
Freyja narrowed her eyes at him, her grip on the torch tightening. "You don't even know where you are?"
"Not a clue," he said with a shrug. "Woke up, ended up here. Thought I'd figure it out as I went along. Now you get to be my guide."
"I'm not your guide," she snapped.
"Sure you are," he said with a faint smirk. "You know this place better than I do. What's it called again?"
Freyja sighed. "Bleak Falls Barrow, one of the worst places in Skyrim to get lost."
"Good to know," Tsun said lightly. "And Skyrim's... a country? A kingdom?"
"A province," she said, her tone guarded.
He nodded, filing the information away. "Big place?"
"Big enough," she said. "Mountains, forests, rivers. And too many people trying to kill each other."
"Sounds cozy," Tsun said, glancing at the rough stone walls around them. "And Helgen? That's nearby, right?" It was one of the only places he knew about since he'd never made it past the tutorial, if it was destroyed then he'd know he was at the start of the game.
Freyja stopped in her tracks. The word hit her like a physical blow, and her free hand instinctively moved to the dagger at her belt. She narrowed her eyes, her mind racing. "Why are you asking about Helgen?"
Tsun slowed, turning back to face her. His expression was still calm, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, maybe? "Heard it mentioned. Rumors about it being destroyed. Sounded bad."
Her fingers tightened on the dagger. "That happened only a few weeks ago. How would you have heard rumors if you've been wandering here this whole time?"
Tsun exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, you caught me," he said, his tone shifting to something almost apologetic. "I've been traveling. Got myself into this place by mistake. I heard about it on the way. Doesn't really matter, does it?"
Freyja didn't relax, her mind still suspicious. "It matters if you're lying."
"I'm not lying," Tsun said, his voice steady. "Helgen's gone, right? That's all I know. You don't have to tell me what happened if you don't want to."
Freyja stared at him, her jaw tight. She studied his face, searching for any hint of deception, but he seemed as unreadable as ever.
"Fine," she said finally, her voice cold. "Yes, Helgen was destroyed. A dragon burned it to the ground."
Tsun's brow lifted, though his expression didn't change much. "A dragon, huh? Haven't seen one of those before. Big deal around here?"
Freyja barked a humorless laugh. "A dragon is a big deal anywhere, especially when they were legend a mere month ago. And yes, it destroyed an entire town like it was nothing. Buildings, walls, people—gone in minutes."
"Sounds bad," Tsun said, crossing his arms. "Guess that explains why you're so jumpy."
Freyja glared at him. "I'm not jumpy. I'm cautious. There's a difference."
"Sure there is," Tsun said, his smirk returning. "And the dagger you keep gripping every time I say something? That's just cautious, right?"
She didn't answer, her fingers brushing the hilt of the weapon at her belt.
"Relax," he said, turning away and continuing down the corridor. "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't be talking."
"Maybe you like playing with your food," Freyja muttered under her breath.
Tsun laughed, the sound echoing faintly in the narrow space. "That's one way to put it."
As they walked deeper into the tomb, the faint sounds of dripping water and the scuff of their footsteps echoed through the stone corridor. The air grew colder with each step, and the torchlight barely pushed back the oppressive darkness. Tsun glanced over his shoulder, his tone casual despite the tension hanging between them.
"So," he asked, "why are you even here? You don't exactly look like the dungeon-crawling type."
Freyja glared at his back. "And what does the 'dungeon-crawling type' look like?"
He shrugged. "Not you. You're too tense, too cautious. You don't want to be here. So why are you?"
She hesitated, her fingers brushing the hilt of her dagger. "I didn't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice," Tsun said lightly. "You're carrying a sword, walking through a tomb full of undead. Sounds like a choice to me."
Her jaw tightened. "If you think that, you don't understand a damn thing about how bad it is out there."
"Enlighten me," Tsun said, glancing at her with an arched brow.
Freyja's grip on the torch tightened, her voice low and bitter. "People are starving. I've seen men stab each other over a crust of bread. Kids choking to death on air because of the smoke from burning corpses. Disease is everywhere—rampant. You think the Draugr in here are bad? Try watching your neighbor rot alive from a cough that won't go away."
Tsun's smirk faded, his expression turning serious. His eyes widened slightly as he considered her words. He stayed silent for a long moment, processing what she'd said.
"That bad, huh?" he muttered, half to himself.
Freyja scoffed. "Bad doesn't cover it. Skyrim's dying, and everyone's either fighting for scraps or pretending it's not happening."
Tsun nodded slowly, his gaze distant. His mind churned with the realization. It wasn't like the game he vaguely remembered—a place of adventure and danger, sure, but not this. Skyrim was broken, desperate, nothing like the epic fantasy world he thought it would be.
They walked in silence for a while until the corridor opened into a wide hall. At the far end stood a massive stone door, carved with intricate symbols of animals—an owl, a bear, and a dragon. The surface was worn and cracked, but the craftsmanship was still impressive.
"Looks important," Tsun said, stepping ahead of her.
"Careful—" Freyja began, but before she could finish, Tsun's foot pressed down on a pressure plate.
The sound of ancient mechanisms clicking into place filled the air. Darts shot out from hidden holes in the walls, dozens of them slamming into Tsun's chest, arms, and legs.
Freyja froze, her heart pounding as she watched. The darts pierced his skin, their tips coated in dark, sticky poison. For a moment, Tsun didn't move, staring down at the projectiles embedded in his body.
Then he flexed.
The muscles under his skin rippled, and the darts shot out of his body, clattering to the floor. A faint mist of poison sprayed out with them, but he inhaled deeply, unbothered. The tiny punctures on his skin closed almost instantly, leaving no trace of the damage.
Freyja stared, her throat dry. "What... are you?" she whispered under her breath.
Tsun dusted himself off, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Careful where you step," he said casually, as though nothing had happened.
Her fingers brushed the hilt of her dagger as her mind raced. He wasn't human—he couldn't be. No one could survive that, let alone walk it off like nothing happened. She bit her lip, her mind cycling through possibilities. What was his game? Why was he really here?
Tsun walked ahead, avoiding the other pressure plates with ease. Freyja followed hesitantly, her eyes fixed on him as her thoughts churned.
They stopped in front of the massive stone door, its surface covered in carvings of the three animal symbols arranged in concentric circles. The edges were lined with intricate patterns, and the whole thing radiated an air of ancient power.
Tsun placed his hand against the door, frowning. "Looks sturdy," he muttered.
Without warning, he drew his fist back and punched the door. The stone cracked slightly but held firm. He shook his hand, muttering a curse as the bones in his fingers audibly snapped. He watched as they realigned and healed within moments, the pain already fading.
"Not as fragile as I thought," he said, flexing his fingers.
Freyja frowned, stepping closer but keeping her distance. Her eyes lingered on the carvings, her fingers brushing against the golden claw at her belt. The symbols on the claw—bear, owl, dragon—caught her attention, and she glanced between them and the door.
Tsun noticed her movement, his gaze narrowing. "That claw," he said, nodding toward her belt. "Let me see it."
She stiffened, her hand instinctively moving to cover the claw. "Why?"
He gestured toward the door. "The symbols match. You've been carrying the key this whole time."
Freyja hesitated, her eyes darting between him and the door. Finally, she unhooked the claw and handed it over, her fingers brushing against his briefly before she pulled back. Tsun examined the claw, turning it over in his hands. The symbols were etched into its surface, and the craftsmanship was far too intricate to be coincidental. He stepped closer to the door, aligning the claw with the circular mechanism in its center.
With a grinding sound, the rings on the door began to turn, each one aligning with the symbols in the correct sequence. Bear. Owl. Dragon.
The door shuddered, then slid open with a deep, rumbling groan. Beyond it lay a dark passage, the air colder than before. A faint wind carried through the opening, along with the sound of an ominous, guttural voice.
Both of them froze.
Freyja's grip tightened on her torch as her blood ran cold. The voice was low and rasping, the words incomprehensible but dripping with malice.
"Well," Tsun said, breaking the silence. "That doesn't sound welcoming."
Freyja shot him a glare. "You think?"
He grinned faintly, stepping forward. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."
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