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Now reading: Chapter 45 45: Meeting the Divines from Skyrim: A Craftman's Journey, a Action novel by TeemVizzle.

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Akatosh

In the formless place beyond space and ti, where all tilines converged and fractured like glass under pressure, he sat. The dragon whose wings beat across eternity. The First. The Beginning. The End.

Akatosh, Chief of the Divines, the Father of Ti, opened his golden eyes.

The planes of Aetherius pulsed around him—threads of fate, millions upon millions of them, unspooling through the mortal world below. Every breath of a mortal, every blink of a god, every scream of a Daedric Prince—all of them were woven into his endless tapestry. And for the first ti in an age, it was fraying.

Rarely did Divines and Princes ddle so openly in mortal affairs. Rarer still did they speak to one another beyond their cryptic influences and manipulations. But now? Now, the stars themselves bent in anticipation. Mortals walked paths never before seen. The Pattern was... bleeding.

'And all because the last line of the prophecy had been fulfilled'.

Alduin, the World-Eater, had returned.

And the Last Dragonborn had risen to challenge him.

The ancient prophecy, etched into the Elder Scrolls by tongues long dead, had spoken of this battle. Victory would be achieved by the Dragonborn. But not without price. The ripple of such a clash would spill beyond Mundus, shaking even the outer planes. Nirn would beco scarred—uninhabitable, so had claid.

Initially, the Nine had agreed to remain aloof. Fate must take its course, they said. After all, they were its architects.

All but one.

Zenithar, the god of labor, of honest toil and spiritual reward, had stood against it.

"Letting the world perish after such devotion is a betrayal," he had said. His voice, rarely raised, had echoed even in the hollow halls of Oblivion.

They had rebuffed him—dismissed him.

Until he proclaid a Champion.

Sothing that hadn't happened in eons. Not since Pelinal Whitestrake. Not since Tiber Septim.

At first, they watched out of divine curiosity. Gerron Ironbreaker—a mortal of no great renown—beca the focus of their attention. Not because of power. But because of potential.

And when the man got entangled with the Dragonborn? When he stood against monsters and beasts and the threads of destiny itself?

Then the others began choosing Champions of their own, intrigued by the actions that Gerron Ironbreaker had shown. Skyrim beca a cauldron, boiling with Divine and Daedric attention. Each seeking sothing. Each hoping to reshape the end.

But amid all the chaos, one remained silent.

Akatosh turned his will across the Aether, peering into the slivered edges of madness.

"Sheogorath," his voice thundered through dinsions, vibrating through entropy and order alike. "You have been oddly quiet."

There was a pause, and then—a ripple of laughter that ca from nowhere and everywhere.

"Akatosh! Ol' buddy, ol' pal!" ca the unmistakable trill of the Mad God. "To what do I owe the displeasure of this very punctual visit?"

"Your silence," the Dragon God replied. "It is worrying. When you are quiet, the plots you co up with are usually catastrophic."

"Hahaha! You always think the worst of !" Sheogorath exclaid cheerily. "But nooo~! Not this ti! I'm not planning anything~!"

Akatosh stared flatly at the man who rules over the domain of chaos and insanity.

"Oh don't look at like that!" Sheogorath giggled. "It's not like I'm the one at fault for the current circumstances! Why would I need to splurge when you Divines and Princes are doing it for ! Choosing champions all willy nilly. It makes tingle!"

"You exaggerate." Akatosh narrowed his gaze. "I have seen the future tilines. None of them are—"

"Look again." Sheogorath gave him a knowing smile, resting his chin on his palm.

Akatosh froze.

A rare thing.

A mont passed in silence. Then two.

Then he saw it.

Hidden threads. Temporal blind spots. Entire offshoots of fate that did not exist yesterday. Realities bending in on themselves.

"You…" Akatosh said slowly, "you've done sothing."

"Moi?!" Sheogorath placed a hand over his chest with mock offense. "Bla your bestie Zenithar for that one. He started this domino dance with his little champion. Exactly what did he think would happen when he gave that mortal a gift as powerful as the Forge Eternal?"

Akatosh's eyes burned brighter.

"Okay okay! I may or may not have given things a teensy weensy shove." The Mad One twirled his cane.

"You were the one who set them on this path." Akatosh finally realized.

"You give too much credit there." Sheogorath waved away. "All I did was give 'em a little nudge. You rember the fateful Battle at the Watchtower? Only one dragon was supposed to show up, yes?"

Akatosh nodded slowly. He rembered. One of Alduin's kin was ant to test the Dragonborn. In all the tilines, only Mirmulnir was ever supposed to appear.

"But two did," Sheogorath giggled. "I whispered to a certain winged friend called Silklovkul. Told him there was a sweet roll hidden beneath the tower."

"You nudged the World-Eater's spawn into battle..." Akatosh whispered.

"And look what happened!" Sheogorath grinned. "The Dragonborn and the Artificer joined forces! Just look at everything they've done so far! Ain't it fun?!"

"I see." Akatosh exhaled deeply, "Strength invites challenge, and Alduin grew stronger as a result."

"That's right! Strong enough to tear your tapestry. While his power has not quite reached the strength he once possessed in the rethic Era, he grew sothing else in return. He no longer follows the tiline."

"The power to shatter the strings of fate itself." Akatosh exhaled deeply. "Though that ans... he cannot see the future either."

"Bingo!" Sheogorath clapped once. "Like fighting blind in a room full of furniture made of knives!"

It was a double-edged sword.

Alduin's ability to devour fate ant he could now sidestep the predestined death Akatosh had foreseen. But it also ant he stumbled forward without guidance, as blind as the rest of them.

And in such a world... variables multiplied.

Variables like the Elder Scrolls—dangerous anomalies that even gods feared to ddle with.

Variables like Gerron Ironbreaker. Isran. Harkon Volkihar. Calixto. Aeranea Ienith. Karliah. And seemingly others who have yet to make a choice.

It was why the first thing Alduin tried to do when he got out of the ti stream was to try and remove the Dragonborn so he would stand unchallenged. However, since Kiera Fendalyn had not yet awakened her abilities, Alduin rely had a direction instead of a target. The small town of Helgen burned as a result.

And the Dragonborn yet lived because of it.

"You see now why I haven't done much?" Sheogorath spread his arms, laughing in delight. "The world is already in chaos. Everything is so delightfully ssy! All I need to do now is sit back and enjoy the show~."

"So you're not interested in raising your own Champion?" Akatosh questioned.

"? Please," the Mad God scoffed. "What would I do with a Champion? Tell them to wear a cheese hat and bark like a dog? The world already looks like one of my tea parties!"

Akatosh was silent for a long mont.

Then, with the slow pull of divine presence, he began to retreat from the conversation.

"Ta ta!" Sheogorath waved cheerily, disappearing into a cloud of butterflies and ad.

The Dragon God watched the rift in tilines spiral outward.

And as he faded into golden light, one thought lingered in his immortal mind—

'When the Prince of Madness is the most reasonable voice in existence... what does that say of the world?'

4E 202, Dreamscape

Gerron Ironbreaker

Gerron dread.

He floated weightlessly in a vast, endless night. Stars shimred in every direction, their soft glow casting pale lights across his armorless form. It was peaceful—eerily so. No wind, no sound. Just the slow spinning of constellations and the rhythmic thrum of existence.

But then, one star grew larger. A pale blue one. It pulsed—once, twice—and then pulled him in.

Gerron didn't scream. There was no ti to. One mont he was watching from afar, the next he was engulfed by it.

The world turned white. And then silence.

When the brilliance faded, he stood at the foot of a mountain-sized man. No, not a man—a being. He radiated power, but not the kind that crushed you with its weight. This presence was warm. Grounded. The being's skin looked sun-touched, and his long beard flowed with the slowness of eternity. His robes were simple, of deep orange and dusky blue, as if stitched from the skies of dawn and dusk.

The giant knelt, just enough for Gerron to et the eyes that had seen empires rise and fall.

"What… is this?" Gerron whispered, still in awe of the sight before him.

The being smiled, voice like the rustle of wheat on the breeze. "You pray to every morning, yet you do not know my face?"

"…Zenithar?" Gerron blinked.

"The one and the sa." The god nodded once. "It is ti we spoke, Champion."

Gerron's breath caught. Champion. He knew what he was, especially since the system told it to him. But to have it acknowledged like this… For this to even speak with one of the Nine was quite surreal.

"What's happening?" he asked, more grounded now. "Why am I here?"

Zenithar's tone turned serious. "Because the world as you know it nears its brink. Chaos stirs from the depths of Oblivion. The Divines have begun to act, and so have the Princes. Mundus is facing a crisis far larger than what Dagon attempted centuries past. Alduin stirs, and the Princes are choosing their champions."

Gerron furrowed his brow. "But what can I do?"

"You need to stop limiting yourself and think, my child." Zenithar said gently, but firmly. "You bear the Forge Eternal, a gift far beyond mortal comprehension. And yet you limit yourself to creating artifacts of mundane quality."

"What? But I—"

"Do not lie to yourself, nor to ." Zenithar gave him a piercing stare. "Be truthful, child. The power you wield scares you."

Gerron's fists clenched, breath growing unsteady. "I… It's not that simple."

'Scared? Was that what it was?' He thought to himself.

"Every tool, every weapon, every art. You carry within yourself to change the world as you know it. But you fear that power for the potential to be misused. " Zenithar's gaze hardened. "That is not a reason to do nothing. You hide behind limitations of your own making. Not because you are wise… but because you are afraid."

The words hit deeper than Gerron wanted to admit. Visions flashed across his mind; machines that could terraform the earth, armors that could defy the laws of gravity, constructs that could rival dragons.

The only thing limiting him is ti and resources, and even that could be solved with the right schematic.

He'd looked at them all. And shelved them.

Because they scared him.

And because… deep down… he didn't believe he was worthy of wielding such power.

Zenithar continued. "You pray to for strength, for guidance, for clarity. And now I give you all three. Embrace the Forge. Shape the world with your hands. Help it survive what is to co."

Gerron's breath steadied. Slowly, the fear ebbed—not gone, but no longer unchallenged.

"…Then I will," he said at last. "No more excuses. No more hesitation."

Zenithar smiled. A father's smile. Proud. Hopeful.

"I see your resolve has strengthened. You need nothing less to survive what is to co.I shall remain with you when I can. But if ever you are lost, seek my shrines. Speak my na. Rember, the truest worth of your craft lies not in what you make, but in why you make it."

Gerron bowed his head. "Thank you."

The world began to fade, the stars retreating into nothingness. A blue light pulsed one last ti before giving way to darkness.

Then he woke.

His eyes flew open to the familiar ceiling of his chamber in the College of Winterhold. A breath caught in his throat.

A glint of steel.

His eyes widened as he instinctively rolled.

The dagger sliced through the air, aid at where his throat had been not a heartbeat ago.

'Assassin!' His senses exploded into focus.

Above him, a figure garbed in shadows, raised the dagger for a second strike.

AN: Finally starting to show the cosmic aspect of this fic. We're entering a whole new stage of the story now. There shouldn't be that much left of Act 2 before we head on to Act 3!

Gerron ets Zenithar finally! A whole thirty chapters ish after being declared his champion. The end of the dream is followed by an Assassin wanting for his head. Fun.

More chapters on my Pat_reon! A whole 10 chapters ahead! Chapter 55 should be available by the ti this chapter is posted. Just look up my na and you'll find .

Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!

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