Our Story, Part IV


I opened a portal to Eyevea. Or at least, I thought I had. I emerged in complete darkness! But a mage is never without means of making light. I could feel masses of magicka like the sun somewhere far above me, so I began to climb through the caverns, which gave way to cleared ruins of a bygone age. At last, I found daylight. I had made it to Eyevea, only very far beneath it.

I swam to the center island, where I saw signs of a settlement. I was a daughter of Skyrim, and the water felt warm as a bath to me. The trees were heavy with blossoms, even at this time of year. I wandered, calling for Shalidor. Inside, I found myself in his study. A veritable library of parchment organized by no method known to Nirn nor Oblivion. But among the scribblings, I spotted my name.

Not just once, mind you. I read them, of course. I’m not ashamed to say. A year’s worth of unsent letters and apologies. Confessions, false starts, academic musings. All addressed to me. I was in the middle of reading when I was startled by the appearance of a lovely High Elf woman, who seemed just as surprised to see me. To my relief, she introduced herself as an appointed caretaker, tending to the place while Shalidor was away.

Naturally, I inquired where he was away to, as I was hoping to meet with him rather urgently. But such a meeting wouldn’t be possible for some time, she said, as he was headed to Skyrim. By boat to High Rock, then on by foot from there. He meant to visit an old friend, she told me, but he hoped to see what other marvels he might find along the way. She told me how long ago he’d left and estimated that he’d probably reach his destination any day now.

By the time a portal opened heralding his return, I’d made myself quite at home on Eyevea. He appeared well-traveled, cloak stained from the road and his beard grown long and wild. In his hands were my scribbled notes on portal magic, and dozens of unsent letters bearing his name that he’d no doubt discovered upon reaching my cottage.

In the long time I’ve known him, a smile on his face is as rare as the sun in a Skyrim winter. But I’ll never forget the one he had for me that day.

The caves beneath the island would someday become the Scholarium. Though our travels often led us apart from one another, we would always return to meet again on Eyevea.

He wished to offer me eternal life so that we might spend it together. I wished to spend my single mortal life as his partner. You might ask yourself, whose wish was the greater show of the love we’d come to share?

If we ever come to a consensus on that, I imagine we no longer walk this world together.

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