The College of Winterhold, of the Province of Skyrim, Tamriel || 2nd of Morningstar

At the start of the month of my birth, I've felt my magicka coursing through me stronger than ever. My mother used to tell me that those who were magickally inclined felt much stronger during their birth month than those who were not. And she had been right, dozens of times over. My capacity for magic is at an all-time high. Spells are stronger and last longer, I recover faster than any other month in the Tamrielic calendar. My confidence blooms with each passing day of Morningstar, the start of winter. But this month is different. Perhaps because it is the month of my 30th winter, as I've felt stronger with each 10th winter I've passed. Now, standing before Archmage Savos and the Thalmor newcomer, Ancano, I feel unease. Especially after Savos just introduced me as their "star pupil". I trust that Savos won't allow anything politically motivated to happen on College grounds, but I am reminded that the landscape is ever-changing beyond our walls. Allowing a Thalmor in full uniform is definitely a choice, both on Faralda and Mirabelle's part. Someone had to have spoken to him for him to be dressed like the rest of us now. I swallow. I'm not sure what Savos wants me to do this time, or how the Thalmor fits into this, but I don't have a good feeling either way. Savos has been something of a mentor to me for the better part of my time here in the College, and I trust his judgement on anything. Being centuries old gives you a sense of wisdom humans will never achieve.

I've seen and met elves all the known mer races in my time here and back home. Some are among my closest friends. Yet none of them are Thalmor, least of all loyal to the Aldmeri Dominion in any capacity. Not even my own mother, an elderly Altmer woman, the former head of a Mage's Guild in Leyawiin. She left the Summerset Isles for Cyrodiil at least a century before the Thalmor were ceded control of the government, and started wreaking havoc at home and abroad. They've committed many a heinous crime against sentient life ever since then. Finding any non-Aldmeri elf or human with benevolent feelings towards them is about as rare as finding a unicorn within the Great Glades of Hircine. Mother leaving the Isles for Cyrodiil seems ironic, considering the Great War would start a century later. The Cyrodiil I've known has been war torn and in constant conflict, and I've only heard whispers of the province as it once was, before the Dominion destroyed most of it. Immigrating from one burning province to another seems counterproductive to wanting peace, stability, a sense of normalcy. But she had to have known her chances of survival in Cyrodiil would be much higher than had she stayed in the Isles, watching the Thalmor turn her home into a military dictatorship. I'm quite sure this is my first non-hostile encounter with a Thalmor, but I wonder how long the lack of hostility is going to last. Seeing them from afar is reason enough to give them a wide berth. He's wearing the standard issue robes Mirabelle gives the new members. But I take a moment to study the newest addition to the College of Winterhold.

He possesses the physical characteristics of the inhabitants of the Summerset Isles, much like mother does. But his appearance is markedly more masculine, deviating from the sexual ambiguity I've seen some elves exhibit. He's tall, almost waifish were it not for broad shoulders. Deep golden skin and large amber eyes, wide and narrow where mine are more rounded. His elven pupils contain details and fractals that mine lack, supposedly allowing him to see better. Thin ears point upwards at a severe angle, keeping his hair at bay behind them. A wide mouth, slender nose and full lips are accentuated by sharp, high cheekbones and a jaw like Zenithar's anvil, ending with a longer-than-average chin. Although unlike mother, he is much younger. Silvering hair covers his scalp in an uneven hairline, vaguely resembling a rounded "M". The hair color gives away his age - elves of the known races don't turn white or even grey until at least a century has passed. In the case of the Altmer, they are born with blond hair that transitions to silver and then bone-white as the centuries pass. Some age slower than others, in no small part due to magic, but the principle remains the same. Despite his age, his face has no noticeable lines or wrinkles. Were he not an elf, I would have estimated him to be several years older than me, approaching middle age like Mirabelle. I will have to ask of her impression of him later. Bretons don't have good history with the Thalmor, so I can't imagine she was pleased to find him here.

We both stand there, studying each other. Although it feels more like I'm studying him and he's sizing me up as a potential opponent. I could tell by the look on his face that I startled him by darting in front of them, phasing in between invisibility and visibility in the process. Tolfdir was right, being able to blend invisibility with motion would be an excellent thesis for Alteration. With my skill level approaching his own, he soon will have no more to teach me. I still haven't figured out what to do when this happens. At Savos' introduction, his eyes widened considerably, lips almost parting. Then his mouth formed a thin line as he now squints at me. I have no doubt he already sees me as inferior, as I'm human. Perhaps even being a woman is working against me. But for him, I have the added misfortune of being a Redguard as well. A connection that he doesn't appear to miss. I'm probably reminding him of the five year war between our people, after the Empire abandoned Hammerfell for refusing to give up their land in exchange for signing the White-Gold Concordat. Maybe he was involved in that conflict. He could have known people who were. Perhaps he was even in Cyrodiil during the Great War.

After several tense, awkward moments of silence, I turn to the Archmage with a small smile. "Archmage Savos, you give me too much credit. I'm no different than the other mages here." My voice is somewhat raspy, the last dregs of sleep stubbornly clinging to it. Lately I've been having vividly surreal dreams, and it's been affecting my sleep more often than normal. I heard a small intake of breath from the Thalmor as I spoke to the Archmage, but didn't look in his direction. I still don't know why he's here or what Savos intends with this meeting. If I were a Nord, I might be terrified about being arrested and shipped off to a torture chamber for suspected Talos worship. At the thought of Nords, I think of Onmund. One of the newer apprentices, who joined the College at the severe disapproval of his Ulfric-supporting Nordic family. I wonder if he's encountered this Thalmor yet. I remind myself to check in on him when I can find him. If Onmund has had a run-in with Ancano, I can't imagine he's handling the Thalmor's presence here as well as the rest of us are. Savos chuckles and gives me a paternal pat on my shoulder. "Always reluctant to toot your own horn," he turns back to Ancano. "I can think of no one better to represent the best of what our College has to offer than Ira, Ancano. She's become something of a mentor for the other mages. The 'peers' she mentioned are currently the newest additions to the College."

Ancano crosses his arms, looking back and forth between the both of us. He seems to look at me longer than it does Savos. "Archmage, with all due respect," he has the same lilting accent that the other Altmer here do. Only his sounds haughty enough to be condescening without even trying. "I'm not sure how productive it would be for me to follow this woman around for however long is necessary. Especially if it will take away from her.... mentoring the students here." Ancano sounds like he's not buying what Savos just told him, but the Archmage doesn't take the bait for clarification. "I understand your reluctance, but I ask that you at least consider it. Ira possesses magical talent beyond her years, and unlike the rest of us, she doesn't have a heavy workload keeping her busy day in and day out," Savos flashes me a cheeky grin, and I can't help but crack a smile at the response. We both knew what my workload was - mentoring new students, conducting research into magical theories and techniques, developing new theses for future members to study. I joined the College less than a year ago, yet so far I've excelled in every school of magic. When Savos and the professors began to take notice of my progress, I initially was worried that I would be taken advantage of. But so far, everyone seems to respect the work I do. Some even think I'm being groomed to replace Mirabelle as Master Wizard when she retires, but the rumors hold no merit. Retirement isn't in her future. At least, not for a while. I picture Mirabelle as old and withered as Tolfdir, still sheperding new students around the College, and my smile widens.

Before Ancano can respond, the Archmage steps away and heads for the staircase leading to the Arcaneum. I get the sense Savos wants to be rid of him as soon as possible. Or get back to his office. The last time Savos was gone for an extended period of time - a week - his desk was overflowing with parchmentwork. That's when I learned research sabbaticals are a dual-edged sword. "Trust me, there's much you can learn from her," I hear him tell Ancano. We both watch him leave, my gaze lingering longer than Ancano's. The Archmage's words still ring in my ears, and I feel them buzzing in my chest. He spoke very highly of me, in front of an Altmer. A Thalmor no less. I don't know what either of them expect of me, nor do I know what the Thalmor plans to do here at the College, but I still feel apprehensive. Savos and Mirabelle would raise Oblivion before they allowed any Thalmor military presence on College grounds. And I doubt the Dominion at large cares about any of us here in Winterhold, of all places. I remember the stories my mother used to tell me of their prestigious College of Sapiarchs back in the Summerset Isles. Aldmeri mages so powerful, so influential, they were their own class of political leaders. Soon forgotten the moment they ceded their power to the Thalmor, the Dominion's military wing. The way mother described it, life in Summerset changed for the worst. For everyone. I still wonder what it was like, having your whole way of life upended in the blink of an eye. Mother moved to Cyrodiil many years before it happened, but she had been born with what they called the "second sight". A third eye. The ability to see and predict the future. I can't blame her for leaving. If I knew my home was about to be destroyed, that life would never be as I knew it again, I would leave in a heartbeat too.

It wouldn't be the first time Savos has dumped someone or something onto another person to deal with. That was Mirabelle's entire job at this point, dealing with whatever Savos couldn't be bothered with himself. And it wouldn't be the first time the Thalmor planted spies in targeted locations across Tamriel under the guise of "helping". I can't help but look over at him while he still watches the Archmage leaving. He wasn't harsh on the eyes. The sharp angle of his jaw, the slender muscle jutting out of his neck. I see his jaw muscle flex before he turns back to me. I'm taken aback by the palpable disgust on his face, but not surprised. The Thalmor are the most visible representation of the Aldmeri Dominion these days, and Altmer by extension, in all of Skyrim. They haven't exactly made the best impression of themselves in the province or the Empire as a whole, and they don't need to. We all know who they are and what they want. "If you think I'll be following you around like an imbecile, you're severely mistaken, Redguard." The respectful tone he used for the Archmage is gone. It is instead replaced with a condescending he believes fit for a human, as evidenced by his refusal to address me by name. "I've much more important things to be doing with my time here, you and whatever meaningless activities you're involved in aren't among them."

Mother used to tell me about these types of Altmer. The ones who didn't just believe themselves to be above everyone else. They believed no one else had a right to exist on Nirn as they did. A principle the Thalmor uphold to this day, and the driving force behind their coveted conquest of all of Tamriel. As descendants of the Elhnofey, the First Children as they like to call themselves, they believe their expanded lifespans made them more qualified to be the seat of the Empire of Tamriel. I have no doubt that if this Thalmor had his way, he'd already be trying to kill me. My mother was raised to think the same way, but quickly unlearned the behavior the moment she arrived in Cyrodiil, and encountered so many humans and other mer who were just like her. Her sense of racial superiority melted, replaced with a humility and empathy that only love and compassion can create within a person. And she passed her wisdom onto me, knowing in time I would encounter some of her brethren who had the misfortune to retain their sense of superiority. My people are so very lost, dear, she would tell me. I can still hear the sadness in her voice, all these years later. They are plagued by an arrogance that will lead to their downfall in the end. Humility will be your best defense, and your best offense. Looking back, I wonder if my mother saw the Great War happening. The White-Gold Concordat, the fracturing peace between the Empire and the Dominion.

I yawn loudly in front of him, making a point to cover my mouth with my hand in the process. I cross my arms and angle myself to one side, feigning boredom. "That's just as well," I tell him. "I'd rather not have a spy on my heels, breathing down my neck every second of the day." I blink once. "So long as you stay out of my way and don't interfere with my work, we'll get along just fine." I see his nostrils flare briefly and his eyes go wide before schooling his features. Calling him a spy struck a nerve, it seems. Or he doesn't like that I just proved to him that I'm no imbecile. Or I implied there was a situation in which he and I could get along that involves him not being a nuisance. Or perhaps all three, layering insults on top of each other with just one retort. Him being a Thalmor tells me everything I need to know about why he's really here. He may be delusional enough to believe he's fooled Mirabelle, and even the Archmage himself, but not me. And if I'm not convinced, chances are others won't be either. "I don't know where you got the idea that I'm a spy, but that sounds exactly like the kind of ridiculous rumor I would expect of mages with nothing better to do with their time." He turns away from me, heading for the staircase opposite of the one Savos went to. "You'd do well to not perpetuate that rumor," he tells me over his shoulder.

His attempt to be threatening doesn't work. I roll my eyes. "Try not to get too bored during your stay here, advisor. We wouldn't want you doing anything drastic."

I catch the tips of his ears twitch as he whips around to shoot me a withering glare before rushing to the staircase, heading down to the training area beneath the Hall of the Elements. I don't know what's possessing him to go down there, but I'm grateful for his absence. I take a steadying breath, moving to one of the benched alcoves to sit and wait for Master Tolfdir. We are due for an alteration lecture in less than a sundial hour, and I could use the quiet loneliness to meditate. Having a Thalmor on College grounds is going to prove challenging. I can only hope he conducts himself for however long he's here, though that would be wishful thinking at best and a fool's errand at worst. I also hope he's not here long either. I may never have been to my ancestral homeland of Hammerfell, but I've heard enough about what the Thalmor did there in the 5 years they spent fighting the carriers of Yokuda's blood. Some of them settled in Cyrodiil, and lived there for decades. The pain in their eyes was enough for me to know the details themselves were harrowing, even before hearing them for myself. The mass killings, rapes, pillaging, looting, torture and total destruction of all life around them. The Thalmor spared nothing, and left Hammerfell a devastated nation, worse off now that they had been sufficiently abandoned by the Empire.

My skin crawls.

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Master Tolfdir walks into the Hall of the Elements and takes his place at the front podium, facing a packed seating area in the main atrium, bundle of firewood in tow. Mirabelle once told me not to be fooled by his appearance, claiming him to be the foremost authority on all things Alteration within the entire province. I hadn't known what she meant, until seeing him for myself at my first lecture. Tolfdir looks like he should have been using a cane or a walking stick years ago, back bent and hobbled like an old hermit. He has more lines, creases and wrinkles in his face and neck than the elven Archmage does. Pale skin makes the age spots on his cheeks and nose more visible. His shoulder-length white hair is tied into smaller sections with short bands of dark rope at the tips. They cover his ears and brush his shoulders while the rest of his hair behind his head freely flows down his neck. A wild, bushy beard beneath a bulbous nose covers the lower half of his face, while his different colored eyes peer at everyone in attendance. With his right eye brown, and his left eye blue, Tolfdir strikes an eccentric figure. Mirabelle had been right in that his appearances were unassuming enough to paint a different picture of him. But once he spoke about Alteration magic, he proved conclusively how knowledgeable he was on the subject. Unfortunately, he was also hard to stop.

Mirabelle sits on a cushion on the lowest step, next to the Archmage. I gave her a smile when she walked in that she returned, before narrowing her eyes at something behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know who received that look, and why.

During my meditation, Ancano quietly slipped back into the Hall of the Elements after his foray in the training area, no doubt intent on exploring every nook and cranny of the College for reasons supposedly unrelated to spying for the Dominion. I stand to the left on the second to last step, while he chose to sit on a bench in the accompanying alcove, away from the rest of us. No one has joined him there, and he sits alone. I can feel his eyes on me, although I'm sure he's glaring at everyone else as well. All the professors have joined us for Tolfdir's lecture, and even Savos himself has found time in his mysterious yet busy schedule to attend. Taking in the audience and the diversity of the people here shows me time and time again how esteemed he is in our College. I almost wonder why Savos didn't introduce Tolfdir to Ancano, but considering typical Thalmor temperament, I doubt he would have had the patience to follow an old Nord around for any period of time. The thought nearly makes me giggle, and I bow my head to hide my smile.

Looking around at all of us as he smooths his thin robes, Master Tolfdir looks pleasantly surprised. "Well now, had I known so many of you would be here, I would have conjured more seats!" He grins, and the rest of us chuckle politely in response. His voice, softened with age, still manages to carry throughout the atrium. I swear I feel Master Phinis, the College's Conjuration professor, role his eyes at the pun. "Now, I'm sure you're all eager to learn what old Master Tolfdir has been up to these days," he leans forward onto the podium. I had heard rumors from some of the students here that Tolfdir was seeking to retire, and was due to announce it today, during his lecture. Where are these retirement rumors coming from? "And contrary to what some of you might have heard, I am NOT retiring." I hear a fake groan of disappointment from the other side of the group. "Serves me right for placing a bet!" Professor Phinis' comment earns him a laugh from most in our group. The balding Breton usually doesn't care much for lectures from his colleagues in the other schools of magic, but clearly respects Tolfdir enough to attend his. I was mildly surprised to see him here, which further lends credence to the prestige that Tolfdir holds. That, and everyone here getting along. A blessing I hope isn't ruined by the Thalmor sitting a few steps behind me to my right.

"Indeed it does," Tolfdir chuckles heartily, wagging his finger at him in mock scolding. There's a broad smile on his face that I can't help but feel inside. I hope to one day get along with my colleagues in the same manner as Tolfdir in the future. "Retirement isn't in my future just yet. Even in my old age, I'm continously learning more uses and applications of Alteration-based magic. Moreso than I ever thought I would. In the wise words of our Archmage," he gestures to Savos in the front row, "what you learn here really can last you several lifetimes, with no small amount of talent." Although I can't see Savos' face from where I stand, I see Mirabelle glance over at him, softly smiling. There have been rumors that she and Savos were intimately involved for as long as I've been here. Rumors none among us have been brave enough to confront either of them on. Even the newer members immediately recognize the power dynamic between the two individuals. Savos being the Archmage, and Mirabelle running the College's day-to-day operations in the interim. Crossing one or both of them didn't grant you any favors.

Clearing his throat, Tolfdir continues. "One such application of Alteration magic is one I would like to show a few demonstrations of. It involves the altering of spells from certain schools of magic after they've been cast, a feat I had only heard of and never seen for myself, up until a few days ago." Tolfdir looks to me, a twinkle of admiration in his eyes. Tolfdir approached me privately the day before, asking if I would be comfortable performing some demonstrations as part of his Alteration lecture. I had taken on the school of magic far better than any of his other students, advancing well above them in record time. You've shown a tremendous deal of talent, Ira, he had told me. I believe this would be a great research thesis for you, and I'd like to make it the topic of my lecture on Morndas. I've been more or less treated like a protégé ever since, and it didn't hurt that I was helpful enough to be trustworthy to him. I agreed, though now I'm starting to slightly regret the decision as I feel a few pair of eyes on me. One of which being the Thalmor seated behind me, and it feels downright hostile. I swallow and take a breath, nodding at Toldfir once.

With a gesture, Master Tolfdir steps away from the podium at the same time I approach it. "Now, my assistant here needs no introduction. But in case you've been buried under the snow," that earns him a few small laughs, "this is Ira of Astora, an adept mage in the school of Alteration. She's shown a natural proclivity to learning complex magic the likes of which I haven't seen in years." I make my way to stand on a metal Eye of Shalidor sigil on the floor, and Master Tolfdir moves to stand on the sigil opposite of me, a few steps away. Mirabelle has the foresight to move the podium from in front of us, giving the rest of the group a better view of our demonstration. Part of me inwardly beams at his praise, since Master Tolfdir has mentored and taught many a student before I came along. But the Thalmor's presence here makes me hyper-aware that his comments are potentially putting a target on my back. I chance a look around the group. Everyone is watching us, some more interested than others, and Ancano for his part looks distracted. Leaning back against the bench, his arms are crossed as he stares at a spot on the ground behind me off to my right. I breathe a little easier, confident he won't even pay attention to our demonstration.

After we take our positions, Master Tolfdir briefly explains what we're about to do. "This one is rather simple," he tells the group. "And it's actually an effective form of magical defense! By firing a low-level destruction spell, with the right technique, one can theoretically use it to shield yourself from your opponent by turning it into a firey ward." He turns to me as I ready my stance. We've practiced this before, and he's right that it's simple. "Observe," he readies a small firebolt in the palm of his right hand, and shoots it in my direction. I hold my hands out in front of me, and once the firebolt comes close enough, I catch it and spread my hands far and wide. The firebolt expands into a flat plane of fire, pulsating with energy. I hear a gasp from somewhere next to me, but I don't take my focus off the demonstration. Tolfdir then fires more firebolts at my makeshift ward, which don't pass through them and have no effect other than making the fire ward stronger. For extra measure, Tolfdir even shows the downside of the ward by switching to firing ice spikes instead. They weaken the ward to some degree but they don't distinguish it completely. Master Tolfdir explains that this is less of a loophole and more of a 'stepping stone for further research'.

We then demonstrate the offensive capabilites discovered with a ward spell. "Ira here managed to cast two wards with one spell, by maintaing one ward in each hand, which led to the discovery of this next demonstration," Tolfdir explains. "With adequate concentration, the ward spell can not only separate but harden, making it an effective projectile in itself. Much like a physical shield can be worn, used to bash, and thrown." I can physically see and feel the giddiness radiating from Master Colette, the Restoration insrtuctor, seated to the immediate right of Archmage Savos. She's smiling broadly and looks about ready to leap out of her cushioned seat with joy. A brunette and middle-aged Breton like Mirabelle, Restoration is quite literally her life's work. But her and Mirabelle's Breton kinship ends their similarities. Collete has a tendency to be hard to work and get along with, in no small part thanks to a growing sense of paranoia on her part. She's been convinced for who knows how long that everyone here is conspiring against her. Her colleagues, the groundskeeper, even Master Librarian Urag. No one is safe from her misdirected paranoia, not even some of the students who come to her for help or additional instruction outside of lectures. She thinks they look down on her because they believe Restoration to be a useless school of magic, "unworthy of study" in her words. Even though she refuses to name names whenever prompted. I flash a small smile in her direction, and I can tell she's going to feel sincerely validated with what Tolfdir and I do.

After Master Tolfdir tosses a long piece of firewood across to me, I position my body to face the group while holding the firewood far in front of me. He then starts with a lesser ward, the weakest of the known wards. This demonstration we practiced would take extreme concentration, and we both agreed that Tolfdir would be the one to perform this one. I was able to do this myself, to an extent. For as much as I've been advancing within the school of Alteration, I have yet to master the deep concentration required to begin practicing the master level Alteration spells. Holding it up with both hands, he moves his hands in a snapping motion mid-air, as if he was breaking a stick against his leg. The ward physically breaks into two even pieces with a whooshing, clinking sound. Tolfdir throws the ward pieces one at a time like a pair of throwing knives, aiming for the firewood I hold delicately between my hands. One piece of the ward chips the firewood, while the other severs it completely in the center. I let go of it once it's broken, the pieces clattering to the floor noisily. The group sits in stunned silence, eyes focused on both of us, but Colette is the picture of ecstasy. Grinning from ear to ear with her hands clasped in front of her, she's practically leaping to get a better view of the broken firewood. I can't help but feel proud of myself in this moment. Colette may be difficult to approach and relate to, but she meant well at the end of the day, and was happy to share her knowledge of Restoration to anyone who showed a genuine interest. Seeing her happy made my spirit soar.

"This final demonstration is our best one yet", as Master Tolfdir so eloquently put it. "A combined offensive and defensive manuver, this is the magical manipulation of a projectile spell while it's mid-air to shoot back at your opponent. Think of it as drawing the offensive magical energy into your body, combining it with your own, and pushing it back out with the force of a waterfall. I wouldn't have believed this to be possible, had I not seen it for myself," Tolfdir sounds like a proud grandfather. Many here see him as the paternal figure, and not just because he's old and looks to be the grandfatherly type. He's more of a mentor figure than I am for the students here, with far more experience in the fields of magic than I have. Sure, I may have talent beyond that of some of my peers, but that doesn't make me an authority figure within the College. As much as Savos likes to think I am. It's tacitly understood that aside from Mirabelle, Tolfdir is the next best person to ask for anything related to the College. I see Faralda shift expectantly from her spot on the step above the Archmage, a look of silent respect as she watches us. Master Faralda taught me everything I know when it comes to Destruction magic. And she was always interested in seeing what other applications came of the school of her expertise. I have no doubt she was impressed with the creation of the fire ward, but this next demonstration might take the cake.

Like the first demonstration, Master Tolfdir readies a firebolt in his right hand, aims it for me and fires. The firebolt travels the distance between us, only this time I don't have my hands up. Instead, I catch the firebolt in my left hand and twirl slowly with it counter-clockwise. Halfway around I close join my left hand with my right, closing my eyes and focusing my magicka into both of my palms. When I make the full rotation, I pass the firebolt from my left hand to my right. I open my eyes and shoot the firebolt with my right hand, leaning into the attack. A massive, continuous jet of bright orange flames streams from my palm at Master Tolfdir, who has already raised a ward to block it. It creates a surge of heat that radiates outward around me, and the group collectively shields themselves with their arms, books or whatever else they happened to be holding. The heat was an unexpected side effect from the practice run we did, and our audience wasn't anticipating it either. After several seconds, I stop. I pull my arm back as the flames subside, lowering them to my side. I stretch my back and neck, feeling satisfying cracks and crunches in both.

Moments later, our audience beings a round of applause, momentarily stunning me and Master Tolfdir. We both bow exaggeratedly, as if we just performed a magnificent play. Even Archmage Savos joins in, seemingly impressed with what he's witnessed. I'm elated that this went so well, until I catch sight of Ancano in the back of the group. He isn't applauding, but his reaction is worse. Where he was initially uninterested in our demonstration, we seem to have captured his rapt attention. Or rather, I seem to have. He's focused entirely on me, back ramrod straight and leaning forward in his seat with his forearms on his knees. His golden-amber eyes watch me intently, his expression a mix of suspicion and curiosity, and I'm eerily reminded of a mountain lion. Cyrodiil's most agile and elusive predator, we called them 'ghost cats' for a reason. If they stalked you, you never saw them until it was too late. And they didn't let you go until they had you. I'm also reminded of the war stories from survivors of the five-year war between my people and the Dominion, and a chill comes over me. I try not to feel like a deer caught in a predator's gaze, and thankfully Tolfdir's voice releases me from the trap before it can spring.

"Thank you, thank you," he says. "I'm thrilled you all enjoyed our demonstration and my lecture! There is, of course, more work to be done from here. But this is a foundational stepping stone in the right direction." Master Tolfdir turns his attention to me. "And thank you, my dear, for being my assistant with this. I can always count on you for a helping hand." I give Master Tolfdir a smile and a small bow, grateful to have done my part and for this to be over. I'm not sure how much I enjoy being ogled by anyone. Least of all a Thalmor. "If there are no additional questions," Tolfdir addresses the group preparing to leave, "I would like my group of students to stay behind. I have an important update for all of you." I hear Colette excitedly ask Tolfdir to meet her in her office to discuss the Restoration demonstration at length, and Tolfdir gives her a shaky response. The Archmage stands to leave, Mirabelle following suit next to him, nearly synchronized with each other. I notice from the corner of my eye that Ancano hasn't moved to follow either of them. Instead, he's still seated at the bench, watching me as if waiting for something. Me. He's waiting for me. Ugh.

While everyone else files out of the atrium, I move to stand closer to Master Tolfdir and watch as Onmund, Brelyna and J'zargo rise from the dispersing group to stand with us. Onmund looks visibly shaken and I can't tell if it was from the lecture or from the very palpable presence of evil behind us. Brelyna is in good spirits, likely motivated and inspired by our demonstration. A bright smile is on her face as she joins us, standing close to Onmund. Even though she's likely my age, she's a good kid. She has a youthful energy that's infectious once you're around her for long enough. She and Onmund have been getting along well lately, and I wonder if there's something more to their budding friendship. J'zargo, on the other hand... I am unsure of. Just as I am unsure of Ancano. Both appear to have ulterior motives for coming to Winterhold, but unlike Ancano, J'zargo seems motivated by pure selfishness. White fur dotted with black markings along his face, neck and tail make his keen, silver eyes blend into his head. His long, black-tipped tail flicks lazily behind him as he approaches me.

"J'zargo was thoroughly impressed with your demonstration with Tolfdir, Ira," J'zargo's thick khajiiti accent sounds like he's trying to vocally meow in between words. "This one looks forward to learning these techniques for himself," I give him a small nod of acknowldegement. "Glad to hear you found it informative, J'zargo. Master Tolfdir is planning on incorporating it into lessons within the next week." I see his eyes light up. "Excellent," he drawls. "I look forward to matching and eventually surpassing your level." My only response is a blank stare. After joining the College a few months ago, J'zargo has had a bizarrely competitive attitude ever since. An attitude none of us share with him or amongst ourselves. The only resemblance that comes close is the famous rivalry between Master Faralda and Nirya, the resident magic scholar, but even that doesn't compare. Master Faralda and Nirya only compete with themselves, and for personal reasons only a few of us know the true nature of. Although Nirya has been known to recruit hapless students unaware of their rivalry to her side by bribing them into spying on Master Faralda. I rub my forehead. Often I wonder if having been sequestered in the College for so long with no exposure to new faces, places and experiences did more harm than good for some people here.

When everyone has formed a loose circle around Master Tolfdir, he looks to all of us and clasps his knobby, wrinkled hands together. "Alright everyone, within the next three days, I shall receive the necessary permissions from the Jarl of Winterhold about our excavation into Saarthal. My apologies that it took so long, seeing as the civil war has kept Kraldar busy for longer than he'd like." I had nearly forgotten about the civil war raging outside of our College's walls. It was hard hearing news about other provinces while here anyway, as couriers rarely came by the College to deliver news publications from across the province. Our current source of information came from Master Faralda and Mirabelle, who regularly ventured outside the College gates and mingled with the locals in Winterhold. Faralda in particular was the one who stressed the importance of building a good, nurturing relationship with the people of Winterhold. Considering she was the only one among us who had regular exposure to new people outside the College, I wasn't surprised she advocated for this so much.

Upon being reminded of the civil war, I ask something that's suddenly come to mind. "Master Tolfdir, do you think we'll run into any trouble on the way to Saarthal?" So far, we haven't had any serious problems with hostility outside of the College. At least, nothing that has escalated to physical violence. But all the same, we have no idea if the civil war has reached the region of Winterhold as a whole, and the province itself is full of dangers on its own. Dealing with Stormcloak or Imperial garrisons on patrol would be hazardous, but at least the Imperials embrace magic in their ranks. Thankfully Tolfdir knows the exact sort of trouble I'm referring to. He shakes his head. "Absolutely not," he tells us. "From what I've been told from Kraldar himself, as well as what Mirabelle and Faralda have heard from the townsfolk, the civil war has reached a stalemate. Kraldar has assured me that no violence of any sort will come to our doorstep for the forseeable future. So long as we proceed with caution of the natural dangers of the province, we should be fine." I'm stunned. A stalemate? The violence the civil war produced was a driving force for specific members of the College to join in the first place. Onmund was a prime example of that, and he looks just as surprised as I feel inside. Well, that's reassuring at least. As for the dangers Tolfdir mentioned, we've all since learned that fire spells are sufficiently effective against all manner of hostile wildlife within the region.

"Why must it take three days, Master?" J'zargo asks the question on all of our minds. I'm probably in less of a hurry as the others are to go to Saarthal, but this expedition has been months in the making. I can't imagine why obtaining approval from the governing body of Winterhold would be such a time-consuming task. "This one is eager to learn something new... and perhaps find valuable magical trinkets to study." I can't help but roll my eyes. I know J'zargo doesn't want to find anything valuable "to study", and his behavior does little to dispel any suspicion from his character. Master Tolfdir eyes him for a moment before addressing the rest of us. "I understand your frustration, all of you," his tone is serious, "but we must follow protocol so as to be respectful to the Jarl. He is the reason we're being allowed to excavate and study Saarthal at all, and frankly speaking, we're fortunate to have a city leader who remains benevolent to the College." His words are a somber reminder that settle over us all. Almost every mage here has had at least one run-in with the city's former Jarl, Korir. A Nord man whose family settled in Winterhold generations ago. Many of them were lost during the Great Collapse, and what remained of Korir's family has blamed the College ever since. As if that wasn't bad enough, his Nord stubbornness runs deep, and he routinely refuses to accept any theory for the cause of the Great Collapse that doesn't include the College of Winterhold's direct and sinister involvement.

Master Tolfdir collects the bundle of firewood he brought for the demonstration during his lecture. "Nevertheless, I shall inform you all immediately when everything is set in motion, and we can begin the expedition. In the meantime, I strongly advice you to continue practicing your mark and recall spells. We're going to need them!" After being formally dismissed, J'zargo makes a bee-line to the training grounds downstairs. The khajiit has a near fatal obsession with practicing his offensive spells, and I know he won't be focusing on any of what Master Tolfdir instructed us on. He will be the first to ask one of us - namely me - for help when his spell technique doesn't work. Nothing surprises me with him anymore. Brelyna and Onmund see fit to escort Master Tolfdir back to his office in the Hall of Countenance, chatting quietly on their way out. I stretch my arms and neck again, and stand above the broken firewood Toldfir and I used for our demonstration. I raise my hands in front of me and close my eyes, concentrating all my magicka into my palms. I can physically feel it surging up from my core, crossing the length of my arms, pooling into my hands. I mentally picture the object I want to materialize - the firm handle, its rough, wooden texture, lightweight feel, dry and splintery-

The broom forms effortlessly in my hands with a low fwomp, and I begin to sweep the mess we made. I made sure to inform Oveld, caretaker for the entire College, of what Tolfdir and I planned to do well in advance, and not to worry about any messes we made inside. Oveld has been our caretaker for as long as I've been here. Tolfdir was still an apprentice when he first arrived. His job is hard enough as it is with his old age, and I refused to hear any excuse of how the exercise will do him good. The least any of us can do it tidy after ourselves and decrease his workload, even on a marginal level. My informing Oveld of our plans is when I got my first look at Ancano, the day he arrived to the College. I didn't hear the conversation he had with Mirabelle, but I didn't need to. I knew her style of dismissal when I saw it, and Mirabelle doesn't tolerate misbehavior from anything or anyone. In hindsight, her and the Archmage's closeness comes as no surprise to me. I've got all the pieces in a pile ready to be disintegrated when a pompous, nasally voice cuts through my thoughts like a whip cracked in the air above me. "Well, now. A qualified mage, student mentor, research assistant, and apparent janitor to boot. A shining example of "excellence" in this snow mound that passes for an institution of magical learning and research. Is there anything you can't do?"

I look up to see Ancano beginning a slow walk in my direction, and it's hard to ignore the dread pooling into my stomach. By Lorkhan, what does he want? I can tell he means to be condescending despite the lack of emotion in his voice. I straighten from brooming. "Well, what a surprise. It appears the new advisor is lost, on the first day no less." I point towards the staircase behind him, to the right of the Hall's entrance that leads directly to the Arcaneum. "The Archmage has gone back to his study. You'll find him at the top floor of that staircase." The Thalmor stops short of half a body length away from me and folds his arms over his chest, glaring down at me. His signature look of disgust has returned, and I don't think he took to being reminded of his duty very well. I can't imagine he mistook me for the one he's supposed to be "advising", anyway. Let alone forgetting where he had just come from. "I don't need directions or reminders of what I am here for, Redguard." Then why on Nirn are you bothering me? "However..." he considers me for a moment, "perhaps you can be of use after all." I narrow my eyes at him. I don't know what he has in mind, but the conclusions I'm drawing leave me with a hollowing pit in my stomach.

Ancano seems to know exactly what these conclusions are, as he barks out a laugh that echoes throughout the atrium. "Don't even think of flattering yourself, girl. The day I sully myself with the likes of a lesser is the day the Deadlands of Oblivion freeze over." Well, I won't need to worry about that. I deliberately look him over, knowing very well he is at least three times my age. I can't tell what my expression is, but it makes him uncomfortable. He stills, and I get the feeling he's trying not to squirm. After a moment, I return to sweeping. "You're far too old for me anyway." Momentarily taken aback, he opens his mouth to say something before thinking better of whatever it was and shutting it, settling his full lips into a sneer instead. It's surprisingly easy to get under his skin. It's also a bit amusing, which is dangerous because it means I could get used to it. I have to remember he's an enemy no matter what he claims to be doing here. If he's here on behalf of the Aldmeri Dominion and remains loyal to them, then there's no telling what damage he has in mind for our home. And it'll be up to all of us to keep a collective eye on him. "I've... reconsidered the Archmage's advice from earlier." He sounds like he's forcing the words out. Did I get to him that badly? I thought they had thicker skin than-

"Having already encountered the sorry excuses of apprentices here," he continues much more naturally, "you appear to be the only one of some magical aptitude. Although considering what I've seen of my colleagues back home, it isn't by much." He looks indifferent, and I don't know whether he really means what he's telling me or if he's trying to manipulate me into doing something for him. Mother used to tell me that many an Altmer were versed in that way of speech when it came to conversing with non-Altmer. Even to other elves. "I intend to watch all of you very closely, but I have decided to keep a particularly close eye on you, Redguard." I scoff. "Watch all you like, Thalmor." I gather the broken firewood pieces and splinters, holding them in the air in front of me. With a spinning motion of my hands, they whirl and combine until they form a small, singular piece of firewood, completely in tact. I tuck it under my arm. "You'll be bored soon enough," I turn away from him and move to head out of the atrium. "And the sooner you get bored," I say over my shoulder, "the sooner you leave me and the rest of us alone."

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

I kinda struggled with this one at first, didn't know what to include until the ideas started flowing out of me. I've wanted to do something like this for so long, and I'm finding it really easy to bring everything together. Ancano's POV is up next.