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As the crowd in the courtyard began to disperse, returning to their studies with furious, excited whispers about the Imperial warlord taking his exams, Aerion took the opportunity to address a lingering loose end. He stepped closer to Savos Aren, dropping his voice so only the Arch-Mage and his immediate retainers could hear. "Arch-Mage," Aerion began casually, his golden eyes scanning the courtyard. "I notice the College is remarkably peaceful today. Specifically, I do not see the Thalmor Envoy hovering over your shoulder and demanding access to the archives. Where is Ancano?"
Savos Aren's face instantly darkened, a look of deel exhaustion washing over his features at the mere mention of the Altmer's name.
"Ancano is no longer a resident of this College," Savos stated flatly, his tone laced with a mixture of relief and lingering annoyance.
Aerion raised an eyebrow, feigning mild surprise. "Oh? Did the Dominion recall him back, Arch-Mage?"
"I expelled him," Savos corrected, crossing his arms. "Shortly after you departed on your field excursion, Ancano yet again suffered a severe disruptive psychological break."
Aerion's retainers exchanged a silent, incredibly amused look behind their master's back.
"Another psychological break?" Aerion inquired, his voice a perfect mask of polite concern.
"He went very hysterical," Savos explained, shaking his head. "He burst into my quarters in the middle of the night, screaming that you had cursed him. He once again claims that you possessed some dark, unfathomable artifact, and that you had somehow severed his connection to the flow of magicka. He was raving like a madman in the courtyard, trying to cast the simplest sparks and failing completely, blaming you for stealing his power."
Savos let out a heavy and tired sigh. "I tolerate many things to maintain peace with the Dominion, Aerion. But I will not tolerate a Thalmor agent or spy disrupting the peace of my sanctuary by throwing hysterical and baseless tantrums and leveling false accusations of dark magic against my own students."
Savos looked at Aerion, his eyes serious. "I had the masters bind him. I sent a very firmly worded letter to the Thalmor embassy in the mountains, demanding they come retrieve their broken envoy. They took him away in a carriage a week ago. I have also formally barred the Dominion from sending any further representatives to this College for the foreseeable future. The false words and the chaos he caused were entirely unacceptable."
Aerion nodded slowly, maintaining a perfectly neutral, solemn expression.
"It is a tragedy when the mind fractures under the pressure of magical study," Aerion murmured sympathetically. "I am sorry you had to deal with such an unpleasant disruption again because of me, Arch-Mage."
Inwardly, Aerion was smiling so fiercely he could practically feel it in his bones.
Ancano hadn't gone mad. Ancano had spoken the truth. Aerion had used the Eye of Magnus to ruthless permanent sever the Thalmor spy's connection to the magical weave, effectively crippling him as a life crippling lesson to these arrogant annoyance, and buts of revenge for his dialogues in the game.
But because the concept of stealing another mage's connection to reality was so fundamentally impossible to conventional magical theory, everyone simply assumed the arrogant elf had lost his mind.
Aerion had removed a major antagonist from the board without shedding a drop of blood, and the Arch-Mage had unwittingly done the heavy lifting for him by banishing the Dominion's spy and influence entirely. It was a flawless victory.
"We are well rid of him," Savos concluded dismissively.
Before the conversation could continue, the heavy iron banded doors of the Hall of the Elements groaned open. Mirabelle Ervine stood in the archway, her expression severe, signaling that the preparations were complete.
"Arch-Mage," Mirabelle called down the stairs. "The testing grounds are calibrated and the defensive wards are fully saturated. We are ready to begin."
Savos Aren nodded, turning back to Aerion and the three apprentices.
"The trials will begin with the Adept examinations for your apprentices," Savos announced, his voice taking on the formal, ceremonial weight of his office. "Once they have concluded, Aerion, we will clear the hall and calibrate the wards for the Master level trials. If you are prepared, follow me."
"We are ready," Aerion confirmed.
He looked at J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna. The three apprentices stood tall, their eyes bright with anticipation, completely unbothered by the heavy academic pressure. They had survived the frozen slaughterhouses of wilds, the defense of Whiterun, and the burning courtyards of Kastav.
A controlled magical test in a warm room was going to be a short walk in the park. Aerion smiled, gesturing for them to lead the way up the stone stairs. "Show them what you have learned."
The heavy, iron banded doors of the Hall of the Elements groaned open, revealing the vast, domed heart of the College of Winterhold.
Inside, the ambient magical energy was a palpable, physical weight. The massive magical focal point in the center of the room cast a cool, ethereal blue light across the ancient stone walls, illuminating the faces of the entire assembled faculty.
Arch-Mage Savos Aren stood at the absolute center of the dais, his hands resting within the sleeves of his ornate robes. Flanking him were the masters of the arcane, Mirabelle Ervine the Headmistress and strict disciplinarian, Tolfdir of Alteration, Faralda of Destruction, Phinis Gestor of Conjuration, Drevis Neloren of Illusion, and Colette Marence of Restoration.
Above them, lining the curved stone balconies, were dozens of novices, apprentices, Adepts, and a handful of resident Experts. The rumors of Aerion's return, and the subsequent revelation that the Imperial warlord was here to take his academic examinations, had emptied the dormitories. Every single scholar in the fortress had gathered to witness the spectacle.
Aerion walked into the hall with slow, measured strides, his heavy cloak sweeping over the polished stone. Following closely behind him were his three apprentices, J'zargo, Onmund, and Brelyna Maryon.
The three young mages did not cower under the intense, critical gazes of the faculty. Before they had left Winterhold, they would have been sweating, their hands trembling at the prospect of a formal academic trial. But now, they walked with their spines completely straight, their heads held high.
They had marched through the wilds of Skyrim. They had stood behind an Imperial shield wall while Mammoths and Daedra tore through Stormcloak veterans. They had survived the siege of Fort Kastav. They knew withunshakeable certainty, that they had learned and experienced vastly more in the bloody crucible of war than any Adept or Expert who had chosen to stay hidden behind the College walls.
Aerion stopped at the edge of the central testing circle, offering a formal, sweeping bow to the Arch-Mage. He then turned to his apprentices, giving them a single, reassuring nod.
"The College recognizes the return of its scholars," Savos Aren announced, his gravelly voice echoing clearly through the cavernous hall. "We have been informed that Onmund, J'zargo, and Brelyna Maryon wish to petition for the rank of Adept. The faculty will oversee your trials. You will demonstrate your preferred schools of magic. Show us your control, your pressure, and your absolute mastery of the weave."
Savos gestured to the center of the glowing circle. "J'zargo. You will begin."
The Khajiit offered a sharp, confident grin, his fangs flashing in the blue light. He stepped forward, rolling his shoulders beneath his heavy winter furs.
Faralda stepped down from the dais, raising her hands. "Show me your destructive potential, J'zargo. I want to see your elemental control. Strike the focal points, and do not let the energy bleed."
In the past, J'zargo would have relied on highly unstable, experimental scrolls to impress the faculty. Today, he relied entirely on the brutal, localized training Aerion had drilled into him during the mountain campaign. J'zargo didn't bother with a slow incantation. He inhaled sharply, his tail flicking like a whip, and thrust his hands forward.
A roaring, concentrated torrent of Flames erupted from his left palm, striking the heavy stone target dummy on the far side of the room. A fraction of a second later, a jagged, blinding arc of Lightning Bolt tore from his right hand, impacting the exact same focal point. The Khajiit seamlessly wove the two opposing elements together, creating a volatile sphere of superheated plasma that he held in perfect, sustained equilibrium. He didn't sweat. His magicka didn't waver. He simply held the catastrophic energy against the stone until Faralda raised her hand.
"Enough," Faralda commanded, her Altmer eyes wide with genuine shock. The sheer efficiency of his casting, the lack of wasted ambient energy, it was flawless. "Your casting speed... your equilibrium. It is vastly beyond what we expected of you, J'zargo."
The Khajiit extinguished the magic with a flick of his wrists, bowing deeply. "J'zargo has learned that wasted magicka on the battlefield means a blade in the ribs, Master Faralda."
Savos Aren nodded slowly, profoundly impressed. "Onmund of Skyrim. Step forward."
Onmund traded places with J'zargo. The young Nord looked up at the faculty, the lingering cultural shame that had once haunted his magical studies completely erased by the fires of war.
Tolfdir and Mirabelle stepped forward to test him. "Show us your defense, Onmund," Mirabelle instructed strictly. "We will test your wards. If your concentration breaks, you will be thrown across the room."
"My concentration will not break, Headmistress," Onmund replied softly.
Mirabelle and Faralda simultaneously unleashed a dual-barrage of Ice Spikes and Firebolts directly at the Nord.
Onmund didn't flinch. He raised his left arm, channeling his magicka into a flawless, shimmering Steadfast Ward. The heavy, glass like magical barrier materialized in an instant. The hostile spells slammed into the ward with deafening, concussive cracks, but the barrier didn't even ripple. Onmund grounded his boots against the stone, utilizing the heavy infantry defensive stances he had learned while watching the Imperial phalanxes.
But Onmund didn't just defend. While holding the massive kinetic impact of the faculty's spells with his left hand, his right hand glowed with a terrifying zero chill. He unleashed a sweeping overcharged Frostbite that completely neutralized Faralda's remaining fire, freezing the moisture in the air and blanketing the entire testing circle in a thick, glittering layer of solid permafrost.
Tolfdir let out a delighted, hearty laugh, clapping his hands together. "Marvelous! Utterly marvelous, Onmund! Your ability to maintain a defensive conduit while simultaneously projecting an offensive elemental field is breathtaking! The sheer pressure you can withstand is remarkable."
Onmund dropped the ward, the frost melting rapidly as he bowed to his teachers, a fierce pride radiating from his chest.
"Brelyna Maryon," Savos called out. "It is your turn."
As Brelyna began to step forward, pulling her robes tightly around her slender frame, a sudden hand caught her by the shoulder.
It was Eisa. The hardened and battle scarred bandit turned to retainer stepped out from the line of Aerion's retainers. Before Brelyna could even register what was happening, Eisa pulled the Dunmer mage flush against her heavy steel breastplate. Eisa dipped her head and kissed Brelyna, deeply and passionately, right in the center of the College of Winterhold.
A collective, stunned gasp echoed from the balconies. The sheer audacity of the public display of affection sent a shockwave through the traditionally reserved academic hall. While same gender romance was a known and largely accepted reality across the varied cultures of Tamriel, the intensely private, stoic scholars of the College were completely unprepared for an armed mercenary to aggressively romance an apprentice in the middle of a formal academic trial.
Phinis Gestor blinked rapidly, adjusting his robes, looking entirely bewildered. Colette Marence gasped, clutching a hand to her chest, her face flushing with a mixture of scandalized shock and undeniable intrigue. Drevis Neloren simply groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes in a dramatic display of theatrical discomfort. Tolfdir, however, merely offered a gentle, knowing smile, leaning on his staff.
Aerion stood on the edge of the circle, watching the interaction, and let out a rich, genuine chuckle that echoed warmly through the hall.
Brelyna broke the kiss, her dark elven skin flushing a deep, furious shade of purple. She was entirely mortified by the public audience, but as she looked up into Eisa's fierce and supportive eyes, the embarrassment melted into a grounding warmth.
"Show these stuffy scholars what a real war mage looks like, Maryon," Eisa whispered roughly, smirking as she stepped back into line.
"Th-thank you, Eisa," Brelyna stammered, her voice trembling slightly before she took a deep, centering breath. She turned, her blush fading into a mask of absolute, aristocratic Dunmer focus, and stepped into the glowing circle.
Phinis Gestor cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ahem. Yes. Well. Brelyna... please demonstrate your mastery over the planes of Oblivion, and your control over the physical reality of Nirn."
Brelyna did not hesitate. She raised both hands high into the air.
With her right hand, she tore a jagged, glowing purple rift directly into the fabric of reality. The temperature in the hall plummeted instantly as a towering, massive Frost Atronach hauled its jagged, glacial bulk through the portal, letting out a deafening, grinding roar of absolute obedience to its summoner.
While the faculty was still processing the sheer speed and stability of the summoning, Brelyna utilized her left hand. She targeted the three heavy stone training dummies positioned around the room. She unleashed a rapid fire sequence of Paralyze spells, a high level Alteration technique that required immense precision to alter the physical properties of a target's nervous system.
The three stone dummies locked up instantly, glowing with a faint, sickly green light, completely frozen in place.
"Destroy them," Brelyna commanded the Atronach coldly.
The Daedra surged forward, its massive ice fists shattering the three paralyzed stone targets into a thousand pieces of harmless gravel in a matter of seconds. Brelyna then snapped her fingers, instantly severing the magical tether, and the towering Atronach vanished back into the void without a single trace of lingering ambient instability.
The hall was dead silent. To summon a high level elemental Daedra, maintain absolute control over it, and simultaneously cast multiple, highly complex Alteration paralysis spells upon multiple targets required a level of multitasking that many Experts struggled to achieve.
Phinis Gestor looked at Tolfdir, absolutely speechless. Tolfdir was beaming with sheer, unadulterated academic pride.
Savos Aren raised a hand, signaling the end of the apprentice trials.
"The faculty will deliberate," Savos announced.
The Masters formed a tight circle on the dais. The deliberation, however, was incredibly brief. It consisted mostly of rapid, hushed whispers of absolute astonishment, a few emphatic nods from Mirabelle, and a wide, confirming smile from Tolfdir.
Within two minutes, the Masters broke their circle.
Savos Aren stepped forward, his dark eyes sweeping over the three young mages who had just completely redefined the standard of academic excellence at the College.
"It is the unanimous decision of this faculty," Savos declared, his voice ringing with formal authority, "that Onmund, J'zargo, and Brelyna Maryon have vastly exceeded the requirements of their current station. You have demonstrated a mastery of the arcane arts, a level of battlefield composure, and a sheer efficiency of magicka that is nothing short of exemplary."
Savos bowed his head slightly. "I hereby promote you all to the rank of Adept. Congratulations."
The Hall of the Elements erupted. The novices and remaining scholars on the balconies cheered wildly, clapping their hands until they stung. The sheer, overwhelming validation crashed over the three newly minted Adepts. J'zargo let out a triumphant roar, punching the air. Onmund closed his eyes, a profound sigh of relief leaving his lungs. Brelyna didn't even try to maintain her stoic facade, she turned and sprinted back to the edge of the circle, throwing her arms around Eisa's neck in a massive hug, completely ignoring the lingering stares of the traditionalists.
"You will receive your Adept hoods and robes immediately following this ceremony," Savos added, allowing the celebration to die down naturally. "Wear them with pride. You have earned them in the fires of the world."
Savos then turned his gaze. The warmth in his eyes faded, replaced by a deep, intense, and highly expectant focus. He looked directly at the towering High Elf standing quietly on the edge of the dais.
"We are not finished," Savos announced, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the heavy weight of centuries of magical history. The hall instantly fell back into a hushed, breathless silence.
"Expert Aerion," Savos called out. "Step forward."
Aerion offered a final, proud smile to his three retainers before turning and walking into the absolute center of the magical focal point. He stood tall, the ethereal blue light washing over his immaculate armor.
"You have petitioned for the rank of Master," Savos stated, stepping down from the dais to stand only a few feet away from Aerion. "The rank of Master is not merely a title. It is an acknowledgment that a mage has achieved a fundamental, intuitive understanding of the universe. It requires absolute control. It requires overwhelming power. And it requires a magicka reservoir capable of sustaining the impossible."
Savos gestured to the entire room. "The floor is yours, Aerion. Show us why you believe you are a Master of the arcane."
Aerion didn't ask what the faculty wanted to see. He knew they wanted a spectacle. He intended to give them a cataclysm.
Aerion closed his eyes. Deep within the infinite, dimensional void tethered to his soul, the Eye of Magnus flared with blinding, catastrophic brilliance. Aerion opened the floodgates, drawing a staggering, unfathomable volume of pure, unfiltered Magicka into his physical core.
The reaction in the room was instantaneous.
The air pressure in the Hall of the Elements violently dropped. The ambient blue light of the focal points flickered, dimming significantly as Aerion's sheer gravitational pull upon the magical weave of the room subordinated every other source of power. The faculty members physically staggered backward, the hair on their arms standing on end, their own internal magicka reserves trembling in the presence of an absolute apex predator.
Aerion raised his hands. He did not cast the spells sequentially. He wove a masterpiece of simultaneous, multi school annihilation.
First, his mastery of Alteration. Without speaking a single word, Aerion's skin shifted. Beneath his armor, his flesh transmuted into absolute, impenetrable ebony steel, glowing with a dark, metallic sheen. Simultaneously, the massive, heavy stone braziers lining the walls of the hall violently ripped themselves from their iron moorings, floating effortlessly into the air under his telekinetic grip, swirling around him like a planetary orbit.
Second, his mastery of Illusion. To ensure the sheer volume of his power did not cause the novices on the balconies to panic, Aerion blanketed the entire hall in a concentrated wave of Harmony. The aggressive, terrifying pressure of his magicka was instantly masked by a profound, euphoric wave of absolute peace. The faculty, bracing for an explosion, suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of calm, their fight or flight instincts completely overridden by the High Elf's mind altering dominance.
Third, his mastery of Restoration. Aerion drove his heavy steel boot into the stone floor. A blinding, pure golden runic circle, the Guardian Circle, exploded outward from his position, instantly saturating the entire hall in a blinding, restorative light that actively purged the air of dust and fatigue, making every mage in the room feel as though they had just slept for a week.
Fourth, his mastery of Conjuration. He didn't summon an Atronach. He tore two massive, jagged, violently unstable rifts into the Deadlands simultaneously. From the burning oblivion, two towering Dremora Lords stepped onto the stone of the College, their heavy Daedric armor clanking, their massive flaming greatswords drawn. But they did not attack. Under Aerion's absolute, terrifying subjugation, the demonic lords instantly dropped to one knee, bowing their horned heads to the High Elf in complete submission.
Finally, his mastery of Destruction.
Aerion raised both hands toward the vaulted stone ceiling of the dome. From his left hand, a roaring, localized vortex of absolute zero blizzard erupted, freezing the air into jagged, spinning ice shards. From his right hand, a blinding, localized sun of superheated plasma and arcing lightning screamed into existence.
He didn't just cast them, he forced the two fundamentally opposing elements together directly above his head.
The elements screamed, violently rejecting one another, threatening to cause a catastrophic thermal explosion that would shatter the dome. But Aerion's control was absolute. He locked the fire and the ice in a flawless, spinning equilibrium, creating a beautiful, terrifying galaxy of raw elemental destruction that illuminated the entire College in a blinding, strobing flash of red, blue, and gold.
He held the entire, impossible weave for thirty full seconds. His magicka reserves, fueled endlessly by the Eye of Magnus hidden away in his inventory, did not dip a single fraction of a percent. He wasn't sweating. He wasn't straining. He looked like a god simply stretching his muscles.
With a simple, sharp exhale, Aerion severed the connection.
The fire and ice vanished into harmless vapor. The Dremora Lords were instantly banished back to Oblivion. The floating stone braziers settled perfectly back onto their moorings without a single sound. The golden circle faded, and the metallic sheen left his skin.
The Hall of the Elements was plunged into absolute, deafening silence.
The faculty was completely horrified and mesmerized. Phinis Gestor had fallen to his knees. Faralda was gripping a stone pillar, her knuckles white, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Even Mirabelle Ervine, the strictest academic in Skyrim, was staring at Aerion with an expression of sheer, mind shattering disbelief.
Savos Aren did not turn to the faculty for deliberation. There was absolutely nothing to discuss. The power he had just witnessed defied every metric the College possessed.
Savos took a slow, heavy step forward, bowing his head deeply to the High Elf.
"I have served this College for centuries," Savos whispered, his voice trembling slightly in the quiet hall. "I have read the ancient texts. I have seen the lingering echoes of the Dragon Priests. But I have never, in all my years upon Nirn, witnessed a mortal command the very fabric of reality with such terrifying, flawless absolute mastery."
Savos raised his head, his dark eyes filled with profound reverence.
"You have passed the trials," Savos declared, his voice ringing with historical finality. "Welcome, Master Aerion. The College of Winterhold honors your ascension."
The silence held for one more second before the hall completely exploded.
It wasn't just clapping. The students, the Adepts, the graduated Experts who had chosen to remain at the College, they roared.
They screamed their adulation, cheering with a fanatical, desperate fervor. They had just witnessed the birth of a living legend. A mage who had mastered all five schools of magic, a feat considered practically impossible in the modern era. Every single scholar on the balconies was looking at Aerion not with fear, but with an overwhelming, desperate desire to be chosen as his next pupil.
Savos Aren held up his hands, demanding order, though a rare, genuine smile touched his own lips. "As a Master of this College, you are entitled to the Master Robes and Hood of your station," Savos announced over the dying cheers. "However, given your... unique choice of attire," Savos gestured to Aerion's heavy, blood-stained Nordic Carved Armor, "I suspect you will not be wearing them in the field. They will be stored securely in your newly assigned private quarters in the Hall of Countenance."
_____________________________
[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 1120/1120
Stamina: 1160/1160
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 285
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Eye Of Magnus (MAX LEVEL), Summon Dragon (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+8)/Lightning(+5)/Frost(+5)) (Level 0/85/0), Restoration (Healing(+5)/Purify(+2)) (Level 0/98), Alteration (Level 75), Illusion (Level 62), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+4)) (Level 37/0), Persuasion(+4) (Level 0), Smithing(+1) (Level 79), Sneak(+1) (Level 64), One Handed(+2) (Level 65), Two Handed(+2) (Level 0), Lockpicking (Level 55), Archery(+1) (Level 47), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 42), Block (Level 70), Pickpocket (Level 8), & Heavy Armor(+2) (Level 78)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii Gron (Fade Spirit Bind), Su (Air), Laas (Life), Yol Toor (Fire Inferno), Kaan (Kyne), Zul Mey Gut (Voice Fool Far), IIZ (Ice), & Faas (Fear)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, the Golden Claw, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Deed to Tundra Homestead, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Potion of Healing, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson, Gauldur Black Bow, Dwarven Battleaxe, Mehrunes Razor Hilt, Mehrunes' Razor Pommel, Stone of Barenziah (1/24), Mehrunes' Razor Blades, Iron Circlet of Ruby, & Iron Circlet of Emerald
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Potions of Plentiful Magicka
3x Potions of Minor Stamina, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), Potions of Minor Magicka, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), & Greater Soul Gems
5x Mod Chests
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
10x Lesser Soul Gems
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 49.79 KG / 885 KG
Septims: 255,867