AN: Hi guys. Just a quick Authors note before we begin. This is my first story and so I don't have much experience writing, so if you see any spelling or grammatical errors in this, just let me know. Also, if you see any glaring holes in the plot, let me know and I'll sort it out if I can.

Chapter one. The throat of the world.

Finn Firebreath the dragonborn stood at the Throat of the World. The howling wind blew at his hair and cloak but he ignored the feeling. Instead, he focused of the large dragon perched on the rocks nearby. "Paarthunax," he said. "I have come as you have requested."

The elderly dragon turned his head to face the dragonborn. "Drem yol lok dovahkiin. Do you have them with you? The Elder Scrolls?

From his bag the dragonborn drew three white and gold cylinders, the elder scrolls of Blood, Sun and Dragons. He lifted them up to his mentor and said "yes, I brought all three. But I don't know what they have to do with anything. I mean, with Alduin and Harkon defeated, they don't do anything now."

"That is not entirely true," Paarthunax said. "Arngeir, bring forth the writings."

The greybeard nodded and raised an ancient and tattered scroll. "These are the writings of Jurgen Windcaller," he said. "We found them in a hidden room in High Hrothgar." He paused. "The notes say that if these three elder scrolls are read at exactly the right moment, they will give the reader forgotten knowledge pertaining to the power of the Voice."

The Dragonborn nodded. "I think I see. You want me to read them and find that knowledge don't you? Very well, when do I have to read them?"

Arngeir answered him, "by our estimations, at exactly noon tomorrow. You will have to read them at the exact moment that the sun is directly above."

Finn nodded. Very well then. I will return tomorrow to read them. In the meantime…" he looked towards Arngeir. "Will you permit me to stay the night?"

Arngeir nodded. "Yes of course dovahkiin. You are always welcome here. You may sleep in the side hall."

"Thank you." The dragonborn paused. I think I will stay up here for a while."

"Understood dovahkiin." The monk started to walk down the mountain. The dragonborn waited until he was out of site before he turned to Paarthunax.

The dragon turned his head to look at his student. "Do you have something to say, dovahkiin?"

"Yes actually."

"Then speak. I will listen."

"What do you think this 'forgotten knowledge' is?"

The dragon seemed to think for a moment. "Perhaps it is knowledge on how to use the thu'um. Some words of power cannot be learned by the dovah, like the dragonrend shout. Or perhaps it could only be used by those who truly understand it, like the Soul Tear shout used by Durnehviir."

"Maybe. That could be it."

"Is there anything else?" Paarthunax asked?

"Actually, yes there is," the dragonborn said. "I wish to meditate on a word of power."

"Which word calls to you, dovahkiin?" Paarthunax asked." Fus, Feim, or Yol?"

"Yol," was the response.

"In your tongue, the word simply means 'fire.'" Paarthunax said. "It is change given form, power at its most primal. That is the true meaning of Yol - suleykpower, power. You have it, as do all DovDragonkind. But power is inert without action and choice. Think of this as the fire builds in your su'umbreath, in your breath. Su'um ahrk and focus. What will you burn? What will you spare?"

The dovahkiin opened his eyes. "I think I see now. Thank you."

"You are most welcome, dovahkiin," the dragon replied.

The dragonborn then turned and started his own journey down from the peak.


That night, as the dragonborn slept in a side hall of the monastery of High Hrothgar, he dreamed. This in itself was not unusual, indeed his sleep was often interrupted by his dreams. That was the price he had to pay for bearing the beast blood. But, instead of his usual dreams of hunting and chasing, he saw a different thing. He was standing on a tower mane of books, each and every one of them with a black title. The tower rose out of a sea of dark liquid, with giant tentacles and other beasts lurking within. In the distance, he could see similar towers. His heart started thumping slightly faster and the blood in his veins turned to ice. He recognised this place. Apocrypha. Which meant…

He turned around and his suspicions were confirmed. A gigantic mas of tentacles and eyes appeared in the space before this eyes. Hermaeus Mora.

The deadric prince of fate and knowledge spoke. "Greetings, mortal."

"Hermaeus Mora. Why have you brought me here? What do you want?

"Why what else would I want? Information. Knowledge. Secrets." The deadra answered.

"What secrets? The secrets of the thu'um from the scrolls?"

The demon laughed. "No. the secrets I desire are much more… interesting."

"What secrets then?" the dragonborn asked.

"The secret of dust is what I seek."

"What do you mean dust?"

The deadra chuckled again. "You will see, little mortal. You will see."

The dragonborn's vision started to darken, everything fading away to the sound of laughter.


The next day, the dragon born started the climb back to the peak. The climb took two hours and by the time he reached the summit, the sun was already high in the sky. The greybeards and Paarthunax were waiting for him, having left earlier in the day, as was the dragon Odahviing.

The dragonborn looked up as Odahviing landed on a rock near him. "Hail thuri. It is good to see you in one piece."

"Odahviing. It is good to see you as well my old friend."

Paarthunax cleared his throat. "Dovahkiin. It is almost time. You must read the scrolls at the time wound."

"Right." He approached the time wound, an area where space seemed to distort and bend. He was nervous he wanted to read the scrolls, but Hermaeus Mora's warning was in the back of his mind. He shook of the feeling. He had scrolls to read. He reached into his bag and drew out the first scroll, the scroll of sun. The dragonborn opened it.

At first there was nothing. And the suddenly he was bombarded with images. He saw a warrior in azure amour holding a giant, evil-looking sword, a short person slipping a gold ring onto his finger, a man in white hooded robes holding a glowing ball of gold light and a man with some sort of bow around his neck standing next to a blue box. The images raced faster and faster, and he felt like he would collapse. Then the visions stopped at a city made of glass and steel, under the light of a single, broken moon.

There was a flash of white light, a boom, and the dragonborn was never seen on Nirn again.