The flickering torchlight painted Edla's scowl in shades of amber. She kicked a bandit's dented helmet across the floor, the clang echoing through the tomb's throat. "Nine," she grumbled. "Nine milk-drinkers, and not a single decent blade."
Gilgamesh crouched beside a skeletal hand clutching an iron coin purse. His system flickered:
**[Bandit Slayer: 9/10 Killed]**
**[Loot Acquired: Gold (32), Lockpick, Salted Beef]**
He smirked. "Complaining won't make the Tenth materialize."
"Says the man who loots *soup ladles*," she shot back, adjusting the frayed leather straps of her armor. Her dagger—jagged from skirmishes in Helgen—hung loosely at her hip.
They'd been paired by fire and dragonfire, two survivors fleeing Helgen's ruins. The Jarl of Whiterun had eyed their singed clothes and called them "resourceful." Now, his orders bound them: retrieve the Dragonstone, earn Whiterun's favor, and try not to gut each other along the way.
Gilgamesh rose, brushing dust from his sword. "You're just bitter I took the sword from Farengar's storage."
"You *stole* it," she corrected, sidestepping a pressure plate he'd marked with chalk. "From a *court wizard*."
"Initiative, Edla. It's called—"
A scream cut through the crypt.
"*Help! By the Eight—!*"
Edla froze. "Tenth."
Gilgamesh's quest log pulsed:
**[New Objective: Locate Bandit 10/10]**
They followed the voice through winding corridors, past carvings of dragons devouring their own tails. Edla paused at a fork, torch raised. "Left," Gilgamesh said, spotting a fresh scuff on the stone.
She narrowed her silver eyes. "How do you *always* know?"
"Luck."
"Luck's for fools and drunkards."
He grinned. "Then pour me a mead later."
***
The trap snapped as Edla stepped forward
A pressure plate sank beneath her boot, and iron spikes erupted from the wall. She twisted, dagger slashing the tripwire Gilgamesh hadn't marked—*hadn't seen*. The spikes grazed her pauldron as she stumbled back, colliding with his chest.
For a breath, they froze. Her braid, red as forge-coals, spilled over his arm. Torchlight caught the scar on her jaw—a relic of Helgen's collapse.
"Your *luck*," she hissed, shoving away, "is *cursed*."
Gilgamesh steadied her, fingers lingering on her wrist. "Still breathing, aren't we?"
She jerked free, cheeks flushed. "Barely."
***
Arvel the Swift hung like a fly in a web, cocooned above a nest of frostbite spiders. His rat-like face twisted with relief. "Cut me down! I-I have the Golden Claw!"
Edla's dagger hovered near the silk. "Why should we?"
"The Claw opens the inner chamber! The Dragonstone's *there*!"
Gilgamesh's system highlighted the claw-shaped bulge at Arvel's belt. **[Artifact Detected: Golden Claw (Quest Item)]**
"Generous," Gilgamesh said, slicing the strands. Arvel crashed down, scrambling backward.
"Th-thank you! Now, let's—"
Edla blocked his path, her blade at his throat. "You're the tenth."
Arvel's eyes darted. "N-no! I'm a scholar! A *victim*!"
Gilgamesh crouched, smile sharp. "Victims don't raid tombs with bandits."
"Please! Take the Claw!" Arvel tossed the artifact—then flung a handful of frost salts. Gilgamesh reeled, eyes burning, as the thief bolted into the dark.
Edla made to chase, but Gilgamesh caught her arm. "Let the draugr earn their keep."
A distant scream echoed—*Arvel's*—followed by the wet crunch of bone.
**[Bandit Slayer: 10/10 Killed]**
Edla glared. "That wasn't honor."
"But it was *fun*."
***
The spider's den reeked of venom and rot. Egg sacs pulsed in the gloom as frostbite spiders descended, fangs dripping. Edla's dagger flashed, severing legs, while Gilgamesh's sword found throats. Mid-swing, she kicked open a chest beneath a web-shrouded statue. Inside gleamed a sword—ancient, pitted steel etched with Nordic runes, frost curling along its edge.
"*Kruziik Vahlok*," she breathed—*Guardian's Fury*.
Gilgamesh yanked her back as a spider lunged. "Test it *later*!"
She cleaved the creature in two, frost spreading from the blade. "*Now* is fine."
The final chamber loomed, a massive door carved with serpent, moth, and owl. Arvel's blood smeared the threshold. Gilgamesh pressed a hand to the stone, his system whispering:
**[Dragonstone: 50 meters ahead]**
Edla studied the Golden Claw's engravings, fitting it into the door's center. "The Nords buried their pride with their dead."
Gears groaned. The door slid open, revealing a vaulted chamber lit by ghostly braziers. Pillars stretched like skeletal fingers, and murals of dragons crumbling to ash lined the walls. At the room's heart sat the Dragonstone—a slate etched with constellations and burial sites, pulsing with latent magic.
But between them and their prize stood the guardian.
Draugr emerged from shadowed alcoves, eyes glowing blue, flesh clinging to bone. At their helm stood a towering figure in ancient Nordic plate, its roar shaking dust from the ceiling:
"*Dovahkiin…*"
The draugr overlord's roar shook the chamber, dust cascading from the ceiling like ash. Its voice was a landslide of ancient malice, the Word clawing at Gilgamesh's bones: *"FUS… RO!"*
The force of the Shout hit like a warhammer. Gilgamesh slammed into a pillar, ribs screaming as stone cracked behind him. Edla rolled clear, her frost-etched sword *Kruziik Vahlok* scraping sparks across the floor.
"Since when do corpses *shout*?!" she snarled, ducking a draugr's rusted axe.
"Complaint department's closed!" Gilgamesh wheezed, staggering upright. His system blared crimson warnings:
**[Health: 27%]**
**[Stamina: 13%]**
Eight draugr closed in, eyes burning spectral blue. The overlord loomed at the chamber's heart, its skeletal face twisted into a permanent snarl. Behind it, the Dragonstone glowed on its pedestal—and the Word Wall pulsed with eerie, cobalt light.
Edla lunged, her blade shearing through a draugr's collarbone. "Plan?!"
"Kill the loud one!" Gilgamesh barked, parrying a sword strike. His own Voice itched beneath his tongue, a secret he'd carried since Helgen. *Fus*—*Force*. A gift—or a curse—from the gamer system he dared not explain.
The overlord struck again. *"FUS… RO!"*
Gilgamesh dove, the Shout tearing a chunk from the floor where he'd stood. Edla wasn't fast enough. The edge of the blast caught her, hurling her into a mural of Alduin devouring the world. She crumpled, blood trickling from her temple.
"Edla!"
She stirred, grip tightening on her sword. "I'm… fine…"
He wasn't. The draugr circled, their ancient blades thirsty. The system's combat log flickered:
**[Remaining Draugr: 5]**
*Not enough.*
The overlord raised its sword, chanting in a tongue dead for millennia. Gilgamesh's bloodied fingers brushed the Word in his mind—*Fus*—and he *pushed*.
The Shout erupted, raw and unrefined. *"FUS!"*
Air rippled. Three draugr shattered like glass, bones scattering. The overlord stumbled but didn't fall.
Edla stared. "What in Sovngarde was *that*?!"
"Later!" he snapped, though her silver eyes burned with questions.
***
They fought back-to-back, Edla's frost blade slowing the draugr while Gilgamesh's Voice broke their ranks. The overlord grew cunning, using its remaining thralls as shields. When Gilgamesh's stamina faltered, it struck.
A blade pierced his thigh. He fell, pain blinding. The overlord loomed, its Shout building—*"FUS…"*
Edla's sword took its head.
The corpse toppled, ichor spraying. The remaining draugr froze, then collapsed into dust.
Silence.
Gilgamesh clutched his leg, blood seeping through his fingers. Edla knelt, tearing a strip from her cloak. "You're full of secrets, *kriffin'* fool."
He grinned weakly. "Says the woman who loots dead spiders."
She bound his wound, her hands steady but her gaze lingering on his throat—where the Shout had torn his voice raw. "That… thing you did. Was it magic?"
"Call it… luck."
Her eyes narrowed but she said nothing.
***
The Word Wall hummed as Edla approached, drawn like a moth to its glow. Carved dragons coiled around ancient text, their stone eyes following her. She reached out—
Blue light erupted, swirling into her chest. She gasped, stumbling back. "What… was that?"
She stared at her hands. "I feel… cold."
"Nord's finally embracing her heritage?" he joked, limping to the Wall. His fingers brushed the runes. The system blazed:
**[Thu'um Acquired: Unrelenting Force (Fus) – Mastery 100%]**
Power surged through him, the first Word burning clear as noon. *Fus*—not just sound, but *meaning*. Force unbound.
Edla eyed him. "You're doing it again."
"What?"
"That… *look*. Like you've swallowed a secret."
He shrugged, nodding to the Dragonstone. "Let's grab our prize and go. I'll buy the ale."
***
The overlord's corpse yielded a amulet—onyx, shaped like a dragon's fang. Edla tossed it to him. "For luck."
Gilgamesh pocketed it, the system identifying it silently:
**[Dragonfang Amulet: Stamina +20, Thu'um Cost -10%]**
As they retreated through the tomb, Edla paused, glancing back at the Word Wall. "That light… it felt like *memory*."
Gilgamesh said nothing. The truth coiled in his chest—a dragon's whisper.
*She is Dragonborn.*
*And she doesn't know.*