College

As Calion and Serana descended onto the College grounds, the moment their feet touched the stone courtyard, they were immediately surrounded. The air was thick with tension, the scent of burning torches mixing with the crisp mountain wind.

A wave of voices crashed over them—apprentices, scholars, and senior mages alike, their expressions ranging from fear to confusion. Some looked relieved to see their Archmage, while others were barely keeping their panic in check, fingers twitching at their robes or gripping staves too tightly.

"Archmage! Do you know where we are?" one apprentice blurted out, his voice trembling as he clutched a half-open spellbook to his chest.

"Are we still in Tamriel?" another student asked, eyes darting toward the unfamiliar horizon beyond the College walls, where the sky was painted in hues of deep orange and violet.

"Is it safe outside? Are we under attack?" a professor demanded, scanning the surroundings as though expecting a Daedric incursion at any moment, his knuckles white around the rim of his wooden staff.

Calion raised a hand, silencing the crowd with a simple but firm gesture. His voice, steady and authoritative, cut through the chaos like a blade.

"All professors will gather in my quarters immediately. We will discuss the situation in private first."

Then, turning his gaze to the nervous apprentices, he reassured them.

"Remain calm. Once we've finished our meeting, we will provide information to everyone. Until then, I expect discipline."

His tone left no room for argument. The apprentices exchanged uneasy glances, but most simply nodded, trusting their Archmage to take control of the situation. A few muttered under their breaths, shuffling their feet against the worn stone.

The high-ranking mages—professors, scholars, and the College's senior staff—understood the gravity of the situation and quickly fell in behind Calion as he led them toward his quarters. The sound of boots and robes brushing against the stone floor echoed through the halls, accompanied by the occasional creak of aged wood underfoot.

Serana walked beside him, her sharp crimson eyes scanning the faces of those around them, taking note of who was barely holding themselves together and who had already begun adapting. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she observed one particularly pale-faced scholar nearly trip over his own robes.

"They're rattled," she murmured under her breath, her voice low enough that only Calion could hear.

Calion didn't glance at her but replied just as quietly, his fingers brushing against the worn leather cover of a tome tucked under his arm.

"Expected. We've been ripped from our world and thrown into an unknown land. It'll take time before the panic fades."

Serana smirked slightly, her fangs just visible. "That's assuming you can get them all to behave before someone does something stupid."

Calion sighed, the weight of leadership pressing on his shoulders. "That's what this meeting is for."

Ascending the winding staircases of the College, the group arrived at the Archmage's quarters—a grand, domed chamber filled with arcane artifacts, ancient tomes, and softly glowing magical lights that cast shifting shadows across the walls. The scent of aged parchment and lingering spellwork hung in the air.

The large desk at the center of the room bore marks of previous experiments—scorched edges from spells cast too close, runic engravings humming with residual magic, and a half-empty cup of wine left forgotten from an earlier discussion. A massive window overlooked the surrounding mountain, revealing an entirely foreign landscape—forests that stretched endlessly, untouched lakes reflecting the sky, and the distant glimmer of settlements far below, their torchlights flickering like fireflies in the dusk.

Calion strode inside, moving toward his desk, while Serana leaned casually against a nearby bookshelf, arms crossed as she observed the professors filing in. The wood groaned slightly under her weight as she shifted, her fingers idly tracing the spine of a dusty grimoire.

He gestured toward the vacant seats, his voice firm.

"Sit."

The chamber was silent, save for the crackling of the torches that lined the stone walls and the faint clink of a goblet being set down too hastily. The senior members of the College of Winterhold sat in a semicircle around Calion, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. Tolfdir stroked his beard thoughtfully, his aged fingers pausing every so often as if to steady his nerves. Faralda's sharp eyes darted between Calion and the unfamiliar landscape outside, her lips pressed into a thin line. Colette Marence fidgeted with the hem of her robes, her fingers twisting the fabric absently.

Serana remained against the wall, her crimson eyes flicking between those gathered, gauging their reactions with the patience of a predator.

Calion's voice cut through the silence, steady and authoritative.

"Before you ask questions, I will first dictate the information we have gathered."

His gaze swept across his assembled colleagues, ensuring he had their full attention before continuing. The firelight cast deep shadows across his face, emphasizing the gravity of his words.

"The land outside is currently in the midst of a war. The Northern Kingdoms, a loosely allied coalition, are fighting against an empire known as Nilfgaard. We are currently in Velen, the southernmost part of Temeria, one of the Northern Kingdoms. Temeria, along with its allies, is struggling to hold back the Nilfgaardian advance—but from what we've gathered, they are losing."

A murmur passed through the room. Tolfdir exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the armrest of his chair. Faralda leaned forward slightly, her nails tapping against the wooden surface of the table. Colette's breath hitched, her grip on her robes turning white-knuckled.

Calion continued.

"We also discovered that beings from other worlds are not unheard of here. This world experienced an event called the Conjunction of the Spheres, where multiple realms overlapped and beings from those realms found themselves stranded here. Most of the monsters roaming this world today are a result of that event."

He paused, lifting the forgotten cup of wine from his desk and taking a measured sip before setting it back down. The liquid glinted darkly in the firelight.

"Regarding magic," he added, his tone shifting slightly, "there are mages here, but they are... weak. Or rather, different. From what I have observed, they prioritize political maneuvering over magical prowess. Their power does not come from Aetherius as ours does, but from various realms, resulting in chaotic, unstable magic."

He folded his hands together, allowing the weight of his words to settle before offering his colleagues an invitation to speak.

"You may now ask your questions."

Tolfdir was the first to speak, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

"Archmage, what is our course of action?"

Calion's gaze shifted to the seasoned instructor.

"Since we have no means of returning to Skyrim at present, our priority is ensuring the College's security. The outside world is too dangerous for the apprentices to wander freely. Until I can determine whether our stay here is permanent, I will be placing the College under isolation."

Faralda's eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the wood.

"And how do we prevent the apprentices from leaving? We both know curiosity can be just as dangerous as recklessness. If even one of them wanders off and gets caught up in this war, we risk exposure."

Calion nodded.

"I believe the animated guardians will be enough to deter most. However, as a precaution, I will erect a barrier around the College. No one will enter or leave without my express permission."

A tense silence followed, then Colette spoke, her voice laced with hesitation.

"Archmage, with all due respect, the apprentices are young. If we lock them in here, they may rebel. You know how they are—some will listen, but others will feel like prisoners. What are we going to do to prevent unrest?"

Serana, who had remained silent thus far, let out a soft chuckle, her fangs glinting in the torchlight.

"They'll complain. But once they understand the alternative is dying to some soldier's blade or being eaten alive by a monster, they'll fall in line."

Colette frowned, shaking her head.

"Fear can only control people for so long. Sooner or later, they'll start asking for more freedom."

Calion nodded, acknowledging both perspectives.

"This will only be temporary. Once I am certain they are capable of surviving outside, I will allow them to leave—under strict conditions."

Tolfdir, ever the level-headed scholar, folded his arms, the fabric of his robe rustling softly.

"You mentioned a contract. What exactly will it entail?"

Calion leaned forward slightly, choosing his words carefully.

"Since we are in a foreign land, the contract will include our standard secrecy clauses—no apprentice may share information about the College, its magic, or its members with outsiders. Additionally, they will be required to report back regularly, and any reckless behavior that endangers the College will have... consequences."

Tolfdir nodded approvingly.

"That seems reasonable. A necessity, given the circumstances."

Faralda, still skeptical, let out a quiet sigh, her fingers finally stilling against the table.

"And how do you plan to enforce this? Magic or not, we can't monitor every apprentice at all times."

Serana smirked, pushing off the bookshelf with a lazy shift of her shoulders.

"A few well-placed threats tend to do the trick."

Colette shot her a disapproving glance, but Faralda merely rolled her eyes, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips.

"I suppose that's one way."

Calion exhaled, glancing between them before taking another sip from his cup.

"We won't need to force them. If they understand what's at stake, most will comply willingly."

"And if they don't?" Serana asked, raising a brow, her voice laced with dark amusement.

Calion met Serana's gaze evenly, the firelight flickering in his eyes.

"Then they'll learn the hard way."

He stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor, and the professors followed suit, their robes rustling as they rose. Serana pushed off the bookshelf with a smirk, her crimson eyes glinting with amusement.

"Now, gather all the apprentices in the Hall of Elements. I will make the announcement."

The professors nodded, their expressions grim, and filed out of the chamber. The heavy oak door groaned as it swung shut behind them, leaving only the faint echo of footsteps fading down the corridor.

The Hall of Elements, usually alive with the hum of spellcraft, debate, and the occasional magical mishap, was eerily silent. The enchanted braziers, burning with ever-flickering blue flames, cast long shadows that danced unnaturally along the cold stone walls. The usual warmth of Winterhold's magical defenses was absent, replaced by a subtle chill that wasn't from the northern winds.

The apprentices, summoned without warning, gathered in nervous clusters. Some still clutched half-read tomes, while others bore the faint scorch marks of interrupted spell practice. A few had arrived mid-conversation, their words dying on their lips as they noticed the grim expressions of their professors.

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

Then, the great doors swung open with a low, echoing groan.

A wave of silence crashed over the hall as Archmage Calion strode in, his enchanted robes billowing behind him, their deep blue fabric shifting like the midnight sky. His presence was commanding, his expression unreadable, but his steel-blue eyes held something dangerous—not fear, but calculated resolve.

Serana followed, moving like a shadow, her crimson eyes cutting through the dim light like a predator surveying prey. Her mere presence was enough to unsettle many of the younger apprentices—though she had been at the College for some time, there were always whispered rumors about what she truly was.

The professors filed in behind them, their faces grim and tense. Tolfdir, the wise elder, looked weary but resolute. Faralda, ever sharp, stood tall, her piercing gaze sweeping the room. Colette Marence, the ever-concerned caretaker, nervously fidgeted with the sleeves of her robes.

The doors boomed shut behind them.

The Hall of Elements had never been so quiet.

Calion stepped onto the central dais, the enchanted flames illuminating the sharp lines of his face. He didn't raise his voice, yet his words carried the weight of inevitability.

"By now, you've all noticed something is amiss."

A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. A few apprentices exchanged nervous glances, but none dared to interrupt.

"The College has been displaced," Calion continued. "We are no longer in Skyrim. We are no longer in Tamriel."

The words hit like a spellshock.

A gasp broke the silence.

A Breton girl dropped her staff, the wooden shaft clattering loudly against the stone floor. A Dunmer boy muttered a prayer to the Tribunal under his breath, clutching the charm around his neck as if it might save him. Others simply stared, their minds struggling to process what they had just heard.

"How—?" someone began, but Calion raised a hand, cutting them off without hesitation.

"The cause is unknown. The consequences, however, are clear."

His steel-blue gaze swept across the assembled apprentices, ensuring his words struck deep.

"We now stand in a land called Velen, in the midst of a war between the Northern Kingdoms and the Nilfgaardian Empire. The people here are not our allies. The dangers here are not our familiar foes."

The apprentices looked at one another, their alarm growing by the second.

"Then we fight our way back!"

The voice belonged to a Nord apprentice, tall and broad-shouldered, his youthful arrogance burning hot despite the cold fear in his eyes.

"If they're at war, they're weak. We could—"

"You could die."

Calion's words were sharp, slicing through the Nord's bravado like a blade through parchment.

The apprentice stiffened, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling for a retort.

"Not because their mages are stronger," Calion continued, "They are not. Their magic is crude, their knowledge fragmented. But war is not just about power. It is about ignorance—and ignorance gets people killed."

The unease in the room deepened.

The older apprentices—those who had seen real combat before—began to look troubled. The younger ones just looked lost.

"An apprentice of Winterhold could outmatch most of their so-called sorcerers," Calion admitted. "But that does not make you invincible. A peasant with a crossbow can kill a fool who forgets to cast a ward. A starving monster doesn't care how many spells you've memorized if you don't see it coming."

His words carried weight. Truth.

The room had never felt colder.

"Until we understand this world—and whether our stay here is permanent—the College will operate under strict isolation."

Calion lifted a finger.

"One: You do not teach outsiders our magic. The moment they learn to replicate even a fraction of what we do, this world burns—and we will be to blame."

A second finger.

"Two: You do not involve yourselves in their wars. We are not mercenaries. We are scholars. If I order intervention, it will be on our terms."

A third.

"Three: You report back weekly. If you vanish, we will assume the worst—and respond accordingly."

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

Then, from the back of the hall, a shaky voice finally broke the stillness.

"Can we… go home?"

The words hung heavy in the air.

Calion's gaze didn't waver.

"We will try. But for now, this is your home." His voice was firm. "Adapt."

With that, he turned and left, his professors following in his wake.

Serana lingered just a moment longer, her smirk razor-sharp, eyes glinting with amusement.

"Try not to set anything on fire," she said dryly, before vanishing after him.

The moment the doors shut, the Hall of Elements erupted into chaos.

"We're stranded?"

"Did he say we're in a warzone?"

"How do we even survive here?"

"This is madness!"

A handful of apprentices looked to their professors, but they had no answers to give.

Tolfdir sighed, rubbing his temples, Faralda crossed her arms, watching the room with quiet calculation.

Some apprentices were already plotting escape. Others held onto hope.

And outside, the storm howled through an unfamiliar sky.

For better or worse, the College of Winterhold was now a part of The Continent.