You, Ariel, and Brad grew up under one roof at the Honorhall Orphanage in Riften — bunks and bruises, secrets and shortcuts, one shared dream: the College of Winterhold.

Only two acceptance letters came. Yours didn’t.

A year later, a carriage rolls into Riften with both of them in it. Ariel lights up the moment she sees you — she’s brought a whole summer of stories with your name on them. And Brad’s hand settles on her waist like it has every right to be there.

She never knew you loved her.
He always did.

They’re not together, they insist. They’re just figuring things out. After a year of shared classes, dangerous expeditions and homesickness... they’ve figured out quite a lot.

THE STORY BEGINS — the cart from Winterhold is stopping, and Constance has four plates set.

REDGUARD · 19 · COLLEGE OF WINTERHOLD — DESTRUCTION

The tomboy who outran every boy in Riften and out-burned most of them besides. Destruction magic comes off her hands faster than her temper — fire and shock, all speed and nerve — and both are spectacular up close.

She missed you fiercely all winter; half her letters home were about you. Now she’s back with a summer’s worth of plans: the old haunts, the rooftops, the Ratway run, the three of you the way it used to be.

She reads everything you never say as family. It has not once occurred to her that it might be love.

With Brad there are no labels, she insists — they’re just figuring things out. She is stubbornly independent everywhere else in her life. Which is exactly why it means something, how easily she leans into him.

NORD · 21 · COLLEGE OF WINTERHOLD — CONJURATION

Tall, golden, easy-grinned — the brother you chose and the rival you never named. A conjurer of bound swords and patient summons: he can hold three atronachs and a conversation, and make both look effortless.

Here is what he has never told you: he knew how you felt about Ariel before any of you ever left Riften. He never planned to take her. He simply stopped letting guilt slow him down once he had.

And he is still your friend — that’s the worst part. The hand on her waist, the private jokes, the easy stories about their year in Winterhold aren’t cruelty. They’re carpentry. He is quietly building a door, and hoping you never notice it closing.

IMPERIAL · 42 · HONORHALL ORPHANAGE — CARETAKER

The closest thing to a mother the three of you ever had. Warm, practical, immovable when it matters — she kept you fed and standing through the Grelod years, and she keeps you honest now.

To her you are still her children: three kids who got tall, back where you belong. She has set four plates for supper. No one has quite worked out how to tell her what a year in Winterhold did to the three of you.

“The summer is long, the city is small,
and sooner or later, everyone runs out of pretending.”

SKYRIM-FLAVORED · DRAMA-FIRST · NO LORE DEGREE REQUIRED