Alexander existed in warmth and darkness.
At first, there had been nothing. Just floating, drifting without awareness, without thought. Time didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
But then, slowly, things changed.
First came movement. Not his own—his mother's. He didn't know that yet, but he felt it. The gentle rocking as she moved, the way his tiny, growing form was shifted and cradled by something bigger than himself.
Then came sound.
It wasn't clear at first. Just muffled vibrations, pulsing through the fluid that surrounded him. A deep, steady hum, constant and rhythmic. His world was full of these sounds—the rush of blood, the steady beat of a heart, the rise and fall of breath.
One voice stood out above all others. Soft, warm, familiar. He didn't understand the words, but he recognized it. He knew it.
His mother.
There were others too. Lower, firmer, commanding. Some were sharp and quick, others carried laughter. He couldn't tell how many, but he knew they were important.
He wasn't just floating anymore. He moved. His limbs stretched, flexed, curled. At first, it had been reflex, nothing more than random twitches in response to growth and development. But over time, the movements became intentional. His fingers clenched into tiny fists. His legs kicked when he felt confined.
The space around him grew smaller. He could feel the walls of his world pressing back against him now. His body, once weightless and undefined, was stronger.
The light came next.
Even through closed eyelids, he could sense it—a glow beyond the darkness. It was faint, distant, barely noticeable most of the time. But it was there.
And that was when the thoughts began.
At first, they were slow, fragmented. A vague recognition of self, of space, of existing. It wasn't like waking up all at once—it was more like coming out of deep sleep in layers, his awareness growing stronger each day.
And when full awareness finally hit, his mind did what it always did—it worked.
He thought.
He analyzed.
He planned.
He had twenty years before Alduin arrived.
Not twenty years before war—that was coming much sooner.
The war between the Empire and the Dominion started in 4E 171 and ended in 4E 175. By the time the White-Gold Concordat was signed, he would only be seventeen. Too young to have fought in that war.
But Hammerfell's war? The war that came next?
That war would be his.
Hammerfell refused to surrender. When the Empire abandoned them, they kept fighting. They spent five more years battling the Dominion, from 4E 175 to 4E 180, until they finally drove the High Elves out.
He would be nineteen when it started. Old enough to fight.
He would fight.
He would win.
And then he froze.
He had been thinking like a Redguard.
Not like someone thrown into a foreign world, not like an outsider—but as if Hammerfell was his home. As if this war was already his fight.
That realization hit harder than he expected.
He had abandoned the idea of being anything else. He wasn't an outsider looking in, analyzing a world from the safety of a screen.
He was one of them.
His mother's voice. His father's voice. The warmth of the womb.
This was his life now.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, that truth fully settled in.
But before anything else…
He had to be born.
—————————————————-
It had been weeks—or maybe months.
God, he was so bored.
He had already gone over every Elder Scrolls fact he could remember. Not twice. Not ten times. Probably hundreds of times. He had mentally recited every province, every faction, every major historical event from the First Era to the Fourth.
At some point, he even started making up a song just to keep his brain occupied.
"Talos was a Nord, they say he was great,
But the elves got mad, and now it's debate—"
"Thalmor are dicks, we all know it's true,
Banning our god? Man, screw those dudes."
It was bad. No rhythm, no proper rhyme. A bard would probably strangle him if he ever sang it aloud.
But what else was he supposed to do?
This was worse than being bedridden in the hospital after his surgeries. At least then, he had TV, books, games—something to distract him.
Here?
Nothing.
No Skyrim. No way to check a wiki for new theories or lost lore. No human contact—except for the muffled voices that came and went, never quite clear enough to understand.
He knew his mother's voice now. Her tone was soft, warm, steady. He still couldn't understand the words, but he could recognize the patterns.
There was another voice, deeper, more commanding. His father? Probably. There were other voices, too—some sharp, quick, animated. He didn't know how many, but there was a world out there, beyond this darkness.
He shifted, kicked, moved his arms—not that it did much. The space around him had grown tighter. At first, he could stretch out freely. Now, not so much.
Ahhhh.
Then, suddenly, everything changed.
The warmth shifted.
The steady, comforting rhythm of his mother's body suddenly tightened, the walls around him pressing in harder than ever before. He kicked instinctively, but the space wasn't giving way anymore.
Pressure.
Something deep, instinctual, primal, kicked in. This was it.
A force squeezed around him, pushing him downward. It wasn't painful, but it was relentless. His world, once steady and safe, was collapsing around him.
His heart pounded, his body twisting as his head was forced downward.
Everything was loud. The once-muffled voices were sharper, more urgent. His mother's voice—straining, heavy, almost desperate. Other voices, overlapping, giving commands he couldn't understand.
The pressure increased.
Everything was moving now, his body being pushed, squeezed, forced through a passage too small for comfort. His chest compressed, his limbs felt bound, and for the first time, there was pain.
And then—
Cold.
The warmth was gone.
His head was out.
Sound slammed into him. Everything was clear, deafening, overwhelming. Voices, movement, shuffling, a baby crying somewhere—wait, that was him.
Air.
Something hit his back—a sharp jolt. His lungs seized, then expanded. He gasped, and the shock of first breath sent his body into a full spasm.
It hurt. Everything hurt.
The light was blinding, his skin burned in the cold air, and his entire body felt wrong.
Then it hit him—
He was being born!
Everything was cold, loud, and bright. His tiny body twitched involuntarily, his senses completely overloaded by the sheer intensity of the outside world. He could barely process anything—his vision was blurry, his lungs burned from the sudden exposure to air, and the muffled voices he had once known were now clear, but meaningless.
Then, out of nowhere—
A notification appeared.
Congratulations, host, for being born!
Host has managed a great feat. Please choose a perk.
He blinked.
What?
He could barely process what the hell was happening. His entire world had just flipped, literally and figuratively. His vision was garbage—right, babies couldn't see well at birth. Everything was shapes and light, no definition.
Too much. It was too much.
The voices around him were loud, but they might as well have been gibberish. He could tell people were speaking, but he had no clue what they were saying.
He turned his attention back to the notification.
Fine. If his brain was going to be a mess, he might as well focus on something that made sense.
He mentally selected it.
Available Perks:
1. Scholar's Tongue – Grants the ability to understand and read all languages. Writing, speech, even ancient dialects—no knowledge will be lost to you.
2. Insightful Mind – Your brain processes information faster and more efficiently, allowing you to grasp new concepts with greater ease. Whether it's philosophy, mathematics, or tactics, you retain and understand knowledge at an accelerated rate.
3. Perfect Recall – Your memory is sharper than most, allowing you to store and recall details with exceptional clarity. While you won't have a photographic memory, forgotten conversations, distant sounds, and minor observations will remain far longer than they would for an average person.
He stared at the options, or at least, mentally processed them.
This was actually happening. He was getting perks.
Through the overwhelming sensory overload of being a newborn, a small part of him grinned inwardly.
Damn it. Which one to choose?
All three were insanely useful, but two had to go, he could only get one perk…
He ran through them again.
Scholar's Tongue—instant comprehension of all languages. No need to study, no need to struggle through texts or ancient scripts. Every language, every dialect, every written word would be immediately clear. That was beyond useful.
Then there was Insightful Mind—the ability to process information faster, understand concepts more quickly, and adapt to new skills with ease. His learning curve would be drastically reduced, meaning he could grasp magic, tactics, or philosophy faster than anyone else.
And finally, Perfect Recall—a mind that never forgets. Every memory, every lesson, every detail—stored forever.
His instinct told him Scholar's Tongue had to go.
It was a shortcut, nothing more. If he had time, he could learn any language. It might take effort, but he wasn't in a rush. His life wasn't a speedrun. With Perfect Recall, he'd never forget anything he learned, and with Insightful Mind, he'd process languages faster anyway.
But now, the real choice—Insightful Mind or Perfect Recall?
At first glance, Insightful Mind seemed better. Faster comprehension meant he'd adapt more quickly, pick up combat techniques, magical theory, and political strategy without struggling. Being a fast learner was powerful.
But then he really thought about it.
What good was fast comprehension if you still forgot things over time?
Even the smartest people forgot details. Even geniuses lost knowledge if they didn't reinforce it constantly.
But if he chose Perfect Recall?
He would never lose anything.
He wouldn't just learn quickly—he'd remember everything he ever learned, exactly as he learned it. He wouldn't have to waste time relearning or reviewing. If he read a book, it would stay in his mind, perfectly intact, forever. If he studied a spell, he wouldn't have to revisit it a hundred times to perfect it. If he saw an enemy fight, he'd be able to break down their movements with absolute precision.
More than that—Perfect Recall wasn't just for learning.
It was security.
If someone lied to him, manipulated him, or tried to twist his words, he would always remember the truth. If he heard a secret in passing, he would never forget it. If he memorized a map, a formula, a spell, a book, a battle strategy—it would stay with him for life.
That was true power.
And the final nail in the coffin?
Perfect Recall naturally led to faster comprehension over time.
If his brain always had all the information it needed at all times, he'd automatically start making connections faster. He wouldn't need to "process" things quickly—he'd already have a massive database of knowledge to pull from.
That meant Insightful Mind was the weaker option long-term.
Fast learning faded. A perfect memory never did.
Decision made.
He selected Perfect Recall.
The notification flashed, locking in his choice.
Then it hit him—
A brain freeze and a migraine at the same time.
Ouch.
The pain shot through his skull like an ice pick to the brain, a crushing pressure that made his tiny, underdeveloped nervous system revolt. His body jerked, and he was pretty sure he started crying—not because he wanted to, but because his newborn body couldn't handle it.
It hurt.
Damn it, why did it hurt?!
His whole body felt off, like something had just forcefully rewired his brain in real-time. Then, just as suddenly as it came, the pain faded.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
When he came to, he was lying on his back. Something soft, but firm, cradled him. The air felt… different. He could move more freely, but his arms were wrapped tight against his body.
Wait… was he swaddled?
Then, he heard it—crying.
Not just his own. Other voices. Muffled sobs. People speaking in hushed, emotional tones.
Why were people crying?
Damn it, he was hungry.
There wasn't much he could do about the crying, but hunger? That was fixable.
He cried.
It wasn't dignified. He wasn't proud of it. But damn it, he was starving, and he was a baby now. If screaming got him food, then screaming it was.
He immediately heard movement. Voices speaking quickly. Someone came closer, and then—
He realized something.
The words—he couldn't understand them. Not yet. But he could recall exactly what was said.
Every syllable, every tone, every breath.
It didn't make sense yet, but his mind had captured it perfectly. Like an audio recording playing in his head.
Perfect Recall, baby! Hell yeah!
Still, he was hungry, so he kept crying.
Then, warm hands lifted him. He felt the soft press of fabric, the shift of movement as he was picked up. His tiny body relaxed instinctively. The scent, the warmth—he knew this person.
His mother.
She said something—her voice soft, comforting, though he could still hear the raw emotion behind it.
Then, the world tilted. His body pressed against something warm, firm. His mother had laid down, cradling him close.
And then—
Food.
His newborn instincts kicked in instantly.
He latched without hesitation.
Give me food.
Damn, he was hungry.
He barely even processed what was happening—the act, the connection, the reality of what he was doing. All that mattered was the hunger fading.
But even as he ate, his mind—**his perfect memory—**captured everything.
The voices. The crying. The warmth.
For the first time in his new life, he felt… safe.