Disclaimer:

  Magic: The Gathering and all it's related Intellectual Properties is owned by Wizards of the Coast.

  Elder Scrolls Skyrim and all it's related Intellectual Properties is owned by Bethesda Game Studios.

  I do not claim any ownership of the original material and acknowledges the rights of the original creators. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Enjoy the journey through the multiverse!

  Narrator:

  Miguel stirred awake as the first hints of dawn crept through the small window of his rented room. He groaned, stretching his arms until he heard the satisfying pops of his joints. Another day, another step forward in unraveling the mysteries of this Plane's magic.

  He rolled out of bed, shaking off the lingering haze of sleep. The cold bit at him immediately, but his protective spell from the day before still held, shielding him from the worst of it. Satisfied that he wouldn't need to recast it just yet, he went through his usual morning routine—light stretches, a few exercises to keep himself limber, and a moment of quiet contemplation.

  His mind was already buzzing with plans. Breakfast first, then another visit to the court wizard to see if the old mer had more spells in stock. The previous day had proven that his mana affinities played a role in how quickly he learned magic, and today he wanted to push that further. If he could get his hands on spells more aligned with Blue mana—perhaps something involving illusion, alteration, or even conjuration—it would give him another data point to test.

  If that didn't pan out, he could at least ask about dual casting. His attempts yesterday had been… less than ideal. Miguel had assumed dual casting meant casting two different spells at once, but upon further thought, something about that assumption felt off. If the game's mechanics held true, then dual casting in Skyrim synchronized the same spell on both hands, making it more powerful. What he had been doing—simply casting the same spell on both hands separately—wasn't truly dual casting at all. He supposed he'd been double casting instead.

  "More questions than answers," Miguel muttered to himself. "As always."

  With a shake of his head, he pushed those thoughts aside. He'd worry about magic later. Right now, he needed food.

  The main hall of the Frozen Hearth was already alive with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of tankards. The smell of roasting meat and fresh-baked bread filled the air, mingling with the ever-present scent of firewood and mead. Miguel's stomach growled in protest, reminding him just how long it had been since his last proper meal.

  He made his way to the counter, nodding to the barkeep, Dagur.

  "Mornin'," Miguel greeted, slipping into the local dialect with ease. His magic allowed him to understand languages, but it didn't force fluency—adapting to local speech patterns was something he had to do on his own.

  Dagur gave him a once-over before nodding. "Mornin'. You after some grub?"

  "Aye. What's cooking?"

  "Got a fresh loaf, some horker stew, and a bit of eidar cheese if you've the coin," Dagur said, already reaching for a wooden bowl. "Unless you're feelin' fancy, then I can warm up some venison and throw in a flagon of mead."

  Miguel smirked. "As tempting as that sounds, I'll take the stew and bread. Need to keep my wits about me today."

  Dagur grunted in amusement. "Aye, fair enough. Mead's a fine drink but makes fer a piss-poor breakfast." He ladled a generous portion of thick, steaming stew into a bowl and set it on the counter, adding a hunk of bread alongside it. "That'll be eight septims."

  Miguel pulled a handful of coins from his pocket—courtesy of the small sum he'd acquired from selling off a few trinkets to Birna's shop the previous day—and counted out the required amount. He was still getting used to this world's currency, but gold was gold no matter the Plane.

  Taking his meal, he found a seat near the hearth, the warmth of the flames banishing the lingering chill from his skin. He ate quickly but not hurriedly, savoring the rich flavors of the stew. It was a far cry from the meals he was used to back home, but it was hearty, filling, and—most importantly—hot.

  As he ate, his thoughts drifted back to the College. He still needed to make a proper visit, but if Faralda tested newcomers with a spell, he had to be ready. If she asked for a ward, Healing wasn't going to cut it. And if she asked for destruction magic, Firebolt was probably his best bet.

  "Still, best to be prepared," Miguel muttered between bites. "Wouldn't hurt to see if the wizard has anything else I can use."

  He finished the last of his stew, wiping his hands clean on a cloth before pushing away from the table. His appetite satisfied, his mind once again turned to the day's real task. Time to see if the old wizard had any more knowledge worth buying.

  With a nod to Dagur, Miguel adjusted his cloak and stepped out into the cold morning air, his path set.

  Miguel approached the guards stationed outside the Jarl's longhouse, offering them a polite nod in greeting. The cold air bit at his skin, but his magical protection kept him comfortably warm.

  "Mornin'," he said, keeping his tone even. "I'd like to speak with the court wizard."

  The guards exchanged looks, their expressions shifting from mild curiosity to confusion. One of them, a Nord with a thick beard and a helmet that shadowed his eyes, tilted his head slightly.

  "The court wizard?" he repeated, as if making sure he'd heard correctly.

  "Aye," Miguel confirmed, shifting his weight slightly. "I spoke with him yesterday—an older mer, polite, but a bit on the quiet side. I was hoping to purchase some more spell tomes."

  The second guard let out a short laugh. "Either you've had too much mead, or you've been talking to ghosts, traveler. Winterhold's got no court wizard."

  Miguel blinked. "What?"

  The first guard folded his arms, giving Miguel a skeptical look. "You heard me. We've no need for a court wizard here, not with the College so close by. If we need a mage, we go there. Not that we often do." His tone carried the same hint of distrust that Miguel had already sensed from the townsfolk whenever the College was mentioned.

  A chill ran down Miguel's spine, and this time, it had nothing to do with the cold.

  That didn't make any sense. He knew he had spoken with a wizard yesterday, bought spell tomes from him, and even had a discussion about the nature of magic in this Plane. But if there was no court wizard in Winterhold… then who in Oblivion had he spoken to?

  His thoughts swirled like the snowflakes drifting through the air, but he kept his face neutral. No use in making a scene over something he didn't yet understand.

  "I see," Miguel finally said, forcing himself to sound casual. "Must've been some mix-up on my end, then. My thanks."

  The guards grunted in acknowledgment, and Miguel turned on his heel, making his way back toward the Frozen Hearth. His mind raced as he walked, replaying the events of the previous day. The old man had seemed completely real—his presence, his mannerisms, even the way he carried himself had felt like any other person. He had sold Miguel spell tomes. How could someone who didn't exist do that?

  Unless…

  Miguel clenched his jaw. No, best not to jump to conclusions just yet. He needed more information. And there was one person who might have answers.

  The warmth of the inn greeted Miguel as he stepped inside, though this time it did little to ease the unease curling in his gut. He immediately made his way to the counter where Dagur was polishing a tankard, his usual easygoing demeanor in place.

  "Back already?" Dagur asked, glancing up. "Forget somethin'?"

  Miguel leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just a bit. "Aye. I wanted to ask you about something."

  Dagur raised a brow. "Oh? What about?"

  Miguel exhaled through his nose. "Yesterday, when I asked about magic, you pointed me to the court wizard, aye?"

  Dagur frowned slightly. "Court wizard?"

  "Aye. Older mer, bit of a quiet sort but polite. Sold me spell tomes."

  Dagur squinted at him as if Miguel had just grown a second head. "I don't know what you're on about, lad. I never said a damn thing about a court wizard."

  Miguel felt a slow, creeping dread settle into his bones.

  "That can't be right," he said carefully. "You told me yourself, when I was asking about learning magic. Said there was a mage I could buy spells from."

  Dagur's frown deepened. "Aye, and that mage's name is Nelacar. He's the only wizard around these parts outside the College. And let me tell you—he's no court wizard."

  Miguel stared at him, mind working at a mile a minute.

  Dagur, clearly seeing his expression, let out a short chuckle and shook his head. "Look, lad, if you got your spells from some old mer, then I've got no idea who it was. But if you're lookin' for spells now, Nelacar's your best bet—if you can stomach his attitude."

  Miguel forced himself to nod. "Aye. Where can I find him?"

  Dagur gestured to the back of the inn. "He rents a room here. Doesn't like visitors much, but if you've got coin, he might be willing to deal."

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  Miguel straightened, already moving. "My thanks, Dagur."

  The innkeeper waved him off. "Just don't come complainin' if he bites yer head off."

  Miguel found the door Dagur had pointed out and knocked.

  A moment of silence passed before a voice—dry, unimpressed—called from within. "What do you want?"

  Miguel pushed the door open, stepping inside. The room was dimly lit, cluttered with books, scrolls, and arcane implements. At the center of it all sat a Dunmer in blue robes, his red eyes watching Miguel with thinly veiled annoyance.

  "If you're here to waste my time, don't," Nelacar said bluntly. "I've no patience for fools."

  Miguel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm here for spell tomes. Figured you'd be the one to ask."

  Nelacar sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. I do have some to spare, but they're not cheap. If you're expecting charity, go beg to the College."

  Miguel crossed his arms. "Not asking for charity. Just fair trade."

  Nelacar studied him for a moment, then sighed again, standing up. "Fine. Let's see what you can afford."

  Miguel exhaled, pushing his other concerns aside for the moment. First, spells. Then, he'd deal with the mystery of the wizard that never was.

  Miguel placed a small pouch of gold septims onto the table as Nelacar set out a collection of spell tomes. The Dunmer gave him a wary glance, as if sizing him up, before counting the coins and nodding in approval.

  "You've got enough for the full novice set," Nelacar muttered, sliding the books toward Miguel. "Don't burn down the inn with them."

  Miguel smirked, already reaching for the first tome.

  Looking at the Novice-Level Spell Tomes Purchased from Nelacar, Miguel identified them one by one and briefly studied them.

  From the school of "Destruction Magic" which is mostly offensive spells he got Flames – A continuous stream of fire that sets enemies ablaze. Effective against the living, weak against fire-resistant creatures. Frostbite – A chilling burst of cold that drains health and stamina, slowing opponents. Sparks – A crackling discharge of electricity that damages both health and magicka, making it useful against mages. Turns out that Firebolt is an apprentice level spell, so not only is it a higher level spell from the get go, it's also from a school of magic Miguel doesn't have an affinity for.

  And from the school of "Restoration Magic" which is known for healing and protection he got Lesser Ward – A defensive spell that creates a magical barrier, blocking minor attacks and spells. Since Miguel already has the Healing spell so only the lesser ward was bought.

  From the school of "Alteration Magic" where enhancing the caster's abilities is the norm he got Oakflesh – Temporarily increases the caster's armor rating, providing additional physical protection. Candlelight – Summons a floating orb of light that hovers near the caster, useful for dark places.

  Then there is "Conjuration Magic" with the focus on summoning and soul manipulation he got Conjure Familiar – Summons a spectral wolf to aid the caster in battle for a short time. Bound Sword – Temporarily summons a magical sword, effective for those who want to use melee combat without carrying a physical weapon. Raise Zombie – Temporarily reanimates a weak dead body to fight for the caster.

  And lastly there's the school of "Illusion Magic" with it's mind-altering spells he got Courage – Boosts an ally's health and stamina, increasing their resistance to fear. Fury – Causes low-level enemies to attack anything nearby, including each other. Calm – Temporarily pacifies lower-level opponents, making them stop fighting.

  Miguel eyed the stack of tomes, feeling the weight of both the books and the responsibility of learning them. This was his chance to test his theory on magic affinity once and for all. Would he learn spells faster if they matched his connection to Blue or Green mana?

  Nelacar watched him for a moment before scoffing. "You look like you just found a chest full of treasure."

  Miguel chuckled. "In a way, I did."

  Tucking the tomes under his arm, Miguel nodded to the Dunmer. "Much appreciated."

  Nelacar waved him off. "Go practice outside town unless you want the Jarl breathing down my neck."

  Miguel grinned. "Don't worry. I'm not keen on getting tossed out of Winterhold just yet."

  With that, he left the inn, eager to begin his experiments with the newly acquired spells, and maybe even determine which spells are compatible with his mana affinities.

  Miguel spent the entire day testing his theories, hunkered down in the frozen wastes beyond Winterhold's walls, away from prying eyes and wary townsfolk. The icy wind howled around him, but thanks to his cold-resistance spell, he barely felt a chill. He flipped open each spell tome in turn, absorbing their knowledge, attempting to cast each spell and gauging how naturally—or unnaturally—it came to him. The results were telling.

  The schools of Alteration and Illusion seemed to almost welcome his touch, responding swiftly and effortlessly to his attempts at casting. The moment he grasped the concepts from the tomes, his magicka flowed seamlessly into the spells. Candlelight flickered to life in his palm with only the barest hint of focus. Oakflesh wrapped his body in an unseen yet sturdy barrier, and Calm settled over a small fox that had been eyeing him warily just moments before. These spells, tied to knowledge, perception, and control, resonated deeply with his Blue mana affinity.

  The schools of Restoration and Conjuration followed suit, their spells taking root in his mind almost as fast. With a single reading, Lesser Ward materialized with ease, shimmering like a translucent shield against the harsh Skyrim winds.

  Conjuration, too, responded well—at least, for the spells that aligned with his Green mana. Conjure Familiar was effortless; a spectral wolf, glowing with ghostly energy, emerged from the ether at his command. It circled him protectively, standing watch until dismissed. The Bound Sword, however, proved difficult to summon. The spell was meant to conjure a weapon from Oblivion, a feat that required an understanding of Daedric forces. While Miguel could wrestle the sword into existence after repeated effort, it felt distant, disconnected—as if the spell was merely tolerating him rather than embracing him.

  Then there was Raise Zombie. The moment he flipped open that tome, a gut feeling told him he wasn't going to have an easy time with it. Miguel had no personal qualms against necromancy—pragmatism always won over morality in the harsh realities of magic—but the spell itself resisted him. Even after multiple attempts, all he could manage was a brief flicker of necrotic energy, an empty surge of magic that fizzled out before latching onto a dead skeever he had found nearby. He frowned, rubbing his temple. It makes sense… if Restoration is about sustaining life, then necromancy is its opposite. My Green mana is rejecting it outright.

  It was an interesting revelation, but there were still gaps in his understanding. Destruction magic, for instance, was proving stubborn. He had initially struggled with Firebolt, and now, as he cycled through Flames, Frostbite, and Sparks, he encountered similar resistance. The spells weren't impossible to cast—his Flames flickered to life after some effort, and Frostbite managed to produce an icy mist—but they lacked the same instant resonance that his other spells had.

  Destruction must have an affinity beyond just raw power. Maybe it ties to Red mana? He had no proof, but if his Blue and Green affinities dictated how well he learned spells, then surely other schools aligned with other colors.

  With the sun dipping below the jagged horizon, Miguel sat cross-legged in the snow, staring at the sky. This world has more to offer than just the College. There's also the Thu'um, the Voice. He hadn't asked about it yet, but he recalled from the game that Skyrim's Greybeards were masters of the ancient power, one separate from traditional magicka. If he could learn their secrets, would it align with his mana? Would it be something entirely new?

  Miguel exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. "I've got a lot to learn before I can even begin to think about that."

  For now, his priorities were clear: get his hands on apprentice-level spells, test his mana theory further, and—if he was lucky—start his journey to the College of Winterhold or is it the other way around. But first, he needed rest. A full day of spellcasting had drained him more than he expected.

  Rising to his feet, he dusted the snow off his coat and made his way back toward Winterhold, the town's lights flickering in the distance. Tomorrow would be another day to be productive—if not more so.

  AUTHOR'S NOTES:

  I would like to apologize for the abrupt absence of posts, I am currently suffering from my Asthma attacks thanks to the high concentration of dust in the country side, add to that the fever and incessant coughing has made me very miserable. Asthma is very unpleasant and I hope to get better soon.

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