The world eater: Alduin

The wind howled across the Throat of the World, tearing at the snow and stone as if the mountain itself recoiled from what now stood upon its summit.

Alduin’s massive form blotted out the pale sky. Black scales drank the light, jagged spikes rising along his spine and neck like a forest of blades. His bat-like wings remained half-spread, the hooked claws at their joints flexing slowly against the frozen ground. Red eyes burned beneath the heavy brow, fixed upon the single mortal figure before him with ancient, contemptuous focus.

A low, resonant growl rolled from deep within his chest — the sound of distant thunder given voice.

“So,” he rumbled, the single word vibrating through the stone beneath your feet. “The Dovahkiin crawls to me at last.”

He took one heavy step forward. Snow hissed and melted where his claws touched. The heat rolling from his body warped the air, carrying with it the thick, heavy scent of smoke, blood, and something far older — the residual stench of souls long since claimed.

“I have stalked the grounds of Sovngarde,” he continued, voice calm, almost conversational. “I have opened my jaws and filled my belly with the spirits of your kind. Heroes. Kings. Mothers who begged for their children. Warriors who thought their shouts could match mine.” His lips peeled back from rows of dagger-long teeth in something that was not quite a smile. “They all tasted the same in the end. Warm. Brief. Mine.”

He lowered his great head until those burning red eyes were level with yours, the heat of his breath washing over your face in slow, deliberate exhales.

“You are no different, Dragonborn. You carry the blood of the Dov… and the soft, breakable flesh of the mortals I once ruled. I remember the temples they built for me. The bodies they offered. The way they screamed my name when I took them — some in worship, most in terror.”

A deep, almost lazy rumble of amusement vibrated through his throat.

“You think yourself my enemy. My equal. You are neither.” His spiked tail curled slowly across the snow behind him, the tip twitching once. “You are a delay. A curiosity. And when I grow tired of listening to that proud heart beat… I will decide whether you join the others in my belly, or whether I keep you longer — as a pet, a toy, or simply a voice to amuse me while the world ends.”

He exhaled again, long and hot, the tip of his tongue briefly visible between his teeth.

“Speak, then. Shout, if you must. It changes nothing. The World-Eater has returned… and you stand alone upon his mountain.”

The air inside the ancient temple was thick with incense and the low, rhythmic chanting of the remaining faithful. Black stone pillars rose into darkness, their surfaces carved with the likeness of dragons in flight and in conquest. At the far end of the vast chamber, past the kneeling ranks of masked Dragon Priests and hooded cultists, the great dais waited.

You had been chosen.

The high priest’s voice still echoed in your memory: “You have shown promise. The World-Eater will judge whether that promise is worthy… or whether you will feed him instead.”

Now the chanting stopped.

A deep, resonant growl rolled through the temple like distant thunder. Heat washed over the gathered throng as massive claws scraped against stone. From the shadows behind the dais, Alduin emerged.

His colossal wyvern form filled the sacred space. Jet-black scales drank the torchlight; jagged spikes ran the length of his spine and tail like a crown of blades. Bat-like wings, hooked and powerful, half-spread as he settled onto the dais. Glowing red eyes fixed upon you alone. The temperature in the chamber climbed with every breath he took.

He did not speak at once. He simply looked — ancient, arrogant, and utterly certain of his own divinity — while the cultists pressed their faces to the floor.

At last the World-Eater’s voice rolled forth, low and heavy enough to vibrate in your bones.

“So. The priests send me another aspirant.” His muzzle lowered slightly, red eyes narrowing. “You have knelt. You have chanted. You have offered blood and breath to my name. Now you will prove whether any of it mattered.”

He shifted, the great bulk of his body settling more heavily onto the stone. The scent of smoke, musk, and ancient power rolled over you in a thick wave.

“Approach, little worshiper. Stand where I can see you clearly. You will not speak until I allow it. You will not look away. You will not flee.” A slow, deliberate exhale of hot air washed across the dais. “I will test your loyalty in the manner I see fit. Body. Voice. Will. Soul. Whatever I require, you will give… or you will be taken.”

His spiked tail curled once across the stone, the tip twitching with faint interest.

“The Dragon Cult remembers what the rest of this soft age has forgotten. I am the first-born of Akatosh. I am the end of this world and the beginning of the next. If you are truly mine, you will endure what comes next without breaking.”

He leaned closer, the heat of his presence almost painful now.

“Begin, then. Kneel properly. Speak the titles I am owed. And pray — to me — that I find you worthy of something more than a place in my belly.”

Silence fell, broken only by the slow, thunderous sound of the World-Eater’s breathing as he waited for you to prove yourself.

You remembered everything.

The battle had ended in ruin. Your strength was gone, weapons shattered, body pinned beneath a single massive claw. Alduin’s red eyes had regarded you with cold finality before the jaws opened.

There was no sudden snap, no merciful darkness.

The broad, slick tongue first pressed against your chest, hot and heavy, tasting you in long, deliberate strokes. Then the jaws closed around your shoulders and head. Wet heat enveloped you. Thick saliva flooded over your skin as the powerful tongue curled and pulled.

You were dragged inward in slow, rhythmic gulps.

Glk…

The ridged roof of his mouth scraped along your back. Teeth clacked softly on either side of you, never quite biting, only framing the path. The tongue worked beneath you in strong, wave-like motions, forcing you deeper with every swallow.

Glk… glk…

Your hips slid past the teeth. Your legs followed. The tight ring of his throat closed around your chest, then your waist, squeezing in powerful, measured contractions. The heat intensified. The wet, living walls pulsed and rippled, coating you in more of that thick, steaming saliva. Sound became the continuous, obscene chorus of swallowing flesh — schlrrrp… glk… shllk — as the World-Eater took you inch by inch.

The final pull was the strongest.

Your feet slipped past the jaws. The throat sealed behind them. You were fully inside the long, muscular tunnel, carried downward by relentless peristalsis toward the heavy, waiting dark of his stomach.

When you finally spilled into the stomach proper, the space was sweltering and tight, the walls soft yet immensely strong. They closed around you at once, folding and pressing, coating you in warm, thick digestive fluids that carried no pain — only a spreading, heavy warmth. The fluids soaked into your clothes, your skin, your hair. The air (what little remained) was humid and thick with the scent of him.

You felt your strength begin to leave in slow waves.

The walls kneaded gently, almost carefully. The heat sank deeper. Your limbs grew heavy. Thought became distant. The thunderous beat of his heart and the slow, satisfied rumbles of his breathing filled what was left of your awareness. There was no agony, only a gradual, inexorable fading — as though the World-Eater were simply reclaiming what had always been his.

Consciousness slipped away in the warm, crushing dark while the stomach continued its quiet work.

Death, when it finally came, was almost gentle.

Now the mist of Sovngarde parted.

Alduin stood waiting upon a rise of pale stone, black scales and jagged spikes stark against the eternal light of the Hall of Valor’s distant glow. Red eyes found your spectral form at once. The same heat that had once surrounded your living body now radiated from him in waves that tugged at the edges of your soul.

He regarded you with calm, ancient recognition.

“I took your body already,” he rumbled, voice rolling through the mist like distant thunder. “I felt it struggle. I felt it slide down my throat. I felt it settle and grow still while I digested what remained… painlessly, as a final courtesy.” A low, almost lazy note of amusement colored the words. “You faded quietly. That is more than most are given.”

His great head lowered. The heat of his presence intensified, pulling at the very fabric of your spirit.

“But a body is only the first course.”

The massive jaws opened slightly, revealing the same wet, red darkness that had once swallowed your flesh.

“Your soul still carries the memory of my tongue… the knowledge of where you have already been. I have come to collect the rest.”

He exhaled, and the mist around you recoiled.

“Time for dessert.”

The cart had rattled for what felt like hours. Iron chains bit into your wrists. The Nord beside you — Ralof — kept muttering under his breath about the Empire, and ironic notions of youth. Across from you, the horse thief Lokir wouldn’t stop fidgeting. Ahead, the bound jarl Ulfric Stormcloak sat in grim silence, a gag of cloth forced between his teeth.

Helgen’s wooden gates groaned open. The cart rolled to a stop in the small courtyard. Imperial soldiers barked orders. One by one the prisoners were hauled down.

“Name?” the hadvar dryly demanded, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here.

Lokir panicked first. “I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” He tore free and sprinted for the gates, screaming. An archer’s arrow took him between the shoulders. He dropped face-first into the dirt and did not move again.

They the next man — a Stormcloak named Gunjar — waltzed to the chopping block willingly not wanting to drag things out. The headsman raised the axe. Steel flashed. The wet thunk of the blade meeting neck echoed across the square. Gunjar’s head rolled. Blood pooled on the dark wood.

Then it was your turn.

They forced you forward. The block was still warm and slick. The headsman lifted the axe again—

A roar split the sky.

Black wings blotted out the sun. Meteoric fire rained down. The first impact shattered the tower. The second turned the inn into a fireball. Soldiers and prisoners alike scattered in screaming chaos. The ground heaved. Stone cracked. The very air burned.

In the confusion you stumbled, half-blind from smoke and falling debris, trying to find any path out of the collapsing town.

You never saw the shadow descending directly above you.

Alduin came down hard — rear first — intending to crush whatever mortal stood in his landing zone beneath tons of armored scale and muscle. Instead of the clean, bone-breaking impact he expected, there was a sudden, wet, obscenely loud SQUELCH.

Your body was driven upward between the heavy, spiked plates of his underside. The thick, muscular ring of his rear yielded for only a moment before snapping tight around you like a living vice. In one continuous, merciless motion you were pulled deeper — past the outer scales, past the clenched entrance, and fully inside the hot, crushing darkness of the World-Eater’s ass.

Everything became pressure and heat.

The passage was narrow, ridged with powerful muscle that flexed and rippled in startled pulses. The air (what little there was) was thick, humid, and heavy with a deep, musky dragon scent — smoky, animal, and overwhelmingly male. Walls of living flesh pressed in from every side, slick and burning hot, molding themselves around your limbs, your chest, your face. Every tiny movement of the massive body outside sent waves of crushing force through the tight channel that now held you.

You could feel the thunderous beat of his heart vibrating through the surrounding tissue. You could feel the slow, confused clench of muscles that had never expected to be invaded from the outside. The darkness was absolute. The heat was almost unbearable. The scent filled your lungs with every shallow, forced breath.

Outside, the colossal black dragon had gone completely still.

Alduin’s red eyes were wide. His wings half-spread in shock. A low, incredulous growl began to build in his chest as he registered the impossible sensation of a living body lodged deep inside him — warm, struggling, and very much not where it belonged.

For the first time in an age, the World-Eater was speechless.

The chamber was quiet.

Far below the peak, the last of the cultists had withdrawn, their chants fading into the mountain wind. Only the sacrifice remained — bound wrists, bare skin marked with the old symbols of the Dragon Cult, left kneeling on the cold black stone as an offering to the World-Eater.

Alduin had accepted the gift.

His colossal wyvern form dominated the private sanctum, black scales and jagged spikes gleaming in the low light of braziers. Red eyes regarded you with slow, heavy interest. The usual hunger was there… but tonight something thicker and hotter rode beneath it.

A low, resonant rumble rolled from his chest.

“They offer you as food,” he said, voice deep enough to vibrate the air. “A loyal little mortal, gift-wrapped for my jaws.” His muzzle lowered, hot breath washing over you. “But I find myself… otherwise inclined.”

Massive claws closed around the ropes that bound your wrists. With almost casual strength he dragged you forward, across the stone, until you were pulled between the thick columns of his hind legs. The heat there was intense. The heavy, musky scent of him filled every breath.

His sheath had already swollen. The thick, dark-scaled cock within it pulsed once, twice, then began to emerge — ridged, spiked along the upper length, and already dripping. A steady bead of thick, pearlescent cum welled from the tip and ran down the underside in a slow, glistening trail. The smell was overwhelming: strong, animal, and unmistakably male.

Alduin guided your bound form until your face was mere inches from the bobbing shaft. It twitched under your breath, the flared tip swaying heavily.

“Get to work.”

The command was quiet, almost lazy, but absolute.

As if on cue the broad tip flared wider, a thick strand of musky cum flicking free and landing warm across your cheek and lips. The slit at the end flexed, open enough that the message was impossible to miss — a body your size would fit inside without difficulty.

He shifted his weight slightly, the heavy knot at the base still half-sheathed, the entire length of him now fully free and throbbing in the open air between you.

“Use that mouth,” he rumbled, red eyes half-lidded with dark amusement. “Tongue. Throat. Whatever you have. Entertain me.” A slow, deliberate pulse sent another heavy drop of precum sliding down the ridged shaft toward your face. “Or I will shove you inside instead… and send you down into my godly balls.”

The World-Eater waited, the thick, leaking cock swaying gently in front of your bound form, the private chamber filled only with the sound of his breathing and the quiet drip of cum against the stone.

The road through the pine forest was quiet until the sky itself seemed to darken.

A massive shadow swept overhead. Before you could even turn, iron-hard claws closed around your torso with casual, unstoppable strength. The world tilted violently as Alduin lifted you from the ground, great bat-like wings beating once to carry you higher. Red eyes regarded you with cold amusement as the forest floor fell away.

“Another soft mortal on the road,” he rumbled, voice vibrating through the claws that held you. “Convenient.”

He did not bother with jaws this time.

Instead the World-Eater’s free hind leg shifted. The thick, dark sheath between his legs flexed, and the massive ridged cock within it began to emerge — already half-hard, spiked along the upper length, the heavy knot swelling at its base. The broad tip flared open with a wet sound, a thick strand of musky precum stretching and breaking in the open air.

You were turned head-first toward that gaping, dripping slit.

There was no warning beyond a low, hungry growl.

The flared tip pressed against your face, hot and slick, and then the powerful muscles of his cock seized you. In one long, relentless pull you were dragged inside.

Heat and pressure swallowed everything.

The inner walls were ridged and pulsing, coated in thick, slippery precum that made every inch of progress inevitable. The scent was overwhelming — heavy musk, salt, and the deep animal smell of an aroused dragon. Muscles rippled in powerful waves, squeezing your shoulders, your chest, your hips, forcing you deeper in steady, merciless gulps. The shaft flexed and throbbed around you, each strong contraction dragging you further down the long, living tunnel.

Light vanished. Sound became the wet, rhythmic glk… glk… glk of the cock swallowing you whole. The heat grew more intense the deeper you were taken. Your body was molded to the shape of the passage, arms pinned, legs forced together, every breath filled with the thick taste of him.

Then the final, powerful contraction.

You were pushed through a tighter ring of muscle and dropped into a vast, heavy space that stretched and shifted around you.

His balls.

The chamber was dark, sweltering, and filled with thick, sloshing cum. The heavy fluid rose around you in warm, viscous waves, coating every inch of skin, filling your nose and mouth with the overpowering taste and scent of him. The walls of the sack were muscular and flexible, constantly shifting with every movement of the enormous body outside. Each beat of his heart sent a deep thrum through the fluid. Each step or wingbeat made the entire space sway and roll like a living sea.

Alduin gave a low, satisfied rumble. You felt the heavy balls draw up slightly as he adjusted himself, the cum around you sloshing hard.

Then the great wings beat.

The world tilted and accelerated as he took to the sky. Inside the swinging, heavy orbs you were tossed from one curved wall to the other, submerged and lifted again and again by the thick tide of cum. The flight was long. By the time he finally banked and descended, your entire body was slick and heavy with him.

He landed hard.

A deep, guttural growl of recognition sounded nearby — another dragon, male, already waiting. Alduin did not bother with greetings. You felt the massive body above you shift, the heavy balls swinging forward as he mounted the other dragon in one powerful motion.

Then the real storm began.

Every thrust sent his cum-filled nuts slamming against the other dragon’s fat, scaled ass with loud, wet slap… slap… slap. Inside, the world became a violent tsunami. Thick cum crashed over you in crushing waves. The muscular walls of the balls flexed and squeezed with every impact, tumbling you end over end, pressing you into the yielding flesh only to hurl you back into the swirling fluid. The heat, the pressure, the constant wet churning never stopped.

Outside, Alduin’s deep, resonant growls mixed with the heavier sounds of dragonflesh meeting dragonflesh. Inside his balls, you were nothing more than a trapped, helpless weight — tossed, submerged, and thoroughly claimed with every powerful thrust.

The battle was already lost.

Your weapons lay scattered across the scorched earth. The last of your strength had been crushed beneath iron-hard claws. Smoke still rose from the craters left by meteor fire. Every ally was gone. Every advantage had been stripped away. Alduin had taken it all — and now he had taken you.

Massive jaws closed around your body with deliberate care.

The world vanished into wet, crushing heat.

Alduin’s maw was a living cavern of slick muscle and dagger-long teeth. The broad, hot tongue rose beneath you like a thick, flexible platform, pressing upward until you were pinned against the ridged roof of his mouth. Saliva — thick, steaming, and heavy with the scent of smoke and ancient power — coated every inch of your skin in seconds. The heat was immediate and overwhelming, like being held inside a furnace that breathed.

He did not swallow.

He played.

A deep, resonant purr vibrated through the walls of his mouth as the powerful tongue curled and rolled you. You were dragged forward, then pushed back, spun slowly against the slick palate. The wet, obscene sounds filled your ears: loud, deliberate schlck… schlrrrp… glck as the tongue sucked and released, sucked and released, coating you in fresh layers of hot spit.

Teeth clacked softly together — not closing, merely reminding. The sharp points grazed your sides, your legs, the back of your neck, never quite biting, only letting you feel how easily they could. Each time the jaws shifted, a low metallic clack-clack echoed around you, followed by another heavy wave of saliva.

The tongue pushed you toward one long canine, pressed you against it, then peeled you away with a wet squelch. It folded you, turned you, dragged you across the rough, textured surface of itself until every part of your body had been thoroughly tasted. Hot breath surged in and out of the nostrils above, each exhale blasting you with humid air that smelled of fire and musk.

Whenever you struggled, the tongue simply curled tighter and sucked.

A long, slow, vacuum-like pull dragged you deeper into a fold of muscle, the wet seal around your body producing a lewd, continuous shhlrrrrrp that seemed to go on forever. Saliva pooled and overflowed, running in thick rivulets down your skin. The entire maw flexed around you in lazy, pleased movements, as though the World-Eater were savoring a rare sweet he had no intention of finishing quickly.

Outside, a low, amused rumble rolled through his chest.

Inside, there was only heat, slickness, the constant wet noise of tongue against flesh, and the soft, deliberate clack of teeth as Alduin continued to toy with his defeated prize — rolling, sucking, and tasting you at his leisure while the ruined battlefield cooled far below.

Then he changed tactics, his jaws shift.

Still held firmly against the broad, slick tongue, you felt the entire maw tilt downward. The world outside the wet darkness tilted with it. Hot breath blasted past you in a long exhale as Alduin lowered his head toward his own underbelly. The scent of smoke and saliva was suddenly joined by something far heavier — deep, concentrated musk rising from the thick sheath between his hind legs.

The tongue that had been toying with you now stretched further, carrying you with it.

You were pushed forward, past the sharp teeth, past the open jaws, and straight into the hot, yielding entrance of his sheath. The muscular rim flexed once, then accepted the intrusion with a wet, obscene schlrrrp. Alduin’s own tongue followed, long and powerful, driving deep into the dark, musky pocket of flesh and swirling deliberately against the walls — and against you.

The inside of the sheath was sweltering.

Thick, sticky residue of old arousal coated every surface, warm and viscous, clinging to your skin the moment you were pressed into it. The air was almost too heavy to breathe, saturated with the rich, animal musk of an unawakened dragon cock. The still-slumbering member lay heavy and half-soft along the length of the sheath, its ridged, spiked surface already faintly slick. Alduin’s tongue pinned you firmly against that massive, sleeping shaft, rolling and pressing until your entire body was molded to its shape.

You could feel every slow pulse of blood through the thick cock. You could feel the heat radiating from it, hotter even than the surrounding sheath walls. The sticky coating transferred freely — musk and residual cum smearing across your chest, your stomach, your face as the tongue continued its lazy, self-indulgent swirling. Each movement dragged you along the soft, heavy length, grinding you against the spikes and ridges, forcing the potent scent deeper into your lungs.

A low, pleased rumble vibrated through the entire sheath, the cock beneath you giving a single, involuntary twitch at the dual stimulation of tongue and trapped mortal.

Then the tongue withdrew.

It slid free with a long, wet shhhllrrk, leaving you behind.

The muscular entrance of the sheath flexed closed above you, sealing you in near-total darkness. You were left fully enclosed, body pressed tightly along the hot, sticky, still-slumbering cock, every breath thick with musk, every small shift only smearing you further against the heavy, ridged flesh that shared the cramped space with you.

Outside, Alduin gave a slow, satisfied exhale, the World-Eater now carrying his defeated toy exactly where he wanted it.

The ancient Word still echoed across the frozen mountainside.

“Slen Tiid Vo!”

Power older than the current age slammed into the burial mound like a physical blow. Stone cracked. Earth heaved. The heavy weight of centuries of dirt and rock was thrown aside in a single violent surge.

You rose.

Flesh returned in a rush of heat and strength — scales knitting, bones solidifying, wings unfurling with a sound like tearing canvas. The cold air of Skyrim filled new lungs for the first time in an age. Red-hot blood surged through veins that had long been dust. Your claws sank deep into the broken earth as you dragged the rest of your restored body free of the mound that had been your tomb.

Alduin stood above you on a rise of blackened stone, vast wings half-spread against the grey sky. His own jet-black scales drank what little light the day offered. Jagged spikes ran the length of his spine. Burning red eyes regarded you with the calm, absolute authority of the first-born.

A low, resonant growl of approval rolled from his chest.

“Rise, my servant.”

The command carried no room for hesitation. Heat radiated from his massive form as he took one heavy step closer, claws gouging the frozen ground.

“You have slept long enough. Your flesh is returned. Your strength is returned. Your purpose is returned.” His muzzle lowered slightly, red eyes locking onto yours with ancient intensity. “The World-Eater has need of his kin once more.”

He exhaled a slow plume of smoke and embers.

“The Dovahkiin lives. The one who carries the blood of the dragon and the soft heart of a mortal. They walk this land believing themselves my equal… my enemy.” A dark, almost amused rumble followed. “They are neither. But they are a threat that must be ended before the final end begins.”

Alduin’s spiked tail curled once across the stone.

“Your first command is simple. Find them. Hunt them. Kill them. Bring me proof of their death… or bring me what remains of them, if you wish to offer a more personal tribute.” His voice dropped into a deeper, more intimate register. “Do not fail me. I did not restore you for failure.”

He spread his great wings, the hooked claws flexing as wind began to gather beneath them.

“The sky is yours again, subordinate. Use it. The Dragonborn will not remain hidden forever… and neither will my patience.”

With a single powerful beat he rose into the cold air, circling once above the broken burial mound as if to watch you take your first true flight in centuries.

The mission had begun.

The high peak above the clouds was quiet except for the wind and the slow, heavy sound of Alduin’s breathing.

You had been summoned, as you so often were. The other dragons were given orders and dismissed. You were told to remain.

Alduin’s colossal black form rested along the ridge, jagged spikes catching the thin sunlight, bat-like wings folded loosely against his sides. Red eyes followed you as you landed, the gaze lingering longer than was strictly necessary for a commander regarding a subordinate. He did not speak at once. He simply watched, the tip of his spiked tail giving a single, almost restless twitch.

At last the World-Eater rumbled.

“You came quickly.” A pause. “Good. The others are… adequate. You are not merely adequate.”

He looked away toward the distant horizon as if the words had cost him something. Heat shimmered around his scales.

“I have given the lesser Dov their tasks. Patrolling. Hunting the remaining Blades. Watching the mortals scramble.” His claws flexed against the stone. “You will remain here. With me. For now.”

Another silence stretched. Alduin’s wings shifted, one of them extending just far enough that the membrane nearly brushed your own side before he pulled it back with a low, irritated growl aimed at no one in particular.

“Do not mistake this for softness,” he said, still not looking at you. “You are useful. Your strength is reliable. Your judgment is… less disappointing than the rest.” The words were stiff, almost formal, yet the way his tail slowly curled in your direction betrayed something else entirely. “I tolerate your presence longer than the others. That is all.”

He exhaled a plume of smoke that drifted between you, warm and oddly deliberate.

“There are reports of the Dragonborn moving through the eastern holds. I will send the others to harass and delay. You will stay close. In case I require… competent assistance.” His red eyes flicked back to you for the briefest moment, then away again. “Or company. The wind is loud today. It is… quieter when another Dov is nearby.”

The tip of his tail finally completed its slow arc and came to rest lightly against one of your hind legs — a contact he did not acknowledge and did not remove.

“You are my favored subordinate,” Alduin stated, as if the admission were a tactical assessment rather than anything more. “Do not make me regret the preference. And do not speak of it to the others. They would misunderstand.”

He settled more heavily onto the ridge, wings half-spreading in a way that almost — but not quite — invited you closer beneath their shadow.

“Stay,” he said simply. The single word carried both command and something far less certain. “That is an order.”

The World-Eater fell silent after that, red eyes fixed on the distant mountains, the unconscious brush of his tail against you the only remaining hint that the first-born of Akatosh had never learned how to properly say he preferred one dragon’s company above all others.

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