The quiet hum of the Grove settled around me, a stark contrast to the sensory overload of the Feywild Revel. Kagha had departed, leaving our group to settle into the tranquil space she'd chosen for us by the river. Karlach and Sylvie were off exploring downstream, their laughter echoing faintly. Gale was engrossed in a book, Astarion observing with detached amusement. Lae'zel was pacing like a caged panther, and Shadowheart… Shadowheart remained a storm cloud brooding at the cliff's edge.In a rare occurrence since arriving in this reality, I felt a moment of relative calm. There was no crisis demanding my attention, no devils needed punching, no archfey required placating. It was… quiet. And, in that quiet, the questions I'd been pushing aside began to surface.

  My power. It felt immense, instinctual, an extension of my will. But… much of what I was capable of remained a mystery to me. How did it truly ? The Time Slow shout I’d tried earlier was absolutely

  If, as I suspected, I was indeed stuck here for the long haul, I needed to understand the limits of what I could do in this world, before I accidentally broke something… or someone.

  I stepped away from the group, traveling a couple of miles down the riverbank, where the water flowed swift and deep, its surface catching the afternoon sun in glittering ripples.

  Focusing inward, I reached for that familiar core of energy, the wellspring of Magicka that now felt as natural as breathing. I decided to start the testing with a school of magic I have yet to attempt in this new world: Conjuration. The art of pulling entities and objects from other planes of existence.

  In Tamriel, particularly as practiced by mages in Skyrim, Conjuration was largely synonymous with reaching into the chaotic, dangerous, yet power-filled realms of Oblivion. The theory, as I understood it intuitively from my skill download, was straightforward enough: use Magicka to momentarily weaken the veil between Mundus and Oblivion, create a conduit, lock onto the desired target – be it a Daedra, an elemental spirit, or even the raw essence needed to form something like a Bound Weapon – and then forcibly drag it through the planar breach, binding it to your will upon arrival.

  Simple. Brutal. Effective.

  Except for one problem: this wasn’t Mundus. There were no Planes of Oblivion here; no Daedric Princes vying for influence; no readily accessible planes filled with Atronachs or Dremora ripe for the summoning. The current multiverse operated under a very different cosmology, one I was only beginning to grasp. Oh, certainly, I intellectually knew about things like the Outer Planes, Inner Planes, Astral Seas… dimensions aplenty could be targeted by me – but, were they accessible via the methods compatible with my Conjuration knowledge? Could my Magicka punch through specific dimensional membranes? And, if so, would I need to change anything in the magical structure of my spells to do that effectively?

  There was only one way to find out definitively.

  I focused, gathering Magicka, shaping my intent. It was time to assess whether my suspicions were accurate.

  A familiar, reliable summon in Skyrim. I pictured its fiery form, felt my magicka going through the steps, trying to form the connection I have been making across the planar void. I pushed my will outwards, attempting to pierce the veil, to establish that conduit to my target.

  The Magicka surged… and then dissipated into nothing.

  It felt… wrong.

  Utterly wrong.

  Like reaching out to grab something solid and finding only empty air. There was no resistance, no sense of a barrier being breached, no answering flicker of presence from the other side. It was like dialing a phone number that had never even existed. The spell matrix collapsed instantly, the carefully gathered Magicka dissolving uselessly into the ambient atmosphere.

  Unfortunate, but unsurprising.

  Let’s try something else.

  A simpler conjuration, pulling raw Daedric essence and shaping it into a blade. Again, I focused, gathering the energy, shaping the intent to form the familiar spectral weapon in my hand.

  And again… nothing happened. The space where the sword should have materialized remained empty. I felt a faint , a sense of some kind of energy coalescing, but it lacked the necessary anchor, the connection to the Daedric essence my skill was used to working with. A ghost of

  flickered in my hand for the barest of instants before dissolving like smoke.

  Hmm… let’s give it one more try.

  I'll call something powerful, this time -- something unequivocally tied to Oblivion’s structure, but also conceptually similar to certain... local entities.

  A potent summon from Mephala’s realm. I gathered a significant amount of Magicka, focusing my will with fierce intensity, trying to tear open that gateway, picturing the tangled, web-like structure of the Spiral Skein, attempting to latch onto something within. For a second, I thought I felt some kind of response—a faint, alien presence brushing against my mind, cold and chitinous. I felt a skittering sensation, like countless tiny legs scrambling just beyond the veil. There! The connection flickered, unstable, threatening to solidify... but then it started to dissolve. It was like trying to grab smoke; the potential for was there, tangible for an instant, but it kept slipping through my grasp. I tried solving the problem by pushing more power into the spell, and it held -- for a brief, glorious moment, my Magicka straining against the void -- before it snapped back to me violently, dissipating with an almost audible in my mind, leaving behind a faint headache.

  I lowered my hand, exhaling slowly. It was clear now. My standard Skyrim-based Conjuration spells, mostly designed to reach into specific Oblivion planes or draw upon Daedric essence, wouldn’t work here without substantial modifications. The spell targets simply didn't exist in this reality – or, at least, they weren’t around in a way I knew how to access.

  And yet… I still felt the . The core principles – manipulating dimensional barriers, pulling energy or entities across – felt fundamentally sound. My Magicka theoretically interact with the local planar structure. The failures, then, weren’t in the , but rather in the .

  I had no map.

  I lacked intuitive knowledge about the layout of this universe’s planes, didn't understand the nature and structure of the barriers between them, didn't know how to begin navigating them or targeting specific entities. Could I adapt my existing spells to do all of that?

  Maybe.

  Could I force a connection to, say, the Elemental Plane of Fire instead of the Deadlands and grab something an Atronach?

  Perhaps.

  Could I substitute Shadowfell essence for Daedric essence to form a Bound Weapon?

  Theoretically possible.

  But, trying to reverse-engineer the entire process right now – going in blind, fumbling around in the dimensional fabric without understanding the local rules… felt incredibly dangerous. Who knew what I might accidentally contact, or what might follow me back through an improperly sealed gateway? And the sheer time investment that would likely be required for such trial-and-error experimentation… it felt prohibitive, especially with the tadpole situation looming.

  No. Conjuration, while I would dearly love to keep experimenting with it, was a dead end for now. To make any substantial progress, I’d need to observe

  summoning magic at work. To see how sorcerers, wizards, or clerics here bridge the planar gaps. To understand the energies they use, the entities they contact, the incantations or rituals involved, the structure of their spells and the way they interacted with the dimensional membranes. Only then could I – perhaps – begin to adapt my own techniques… or learn theirs.

  I sighed, rubbing my temples where the headache lingered faintly. Another aspect of my power required careful study and adaptation. It seemed my Skyrim omnipotence came with a hefty dose of needing to relearn the fundamentals in this new reality.

  For now, Conjuration would have to wait.

  Destruction magic, on the other hand, seemed like the most straightforward place to continue the tests. Flame, Frost, Shock—these were the cornerstones of any self-respecting Elder Scrolls mage's repertoire.

  In an abundance of caution, I started small, thinking of fire—not a raging inferno, but a simple flame, the kind you might use to light a candle.

  Instantly, a tiny orange spark bloomed above my open palm. It hovered there, weightless, casting a warm, flickering glow on my skin. It felt… tame.

  Obedient.

  I nudged it mentally, willing it to grow brighter, hotter. The flame swelled smoothly, intensifying from orange to a searing yellow-white, the air around it shimmering with heat. I felt no strain, no drain on my reserves—it was effortless, more natural than even breathing.

  Curiosity sparked. Could I change its color? I pictured emerald green, the shade of the malachite used in Glass Armor. The flame shifted instantly, its edges turning a vibrant, almost liquid green, the core remaining a burning white. Then, I turned up the temperature even more, quickly producing first sapphire blue, then an amethyst purple. The fire obeyed my slightest whims, shifting hues like a chameleon, all the transitions seamless, instantaneous.

  A grin touched my lips. This was more than just casting some pre-coded 'Flames' spell. This was direct elemental manipulation, pure control of destructive forces unbound by the rigid structures of Skyrim’s spell system. Those spells, after all, were mere training wheels, guides for lesser mages. At my skill level? The elements my will.

  Feeling bolder, I conjured a second flame, then a third, hovering above the same palm. I sent them dancing, weaving intricate patterns in the air—spirals, figure eights, chasing each other like playful sprites. I juggled them mentally, passing them from hand to hand, making them shrink, swell, and change color in perfect synchrony.

  It was literal child’s play.

  Enough thinking small.

  I turned my gaze skyward, towards the vast, empty blue. Drawing a deeper breath, I unleashed. It was not a structured spell, but a raw intent—

  It felt like I could sustain this inferno indefinitely, feed it until it consumed everything in sight. The thought, unsettlingly casual, drifted through my mind: I let the pillar rage for a few heartbeats longer, marveling at the sheer scale of it, before cutting the flow as easily as snuffing a candle. The roar ceased, leaving only the gentle sounds of the river and the distant chatter of animals.

  Next, Frost. I extended a hand towards the river’s surface.

  

  Not a clumsy ‘Frostbite’ spell spray, but distilled, controlled cold — pure order imposed upon the surrounding molecules through sheer effort of will. A patch of water directly beneath my hand instantly flash-froze, a perfect circle of opaque white spreading outwards, crackling softly. I pushed the cold deeper, thickening the ice, watching intricate frost patterns bloom across its surface like frozen lace. I shaped the ice next, raising jagged spires, smoothing it into a glassy pane, then shattering it with a thought, sending shards skittering across the water before they melted back into the flow.

  With another surge of will, I launched an expanding wave of absolute frost outwards from my position. The air itself seemed to still, shimmering with ice particles as the temperature plummeted instantly. The ground beneath my feet frosted over in intricate, fern-like patterns, spreading rapidly outwards. A nearby boulder, easily twice my height, cracked with a sharp, percussive report, unable to withstand the sudden change in temperature, a deep fissure splitting its surface.

  Raw power felt easy, almost reflexive. But what about finesse?

  I formed a block of ice in the air before me, denser and colder than any glacier. It radiated a chill that bit at the air, mist curling from its razor edges. Instead of shaping it into a weapon, I focused my intent, picturing Karlach—her fierce grin, the powerful lines of her shoulders, the curve of her horns. My will flowed into the ice, not with force, but with precision. The block began to shift, melt, and refreeze simultaneously. Ice flowed like liquid glass under my mental touch, solidifying into new shapes in fractions of a second. Edges sharpened, surfaces smoothed, details emerged with impossible speed. Within moments, a life-sized statue of Karlach stood before me, rendered in breathtakingly clear ice. It captured her perfectly—the defiant set of her jaw, the intricate details of the Glass Armor I’d made for her, even the faint, internal glow where her new heart pulsed, replicated by cleverly trapped bit of light within the ice. The afternoon sun struck it just right, refracting through the crystalline form into a dazzling display of rainbows.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  In another few instants, a second statue took form beside it. Shadowheart. Her image formed in my mind—the guarded posture, the subtle conflict in her eyes, the way her dark hair framed her face. Again, the ice obeyed, flowing and freezing under my command. The spirit of this sculpture was different—more delicate lines, capturing the intricate folds of the leather armor I’d crafted, the slight downward curve of her lips, the tension in her stance. I even managed to replicate the Shar pendant peeking from her collar, a tiny detail rendered in frosted ice. The two statues stood side-by-side, Karlach -- bold and fiery even in ice, Shadowheart -- reserved and complex. The level of control I was displaying was exhilarating—far beyond merely casting spells, this was true , artistry powered by an unimaginable level of elemental mastery.

  I reluctantly resisted the urge to sing “Let It Go” while building giant ice castles.

  Finally, there was Shock. This element always felt the most volatile, the most unpredictable in the game — as evidenced by spells like

  sometimes unintentionally hitting allies.

  I needn’t have worried. Here, the lightning felt like an extension of my nervous system. I held out my fingers, thinking of static. Tiny blue sparks danced between my fingertips, snapping and crackling with contained energy. I let the energy build, then coalesce, forming a ball of raw lightning plasma that hummed with power, the air around it thick with the sharp scent of ozone.

  I directed it towards the river in front of me — not as a bolt, but as a net. Arcs of electricity leaped forth, spreading across the water’s surface in a well-defined web of crackling blue-white energy. Fish leaped frantically, stunned by the discharge, their scales flashing in the sun. I focused, tightening the net, then dispersing it, the energy dissipating with a final, sharp crackle.

  I drew the power back next, shaping it

  It coalesced in my grasp, a jagged shaft of solidified energy crackling with barely contained fury. It was bright to the point of being painful to look at, an incandescent core of blue-white intensity that dwarfed the surrounding sunlight with its brilliance. The air around it warped and sizzled, ozone stinging my nostrils, and the ground beneath my feet vibrated slightly with its power. The lance felt heavy, dense, alive with raw, untamed potential.

  With a surge of exhilaration, I hurled it towards the nearest set of clouds. The spear construct didn’t just fly; it

  My improvised spell struck the distant, fluffy white cloud with surgical precision. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.

  Then, the cloud .

  An explosion of light erupted, so blindingly intense it had me squint reflexively, washing out the world in pure, searing white. It wasn’t just a flash; it was a miniature sun blooming miles away, instantly ionizing a massive chunk of the clouds and sending incandescent tendrils of super-heated plasma arcing outwards like solar flares.

  A moment later, the sound hit—not a simple thunderclap, but a deafening, rolling

  that shook the very earth beneath my feet, echoing off the hills and cliffs in a cascade of secondary vibrations that violently disturbed the river’s surface. High above, the cloud bank roiled, vast sections of it simply

  I suppose, the shock test was… successful? I made a mental note never to use

  particular spell in close quarters, at least not when anyone I cared about was in sight.

  …

  As the last echoes of thunder faded, another sensation tickled my awareness. A faint stirring of air around my body, a familiar feeling…

  In Skyrim, a lesser-known Destruction spell, called Whirlwind Cloak, allowed for the use of the very air itself in order to push opponents back or deflect projectiles. I’ve not cast that spell since arriving in this world, and yet, now that I was actively reaching out with my senses, I felt something intriguing: a connection to the air itself.

  Could I…?

  I turned my focus to the river again, extending my will upon the atmosphere above it with the pure intent to . Several hundred yards out, the air above the water stirred, then whipped — faster, , pulling water upwards in a spray. A vortex formed, small at first, then rapidly growing—a miniature tornado dancing on the river’s surface, its funnel tight and perfectly controlled, churning the water into a frothing frenzy.

  It obeyed my mental commands like an eager puppy. I made it spin faster, slower, taller, wider. I moved it up and down the river like a toy boat.

  Then, the real fun began.

  I added the

  My tornado erupted in flames, a swirling column of fire and water battling for dominance. Steam hissed violently, obscuring the core, while tongues of orange and red licked outwards, consuming the water spray. It was a chaotic, beautiful spectacle.

  Then, I brought the

  The flames vanished, replaced by a vortex of razor-sharp ice shards and freezing mist. The water churned violently, freezing and shattering in a continuous cycle, the tornado glittering like a column of shattered diamonds, radiating a biting cold I could feel from where I stood.

  Finally, there was

  The ice melted quickly as arcs of lightning danced within the ionized whirlwind. The water itself seemed to crackle, glowing with an eerie blue light, the tornado was now a highly-concentrated thunderstorm, ozone sharp in the air, the roar of the wind punctuated by sharp cracks of electricity.

  With a final mental command, I let the elemental infusions fade, withdrawing my will from the vortex. The tornado collapsed almost instantly, the raging energies vanishing as if they had never been. The roar of wind, the hiss of steam, the crackle of lightning, the violent churning of water—all ceased in less than a minute. An almost deafening silence descended upon the riverbank, the sudden stillness feeling heavier, more profound, than the preceding chaos. The air hung motionless, thick with the faint lingering scent of ozone and damp earth. The river’s surface, moments before a frothing maelstrom, smoothed out rapidly, the last ripples fading until it once again reflected the (relatively) calm afternoon sky. The abrupt transition from elemental fury to mundane quiet was almost jarring, a stark reminder of the power I had just unleashed, and then dismissed, with barely a thought.

  I stood there for a long moment, the sheer, scale of my power washing over me. Flame, Frost, Shock, even the Wind itself… I could manipulate all of them freely. The limits I’d expected to find simply weren’t there. It was intoxicating.

  And mildly terrifying.

  I considered testing Illusion next, but the thought felt almost redundant. The Grand Revel performance, with its eighty-odd illusory clones playing complex harmonies while simultaneously weaving intricate visual effects…

  felt like a more than sufficient field test. My control over illusions seemed as absolute and intuitive as my command over the elements — perhaps more so, even. My Illusion skills were far more advanced than the level of casting specific spells like 'Fury' or 'Invisibility' anymore; instead, I could directly shape perception, weaving light, shadow, and sound into a reflection of whatever reality I desired.

  Restoration, too, seemed… functional.

  Perhaps even functional, if my theory about what happened to Shadowheart was correct.

  The memory of her kneeling by the stage, black ooze streaming from her eyes and nose as Shar’s magic was violently cleansed, sent a bitter pang of guilt through me. Had my enchantments, designed for healing and protection, inadvertently triggered that agonizing reaction? Had they identified Shar’s mental tampering, and the curse on her hand, as hostile intrusions and purged them as the they were?

  It seemed plausible.

  The timing, coinciding with the emotionally charged lyrics of my song, suggested a connection. What occurred was unintentional on my part, a consequence I hadn’t foreseen, but, alas, the damage—or perhaps, the —was done. I could only hope Shadowheart wouldn’t hate me for what I’ve done, wouldn’t see my intervention as an assault on her faith, twisted by lies though it might be. For now, further testing of Restoration felt… distasteful to me.

  That still left Alteration – the school of magic dedicated to manipulating the physical world, bending the laws of reality itself. In Skyrim, it was the most versatile school of magic, encompassing spells like 'Oakflesh' for protection, 'Waterbreathing', 'Detect Life', 'Telekinesis', and the transmutation of various base metals. In this world, unbound by game mechanics, what might it truly be capable of?

  I started the test with something simple: Detect Life. I closed my eyes, extending my senses outwards, focusing my will on perception.

  The world exploded behind my eyelids. Not with light, but with . Thousands upon thousands of faint, pulsing auras bloomed in my awareness simultaneously. I saw the slithering, sneaky aura of someone rapidly leaving the riverbank – , I wondered? I saw the bright, steady auras of my companions back at the camp: Karlach’s -- a fierce bonfire, Gale’s -- a complex, flickering weave, Astarion’s -- a cold, sharp point of un-light, Lae’zel’s -- a disciplined, contained ember, Shadowheart’s -- a confusing, shadowed storm warring with itself, Sylvie’s -- a vibrant and

  rainbow shimmer, Alfira’s -- a warm, melodic glow.

  Beyond them, the Grove pulsed – I could perceive the steady, ancient light of Halsin and the other druids, the smaller sparks of initiates, the myriad lights of animals – squirrels chattering in the trees, deer grazing in hidden meadows, fish darting through the river, birds soaring overhead. Each life was a distinct signature, a unique vibration in the tapestry of existence.

  But the spell didn’t stop there. My perception plunged faster, further, and deeper than I intended. The sensitivity ramped up exponentially. The world suddenly became a roaring cacophony of life signals. Insects crawling beneath the bark, worms burrowing through the soil, moss clinging to rocks, fungi spreading unseen networks underground – each registered, a billion tiny sparks igniting in my mind. My senses intensified further still, pushing past the macroscopic. I felt the thrumming energy of the trees and soil itself, the slow, ancient life force flowing within them. Then, I became painfully aware of smaller things – the bits of algae blooming in the river water, microbes drifting in the air, bacteria teeming on every surface, including my own skin. The sheer volume of

  present was overwhelming, a tidal wave of biological noise threatening to drown even consciousness. It was like trying to pick out a single whisper in the middle of a stadium roaring during a championship final.

  I commanded inwardly, wrestling with the spell’s runaway sensitivity, forcing my will upon it like grabbing the reins of a panicked horse.

  The cacophony receded instantly, the overwhelming noise collapsing into a manageable awareness. The distinct auras of larger creatures remained, clear and defined, while the deafening static of lesser life faded into a background hum.

  This was becoming a worrying pattern.

  Clairvoyance, Time Slow, and now Detect Life – my powers seemed to possess a stupidly high default setting, a tendency to escalate far beyond my initial intent unless they were consciously throttled. Control. Learning was becoming imperative.

  Shaking off the lingering mental static, I turned to the river.

  

  A simple thought, a gentle application of will beneath my feet. I stepped onto the water’s surface. It held firm, yielding no more than solid ground, ripples spreading outwards from my boots. I took a few steps, gliding across the current with effortless ease. Another basic Alteration principle, mastered.

  .

  I knelt, dipping my head beneath the surface. The water felt cool against my face. I took a breath. Cool, fresh air filled my lungs, drawn directly from the water itself. No strain, no panic, just the simple, magical act of breathing underwater as easily as breathing air. I surfaced, shaking droplets from my hair. Check.

  

  Another fundamental. I held out my hand, picturing a soft, steady glow. A sphere of warm, golden light materialized above my palm, hovering obediently, casting gentle illumination on the riverbank. Candlelight, Magelight – simple, reliable spells for any adventurer.

  But, could I do more with my light?

  I focused, willing the light to intensify, to narrow. The sphere compressed, sharpened, collapsing into a pencil-thin beam of coherent light – white-hot and precise. I directed it at a floating leaf; a tiny hole instantly burned through it, smoke curling upwards. Interesting.

  I broadened the beam again, then played around with its nature.

  The light shifted subtly, the way it reflected off the water changing, glare reducing.

  The visible light vanished, but I could a wave of pleasant heat radiating from my palm, warming the air.

  Again, the light was invisible, but the effect was immediate. The surface of the river directly in front of my hand began to bubble and boil, steam erupting in thick clouds. A cooked fish floated belly-up moments later. The potential for weaponization was… stark.

  What about X-Rays? Rays? Could I turn a simple light spell into a ray of delayed, invisible death? The thought was both thrilling and deeply disturbing. I dismissed the light entirely, the boiling ceasing instantly.

  Finally, Transmutation.

  Arguably the true heart of Alteration, the ability to reshape matter itself. I looked at the ice sculptures of Karlach and Shadowheart, then at the damp earth beneath my feet. I started with the ground, focusing on a patch of soil.

  The dull brown earth shimmered, darkened, then solidified, reforming into a patch of rough, pitted iron, cool to the touch.

  The iron gleamed, brightening, smoothing, transforming into lustrous, shining silver.

  The silver warmed, taking on the unmistakable rich, yellow hue of pure gold.

  The gold darkened, hardening into the familiar volcanic glass-like substance, smooth and midnight-black.

  The ebony seemed to melt, flowing into a pool of shimmering, liquid mercury that quivered on the ground.

  With each transformation, I felt… a connection. Not just imposing my will, I felt that I was with the matter itself. My knowledge of chemistry, physics, atomic structure from my old life seemed to provide a framework. A . The atoms… seemed to to me, eager to rearrange themselves, pleased to become what I envisioned. Reality felt… pliable. Malleable. Almost… subservient?

  Could I create complex materials beyond the simple elements? I focused on the patch of quicksilver, picturing the hexagonal lattice of carbon atoms.

  The liquid metal solidified, darkening to an impossible black, thinning into countless layers of an impossibly strong, single-atom-thick sheets of pure carbon.

  The graphene sheet seemed to fold in on itself, forming microscopic, hollow cylinders -- atomic structures of incredible tensile strength.

  The ease of it was ludicrous.

  I turned back to the ice statues. They deserved a more permanent, fitting form. I thought of exotic matter, of the strange states predicted to exist under immense pressures, deep within gas giants.

  Or something like it.

  I poured my will into the crystalline figures. The ice seemed to compress inwards, density multiplying exponentially. It didn’t melt; it . The cloudy, slightly opaque quality vanished, replaced by absolute, diamond-like clarity. The statues became heavier than lead, denser than any known metal, yet remained perfectly transparent, refracting the sunlight with blinding brilliance, every facet impossibly sharp.

  They felt… permanent. Stable at this temperature and pressure, an exotic state of water locked into existence by my will alone.

  I stepped back, looking from the shimmering, ultra-dense ice figures to the patch of carbon nanotubes on the ground. The sheer breadth of control Alteration offered was staggering. I was well beyond merely changing lead to gold now. I was rewriting the fundamental properties of matter, creating substances that, likely, have never existed here, all with nothing more than focused intent and a barest whisper of Magicka.

  The fundamental order of the world felt less like a set of immutable laws and more like a set of… suggestions. Suggestions I could freely bend, rewrite, or even break entirely. The power was intoxicating, the potential mind-boggling.

  And, as I considered the implications, a nagging thought remained.

  I still hadn’t found my limits.