UPDATE 2/13/2016: I finally got around to revising the earlier chapters to this story. My writing has improved a lot since starting this fic, which could be hard to tell because of what were initially really bad chapters. But now I have gone back and changed them, more to my liking. I'm trying to stick as close as I can to the original content, but in some places I just can't. Whether it is because of ideas that have changed and evolved the more I have been working on this story, or because what I originally wrote wasn't good. Because of this, until I am done with my revisions entirely, there are going to be some discrepancies and errors further in.

So far, I am up to Chapter Eighteen in revisions. So, if you are a new reader, you will see a sudden drop in quality once you get to Chapter Nineteen. And, as mentioned above, you might find some errors in continuity. Please stick it out instead of giving up on the story. Or leave a review on Chapter Eighteen saying, "I'm waiting!" and then wait for me to PM you that more revisions have been posted.

Hopefully you enjoy yourself as others have. Now, on with the show!

PROLOGUE

Time.

An infinite amount of time had once seemed like an amazing gift. He'd considered himself lucky, especially considering the negative effects Corpus tended to give those infected with it. He had been given a gift that no other human could ever experience: a chance to see every corner of the world several times over; an opportunity to always be the hero, to save everyone he could and just a few more. These were just some of the things he had to look forward to, all thanks to his gift.

A gift, much later in the future, he considered a curse.

It took several years before things settled in Morrowind. Once they had, and after a year or two of traveling his homeland of Cyrodiil, he'd decided to set out for a land very few in history had ever been to—Akavir. The Blades had argued he should report back to the Emperor, given he had knowledge and power unlike anything previously available to the Empire. He'd considered the option, but being recruited into the Blades hadn't been an option for him at all. He'd fully paid off his debt to the Emperor by saving Morrowind from Dagoth Ur, the Tribunal, and Hircine, as far as Arenar was concerned.

And so, joined by friends, allies and even a few rivals he'd picked up, the Nerevarine set off to explore the unexplored continent in the year four twenty-nine of the Third Era.

Having intended to be an expedition lasting only a couple of years, none had expected or been prepared to ultimately stay there for ten. Shipwrecked upon arrival, Arenar and his crew were assailed every day by the various indigenous races of Akavir. For each step made in repairing their ships, two more back were made in recovering from the day-in and day-out of fighting.

By the time they managed to have one ship be made seaworthy and the long voyage back to Tamriel began, the over two hundred man crew had shrunk to a size of twenty. Among the survivors was Arenar Krex, who swore never to leave Tamriel again. Arenar had expected little to have changed in his absence, perhaps a small war or two at the most.

As it turned out, everything had changed.

Mehrunes Dagon had invaded Nirn and unleashed Oblivion gates across Tamriel. Martin Septim, the bastard child of Emperor Uriel Septim VII, sacrificed himself to return Mehrunes back to the Deadlands and to seal the rift between Nirn and Oblivion The Hero of Kvatch, the man who'd rescued Martin and closed many of the Oblivion gates, vanished after entering a gate unlike any that had been seen during the invasion.

The Fourth Era had begun, marked by the end of the Septim Dynasty.

And that was only the beginning. The Empire, now without a descendant of Tiber Septim to lead it, was now run by the Imperial Potentate Ocato, previously the High Chancellor of the Elder Council. The Thalmor began to rise in power in the Summerset Isles, home of the High Elves. Black Marsh seceded from the Empire. Soon after, Vvardenfall and much of Morrowind had been destroyed by the eruption of Red Mountain.

Finding nothing better to do, Arenar began to wander.

Months passed like hours; years like days. Wars occurred nearly as often as a full moon, though Arenar took no part in any of them, at least not willingly. More nations seceded from the Empire, which was weaker than ever from tension between it and the Aldmeri Dominion.

And then the world fell apart, when he experienced love at first sight and the pain of losing love in the blink of an eye. After that, he fell into a slump. He continued to travel and help people, but only because he had no end to his long-lasting life.

More than two hundred years after Fourth Era began, Arenar found himself on the Pale Pass. Where he headed was the northern home of the Nords, the only country he had never explored despite his age.

Skyrim.