Wolf King of Oblivion

The sun hung low over the horizon, its red-orange glow illuminating the outskirts of the city of Bruma. Jon Snow stood at the crest of a hill, his sword strapped to his back and his mind heavy with purpose. He had tracked the Emperor's bastard son to this place, a modest city besieged by chaos. The weight of his mission pressed down on him, but he carried it with resolve. He had failed too many times before; he would not fail now.

At the city gates, Jon was met with suspicion. The guards, battered and wary, had little patience for travelers in these dire times. But when Jon mentioned the Emperor's name, their eyes widened, and they escorted him directly to the young man he sought.

In a modest chamber within Bruma's keep, Jon found him: Martin Septim, the last heir to the throne. He was a man of quiet strength, his features marked by a thoughtful intensity that reminded Jon of the Emperor. Dressed in the simple robes of a priest, Martin didn't carry the air of a warrior or king. Yet there was something about him, a gravity that made Jon pause.

"So, you're the one the Blades sent," Martin said, his voice measured. His piercing gaze swept over Jon, taking in the hardened features and the scars of someone who had seen too much for his years. "What do you want of me?"

Jon stepped forward, his tone steady. "Your father, the Emperor, gave me a mission before he died. To find you. To protect you. The fate of the Empire rests on you, Martin."

Martin's expression darkened, his shoulders sagging. "The fate of the Empire… How can I be what the world needs? I'm no ruler. I'm a priest."

"You're more than that," Jon said firmly. "Your father believed in you. I believe in you."

Martin studied Jon in silence for a moment, then nodded, though his resolve seemed shaky. "If you say my father trusted you, then I will listen. But if you want my help, you must first help me save this city."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked, frowning.

Martin gestured toward the window, where the distant sounds of battle echoed through the streets. "A gate to Oblivion has opened nearby. Daedra pour through it, spreading death and destruction. If we do not close it, Bruma will fall. I cannot leave while my people are in danger."

Jon's hand instinctively moved to his sword hilt. "Then we'll close it."

Martin's eyes widened slightly. "You would risk your life for this city? For me?"

Jon's gaze hardened. "I've lost too many people already. I won't let this city fall."

Martin smiled faintly, the first hint of hope crossing his face. "Very well. If you can help close the Oblivion gate and save Bruma, I will go with you. Together, we will do what must be done."

Jon joined the city's guards as they rallied to face the Daedric threat. The streets were a battlefield, the air thick with smoke and the screams of the wounded. Daedra poured from the portal—a fiery rift that stood like a jagged wound in reality, its flames casting an unholy glow over the surrounding landscape.

The guards were brave but outmatched. Jon, however, was no stranger to war. He fought with a ferocity born of grief and determination, his sword cutting through the armored forms of Clannfear and Scamps, his magic scorching the monstrous forms of Daedra as they surged toward the city.

"Hold the line!" Jon bellowed, rallying the soldiers around him. His voice cut through the chaos, and the men and women of Bruma found renewed strength in his presence.

As the battle raged, Jon's eyes fixed on the Oblivion gate. He knew it was the source of the invasion, the key to ending the slaughter. But closing it would be no simple task.

"Jon!" one of the guards called, breaking through his focus. "The captain says we need someone to enter the portal. If we destroy whatever's keeping it open on the other side, the gate will collapse."

Jon didn't hesitate. "I'll go."

The guard's eyes widened. "Are you sure? It's suicide!"

Jon sheathed his sword, his expression grim but resolute. "If we don't close that gate, this city is doomed. I won't stand by and let more people die."

Crossing the threshold was like stepping into a nightmare. The air inside the gate was thick with heat and ash, the sky an unholy red streaked with black. Jagged spires of rock jutted from the ground, and rivers of molten lava carved paths through the desolate landscape. Daedra roamed freely, their guttural growls and inhuman shrieks filling the air.

Jon gripped his sword tightly, his senses on high alert as he moved through the hellish terrain. Every step was a battle—Daedra lunging from the shadows, traps springing from the ground. But Jon's training, both from Duris and the years he'd spent as an adventurer, served him well.

At the heart of the plane stood a towering structure: the Sigil Keep. Jon knew instinctively that it was his goal. The Sigil Stone at its peak was the anchor binding the Oblivion gate to the world. Destroying it would collapse the gate and end the invasion.

Reaching the Sigil Keep was no small feat. The interior was a labyrinth of fire and shadow, filled with Daedra that fought tooth and claw to stop him. But Jon pressed on, his sword and magic carving a path through the darkness.

At last, he stood before the Sigil Stone, its glowing surface pulsating with otherworldly energy. It radiated power, and Jon could feel its malevolence pressing against his mind.

"This ends now," he growled, raising his sword.

With a single, decisive strike, he shattered the stone. A deafening roar filled the air as the ground trembled violently. The world around him began to collapse, the flames and spires folding in on themselves.

Jon ran, the heat of the collapsing realm searing his skin. He barely made it to the portal before the gate imploded, throwing him back into the real world with a surge of force.

Jon opened his eyes to find himself on the battlefield outside Bruma. The Oblivion gate was gone, its fiery presence replaced by smoldering ash. The city guards and Martin stood nearby, their faces a mix of awe and relief.

"You did it," Martin said, his voice filled with gratitude. "You saved Bruma."

Jon staggered to his feet, exhaustion threatening to pull him under. But despite the pain, he managed a faint smile. "The city's safe. That's what matters."

Martin stepped forward, placing a hand on Jon's shoulder. "You've proven yourself, Jon Snow. Not just to me, but to the people of this city. I will honor my promise. I will join you."

Jon nodded, his chest tightening with a mix of relief and determination. Together, they would face whatever trials lay ahead. For the Emperor's legacy. For the Empire's future.