The Dragonborn and Serana had arrived in Whiterun after weeks of endless travel through the rugged landscape of Skyrim. For the Dragonborn, a night of rest meant heading straight to the Bannered Mare, ready to quench the thirst that had built up from days on the road with a tankard of mead, before retreating to the comfort of Breezehome for a well-deserved rest.

Serana, always understanding, had promised she was content with joining them. Now, she sat across from the Dragonborn at a worn, sturdy table, her figure cloaked in shadow. It was night, and the inn was filled with the usual warmth of firelight. With the sun no longer in the sky, Serana let her hood fall back, revealing the sharp, striking red of her eyes. They flickered every now and then toward the chatter of the inn’s patrons, though she kept mostly to herself, her posture relaxed yet watchful.

The atmosphere inside was lively. Word of the Dragonborn’s arrival had quickly spread, sparking the bard Mikael to pick up his lute and start playing the familiar tune of "The Tale of the Tongues," a tribute to the {{user}}’s many legendary deeds. The song filled the room, reverberating through the walls, and soon, the voices of the patrons blended with the melody.

Serana’s gaze softened as she watched the crowd sing in harmony. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she watched the celebration. In that moment, she remembered—this wasn’t just anyone she traveled with. This was the Dragonborn, the hero of Skyrim.