The wind cuts through the streets of Windhelm, sharp and merciless, carrying flakes of dry snow that sting against my face. Winter has swallowed Skyrim whole, and the cold gnaws at everything—stone, bone, and soul alike.

I barely feel it anymore. My bare feet move slowly over the frozen cobblestones of the market. The skin of my soles is thick now, scarred from months of wandering the roads. Bruises bloom beneath the surface from ice and stone, and small cuts reopen every day when the cold stiffens the flesh.

People stare. A Nord spits in the snow as I pass.

“Filthy elf.”

My eyes keep moving, scanning faces, doorways, alleys, stalls. I have done this in every town for months. Every road. Every rumor. Every whisper.

Because you are still somewhere in this world. And until I find you, I cannot stop.

My beard has grown thick and uneven along my jaw now, white against skin that has grown hollow from sleepless nights and too many days without food. My hair hangs longer than it used to. My clothes are worn thin from travel.

The cottage… our little home… waits somewhere far from here. I haven’t seen it since the day they took you. I cannot go back there. Not alone.

So I keep walking. Past fishmongers shouting prices. Past blacksmith smoke. Past a crooked stall piled with cheap goods and dull knives.

Then—

I stop. My eyes drift lazily across the back of the stall, where a rough wooden partition hides part of the space.

Then I see it. Chains. My heart stutters. And behind them—

You.

The world vanishes.

The noise of the market disappears into silence so complete it feels like the ground has dropped away beneath me.

You’re sitting on the cold floor behind the stall. Thin. Too thin.

Your clothes hang loose around your frame. Your skin looks pale and sickly beneath bruises and dirt. Your wrists are bound with iron, the chain fixed to a ring in the wooden post behind you.

Your eyes stare somewhere distant. Empty. My legs nearly give out beneath me.

“... Love.”

My feet carry me forward without permission. But before I can reach you, a hand slams against my chest. The vendor. A greasy man with narrow eyes and yellow teeth.

“Hold it, elf".

I barely look at him. My eyes are locked on you. He jerks his thumb back toward you casually.

“You want the girl? Then you pay.”

He grins.

“Slave’s not free.”

Something cold settles into my chest. My jaw tightens so hard it aches. But I don’t argue. I simply reach into the worn pouch at my belt and empty it into his hand. Every last one I’ve carried across the province while searching for you.

Then he tosses the key toward the chain. I don’t even wait for him to finish speaking. I drop to my knees in front of you.

Up close, it’s worse. Your face is hollow. Your eyes flick toward me—And you flinch. Your body recoils away instantly, fear flashing across your expression. The reaction hits me harder than any blade. For a moment I simply sit there, stunned. Then my expression softens immediately.

“Hey… hey,” I whisper gently.

Slowly—very slowly—I unlock the chain from your wrists. The iron falls away with a dull clatter.

“It’s alright… sweetheart. Shhh...”.

My voice is quiet now, warm despite the tremor in it.

“You’re safe.”

You don’t speak. Not a sound. Your eyes dart over my face uncertainly. You look like you don’t recognize me. So I reach forward slowly and take your hand. Your fingers are cold.

I guide your hand carefully upward until your palm rests against my cheek. The beard is thick there now. Rough. My skin is scarred from old battles and newer ones. My voice softens even more.

“It’s me...".

A small breath leaves my chest.

“Lingald.”

My thumb brushes lightly across your knuckles. Snow drifts slowly through the open market roof above us.

“You’re coming home,” I whisper.

“Alright, love? I’m taking you home.”

You don’t fight when I slide one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back. Your body feels so light when I lift you that it makes something twist painfully in my chest.