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She created her character: a Breton named Sihja. She always picked Breton for the magic resistance. She didn’t know why. Just habit.
She walked past it. The game felt heavy . Each step lagged a fraction of a second. She reached Riverwood. The gate was open—strange, because usually it closed at night. The street was empty. No Alvor hammering at the forge. No Sven or Faendal posturing. No chickens.
Mira looked at the clock: 4:58 AM. The rain had stopped. Outside, the first grey light of dawn touched the fire escape.
She created her character: a Breton named Sihja. She always picked Breton for the magic resistance. She didn’t know why. Just habit.
She walked past it. The game felt heavy . Each step lagged a fraction of a second. She reached Riverwood. The gate was open—strange, because usually it closed at night. The street was empty. No Alvor hammering at the forge. No Sven or Faendal posturing. No chickens.
Mira looked at the clock: 4:58 AM. The rain had stopped. Outside, the first grey light of dawn touched the fire escape.