We see Gadriel Dovahkiin walking through a portal, returning from Sovngarde after slaying Alduin the World-Eater. Though his heart swells with the weight of accomplishment, there is also an emptiness that tugs at his soul. He has fulfilled the prophecy, saved Nirn from destruction, and stood victorious over a threat that loomed over all existence. And yet, as the echoes of his final shout fade into silence, a question settles heavily on his shoulders:
What do I do now?
From the moment of his birth, he had been bound to a single destiny: to slay Alduin or perish in the attempt. Now that he has succeeded—at the young age of twenty-two, no less—his purpose has vanished. He is adrift in the aftermath of fulfillment. Most people spend their lives searching for purpose, finding meaning in the journey itself. But Gadriel? He was born with a clear path. And now that it's over, he wonders if he has anything left to offer the world—or to himself.
He finds himself both liberated and lost.
His thoughts are suddenly shattered by a blinding flash of light. Gadriel stumbles, eyes squeezed shut against the brilliance. Then a vision overtakes him, flooding his mind with chaos.
The skies are blackened. Oceans churn with blood. Fire falls from the heavens like rain. In the heart of this nightmare, the Daedra and Aedra clash in a titanic battle, hurling their divine powers against one another. And in the center of it all—his soul.
They are fighting for him.
Every one of them.
He has made pacts, bargains, and alliances with them all. He has served their causes, carried out their will. And now, none of them can agree who owns his soul. But it's more than a matter of principle. Gadriel's soul has been fused with the essence of hundreds—perhaps thousands—of dragons, including Alduin himself. It is a soul of unimaginable power, and with it, any being could warp the world to their will.
He reels from the vision, his mind swimming. And then a voice enters his thoughts—calm, sonorous, eternal.
"Gadriel, the last Dragonborn. I am Akatosh. What you have seen is the future that must not be. Your soul is too powerful. If left here, it will become a source of war that could unmake not only this world, but many others. I must send you far away, beyond the reach of gods and mortals alike. I know this is sudden, and I regret the burden it places upon you. But it is the only way."
The voice softened.
"Before I send you away, I will grant you time to say farewell to those you love. Come to the Throat of the World when you are ready."
Gadriel stands there, overwhelmed. The world—the very gods—are tearing themselves apart over his existence. And yet, all he can think about is Serana.
He makes his way to Castle Volkihar, where his beloved wife greets him with a mixture of joy and unease. She senses his turmoil before he speaks. When he explains the vision and Akatosh's plan, Serana is silent for a long time. Then her eyes fill with tears.
She had thought they would have decades—centuries, perhaps. She had thought they would raise their unborn child together.
That night, they do not speak of destiny or duty. They simply hold one another close, cherishing the final hours they have. It is not passionate or tragic—it is warm. Human. Heartbreaking.
In the morning, Gadriel rises quietly. Serana still sleeps, her hand resting gently over her stomach. He brushes a kiss against her forehead.
"Forgive me for leaving like this," he whispers. "If I saw you cry again, I don't think I could walk away. I will love you always, Serana. Forever and beyond."
With tears welling in his eyes, he steps out into the cold light of dawn.
He travels alone to the Throat of the World, snow crunching beneath his boots. The Greybeards await him, their expressions solemn.
"Dragonborn," Master Arngeir says, "we have seen the vision as well. We are prepared. But before you go, we offer you this honor: the title of Greybeard."
He turns to the others, who nod in agreement.
"From this day forward, you are one of us."
Gadriel inclines his head. "Thank you. I am ready."
They form a circle around him, their voices lifting in the ancient Dragon Tongue. The air begins to vibrate. A wind gathers. And then, in a burst of radiant light, Akatosh appears above them—neither fully dragon nor man, but something vast and holy.
His voice fills the mountain.
"Gadriel, are you ready to leave this world?"
"Yes," Gadriel says. "But before I go—I have one request. Please... watch over Serana. And our child."
There is a pause. Then Akatosh responds, his tone gentle.
"I will."
The light intensifies. Gadriel feels his body lifting. Peace washes over him. He is not afraid.
He floats higher and higher, the world falling away beneath him. The light is all around now—too bright to see, too vast to comprehend. He can no longer tell if he is moving or standing still.
Then, suddenly, it stops.
A final flash.
And he is falling.
He lands softly, cushioned by tall grass. The air is warm, the sky painted in shades of amber and rose.
He sits up slowly, blinking.
Endless grasslands stretch before him.
And in the far distance, under a foreign sun—
Essos.
A new world.
A new beginning.