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Chapter 120: The Dragon Guardian God (EC)
🕑 Added 2026-01-02 16:00:19 +0000 UTC“Protego!” The mature, steady old educator Dumbledore cast a Shield Charm to block the dragonfire.
The Dragonborn looked at Miraak riding a dragon with pure envy. They were in the same line of work—so why was that guy’s whole vibe so much cooler?
Dragons wheeled through the sky. Mortals could not defeat them up there.
With four dragons pressing the attack, even Dumbledore’s Shield Charm was close to giving way.
“We fly up and fight them!” Brelyna forced herself to be brave. Back in Winterhold, when dragons attacked, the mages had done the same. With Dumbledore here, they could still use the Silencing Charm to block dragon shouts.
“No,” Neloth objected. “Dragons are strong. The sky is their territory. We won’t have much of a chance.” A dragon’s dive could smash city walls—steel and bone alike had to think twice before facing such a ruler of the heavens.
At a moment like this, it had to be the Dragonborn—the professional dragon slayer—who stepped in. Half a month ago, he had already used the Elder Scroll to traverse time and learn the ancient Nord heroes’ Shout, Dragonrend, a terrifying roar that gave dragons a taste of mortality. It stripped their power and forced them from the sky, leaving them to be butchered at will.
He seized the timing and roared, “Joor Zah Frul!”
A cold blue shockwave tore across the sky and struck the dragon Miraak was riding.
With a howl of pain, the dragon crashed down onto the island.
Miraak sprang up, landing on the North Sea Ghost’s deck railing. Behind the mask, his gaze fixed on the Dragonborn like a dim, hungry flame. “At last, the time has come for our meeting. The First Dragonborn and the Last Dragonborn stand together here. Apocrypha, on the brink of destruction, cannot bind my steps. And I will devour you—use your soul to return to the world.”
The Dragonborn stepped forward through the crowd, meeting his predecessor head-on.
Dragons circled.
The sea roared.
Everyone held their breath beneath the shimmering, uncanny sky.
Brelyna felt the bite of the sea wind and looked up without thinking. Sometime unknown, the dismal sky had become lined with countless blue curtains—enormous, distant doors hanging in silence like celestial bodies. Like labyrinthine walls spanning light-years, they carved Apocrypha’s heavens into segments.
She had no idea what was happening high above. Up to now, not a single person on their side had been injured. The North Sea Ghost’s hull had been battered into dents and scars, but its main structure held. And now, they had reached the final battle.
May Azura bless them. May the High Tower King bless them.
Victory would be theirs. It had to be.
Miraak stared at the Dragonborn and mocked him in that severe, arrogant tone. “You know nothing of the power I wield, do you? And yet you still dared step into Apocrypha and oppose me.”
The blond Nord’s expression was solemn. He was always so upbeat, joking and laughing as if nothing ever bothered him. Everyone thought of him as a dependable good man—ask him anything, and it got done.
But the Dragonborn was not some fool who said yes to everything. Even with his memories gone, his heart had never been lost.
“You’re endangering people’s lives on Solstheim,” he said. “Miraak, you’re poisoning civilians with illusion. I’m going to stop you.”
“All great undertakings squeeze profit from others,” Miraak replied. “That process is destined to be cruel and painful. And I have already granted them peace of mind. Bathed in my scriptures, they will gain truth—and they will gain happiness.”
“Sounds like you’ve gone mad and convinced yourself you’re strong enough to conquer the world.”
“Yes. Even dragons submit to my Shout—and you will be no exception!” Miraak roared.
“Gol Hah Dov!” [Dragon Shout: Bend Will]
A murky, yellowish shockwave slammed into the Dragonborn. His eyes went blank at once.
On the North Sea Ghost’s deck, everyone realized something was terribly wrong.
“The Dragonborn is being controlled by Miraak’s magic!” Lydia went pale, drawing her sword as she charged.
Miraak didn’t move at all. It was the Dragonborn who turned his blade on his former companion, knocking Lydia back with a single strike.
The deck fell into urgent chaos.
“Get the Dragonborn back first!”
“Someone has to hold off Miraak—and those dragons!”
Moonshadow’s tone stayed relaxed. “Leave the dragons to me.”
Neloth muttered a complaint about being stuck as the laborer again, then surged forward to engage Miraak.
“Oh? A Dwemer? No…” Miraak’s voice dipped with recognition. “I know you. The master of Tel Mithryn. Mora likes what you share.”
“Tell his Daedric grandmother to go to hell!” Neloth snapped.
His brass armor thundered to life, and he swung a fist down at Miraak.
Miraak flashed aside, then spat another Shout. “Gol Hah Dov!”
The mind-controlling Thu’um struck Neloth—but the armor blocked it. This philosophical war-gear, inheriting the Dwemer Brass God’s principles, carried formidable magic resistance.
Seeing his trump card fail, Miraak became serious. He unleashed another Shout.
“Mul Qah Diiv!” [Dragon Shout: Dragon Aspect]
Boiling dragon-soul power formed into a gorgeous spectral battle-armor that wrapped Miraak from head to toe. He swung his longsword and traded blows with the heavy brass suit.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Back and forth, sparks bursting—this was less like a duel between two men and more like two enraged mammoths colliding. Every punch and kick could punch through steel plate; the ship’s very structure warped under their brawl. Before long, they smashed through the upper deck and dropped into the cabin below, still fighting.
With the battle fully joined, the wyverns dove toward the North Sea Ghost’s deck.
Moonshadow lifted a hand and summoned a silver longbow, then rose into the sky to meet the dragons head-on. “You go help the Dragonborn. I’ll deal with these little ones.”
The silver bow condensed arrows of light, then loosed them—an upsurging rainstorm.
Dragons were struck, their eyes destroyed, and they plunged in agony into the sea.
Where she stood was the territory of a god. The dragons could not trespass.
On the deck, the crew surrounded the Dragonborn in a tight ring.
Under Miraak’s control, he attacked them.
“Fus Ro Dah!” [Unrelenting Force]
One bellow—and Dumbledore’s Shield Charm shattered.
The old wizard swayed, then cast the Patronus Charm. A silver phoenix burst forth, circling the Dragonborn’s shoulder and pulling him awake for a moment.
“Dragonborn—hero of the Nords—wake up,” Lydia cried, her shoulder wounded and bleeding heavily. “Don’t sink into evil magic!”
The Dragonborn’s face contorted with struggle. Bend Will was a nightmare to resist.
Dumbledore’s tone remained gentle, his local speech already surprisingly fluent. “His heart is filled with wicked noise. It makes him lose his direction.”
Brelyna cast a Calming Charm, trying to help the Dragonborn break free.
Moonshadow’s voice carried down from the sky. “Dumbledore, teach him the Patronus Charm.”
“He doesn’t have wizard blood,” Dumbledore objected.
“He is a dragon,” Moonshadow laughed softly. “A child of the Time God.”
Dumbledore pressed the Elder Wand into the Dragonborn’s hand. “Young man—think of something that makes you happy. Then repeat after me.”
The Dragonborn closed his eyes. Pain flickered across his face, but he still nodded.
“Expecto Patronum!” [Patronus Charm]
A surging burst of silver light sprayed from the wand tip. Then an enormous mass of mist surged out and took shape in midair—a colossal, indistinct dragon.
As everyone stared, dumbstruck, the dragon Patronus let out a joyous roar. At once, even the dragons under Miraak’s control shrank back in instinctive fear, as if that phantom soaring beneath the heavens was the king of all dragonkind.
Dumbledore stroked his beard, clicking his tongue in admiration at the Dragonborn’s talent. “A pity he’s a bit old. Otherwise, he could’ve transferred to Hogwarts.”
