I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

The comfortable silence between Harin and Ibnor was broken by a soft knock at the makeshift office's entrance. 

"Enter." Ibnor turned, calling out.

The door creaked open, revealing Illia. She entered, carrying a stack of scrolls and a small, intricately carved wooden box. She offered a polite nod to Harin before turning her attention to Ibnor.

"Your Majesty," she began, her voice composed and professional, "I've compiled the initial resource assessment for the tower's construction. We have sufficient stone and timber within the hold, as I previously mentioned. However, we'll need to import a significant quantity of iron and certain rare minerals for the magical conduits." She placed the scrolls on the table. 

"These documents detail the estimated costs and potential suppliers."

Ibnor nodded, picking up one of the scrolls and quickly scanning its contents. 

"Excellent work, Illia. Thank you." He glanced at the wooden box she was holding. "And what's this?"

"This," Illia said, carefully placing the box on the table, "is a sample of the mineral Madena believes will be most suitable for the conduits. It's called Aetherium. It's incredibly rare and difficult to obtain, but Madena's research suggests it has unique properties that will significantly enhance the conduits' efficiency."

"Aetherium? That's… remarkable. Where did you manage to find it?" Ibnor's eyes widened. 

"A contact within the Thieves Guild," Illia replied, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. She quickly glanced at Harin before looking back at Ibnor. 

"They were able to procure a small sample from a… private collection."

Harin raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She knew of Ibnor's connections within the Guild, and she wasn't surprised that they had come through for him. She was, however, slightly amused by Illia's obvious discomfort at mentioning the Guild in front of her.

Ibnor, however, seemed oblivious to the subtle undercurrents. He was too focused on the Aetherium. He carefully opened the box, revealing a small, crystalline fragment that shimmered with an otherworldly light.

"It's… beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. He picked up the fragment, turning it over in his fingers. "Madena is right. This could revolutionize our approach to magical energy." 

"Thank you, Illia. This is a significant development." He looked up at Illia, his expression grateful. 

"It's my duty, and pleasure, Your Majesty," Illia replied, her blush deepening slightly. She hesitated for a moment before adding, "Madena also wanted me to inform you that she's ready to begin testing the first prototype of the conduit. She's set up a small testing chamber in the lower levels of the tower."

"Excellent," Ibnor said. "I'll go and see her immediately. Harin, would you like to join me?"

Harin nodded. She was always interested in seeing Ibnor's projects come to life, and she was particularly curious about Madena's research.

As they made their way down to the lower levels of the tower, the sounds of construction faded, replaced by the soft hum of magical energy. The air grew noticeably warmer, and the scent of ozone became stronger. They reached a small, circular chamber, its walls lined with intricate runes. In the center of the chamber stood Madena, surrounded by a complex array of magical devices and glowing crystals.

She looked up as they entered, a focused expression on her face. 

"My King," she greeted Ibnor, then offered a curt nod to Harin. "I'm ready to begin the test."

"Excellent, Madena," Ibnor said. "We're eager to see what you've accomplished."

Madena turned her attention back to her work, carefully adjusting the settings on one of the devices. She then turned to a small, metal rod that was connected to the Aetherium fragment.

"This," she explained, pointing to the rod, "is the prototype conduit. It's designed to channel magical energy through the Aetherium, amplifying its power and creating a stable flow."

She took a deep breath, focusing her will. A faint blue glow began to emanate from the Aetherium fragment, growing steadily brighter. The metal rod began to hum, vibrating with energy.

Suddenly, the glow intensified, and a surge of magical energy pulsed through the chamber. The air crackled with power, and the runes on the walls began to glow brightly.

Then, just as suddenly, the glow vanished, and the humming stopped. The chamber fell silent, the only sound being the soft crackling of embers in a nearby brazier.

Madena let out a long breath, her expression a mixture of relief and exhaustion. 

"It worked," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "The conduit is stable. It can channel the Aetherium's power without dissipating."

"This is incredible, Madena! You've done it!" Ibnor beamed, clapping Madena on the shoulder. 

Harin, who had been watching the demonstration with rapt attention, stepped forward. 

"It was… remarkable," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "The energy… it was unlike anything I've ever felt before."

Madena offered a rare smile.

"Aetherium is a unique substance," she explained. "It has the potential to revolutionize magic as we know it."

The successful test of the conduit was a major milestone for the Magic Tower project. It was a tangible sign of progress, a proof that Ibnor's vision was not just a pipe dream, but a real possibility. It was also a moment of shared accomplishment, a moment that strengthened the bond between Ibnor, Harin, and Madena, and solidified their commitment to building a towering future for Dawnstar.

The skeletal framework of the Magic Tower now pierced the Dawnstar skyline, a testament to months of tireless labor. Halfway to its intended height, the structure was already an imposing presence, a beacon of ambition against the grey backdrop of the Sea of Ghosts. Inside, however, amidst the clang of hammers and the rasp of saws, a different kind of work was beginning.

Ibnor stood in a newly completed chamber, its walls still rough stone but already humming with latent magical energy. He addressed a small assembly of mages, each with a unique specialization. Madena stood slightly apart, arms crossed, observing the newcomers with a discerning eye. Illia, ever the organizer, stood by Ibnor's side, holding a clipboard filled with meticulously recorded notes.

"Welcome," Ibnor began, his voice echoing slightly in the unfinished space. "I've gathered you here because you possess skills and expertise that are vital to the future of Dawnstar. As you know, we are building this tower not simply as a monument, but as a crucible of innovation. A place where magic and ingenuity can intertwine to improve the lives of our people."

He gestured to the surrounding chamber. "This is just the beginning. We envision laboratories, workshops, and research facilities that will push the boundaries of magical understanding. We seek not just to replicate existing spells, but to create new applications, new technologies that will benefit all of Skyrim."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled mages. He then introduced each mage, highlighting their specific talents. There was Elara, a skilled conjurer with a knack for creating stable magical constructs; Jorgen, an adept of alteration magic, particularly skilled in manipulating earth and stone; and Anya, a talented illusionist with a keen understanding of light and perception.

"Madena and Illia will be overseeing your work, guiding your research, and ensuring that our efforts are focused and productive," Ibnor concluded. "I expect great things from all of you."

As the mages dispersed to begin familiarizing themselves with their new workspace, Ibnor turned to Illia.

"Have you heard anything from… our observer?"

Illia nodded.

"Yes, Your Majesty. He reports that things are quiet at the College. No unusual activity. Arch-Mage Tolfdir is maintaining the usual routines."

"Good," Ibnor replied, a hint of concern still lingering in his voice. He had tasked a trusted member of his guard, a man named Solerius, with keeping a discreet eye on the College of Winterhold. He was determined to prevent the tragic events that had befallen Mirabelle Ervine and Savos Aren in his previous life.

"Continue the observation," he instructed. "If anything changes, I want to know immediately."

With that matter addressed, Ibnor retired to his study. The heavy oak door closed behind him with a soft thud, muffling the sounds of construction. He paced before the large window, his boots clicking against the stone floor.

The half-finished tower dominated the view, its rough-hewn stone silhouette stark against the grey sky. He ran a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips. He needed something… tangible. Something that would silence the whispers of doubt that still lingered in the taverns of Dawnstar.

He stopped at his desk, picking up a small, intricately carved wooden dragon. He turned it over in his fingers, the smooth wood cool against his skin. It was a gift from Harin, a momento of their shared past. He set it down gently, his gaze drifting back to the tower.

"What to show them…" he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. "Something that screams 'progress,' not 'dangerous sorcery.'"

He conjured a small flame in his palm, the flickering light dancing across the room. He imagined a device that could unleash a blast of freezing air, instantly extinguishing any fire. He even visualized a crude prototype, a metal canister with runes etched into its side. He dispelled the flame, shaking his head. 

"Too complex. It's a clusterfuck of moving parts. And the cost… it's fucking expensive."

He moved to a table cluttered with research notes and sketches. Anya's work on magical illumination. He picked up a page covered in intricate diagrams of glowing runes and crystalline lenses. 

"Lamps… cool idea, but still too early. Anya needs more time to refine the design. And the power source… still a bit wonky." He let the page fall back onto the table.

He then glanced at a series of sketches depicting a complex network of interconnected runes, designed to create a loud, piercing alarm. He picked one up, his brow furrowing. 

"An alarm… useful, no doubt about it. But imagine that in the wrong hands. Bandits, thieves… or even the Stormcloaks or Imperials. No, too easily misused. Too much potential for chaos. I can already picture some punk bored out of his mind starting the thing just for giggles."

He crumpled the sketch in his fist and tossed it into the nearby fire pit. The flames licked at the paper, consuming it quickly.

He turned back to the window, his gaze drawn to the rhythmic movement of the laborers on the tower. He watched as one of them checked the position of the sun, squinting against the overcast sky. A frown creased Ibnor's forehead. Time.

In Skyrim, time was a fickle thing. Sundials were useless on cloudy days, hourglasses were cumbersome, and even the most skilled navigators relied on educated guesses and the stars.

He snapped his fingers, a sudden realization dawning on him. 

"Of course." He picked up a piece of parchment and a quill, a smile spreading across his face. He began to sketch, quick, decisive strokes forming the outline of a small, ornate box.

"A clock," he murmured, his voice now filled with excitement. "A reliable, portable clock. Simple, elegant, and convenient." He began adding details to the sketch: gears, hands, a glass face.

"Merchants could accurately time their shipments. Farmers could better manage their schedule. Even travelers could roughly estimate their arrival time." He paused, tapping the quill against the parchment. 

"It's not flashy, not destructive. But it's practical. It's progress. And it's something everyone can understand." He looked back at the tower, his eyes now filled with renewed determination.

"Yes… a clock. Practical, beneficial, and profitable. That's what Dawnstar exactly needs."

He summoned Madena and Illia.

"I've decided on our first major project," he announced as they entered. "We are going to create a portable, magically powered clock."

Madena raised an eyebrow. "A clock? My King, surely there are more pressing matters," she remarked.

"Perhaps," Ibnor replied, "but this is about more than just telling time. It's about demonstrating the practical benefits of magic in a tangible way. It's about creating something that everyone can use and appreciate."

"If we could create a clock that is accurate and reliable, it would certainly be in demand. Merchants, farmers, even travelers would find it useful." Illia, ever pragmatic, saw the potential. 

With their support, Ibnor tasked Jorgen with developing the magical mechanism for the clock. Jorgen, with his expertise in alteration magic, devised a system of magically charged crystals that would regulate the movement of the clock's hands with remarkable precision.

The first prototype was a marvel of craftsmanship, a small, ornate wooden box with a glass face revealing intricately carved gears and glowing crystals. It was a testament to the combined talents of the mages and the skilled artisans of Dawnstar.

As the Magic Tower continued to rise, its silhouette growing taller each day against the vast, grey sky, so too did the hopes and ambitions of Dawnstar. The rhythmic clang of hammers against stone, the low hum of magical energy emanating from within the tower's walls, and the quiet, almost imperceptible ticking of the newly invented clocks became the sounds of progress, a symphony of innovation echoing across the windswept landscape.

The first batch of clocks, crafted from polished wood and gleaming brass, with faces of crystal clear glass revealing the intricate, magically powered gears within, were sold to local merchants. Old Man Elmsworth, the town's perpetually grumpy fishmonger, grumbled as he purchased one, but even he couldn't deny its usefulness.

"Bah," he'd muttered, handing over a pouch of coins, "fancy contraption. But if it helps me know when the fishing boats are due back and when the market opens, I suppose it's worth the expense."

Word of their accuracy and reliability spread quickly. A Redguard merchant, Zahra, approached Kharjo, who was overseeing the unloading of goods from his caravan outside the town gates.

"Kharjo," she said, her voice sharp and businesslike, "I've heard whispers of these new timekeeping devices being produced in Dawnstar. Clocks, they call them. Do you have any?"

Kharjo purred, his tail twitching with interest.

"Indeed, Zahra. These are clever devices," he said, gesturing to a small clock displayed prominently on a nearby cart. "Very useful for coordinating travel and trade routes. My caravan will be much more efficient now. Perhaps you would be interested in acquiring a few for your own ventures?"

Soon, orders began trickling in from other towns and cities. Whiterun, Riften, even Solitude sent requests for the innovative timekeeping devices. Messengers arrived sporadically, their saddlebags carrying letters and coin. Dawnstar's economy began to diversify, with the clocks providing a valuable new source of income alongside the established fishing and mining industries. The taverns, once filled with grim tales of hardship, now buzzed with conversations about trade, new opportunities, and the impressive work being done at the Magic Tower.

At the forge near the docks, the blacksmith, a burly Nord named Borin, hammered away at a piece of red-hot iron, shaping it into a delicate clock case. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a soot-stained hand, a wide grin splitting his beard.

"Never thought I'd be makin' fancy boxes for magical trinkets," he chuckled to his apprentice, a young Imperial lad named Caius. "But these trinkets are bringin' a steady stream of coin into Dawnstar, enough to keep us all busy."

Inside the tower, Jorgen, surrounded by glowing crystals and intricate diagrams, meticulously adjusted the magical mechanisms of a new batch of clocks. He turned to Anya, who was experimenting with different types of crystal lenses for the clock faces.

"These lenses… they magnify the light from the crystals perfectly," she murmured, holding one up to the light. "It makes the time so clear, even in dim light."

"Excellent," Jorgen replied, nodding in approval. "With this improvement, these clocks will be even more desirable."

Ibnor, observing the activity from a nearby balcony, smiled. He watched the workers on the tower's upper levels, their figures silhouetted against the sky, and then his gaze drifted down to the bustling town below. The gears of progress, both literal and metaphorical, had begun to turn, and Dawnstar was slowly but surely becoming a more prosperous and innovative town.

n Solitude, the Imperial court viewed the clocks with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. General Tullius, ever pragmatic, saw their potential military applications.

"Accurate timekeeping could significantly improve our logistical operations," he mused to Legate Rikke, pacing before a large map of Skyrim. "Coordinating troop movements, supply deliveries… it would be invaluable."

However, some of the more traditional Imperial officers expressed concerns about relying on what they perceived as "Nordic sorcery."

"These… contraptions," one elderly general sniffed, adjusting his spectacles, "are too reliant on magic. What happens if the magic fails? We cannot depend on such unreliable devices in times of war."

In Whiterun, Jarl Balgruuf, ever the shrewd ruler, recognized the economic potential of the clocks. He quickly placed a large order, intending to distribute them among his merchants and guards.

"These devices will bring order and efficiency to my hold," he declared. "And increased trade means increased prosperity for Whiterun."

Proventus Avenicci, his steward, meticulously recorded the transaction, already calculating the potential tax revenue the clocks could generate.

The reactions in the Stormcloak-controlled holds were far more varied. In Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak himself examined one of the clocks with a thoughtful expression. He appreciated the craftsmanship and recognized its practical value.

"This is ingenuity," he admitted, turning the clock over in his hand. "A testament to Nordic skill." However, some of his more zealous supporters viewed the clocks with deep suspicion. The word "clock" sounded suspiciously similar to "cloak," and in their minds, anything associated with the "Stormcloaks" – their own name – and thus the rebellion, being used by the Imperials was anathema.

"These… 'clocks' are Imperial trickery!" one burly Stormcloak soldier declared in the Windhelm tavern. "They're trying to infiltrate our minds with their subtle magic! I won't have anything to do with such Imperial sorcery!"

Others echoed his sentiments, muttering about the dangers of relying on magic and the insidious influence of the Empire.

In Riften, Maven Black-Briar, ever the pragmatist, saw an opportunity for profit. She placed a discreet order for several clocks, intending to sell them at exorbitant prices to wealthy patrons.

"Sentimentality is for fools," she sneered to Brynjolf. "Profit is what matters. And these… 'clocks,' as they call them, are certainly profitable."

Back in Dawnstar, Ibnor received reports of these varying reactions with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"So, the Imperials see a potential weapon, Balgruuf sees a business opportunity, and some of Ulfric's men think we're trying to magically control them with… clocks?" he chuckled to Illia, shaking his head.

"It seems our little invention has stirred quite a bit of interest," Illia replied, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Perhaps we should have anticipated such diverse reactions."

"Perhaps," Ibnor said, a frown creasing his brow. "It's not the factions themselves that concern me. It's the effect this could have on the people. The Nords of Dawnstar… they're good people, but they're also deeply rooted in tradition. They fear magic, they distrust what they don't understand. If the Stormcloaks start spreading rumors about these clocks being some kind of Imperial sorcery, it could create unrest. It could turn them against the Tower, against the progress we're trying to make."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I didn't take Dawnstar to replace one set of problems with another. I need to find a way to reassure them, to show them that this technology is for their benefit, not some political scheme." He looked out at the tower, a grim smile playing on his lips.

"This isn't about taking sides. Those bastards, words won't get through their thick skulls. When the time comes, they will wish that it's my words that get through it, not my fist."