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I sank to my knees in front of him.I could vaguely hear Lydia and Jora speaking, concerned about me. But those were mere words. I was feeling the presence of the divine. A feeling of bliss, and more than that, resolve, came over me. Whatever it took, I would defeat the Thalmor in Skyrim and prove myself to be Dragonborn, to be Ysmir, to be... I shook my head, coming out of the trance I’d felt myself in. Lydia helped me to my feet. “My Thane, are you alright?”“I don’t know.” I shook my head and looked back at the statue. The eyes were cold and lifeless, the gray of stone and no more. I looked at Jora, who was still standing to one side, looking a bit dumbfounded by what she’d seen. “I take it that’s not the usual response you see when someone comes in for worship.”“Not hardly. I’ve seen people with a crisis pushed towards devotion. The Shatter-Shields since the loss of their daughter, Hillevi Cruel-Sea comes in a lot, and even Ulfric comes here to pray for strength. But none have ever.

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