Through the blaring light that pierced his ineffectual eyelids, and the swirling pulses of energy that whipped at his body like a fierce wind, and the burning heat that shot up his arm, a smaller stimulus also reached Desmond.

He swore he distinctly heard a short sound. Something like "voip".

Yes, "voip". Something had gone "voip". A few of his neurons vaguely wondered what process exactly had produced the "voip", but they were drowned out by the 99.98% remaining neurons that were ragingly lamenting his painful fate.

After the "voip", all the pain and the smell of burning flesh fell away. Desmond supposed this, then, was what it felt like to die.

However, he still felt the steady rhythmic thrumming of the power coursing through the ancient place.

The burning heat from the Eye had gone. And now there was a cold wind.

A very cold wind. Desmond began to shiver. He wished he'd just hurry the fuck up and die already.

Then someone was shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, stranger." His eyes fluttered open cautiously. "Wouldn't do for you to fall asleep and freeze to death before we're even to Helgen."

That rhythmic thrumming he'd felt coursing through the Grand Temple was now the steady movement of a rickety wooden cart. What the fuck?