In the distant city of Qarth, a young girl with silver-gold hair and violet eyes rode astride a Dothraki horse, her gaze fixed on a small crowd gathered nearby. They were watching a magician of considerable reputation—or so he claimed—perform a display that defied reason.
The red-robed sorcerer moved his arms in intricate patterns across his chest, his movements deliberate and precise. Suddenly, a ladder of fire erupted before him, stretching higher and higher into the sky. Flames roared, twisting like serpents as the inferno climbed dozens of meters. The crowd gasped, unable to look away.
Without hesitation, the sorcerer stepped onto the blazing ladder, climbing as if the fire were solid steps beneath his feet. Higher and higher he ascended, until both the man and the fiery ladder vanished entirely, leaving a stunned hush over the onlookers.
The young girl's delicate face betrayed unease. Her intuition warned her that something powerful had stirred. From behind the curtain of a nearby bullock cart, three heads emerged. Dragons. Not fully grown, but already exuding an aura of menace: one pure black, one platinum, and one bronze-green. They hissed, tiny teeth gleaming, testing the air with subtle bursts of heat. The creatures were awakening, and soon, the world of sorcery would catch up with the slow, backward lands of Westeros.
---
Back in Twin River City, the storm that had assaulted the region for three days showed no sign of abating. Rain fell relentlessly, hammering rooftops, filling streets with puddles, and swelling the river beyond its usual bounds.
House Frey had prepared a guest room for Eddard Karstark, a solid structure built of large, regular stones sealed with specialized adhesive. Inside, the room was furnished luxuriously: expensive velvet drapes hung at the windows, feather-filled duvets lined the bed, and polished wood gave the space a comfortable air. Its only flaw was the dampness. On rainy days, a layer of clammy sweat would gather almost instantly, soaking clothing and bedding alike. Living near the river carried such inconveniences.
Despite this, early that morning, Eddard received a flood of notifications from his system:
"Detected that the concentration of the magic tide has reached a critical point."
"All magic casting counts +1."
"Novice magic exchange list added:"
Animal Friend: Grants ability to befriend small animals and communicate with them for thirty minutes. Requires 1 Soul Power, four times daily. Exchange Price: 10 Soul Power.
Magic Arrow: A condensed elemental arrow with extraordinary accuracy within twenty meters. Requires 1 Soul Power, four times daily. Exchange Price: 10 Soul Power.
Intermediate magic exchange list unlocked:
Weakness: Temporarily paralyzes a human while retaining minimal life functions. Lasts thirty minutes. Requires 5 Soul Power, three times daily. Exchange Price: 50 Soul Power.
Thunderbolt: Summons a bolt of explosive lightning capable of killing a black bear instantly. Requires 5 Soul Power, three times daily. Exchange Price: 50 Soul Power.
Eddard pondered these updates quietly. The Others must be stirring. The dragons in Qarth were likely learning to breathe fire. Sorcerers in Essos were recovering. Yet, all of this seemed oddly distant from his current reality in Westeros, a land where metallurgy was crude and magic nearly nonexistent.
Shaking his head, he donned his armor, cleaned himself, and then conducted his usual inspection of his subordinates' loyalty, ensuring none had been swayed by House Frey's wealth or women. Finding no issues, he felt reassured. In a world of constant shifting plots, vigilance was the key to survival.
---
"My Lord!"
A soft knock preceded Dita. Kalander's entrance.
"Come in," Eddard said.
Kalander lowered her voice. "My Lord, as you instructed, I scouted the surrounding villages. Most of the grain has already been plundered by House Frey; they cannot sell it to us. We must travel further if we wish to procure supplies."
Her manner had changed since Eddard's elevation from "Young Master" to "My Lord," a reflection not just of respect, but acknowledgment of his growing authority.
"That's fine. Take ten brothers with you. Let's purchase some supplies ourselves. Better to rely on our own efforts than House Frey's generosity."
The "brothers" were Eddard's personal guard, a specialized cavalry unit of forty highly skilled men. Some were expert archers; others precise javelin throwers, all with superb horsemanship. Eddard had invested heavily in this force, anticipating future conflicts.
Kalander bowed lightly. "Understood, my lord," she said, before departing to gather the cavalry.
Eddard stepped outside the guest house, only to encounter Sir Lyman Walder, who had come with a proposition.
Lyman was an amusing figure. Unlike his fiery grandson Black Ward, Lyman was round, timid, and gluttonous. He had little loyalty to House Frey and seemed more interested in wine, women, and gossip than politics. Yet he knew the countryside well and was eager to demonstrate his usefulness.
"Eddard," he greeted, a faint scent of alcohol clinging to him. "The weather's fine. Let's venture out. I know these lands intimately. I can guide you to the best villages."
Eddard smiled faintly. "Buying supplies, you say? With you leading the way, I'm sure we'll be twice as effective."
The old man's eyes gleamed with secret delight. For days, his grandfather had urged him to gain favor with Eddard Karstark. Now, here was his chance to shine—or at least, to show off his knowledge of local resources.
---
War, no matter the cause, always enriched the ruling class while burdening the common people. Eddard's contingent toured the countryside for an entire morning, methodically inspecting villages. They arrived at Water Mill Town, a modest settlement whose isolation had spared it from Westerlands raiding parties. Yet even here, House Frey's conscription had left it strangely desolate.
"My Lord Eddard," Sir Lyman suggested, "let's head further west. Water Mill Town should still have grain in abundance."
Eddard nodded. The region around Twin River City was fertile. Crops thrived along the southern riverbanks, fish and shrimp filled tables, and the forests offered additional bounty. Farmers looked healthy, children played in the streets, and the land supported a population capable of supplying thousands of soldiers. House Frey, with its wealth from the stone gold mine and strategic bridge, commanded a formidable army.
As the contingent left Water Mill Town, they followed a country road bordered by newly sprouting crops. The summer season was still in its prime, though autumn approached, and winter was only a year or two away.
After about half an hour, they crested a hill, spotting a distant village with several water wheels turning on the Green Fork River, drawing water into irrigation channels.
Eddard slowed his horse, scanning the town. A thick column of smoke rose into the sky, and faint cries reached his ears.
Something was amiss.
---
The quiet tension settled over the group as they approached. Eddard's instincts, honed by years of war and intrigue, warned that the day's "supply run" might turn into more than simple purchasing. Perhaps this was House Frey's negligence—or a trap, or opportunity. Either way, he would be ready.
The storm, the fertile land, the unsuspecting villagers—everything hung in delicate balance. Soon, the reality of war and survival would clash with the calm surface of Twin River City's hinterlands.
And Eddard Karstark would be at the center of it, vigilant, cautious, and prepared for whatever unfolded.
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