Tyrosh, The Purple Palace, The Garden of Whispers
"You aren't from around here, are you?"
The beautiful girl with the vivid green hair didn't wait for Jon to explain his presence. Instead, she pierced the silence with a question that immediately put him on the backfoot.
Her Common Tongue was flawless. Jon had felt a flicker of regret the moment he spoke; habit had led him to use the language of Westeros without thinking. He hadn't expected a Tyroshi noblewoman to speak it with such precision—her vowels were, in fact, even more refined than his own Northman-tinged accent.
"Uh... no, I'm not. But how could you tell?" Jon asked, his curiosity momentarily overriding his caution.
The girl, her violet eyes shimmering with intelligence, reached up to smooth a stray green lock caught in the sea breeze.
"Your accent and your... attire speak volumes," she said, her gaze drifting over his loose sleepwear. "But I am far more curious as to how you entered the Garden of Whispers in the first place."
Jon followed her gaze to his clothes. If he were an assassin or a spy, he'd be the most poorly dressed one in the history of Essos.
As the legitimate daughter of the Archon of Tyrosh, Mia Moses knew exactly how airtight the palace security was. Battalions of Unsullied from Slaver's Bay patrolled the Purple Palace day and night. Furthermore, this garden was situated on the palace's highest terrace; even the most agile Bravos or water dancers would find it impossible to scale these heights without alerting the guards.
"You don't have the look of a Faceless Man," Mia continued, her voice clinical. "And from what I hear, their price is staggering. My father's enemies are wealthy, but I doubt they have the coffers to buy a ticket from the House of Black and White just to send a man in his nightshirt."
Jon felt a spark of genuine interest. This girl was sharp. "Oh? And you aren't afraid? What if I really do mean you harm?"
"If you truly had designs on my life or my family, I suspect there would be nowhere for us to hide anyway," she replied, her posture relaxing slightly as she saw Jon made no move toward her.
Her father, in his desperate bid for reelection, was planning to ship her off to Sunspear to wed Prince Doran Martell. The man was fifty years old and gout-ridden. Worse, Mia knew the Prince hadn't even officially divorced his first wife. She didn't fully understand her father's endgame, but she knew that once the Archon of Tyrosh set his sights on a goal, he cared only for the result, never the cost to his blood.
"You are a very interesting young lady," Jon said. "May I have the honor of knowing your name?"
"Mia Moses. I am the Archon's daughter. And by the rules of fair exchange, I should know yours."
Speaking her name seemed to alleviate some of the heaviness in her chest. Jon wasn't conventionally handsome in the way Tyroshi nobles were, but he carried an aura that was utterly unique. Growing up in the Purple Palace, Mia had seen every kind of man—those who looked at her with lust, greed, or fear.
But Jon looked at her with nothing but pure, detached appreciation. It was unsettling and fascinating. If he truly had arrived here by accident, how had he done it? What kind of power did he wield?
"Haha, my apologies," Jon said with a light shrug. "It so happens that I have a professional relationship with your father. If I gave you my name, it might complicate his political calculations. For the sake of our potential cooperation, it's best I remain anonymous."
Jon had seen enough. The System's new "Dimensional Descent" was a game-changer. He was already wondering if he could use it to bypass the defenses of the Red Keep. If he could control the landing zone with precision, no enemy stronghold would be safe. However, a gut feeling told him this successful landing in the Archon's private garden had been a stroke of pure luck. He couldn't count on the stars aligning so perfectly next time.
"Wait!"
As Jon turned to leave, Mia's voice rose, edged with a sudden, desperate urgency. Perhaps she sensed he was an immortal from the legends, or perhaps she was simply a drowning woman reaching for any passing branch.
"You think you can just walk out of here?" she called out. "The guards will cut you down before you reach the gates."
"That isn't your concern," Jon replied, not looking back. "I arrived by 'accident,' and I can leave by 'accident.' It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mia. Farewell—"
"Could you... could you help me?"
The words broke from her before she could stop them. Jon paused, turning his head slightly.
"What?"
"This must be a sign," Mia said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Last night, I prayed to the Three-Headed God. I dreamt the Garden of Whispers was wreathed in flame. And then... you appeared. It has to be a revelation."
Jon's eyebrows shot up. The Three-Headed God?
Faith in Essos was a chaotic tapestry. While R'hllor, the Lord of Light, was the most visible, many of the Nine Free Cities clung to their own ancestral pantheons. In Tyrosh, the Three-Headed God reigned supreme—a deity with one face for death, one for life, and a central face representing the eternal state in between.
Its priests were known for their grim rituals, sometimes sacrificing dwarves in the belief that "tainted" blood provided clearer visions. The world was rarely kind to the small, and the gods of Essos were no exception.
"And what exactly do you want from me?" Jon asked.
"I... I don't know," Mia stammered, her violet eyes clouding with uncertainty. "I only know I don't want a man who can't even walk without a wheelchair to be my husband."
She was eighteen, standing at the threshold of her life, and her father was ready to bury her in a political grave. Mia had always known her fate was a commodity, but knowing a thing and accepting it were two very different burdens.
"Interesting," Jon mused. "But what can you pay? I am a firm believer in equivalent exchange. What do you have that is worth my intervention?"
Mia faltered. She was a clever girl; she knew that base offers of the flesh were beneath a man like this. To some, a beauty was a treasure; to a man of true vision, a beauty was merely an ornament on the road to power.
"I cannot answer that," she admitted, looking him in the eye. "So, tell me. What is it you require? Anything within my power is yours, provided you name the price."
She watched him with a flicker of hope. By asking for a price, Jon had tacitly admitted he could solve her problem.
"You've caught my interest, Mia Moses," Jon said. He reached into the void of his inventory, his hand disappearing into thin air before pulling out two objects: the Summoner's Badge and the Undead Warrior Staff.
Mia's heart nearly stopped. She had suspected he was no ordinary man, but seeing him pluck items from the empty air was a miracle beyond anything her priests had ever described.
"I cannot change a man's mind," Jon said, pressing the artifacts into her trembling hands. "But I can give a person the power to change their own circumstances. These are my 'help.' How you use them to secure your freedom is up to you."
He leaned in, whispering the activation methods into her ear. As he pulled back, he saw a new fire igniting in her violet eyes. She was smart enough to know what to do with a weapon once she had one.
"When you have used these to get what you want, I will come for my payment," Jon said, his voice dropping to a low, chilling tone. "Then, we shall see how the scales balance."