(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Manderly Hall...
Meeting Chamber...
Silence ruled the chamber.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Heavy.
Absolute.
Then Daemon Targaryen broke it.
He stepped forward, removed his gloves, and knelt—
One knee striking stone with finality.
Every eye widened.
Daemon lowered his head, voice steady, stripped of arrogance, stripped of madness.
"I, Daemon of House Targaryen, renounce the chains of gods who feed on fear."
"I refuse to be livestock… refuse to drown in nightmares that test my sanity."
"I will not be a feast. I will not be a midnight snack for beings who hide behind prophecy."
His fist struck his chest.
"I swear fealty to Eldoria. To Leo Morningstar. By steel, by shadow, by my soul."
The words echoed.
Even the walls seemed to listen.
Leo nodded once.
-Nod
"...."
No ceremony.
No hesitation.
He reached into his system inventory.
Light shimmered as he withdrew a pair of crossed blades—
Perfect mirrors of one another.
Balance.
One blade gleamed silver-white.
The other obsidian-black.
Leo handed them to Daemon.
"By my authority, you are knighted."
Daemon accepted them with both hands.
Leo continued, voice carrying law.
"House Targaryen ends here."
The room sucked in a breath.
"...."
"From this moment onward, a new dragon family is born."
The air vibrated as Leo spoke the name—
A name that felt older than Westeros.
"House Drakonis Noctis."(The Night Dragons)
Daemon froze.
"...."
Leo placed a hand above his head.
"Daemon Drakonis Noctis."
"You will be its first lord."
The title settled like destiny.
Rhaenyra's breath hitched.
"...."
"...."
Rhaenys' eyes shone.
Alicent felt something lift from the room.
As Leo finished speaking—
A faint white thread shimmered into existence above Daemon's head.
Thin.
Pulsing.
Straining.
It vibrated violently, as if resisting.
Leo's eyes narrowed.
-Frown
"…There you are."
He calmly grasped the thread between his fingers.
The moment he touched it—
The world shifted.
Leo's consciousness expanded.
The physical room faded.
In its place stretched an endless void of shadows and glowing threads.
"...."
Thousands of them.
Each thread led to a Targaryen soul.
Some dim.
Some flickering.
Some already frayed—
Half-consumed by unseen mouths.
Leo's expression hardened.
"Disgusting."
Using his Shadow Monarch authority,
Leo sent shadows coursing through the threads.
They followed them—
Through time.
Through death.
Through forgotten kings and lost children.
He saw:
Fallen princes
Mad kings
Dreamers screaming in their sleep
Children born already broken
Not all souls remained.
Some were gone.
But many—
Many were still trapped.
Including who were alive like:
Rhaenyra
Rhaenys
Countless ancestors hovering in limbo.
Leo raised both hands.
Shadows obeyed.
They wrapped around every visible thread and pulled.
Not violently.
Decisively.
The threads snapped free from their distant anchors and flowed toward Leo like rivers of light.
One by one—
They dissolved into his shadow.
Their fate rewritten.
Their ownership transferred.
Their souls now bound to him.
And then—
The void screamed.
-GRAAAAAA!!!
A chorus of distorted,
Furious voices erupted across the shadow realm.
Ancient.
Inhuman.
Enraged.
"THIEF."
"USURPER."
"THOSE SOULS ARE OURS."
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT."
Leo frowned slightly.
-Frown
"...."
Annoyed.
"You fed without permission."
The voices grew louder, overlapping, maddened.
"RETURN THEM."
"PAY THE PRICE."
"WE WILL RETALIATE."
Leo's eyes burned red with violet ends.
The shadows behind him rose like an infinite army.
"You already did."
He clenched his fist.
The remaining threads—
Those leading to the Old Gods and the New—
Burned away.
Gone.
Erased.
It was just a their Projection which don't even have their 3% of their power not their real body.
With it they want to take him down dream on.
Leo opened his eyes back in the meeting room.
Leo turned to the room.
"The gods have lost their claim."
"If they retaliate…"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"…they will answer to me."
The North had just witnessed something no maester would ever record.
Not a coronation.
Not a war.
But the death of divine ownership.
And the birth of a new power—
One even gods now feared.
Beyond world.
Beyond time.
A vast throne hall stretched into infinity,
Its ceiling lost in darkness.
No walls—
Only void.
Upon colossal thrones sat shadows, not bodies.
Their forms shifted constantly, never truly fixed.
One shadow curled like a dragon, wings folded, eyes burning gold.
Another writhed like a kraken, countless tendrils coiling in black mist.
One stood tall like a knight, helm glowing silver.
Another resembled a wizard, staff etched in arcane runes.
One crawled half-formed, undead, leaking pale deathlight.
Another was rooted like an ancient tree,
Branches stretching endlessly, eyes emerald green.
Their eyes glowed—
Each a different hue, each radiating stolen power.
The hall echoed with distorted voices.
"Our food has been stolen."
"A mortal-turned-god dares touch what we cultivated."
"Shameless."
"He walks among humans."
That last statement carried disgust.
The tree-shaped god's voice creaked like snapping wood.
"We abandoned flesh. We abandoned weakness. To feed freely."
The wizard-shaped god sneered.
"And he keeps his humanity. If not why can he travel through the mortal world."
The undead shadow hissed.
-Hiss
"That alone makes him dangerous."
Silence followed.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then the kraken-god spoke, voice heavy like crushing depths.
"We shaped history for this."
Images flickered in the void.
Giants slaughtered,
Children of the Forest driven into myth,
Dragons bound by blood and prophecy,
Kings crowned, broken, driven mad,
"We manipulated wars."
"We cultivated bloodlines."
"We starved the world of magic so it would rely on us."
The knight-god slammed a spectral fist against his throne.
"And now an outsider cuts the leash."
Tension crackled.
The shadows began arguing—
Voices overlapping, distorted.
"We should strike directly!"
"No—observe first!"
"He feeds differently!"
"He does not consume souls like we do!"
The arguments grew louder—
Until the dragon-shaped god moved.
Its eyes flared crimson.
The entire hall fell silent.
"...."
"...."
"...."
"Enough."
The dragon-god leaned forward.
"He is not a true god."
Several eyes turned.
"He did not ascend through sacrifice like we did."
"He did not cut himself from mortality."
"He did not starve the world to grow."
A low, mocking rumble echoed.
"He is an anomaly."
The tree-god whispered.
"Then what do you propose?"
The dragon-god's shadow smiled.
"We do what we always do."
The hall darkened.
"We manipulate."
Visions appeared.
Lords whispering rebellion
Prophets screaming false visions
Dreams seeded with fear
Humans pushed to doubt, hate, and betray
"We turn the world against him."
"We make the world question him."
"We bait him into acting."
The wizard-god chuckled.
-Chuckle
"And when he strikes back…"
The dragon-god's eyes narrowed.
"…we learn his limits."
A pause.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then the undead god hissed.
-Hiss
"And if he has none?"
For the first time—
The gods hesitated.
The dragon-god finally spoke, voice cold but resolute.
"Then we will remind him."
"Even gods can bleed."
The throne hall trembled.
And for the first time in centuries…
The gods prepared for a war they were no longer certain they could win.
KING'S LANDING...
THE RED KEEP...
Viserys' hands trembled.
The scroll slipped from his fingers and fell onto the marble floor like a death sentence.
"Impossible…"
His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Otto Hightower did not move.
"...."
He did not speak.
He did not need to.
The truth was written clearly in black ink—
Every word a blade.
Daemon Targaryen.
No—
Daemon Drakonis Noctis,
Now styled Knight-Lord of Eldoria, had been seen riding beneath Eldoria's banner.
Not as a prisoner.
Not as an envoy under duress.
But as a willing representative.
Viserys staggered back, his legs giving way as he collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
"My brother…"
Elizabeth Hightower rushed forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Your Grace, you must rest—"
Viserys flinched at her touch.
"...."
He looked at her then—
Really looked.
Her concern felt distant.
Muted.
Not like Aemma's had been.
His mind betrayed him,
Replaying memories that should not exist.
Aemma alive.
Aemma kneeling.
Aemma calling another man lord.
"I saw her funeral,"
Viserys whispered.
"I watched her burn."
Otto finally spoke, voice measured, careful.
"So did we all, Your Grace."
Viserys' eyes snapped to him.
"Then how?"
Otto hesitated.
"...."
Just for a fraction of a second.
And that hesitation told Viserys everything.
"…There are powers at work,"
Otto said slowly.
"Powers beyond dragons."
Viserys laughed.
-Hahahaha!!!
A broken, hollow sound.
"Beyond dragons?"
"Otto, everything in this world bends to dragons."
Otto's jaw tightened.
"Not Eldoria."
The word hung in the air like poison.
"...."
Viserys clenched the bedsheets.
"My daughter vanished."
"My wife died… and may not be dead."
"My brother betrays me."
His voice rose, cracking.
"And now you tell me a foreign king commands loyalty that should have been mine?"
Otto stepped closer.
"Daemon was always ambitious."
Viserys turned on him sharply.
"He wanted the throne, yes—but never like this."
Never to kneel to another.
Never to abandon his blood.
Viserys' gaze dropped to his hands.
They felt… wrong.
Heavy.
As if something unseen pressed against his thoughts.
A faint headache throbbed behind his eyes.
"…Otto,"
He said slowly,
"Have you been having dreams?"
Otto froze.
"...."
"…Yes."
Elizabeth inhaled sharply.
Viserys continued, voice distant.
"Fire. Blood. A city burning. Dragons screaming."
Otto swallowed.
-Gulp
"So have the small council."
Silence.
Viserys closed his eyes.
"They are pushing us."
Otto stiffened.
"Who is they, Your Grace?"
Viserys opened his eyes again.
"...."
And for the first time in years, there was fear in them.
"The same ones who whispered prophecy."
"The same ones who told me a son would save us."
Elizabeth stepped back unconsciously.
"...."
Viserys' hands clenched.
"And now my son is dead."
His breathing grew ragged.
"And everything I touched turned to ash."
Otto's voice softened.
"You did what you believed was right."
Viserys looked at him.
"...."
Truly looked.
"Did I?"
Otto had no answer.
WHITE HARBOR...
MANDERLY HALL...
The great hall of Manderly Hall was full.
Not with feasting this time—
But with lords.
Banners of the North lined the walls, direwolves, mermen, and lesser sigils standing shoulder to shoulder.
Lords who ruled from frozen coasts, mountain keeps, and deep forests stood in clusters, murmuring in low voices.
At the center—
Rhaenyra stood tall.
No crown.
No royal colors.
Only resolve.
Beside her were Alicent, visibly calm despite the weight of eyes upon her,
And Leo Morningstar, standing quietly—
Watching, listening.
Rickon Stark stepped forward.
"You asked to hear it from her own mouth."
The hall fell silent.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Rhaenyra took a breath and spoke clearly, without trembling.
"I was not kidnapped."
"I was not coerced."
"I left King's Landing of my own will."
Murmurs rippled.
She continued.
"I renounce my claim to the Iron Throne."
"I renounce the lies of prophecy and the blood spilled in its name."
"I stand with Eldoria—by choice."
A lord from the eastern hills stepped forward.
"And the Hand's daughter?"
Alicent lifted her chin.
"I am here willingly."
"And I will remain so."
That answer struck harder than any sword.
Several lords exchanged looks.
This was no abduction.
No madness.
No scandal.
This was defection.
Lord after lord stepped forward.
A Flint of the mountains bowed slightly.
"Eldorian grain saved our people."
"Not charity—fair trade."
A Glover followed.
"Our smiths have never seen steel like this."
A Karstark spoke next, voice grim.
"While the crown threatened dragons… Eldoria sent food."
That word—
Dragons—
Darkened many faces.
Then Lord Manderly himself stepped forward.
"The Iron Throne sent fire."
"Eldoria sent ships."
The contrast was impossible to ignore.
Finally, an older lord—
Scarred and weathered—
Said what many were thinking:
"If this is what the Targaryens offer us…"
"…why should we kneel?"
The hall erupted into murmurs.
Some angry.
Some eager.
Some afraid.
Leo said nothing.
"...."
He didn't need to.
Rickon Stark raised a hand.
Silence returned.
"...."
"...."
"...."
"The North remembers."
His voice was cold iron.
"We remember dragons burning our lands."
"We remember oaths broken."
He looked at Leo—
"Eldoria traded fairly."
"Protected White Harbor."
"And shed no Northern blood."
Rickon turned back to the gathered lords.
"House Stark will not abandon this alliance."
A pause.
"...."
Then—
One by one—
The lords knelt.
Not to Leo.
Not to Rhaenyra.
But to the decision.
"The North stands with Stark."
"And with Eldoria."
A young lord voiced what many feared to say:
"Then what of the Targaryens?"
The hall went still.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Rickon's answer was slow.
Measured.
"If the Iron Throne chooses war…"
His eyes hardened.
"…then the North will not kneel to fire."
No cheers followed.
No celebration.
Just grim understanding.
At last, Leo spoke.
Not loudly.
But every word carried.
"Eldoria does not seek to rule Westeros."
"But neither will we allow threats against those under our protection."
His red eyes swept the hall.
"If war comes…"
A faint smile.
"…it will not be because we started it."
The lords felt it then.
This was not rebellion born of ambition.
This was separation.
And far away—
In King's Landing—
The Iron Throne still believed it ruled the world.
It did not yet understand that half of it had already walked away.
Leo explained his plan the first step they are going to take that is to target Citadel.
The great hall remained silent after Leo finished speaking.
Not the uneasy silence of fear—
"...."
"...."
"...."
But the heavy silence of realization.
Rickon Stark was the first to break it.
"…The Citadel?"
Even he sounded uncertain.
The Citadel was old.
Older than most kingdoms.
Its maesters had advised kings, raised heirs, and guided houses for generations.
To challenge it was to challenge the spine of Westeros itself.
Several lords exchanged troubled glances.
A Glover spoke carefully.
"Our maester saved my son's life."
A Flint added.
"They teach history, medicine, astronomy…"
Leo nodded once.
-Nod
"I am not denying their usefulness."
His voice remained calm—
Measured.
"I am telling you why they must not hold monopoly over knowledge."
He walked slowly as he spoke.
"The Citadel decides who learns."
"What is written."
"What is forgotten."
The words struck deeper than swords.
"Ask yourselves—how much do you truly know of your own past?"
No one answered.
Leo continued.
"Giants dismissed as myth."
"Children of the Forest reduced to bedtime tales."
"Dragons studied, but never truly understood."
Rhaenys stiffened.
"Magic labeled superstition when it no longer served them."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Leo's gaze sharpened.
"They do not erase knowledge."
"They dilute it."
Leo stopped near the center of the hall.
"Maesters are placed with children."
"From their earliest years."
Rhaenyra frowned.
-Frown
"...."
Alicent's eyes widened slightly.
"They shape thought before it becomes belief."
"They teach what is acceptable to question… and what is not."
Rickon Stark's jaw tightened.
"...."
He thought of Cregan.
Of lessons taught since boyhood.
"…You're saying they mold us."
Leo nodded.
-Nod
"Not with lies."
"With omissions."
That word lingered.
"Half-truths are the most effective chains."
Silence fell again—
"...."
"...."
"...."
Heavier now.
A Karstark muttered.
"How many decisions did we think were ours…"
"…but were guided."
Leo didn't answer.
"...."
He didn't need to.
Leo raised a hand.
A faint projection formed—
Maps, diagrams, symbols—
Simple enough for anyone to understand.
"Medicine taught without full understanding."
"Engineering without innovation."
"Agriculture without advancement."
He looked at the gathered lords.
"How many died because knowledge was withheld?"
No lord met his eyes.
"...."
"...."
"...."
"How many winters were harsher than they needed to be?"
Rickon Stark exhaled slowly.
"…Too many."
Leo lowered his hand.
"Eldoria does not need the Citadel."
"We share knowledge openly."
A murmur of disbelief.
"Farmers learn what improves harvests."
"Smiths learn metallurgy."
"Commoners learn reading, counting, healing."
Lord Manderly whispered.
"…That would change everything."
Leo met his gaze.
"Exactly."
A younger lord hesitated, then asked:
"If we cut off the Citadel…"
"…will the realm descend into chaos?"
Leo shook his head.
"No."
"It will descend into uncertainty."
He paused.
"And uncertainty is where growth begins."
The hall absorbed that truth slowly.
Rickon Stark finally spoke, voice low but resolute:
"The Citadel has guided us for centuries…"
He looked at Leo.
"…but perhaps it has also stopped us."
The lords shifted.
This was not rebellion of banners.
"...."
"...."
"...."
This was rebellion of thought.
Leo concluded.
"I am not asking you to burn the Citadel."
"I am asking you to stop letting it decide your future."
He turned to Rickon Stark.
"The North values truth."
Rickon nodded slowly.
-Nod
"…And the North remembers."
He looked around the hall.
"We will listen."
Not agreement.
Not yet.
But the most dangerous thing of all—
Consideration.
The lords did not argue.
They did not deny.
Instead, they chose something far more dangerous than resistance—
Observation.
Rickon Stark spoke first, voice calm but firm.
"We will watch."
Several lords nodded.
-Nod
"Our heirs."
"Our maesters."
"Their words, their lessons, their silences."
A Karstark added quietly.
"If what King Morningstar says is true…"
"…it will reveal itself."
Leo said nothing.
He only inclined his head.
That alone unsettled them more than any threat.
They did not realize it yet—
But their perspective had already shifted.
From that moment on, every lesson would be questioned.
Every suggestion examined.
Every "tradition" weighed.
The Citadel had lost something precious—
Unquestioned trust.
With matters settled,
That Evening...
Leo prepared to leave.
At White Harbor's docks,
Eldoria's ships stood ready—
Holds lighter now,
But purpose heavier than before.
Rickon Stark clasped Leo's forearm.
"If we need you?"
Leo answered simply.
"Think my name."
The air hummed faintly.
"Think clearly."
"I will hear it."
The lords exchanged glances—
Uneasy, awed.
Leo turned and boarded his flagship.
The sails unfurled.
The ships began to move.
The clouds split as Daemon and Rhaenys took to the sky.
Caraxes cut through the air like a living blade, crimson against winter-grey.
Meleys followed—
Regal, powerful, watchful.
They did not circle.
They escorted.
Not as threats.
As guardians.
The people of White Harbor watched in stunned silence as ships and dragons departed together.
Sea and sky aligned.
Someone whispered.
"…They didn't come as conquerors."
Another replied.
"…They left as allies."
As the ships vanished toward the horizon,
Leo stood at the prow, red eyes reflecting steel-blue waves.
Daemon flew beside him, silent but lighter than he had ever been.
"...."
"...."
Rhaenys watched the North shrink beneath her, thoughtful.
The world had not yet realized what had changed.
But the first pillar of the old order had cracked.
And Leo Morningstar——
Was already looking toward the next one.
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)I hope you guys are enjoying the story.
War is Inevitable! Guys...
I hope you guys could give me charecters for summoning for war type fighting generals for example.
--> Any thought drop a comment here.
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give areview
And power stone!!!
It will Motivate Me.