(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Ōuki stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off centuries of dust.
"Before we plan any grand slaughter,"
He said with a grin,
-Grin
"I want to feel this land."
Ri Boku nodded in agreement, eyes already mapping distances only he could see.
"...."
"Terrain defines war, If Eldoria is as abnormal as it appears… then conventional thinking will fail."
He said calmly while he looked at his side where Ouki was grinning.
Leo inclined his head in understanding.
"Take whatever you need. Observe the cities, the borders, the skies."
Ōuki laughed excitedly already running his imaginary wild.
"Oh, I plan to."
The two generals departed together—still trading sharp remarks, still circling each other like rival beasts—but now with shared purpose.
As they left, Leo turned his gaze toward the horizon.
Today was important.
"...."
Through the system's overlay, Leo could already see it:
A trade escort ship cutting cleanly through the sea
Behind it, the vessels of Northern lords and Westerosi allies
Nervous crews, Curious nobles
Hope mixed with fear
They would arrive within the hour.
This would be the first time so many Westerosi lords stepped onto Eldorian soil.
First impressions mattered.
Very much so.
Leo's eyes drifted back to the system interface.
One card stood out.
Green. Mocking.
Almost vibrating with attitude.
[Summoning Card: Grinch]
Leo raised an eyebrow.
"…You might actually be useful."
He extended his hand.
The card materialized—solid, faintly cold—etched with the image of a green figure wearing a crooked grin, one eyebrow twitching upward as if already planning something deeply unpleasant.
Leo studied it for a moment.
"Economic warfare."
"Psychological pressure."
"Morale collapse without bloodshed."
A slow smile formed.
-Evil Grin
"Yes… you'll do nicely."
He crushed the card between his fingers.
Green light spilled outward—not violent, not majestic.
Annoying.
The air shimmered, twisted, and then—
Pop.
A short, hunched figure appeared, hands on hips, yellow eyes scanning the chamber.
The newcomer sniffed.
-Sniff -Sniff
"Ugh. This place smells like order."
He looked up at Leo, then grinned wide—too wide.
-Grin
"So you're the big boss, huh?"
"You got kingdoms fighting, gods screaming, and bankers panicking? And most importantly my step-family."
He rubbed his hands together.
-HEHEHE
"Heh. I like you already."
Leo met his gaze calmly.
"...."
"I need someone who understands sabotage without slaughter."
The green creature's grin sharpened.
-Grin
"Ohhh, you mean ruining people from the inside."
He tapped his temple.
-Tap -Tap
"That's my specialty."
Leo gestured toward a projection of Westeros—supply lines glowing, treasury routes highlighted.
"Iron Bank. Citadel. Logistics."
The Grinch's eyes sparkled.
"Say no more."
He cracked his knuckles.
-Crack
"By the time I'm done… They won't even realize they're losing."
As the summoning circle faded, a distant horn echoed from the harbor.
The lookout's signal.
Leo turned toward the balcony overlooking Eldoria's docks.
The ships were arriving.
The lords of Westeros were about to set foot in a kingdom that did not need crowns,did not fear gods, and did not fight wars the old way.
Meanwhile On The Ship...
The ships slowed as they crossed the unseen boundary.
Conversation died on the decks.
Lords, ladies, guards—every last soul stood frozen, staring ahead as Eldoria unfolded beneath the morning light.
"...."
"...."
"...."
White stone towers caught the dawn like polished silver.
Terraced districts flowed down toward the harbor in perfect harmony—no smoke-choked slums, no jagged scars of neglect.
Waterways shimmered, bridges arched clean and strong, and wide roads threaded the city with deliberate grace.
Forests bordered cities without walls.
Fields met stone without fences.
Sky lanes carried griffins and pegasi like messengers of a living order.
A lord of the Riverlands whispered what many were thinking.
"Why would anyone conquer… when they already rule this?"
Another answered softly.
"They don't need our land. They already owns a heaven."
The last of the lingering doubts—fear of manipulation, of hidden ambition—quietly fell away.
This was not a staging ground for invasion.
This was a home.
At the rail of one ship,
Cregan Stark leaned forward, eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but focus.
"...."
He was sixteen, old enough to understand power when he saw it.
Beside him, Benjen bounced on his heels, breathless.
"Did you see the roads? They don't even crack!"
Sara Snow gripped the rail, eyes wide, a laugh slipping out before she could stop it.
-Chuckle
"Look—look! Griffins! It's real as lord Morningstar has shown us the painting back them They're everywhere!"
Around them, other children of the lords crowded the deck—pointing, laughing, asking a hundred questions at once.
Where adults weighed consequences, the young saw possibility.
One boy tugged his father's sleeve.
"Father… do people live like this everywhere here?"
The lord hesitated.
"..."
Then, honestly.
"It seems… they do."
Cregan watched the harbor crews moving with calm precision—no shouting, no fear, no whips.
Soldiers stood relaxed, confident, not tense.
He caught himself smiling.
"Winter wouldn't scare people here,"
He murmured in awe.
Benjen grinned and pointed at the soilders.
"Look at them... Winter wouldn't win."
THE HARBOR OF ELDORIA...
As the ships finished docking, a clear, resonant horn echoed once across the harbor.
The crowd parted smoothly.
Stepping forward was the Harbor Guard Captain—
A merman, tall and broad-shouldered, scales shimmering faintly blue-green beneath ceremonial armor.
A trident rested at his side, not as a threat, but as a symbol of office.
He placed a fist to his chest and bowed respectfully.
"Welcome to Eldoria,"
He said, voice calm and steady.
"You are guests under the protection of the Eldoria."
The lords exchanged looks—surprised, intrigued.
"...."
"...."
"...."
No suspicion.
No subtle intimidation.
Just… welcome.
With practiced efficiency,
Eldorian guards gestured toward a line of carriages waiting beyond the pier.
They were elegant rather than ostentatious—white and obsidian frames, rune-etched wheels that barely touched the stone.
The captain continued calmly.
"Your retainers may follow on horseback. Our roads will accommodate them."
A few Westerosi knights glanced instinctively at the road ahead.
Smooth. Wide.
Perfectly level.
"...."
"...."
"...."
One muttered under his breath:
"…Gods, even the Kingsroad isn't this clean."
THE ROAD TO DAWNFIRE...
The carriages began to move.
Silently.
No creaking wheels.
No jarring bumps.
As they rolled forward, the visitors leaned toward the windows, unable to stop staring.
They passed.
Open markets where humans bargained beside elves and beastkin
Smithies where sparks danced without smoke choking the air
Healers' halls where patients walked out smiling
Children—children—of every race laughing freely in the streets
No fear when soldiers passed.
No bowed heads.
Respect without submission.
Cregan Stark took it all in quietly, his expression serious.
"This isn't enforced order, They believe in it."
He muttered while taking in every thing he saw imprinting it in his mind.
Benjen pressed his face to the window.
"Look at the bridges! They don't even ice over!"
Sara Snow laughed.
-Hehe
"Winter would hate this place."
Other young nobles were just as captivated—pointing at pegasi resting on rooftops, or griffins gliding overhead like city guards of the sky.
Alongside the carriages, Westerosi soldiers rode their horses.
They expected scrutiny.
They received none.
Eldorian guards acknowledged them politely, some even offering directions with casual gestures.
No hands hovered near weapons. No tension hung in the air.
One knight whispered to another.
"They don't see us as a thread."
His companion replied:
"They see us as guests."
That realization sat heavier than any threat.
At last, the road curved upward.
And Dawnfire Citadel came fully into view.
White towers veined with gold caught the sunlight, rising from the heart of Eldoria like a crown placed gently upon the land.
Waterfalls spilled from its terraces, feeding the city below.
Banners stirred—not boasting conquest, but bearing symbols of unity.
The carriages slowed as the great gates opened.
Silence fell among the visitors.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Not from fear.
From awe.
They had come expecting negotiations.
They had come prepared for politics.
Instead—
They were being shown what a kingdom looked like when it did not rule through fear.
King's Landing...
Red Keep...
Viserys Dream...
King Viserys I Targaryen stood alone.
There was no throne room.
No Red Keep. No warmth.
Only vastness.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Before him loomed shapes so enormous that his mind refused to give them form—
Shadows like mountains, their presence crushing, their aura pressing down until his knees trembled.
He felt small. Pathetic.
Like an ant daring to stand before storms.
"...."
A chorus of voices echoed—not loud, yet impossible to ignore.
"Weak."
"Indecisive."
"Unworthy of the blood you carry."
Viserys tried to speak, but his voice failed him.
One shadow leaned closer than the rest.
It had the outline of a dragon's skull, vast wings folded behind it, eyes burning with ancient contempt.
"You let your line rot. You let a false god rise."
The name came like a curse.
"Leo Morningstar."
The dragon-shadow's voice deepened.
"He steals what is ours. Souls, Fate, Fear."
The ground before Viserys split.
"...."
From the darkness rose an egg—deep crimson, its surface layered with jagged, blade-like scales, pulsing faintly as if breathing.
Then another presence stirred.
A second shadow—cold, hollow, crowned in silence—extended something unseen.
"Power over death,"
It whispered in a low voice.
"Command the fallen. Let the dead answer you."
The dragon-shadow spoke again, slower now, deliberate.
"Take our gifts. Stand tall... Burn the pretender. Kill the fake god."
Viserys felt the weight of it sink into his bones.
"But know this, King of Men,"
The voices said in unison.
"Each gift takes what you cherish... Sanity, Mercy and Humanity."
The final command thundered through the void.
"Fulfill your destiny."
DREAM ENDS...
Viserys gasped.
-Gasp
"...."
He sat upright in his bed, breath ragged, heart pounding as if it might tear free from his chest.
Moonlight spilled through the windows of the Red Keep.
Beside him, Queen Catherine Hightower slept peacefully, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly.
"...."
Viserys swallowed still sweating from the earlier dream.
-Gulp
"A… dream,"
He whispered while scratching his back head while in deep thought.
He ran a shaking hand over his face.
Then he froze.
At the foot of the bed—
Resting upon velvet that had not been there before—
Was the egg.
Deep red.
Jagged.
Its surface glistened like living scales, faint warmth radiating from it, as though something inside was aware of him.
"...."
Viserys' eyes widened, pupils trembling.
"No…"
His gaze shifted to the shadows of the chamber, half-expecting them to speak again.
They did not.
But the silence was worse.
"...."
Slowly—reverently—Viserys reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the egg, a pulse ran through his arm and into his chest, carrying with it a whisper of power… and something darker beneath it.
He pulled his hand back, breathing hard.
This was no dream.
This was a calling.
A pact.
A war declaration written not in ink—but in fate.
Viserys looked once more at his sleeping wife… at the unborn child… and then back at the egg.
His jaw tightened.
"If this is the price to protect my throne…"
The king's eyes hardened.
"…then let the gods judge me later."
That the old gods had chosen their champion.
And they had chosen poorly which they don't know yet.
Viserys cradled the egg in both hands.
It was warm.
"...."
Not the gentle warmth of sunlight on stone—but the deeper heat of something alive, something aware.
The moment his fingers tightened around it, a pulse answered his heartbeat, slow and deliberate, as if acknowledging him.
A bond. Real.
Unmistakable.
Viserys let out a trembling breath.
For years—years—he had borne the silent shame of being a Targaryen without a dragon.
A king whose blood remembered fire, yet whose hands held only memories and regret.
Balerion's death had taken more than a mount from him—it had taken his certainty.
But now—
Now the gods themselves had answered.
'Mine,'
He thought excitedly.
The egg responded with another faint pulse, stronger this time, sending a ripple of heat up his arms and settling deep in his chest.
Images flickered at the edge of his mind—
Ashes swirling, wings blotting out the sky, a roar that shook cities to their foundations.
Power.
Raw. Primal. Absolute.
Viserys' lips parted in a slow, reverent smile.
"You will be magnificent,"
He whispered.
His eyes, once clouded by doubt, hardened with a confidence he had not felt since his youth.
The hesitation, the endless second-guessing—it burned away, replaced by something sharper.
Conviction.
This dragon would not be like the others.
It was a gift. A weapon.
A sign.
He could feel it—clear as any prophecy whispered by fire or dream.
'A month.'
That was all.
In one month, the egg would hatch.
In one month, the world would remember why the name Targaryen had once made kingdoms kneel.
Viserys glanced toward the shadows of the chamber, half-expecting the towering presences to speak again.
They did not.
But he knew they were watching.
Slowly, carefully, he placed the egg within a padded cradle near the hearth, warded and hidden from prying eyes.
No maester would touch this.
No hand but his own.
He straightened, shoulders squaring.
"Leo Morningstar,"
The king murmured, voice low and cold.
"Fake god or not… you will burn."
AFTER A WEEK...
A week passed.
King Viserys did not leave his throne room.
He slept there. Ate there.
Dreamed there.
The egg never left his hands for long—
When exhaustion finally claimed him, it rested beside the Iron Throne itself, wrapped in silk and warded by candlelight.
He dismissed maesters.
Ignored petitions.
Let Otto speak to an empty hall.
All that mattered was the egg.
Its heat had grown stronger.
Its pulse more frequent.
Every thrum fed his certainty.
'A month,'
He reminded himself again and again.
'Just one month.'
His fingers brushed the jagged crimson scales possessively.
"You will make them kneel, God or king… all will burn."
While he whispers to it like it was his heir.
What Viserys did not notice—
Was the shadow shifting near the balcony.
Between the iron grills, where moonlight barely reached—
A green, cone-shaped head slowly pushed forward.
Two yellow eyes blinked once… then locked onto the king.
"...."
The creature listened.
Every muttered vow.
Every whispered threat.
Every desperate justification.
A crooked grin spread across its face.
-Grin
"Ohohoho… Well that's unhealthy."
The Grinch leaned comfortably against the bars, chin resting in his palm, utterly unseen by the guards, the candles—
Or the king.
"Let's see…"
He murmured.
"A cursed tasty egg... A fragile ego... And voices in your head telling you you're special."
His grin widened.
-Grin
"Oh, this is prime material."
He glanced at the egg, eyes gleaming with interest—not greed, not hunger—
"...."
Opportunity.
"You know,"
He whispered conspiratorially,
"I don't even have to break you. You're doing a fantastic job all on your own."
A faint shimmer passed over his form as plans began stacking upon plans.
Misplaced trust, Subtle doubt,
Perfectly timed whispers.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing obvious.
Just enough.
The Grinch chuckled softly, already backing into the shadows.
-KukU
"Don't worry, Your Grace,"
He said cheerfully.
"I won't ruin everything."
His eyes glinted.
-Glint
"I'll let you do that yourself."
With that, the green shape let go of the grills it was holding—leaving behind only silence…
And a king clutching an egg, unaware that misfortune itself had chosen him as its favorite toy.
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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.