Year 298 of the Yin-Geng Calendar.
At the world's end, beyond the western edge of the Sunset Sea, a red comet blazed across the heavens. On both the continent of Westeros and across the Narrow Sea in Essos, countless interpretations arose about what this crimson omen signified.
In the Riverlands, the lords proclaimed it a sign of victory for Edmure Tully in the coming war—only for Jaime Lannister to crush the Riverland armies, besiege Riverrun, and leave the region ravaged.
In King's Landing, within the Red Keep, sycophantic courtiers declared it a divine miracle from the Seven, a celestial salute to King Joffrey Baratheon. As for how that prophecy turned out... well, time told the truth.
But only those who commanded powers beyond mortal comprehension knew the comet's true meaning. It heralded the return of dragons—the resurgence of magic itself. In the tales of the television series, this red comet witnessed the birth of Daenerys Targaryen's three dragons and guided her toward the Red Waste, where her destiny began to unfold.
It was there that Daenerys met the first great turning point of her life—the beginning of her long road of conquest, the path that would make her the fabled Dragon Queen.
For Marco, too, the red comet marked a turning point. He intended to draw that very star from the heavens and forge from it a wellspring of magic for his empire.
Marco's goal was nothing less than the dawn of a new magical age—not to rely merely on the soldiers granted by his system to conquer a single kingdom. Westeros was but one stage; Marco sought to command the entire world.
This was the covenant he had forged with the Old Gods. By now, Marco understood the truth of those so-called deities of the North: they were remnants of an ancient "God-Creation Project" by the Aeling people.
Over the long ages, however, they had fallen under the influence of alien gods, their divine power waning, their consciousness fragmenting, their might fading—until the Faith of the Seven seized the chance to invade their domain.
At this moment, Marco and his companions had gathered in a mountain valley near Griffin's Roost. Beneath his feet lay a massive magic circle he had spent two months constructing—a pentagram array born from his own rune magic.
The pentagram was formed of a ring and a five-pointed star, a design that could be drawn in a single stroke. Across the myths and creeds of Blue Star, the pentagram had long been the symbol of sacred sealing.
Marco had studied it for years. Perhaps it was fate—or the influence of his homeland's culture—but his rune magic aligned perfectly with the pentagram's structure.
His array was drawn from powdered obsidian, precisely shaped under his meticulous control of mana. The five-meter-wide pentagram gleamed like a flawless work of art.
At its five points sat gemstones representing the five elements:
Yellow citrine for metal,
Turquoise for wood,
Blue crystal for water,
Ruby for fire,
Brownstone for earth.
On each gem, Marco had etched delicate runes—a labor that cost him immense effort and time. In the center of the pentagram rested a single enchanted obsidian stone engraved with binding incantations.
Marco stood upon it, for he would personally command the array's operation. To ensure nothing went wrong, he had also brought several assistants.
Above, the red comet aligned perfectly with his position in the sky. As he began chanting in High Valyrian, the magic circle came alive, glowing with strange light. At each point of the star stood one of his allies—Maeve, Moonshadow, Nymph, Brynden, and Daenerys—each holding a gemstone, ready to channel backup energy.
The chanting grew louder, like a blade rending the heavens. Somewhere in an unseen dimension, colossal silhouettes began to stir—phantoms of the Twelve Prime Gods, once glorious, now fading shadows.
Rivers, flame, earth, storm, thunder, rainbow, mist, desolation, death, life, flora, fauna, mountains, seas, past, and future—many of these gods had fallen or been corrupted in their war against the Outer Ones. Countless lesser deities had vanished altogether.
Now only seven gods remained, pouring the last of their waning power into the array. The climate of the North shifted violently—cold to heat, heat to chill—causing many to look skyward in uneasy awe.
The red comet, gliding through the heavens, seemed suddenly tethered by an unseen force. It slowed… then stopped. The unnatural sight sent a shiver through stargazers and mystics across the world.
Under the combined pull of Marco and the Old Gods, the comet began to descend—slowly, inexorably—toward the island of Skagos. Then, as if awakening to consciousness, it began to struggle violently, thrashing to break free from the magic circle's grip.
It was like a fish caught in a net, writhing, surging forward—but unable to escape Marco's power. The harder it struggled, the deeper it sank, like a man drowning in quicksand, doomed to await his end.
In the far north, within a mysterious citadel of ice and shadow, a pair of glacial blue eyes opened in the dark. For an instant, the raging winds of the world seemed to still.
A guttural roar shattered the sky. Its force—immense, otherworldly—swept south toward Skagos.
At that instant, the red comet convulsed, empowered by some unknown force, and exploded. A smaller crimson star burst free, streaking eastward like a living thing, while shattered fragments of red stone drifted into the outer atmosphere.
The roar stunned Marco to his core, leaving his mind momentarily blank. Seeing the sky's upheaval, he hastened to strengthen his binding chant. The remaining fragments began to coalesce, drifting downward like embers through a bleeding sky.
At Dragonstone, Melisandre, priestess of the Lord of Light, gazed upward in rapture at the miracle above. Turning to the astonished Stannis Baratheon, she cried:
"After the Long Summer, the stars bleed! Azor Ahai shall be reborn amid smoke and salt, to awaken the dragons from stone.My king, Stannis Baratheon—the Long Summer is over! The bleeding stars have appeared! You are Azor Ahai reborn!"
Meanwhile, across the Red Waste, Daenerys Targaryen stood with a torch in hand. Before her lay the pyre that would burn her husband, Khal Drogo. The witch who had cost her both husband and child was bound in chains beside it.
The gathered Dothraki stared at the strange sky in silence, awestruck. Daenerys, feeling a surge of power awaken within her, spoke with newfound conviction:
"I am Daenerys Stormborn. The blood of the Valyrian dragonlords runs hot in my veins.My khalasars—bear witness to my rebirth, and to the dawn of a new age!"
She cast the torch upon the pyre. Flames roared to life. The witch's screams echoed into the night, but no plea could ease her agony.
Daenerys stepped into the blaze, her gown igniting as the wind howled around her. The fire climbed higher and higher until it became a pillar reaching for the heavens, forcing all nearby to retreat.
Above, the glowing comet fragments, drawn by Marco's spell, descended slowly toward his array. Despite his shielding magic, much of their energy burned away in the fall.
When the last of the debris finally settled near the magic circle, Marco released his focus at last. Exhaustion washed over him, and before he could react, he collapsed where he stood.
Three days later, he awoke. Though his companions urged him to rest, he insisted on seeing the results. Supported by Maeve and Daenerys, he approached the fallen fragments.
Before them lay three massive black stones, shaped like petals. The scorched surface hinted at searing heat during descent, hiding their original form.
"Ding! Special structure detected: Vitality Spring (Mutated).Required materials: Elemental Altar, Mysterious Meteorite (???).Would you like to construct it?"
Marco stared at the system prompt in astonishment. Curiosity winning out, he confirmed. Golden light burst from his body, striking the meteorite shards.
The dark crust disintegrated, revealing intricate patterns and faint symbols. They vanished quickly—but Marco caught a single glyph before it faded: "Aed."
Using his Comprehend All Things and Mana Control skills, he analyzed the fragments' energy flow and symbols. His conclusion: these were relics of an unknown civilization—neither Deep Ones nor Aeling—something beyond this world.
"An extraterrestrial civilization…? Damn it, this world just keeps getting crazier.I only hope we never cross paths—but if my empire ever rivals Valyria's Freehold, I won't have to fear them."
When the light subsided, a colossal Vitality Spring stood before him, exactly like the one from his game. It rose over ten meters high and spanned more than two hundred square meters.
Atop its tiered stone layers grew a small, radiant tree. From its roots gushed two clear springs, their water endlessly flowing into a lower pool without ever spilling over.
Marco knelt, scooped some water in his hands, and drank.
A thunderous surge of power spread from his tongue through his entire body. Opening his system interface, he saw his mana points had risen to 240.
"Ding! Congratulations, Host! You have created the Vitality Spring and earned its recognition. Reward: Experience…"
"Ding! Hero level up! Please select an ability:
Basic Dark Magic – permits learning Tier-3 Destruction Spells, enhances their power.
Intermediate Offense – increases all melee units' damage by 10%.
Basic Destruction Magic – same as above.
Advanced Light Magic – permits learning Tier-3 Light Spells, enhances their power."
Marco chose Advanced Light Magic, then Intermediate Offense, advancing to Level 14. His strength and endurance now rivaled Maeve's.
He summoned his companions and crafted several obsidian cups, letting each of them drink from the spring. To his amazement, the magic water transformed them physically.
Brynden and Daenerys, in particular, showed remarkable change—their mana values rose to 50, though they still couldn't yet cast ranged spells.
Just then, a crackling sound came from the dragon egg tied to Brynden's belt—an egg Marco had insisted he bring for this very purpose: to hatch it.
Brynden quickly pulled it out. A tiny, lizard-like head burst through the shell, nibbling at the fragments. Spotting Brynden, it hissed—almost playfully.
Brynden's voice trembled as tears welled in his eyes.
"Hahaha… Aenys, do you see this? A dragon!The first dragon our house has seen since their extinction…"
Choked with emotion, his tone was thick with sorrow and awe. Though a bastard, Brynden had been raised on Targaryen lore since childhood.
After the civil war of the Dance of the Dragons, one dragon after another perished. Since then, reviving them had become the unshakable obsession of every Targaryen.
Yet he had never imagined that it would be him, the family's bastard son, who would one day witness a dragon's rebirth.
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