I rolled up my sleeve and placed my hand directly in the water.
The eel noticed immediately—felt the electrical signature of my hand, the warmth of my body heat in the water.
I reached out with my biokinesis, I wanted to understand its genetic structure.
As I touching the eel's body. I felt its cellular structure, the layers of muscle and skin and those fascinating specialized organs.
I dove deeper, down to the cellular level, reading the genetic code written in its DNA like a book in a language I was learning to read.
There.
The electrocytes—specialized cells, modified almost beyond recognition through millions of years of evolution.
Each cell was like a biological battery that could store electrical charge.
They were stacked in series, thousands of them running the length of the eel's body, and together they could generate massive voltage. Like battery pack of some electric car.
They can produce six hundred volts or more, enough to stun a horse or kill a human.
It was Incredibly complex after all it was the result of millions of years of evolution, but I could understand it. I could see how it worked at the most fundamental level.
And if I could see how it worked, I could replicate it.
I pulled my hand from the water. The eel settled back down beneath its driftwood in tank.
I gathered more biomass—another substantial pile of wood. Raw organic material to work with.
Then I began to create.
I used the eel's genetic code as a template, but I didn't just copy it exactly. I needed females—the eel I'd purchased was male, and I wanted a natural breeding population that could sustain itself.
So I modified the sex chromosomes, adjusted the hormones, ensured proper development of female reproductive organs.
I also enhanced their immune systems to prevent disease. Made them more tolerant of varying water conditions.
The process took hours. Three times, I had to stop and rest, Morra brought me food that I barely tasted—bread, cheese, some kind of fish stew. I ate mechanically, refueling my body so I could continue working.
Ghost came to check on me periodically, pressing his massive head against my leg in concern.
But I persisted.
One by one, three new electric eels took shape in the biomass before me.
By evening, three female electric eels swam in the enormous tank alongside their male counterpart.
The male eel approached one of the females cautiously, or might have been communication or courtship.
…
Today, despite my exhaustion from the previous day's work, I turned my attention to a different project. One that had been weighing on my mind since I'd left Westeros.
Among my possessions, carefully wrapped and preserved, was a small branch I'd cut from the heart tree in Winterfell's godswood.
It was no longer than my forearm, dead and dry now, but it had once been part of a weirwood.
I carried the branch out to the garden, to a spot I'd already selected. A clear area away from the manor house, where a large tree could grow without threatening the foundations.
The soil here was poor—rocky, thin, typical of the Braavosi coastline. Nothing like the rich earth of the North.
But that didn't matter. I didn't need good soil.
Sorro had gathered more wood at my request. a substantial pile of branches, logs, even whole saplings from olive trees. I'd also had him collect all the bush trimmings and dead plants from around the property. It was more than enough.
I knelt on the hard ground and placed the weirwood branch in a shallow hole I'd dug. Then I placed my hands on the pile of biomass and began to work.
The process was similar to what I'd done with the eels, but on a much larger scale. I broke down the collected plants, extracting every useful molecule—sugars, proteins, cellulose, lignin, water. Then I channeled it all into the dead weirwood branch.
Roots erupted from the base of the branch, it start plunging deep into the rocky soil. I guided them deeper, deeper, until they found moisture in the bedrock below.
The branch itself began to grow.
Leaves appeared—five-pointed, blood red, rustling in the sea breeze.
I poured more biomass into it, feeding its growth, accelerating what would normally take decades or even centuries into minutes.
The trunk thickened, growing wider than my arms could span. The branches spread into a canopy that cast dappled shadows across the garden.
When I finally stopped, exhausted and trembling, a weirwood stood before me.
Not as massive as the ancient trees in the North, but substantial. Twenty feet tall, with a trunk as thick as a barrel.
But it wasn't complete yet.
I approached the trunk, placing my hand on the smooth white bark. Then I reached out with my power, to carve it's trunk.
I didn't carve a human face. I carved the face of a wolf.
The snout emerged first, pushing out from the trunk. Then the eyes, alert and fierce. Ears swept back. Teeth bared in a silent snarl, It was face of a direwolf, inspired by Ghost.
I encouraged sap to flow, but not from eyes. Instead, it welled from the wolf's snarling mouth, red as blood, dripping down the white bark like wolf just had its pray.
"My lord?"
I turned to find Talea standing at the edge of the garden.
"Yes?"
"Lord Qorro Antaryon has arrived. He says he has the seeds you requested, and wishes to discuss your… agricultural projects."
"Tell him I'll be there shortly. I need to wash up first."
…
Qorro was standing by the window and gazing out at the garden where the weirwood was.
"Lord Stark," he said, inclining his head. Then his gaze drifted back to the window. "That… I was here in past, and there was no tree."
"No, I grew it."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out several cloth bags, each one tied with string and bearing a small wooden tag. "The seeds you requested. I had them gathered from every corner of city."
He laid them on the table one by one, reading the tags as he went.
I picked up each bag in turn, feeling their weight, already planning how I would approach each species. Different plants would require different modifications. "This is excellent work. More than I expected, and faster."
"My father believes in your work," Qorro said. "He has instructed me to provide whatever resources you require. Within reason, of course." He watched as I examined the seeds. "When can we expect results?"
" Within a few weeks, perhaps. Proper seed ready for planting? A month. I must understand them first, see how they grow, learn what makes them strong or weak. Only then can I improve them."
"Of course." Qorro moved back to the window, his gaze drawn once more to the weirwood. "Speaking of understanding things… there is something else you should know. Information that arrived this morning at the Sealord's palace."
The tone of his voice made me look up sharply. "What is it?"
"The red priests are looking for you."
My stomach tightened. "The red priests? Of R'hllor?"
"Yes. Apparently, word of what you did in King's Landing has spread. Bringing Lord Arryn back from death, healing the Lannister lord's son." He said the word with deliberate emphasis. "The priests of the Lord of Light have become very interested in you. They believe you might be… Champion."
"They think you might be Azor Ahai reborn. Or at the very least, a servant of the Lord of Light, whether you know it or not." Qorro turned to face me fully. "There has been fighting in King's Landing. The Faith of the Seven considers you an abomination, a demon who perverts the natural order. The red priests call you a prophet, a chosen one. The two factions came to blows in the streets near the Great Sept. Several people died before the City Watch restored order."
"It gets worse," Qorro continued. "When the red priests learned you had left King's Landing, they began searching. And they have learned you came to Braavos. Several of their number are already here, asking questions. More are coming."
'Well, I could use more hands to gather wood, for biomass.' I thought.
"How many?" I asked.
"A dozen at least, perhaps more." He paused. "Thus far, the Braavosi have treated them with the usual mixture of amusement and indifference we reserve for all religious zealots. But if they learn where you live…"
"They'll come here. To convince me to join their cause, or to test whether I'm truly what they think I am." I rubbed my face.
…