On the third floor of Evenfall Hall on the Isle of Tarth, Lord Selwyn Tarth sat by the window, holding his four-year-old daughter in his arms. Beyond the glass stretched the endless sapphire sea, calm and radiant beneath the sky.
"Brienne," Selwyn said gently, "House Tarth has a long history. Our lineage can be traced back to the Dawn Age, long before the Seven Kingdoms were formed. In those distant years, our ancestors ruled a small kingdom here on Tarth."
The little girl nestled against his chest, listening with wide blue eyes.
"Later," Selwyn continued, "when King Durran the Handsome of the Stormlands married Elenei, the daughter of our house, the blood of Tarth and Durrandon became one. From that day on, Tarth became part of the Stormlands."
Lord Selwyn Tarth was the Lord of Evenfall and a sworn bannerman of House Baratheon. In his arms was Brienne of Tarth, who would one day be known across the Seven Kingdoms as Brienne the Maid of Tarth.
At this age, she was still small and slender, nothing like the tall and powerful woman she would become. She clutched her father's sleeve, her freckled face full of curiosity.
"Father," Brienne asked suddenly, waving her small hand, "what about Garon the Dawn?"
Selwyn smiled.
Garon the Dawn was the most famous hero ever associated with Tarth, and Brienne adored the stories. More than that, her elder brother shared the same name.
"Garon lived during the Age of Heroes," Selwyn said. "They say he was peerless with a sword, noble in heart, and pure in spirit. He defended the weak and punished the cruel, saving countless lives in a time of chaos. For that, people called him Morning Light Garon."
Brienne leaned forward, listening intently.
"Legend says the Maiden herself, one of the Seven, was moved by his virtue," Selwyn continued. "She descended to the mortal world and gifted him a divine blade as a token of her favor. That sword was called The Maiden of Justice. It was said to cut through any steel and never dull."
These stories were known to every child on Tarth and recorded in the teachings of the Faith of the Seven. Lord Selwyn himself held Garon the Dawn in great reverence. That was why he had named his eldest son Garon Tarth, hoping the boy might one day live up to the legend.
Selwyn was about to say more when hurried hoofbeats echoed through the courtyard below.
"Lord Selwyn! My lord—disaster!"
The steward, Claude, burst into the hall, pale and breathless.
Selwyn stood at once. "What has happened?"
"The young master," Claude said, trembling. "He went to Cape Wrath this morning. He dove into one of the sea caves—he was searching for Garon the Dawn's sword. He hasn't come back up."
Selwyn's face drained of color.
Cape Wrath lay along the southeastern cliffs of Tarth, a place of jagged stone and violent tides. It was believed that Garon the Dawn had been born there, and rumor claimed his sword lay hidden in a submerged cave. But the seas there were treacherous, especially at high tide.
"Take me there. Now," Selwyn said hoarsely.
He did not even set Brienne down before rushing from the tower. With no time to argue, Selwyn mounted his horse with Brienne still in his arms and rode hard for Cape Wrath, surrounded by guards and servants.
When they arrived, the tide was already rising. Guards searched desperately among the rocks and cliffs, but there was no sign of the boy.
"Tell me exactly when he entered the water," Selwyn demanded.
Claude pointed to a thin, dark-skinned boy nearby. "Old Fike's son saw it happen."
The boy stepped forward, shaking.
"This morning," he said, "I saw a strange light in one of the caves—blue, with a hint of gold. I thought it was a trick of the sun. I told my friends. The young lord heard and asked me to guide him. By the time we returned, the water was already rising. Before I could stop him, he dove in."
The sea now swallowed the cave completely.
Selwyn felt his chest tighten as though crushed by iron. No child could survive so long underwater.
"Find him," Selwyn roared. "I don't care how—find my son!"
The guards obeyed at once.
Brienne tugged at her father's leg, tears streaming down her face. "Father… where is my brother?"
Selwyn could not answer.
Moments later, Brienne suddenly pointed.
"There!"
A pair of small legs in leather boots lay half-hidden behind a reef. The sigil of House Tarth—the sun and crescent moon—was visible on the leather.
"Garon!" Selwyn cried.
He rushed forward and fell to his knees beside the body. Garon's face was pale, lips purple, eyes closed.
Selwyn pressed his fingers beneath the boy's nose.
Nothing.
His world collapsed.
Then Claude shouted, "My lord—he still has a pulse!"
Selwyn grabbed his son's wrist. It was weak, but there.
"Save him!" Selwyn shouted.
The guards worked frantically, forcing seawater from the boy's lungs.
Darkness.
Zhao Xuan remembered the sound of a truck. The impact. Pain. Then nothing.
So this is death, he thought.
Then voices reached him.
"Garon… wake up…"
"Brother… don't leave me…"
Water burned in his throat as he coughed violently.
Air rushed into his lungs.
When Zhao Xuan opened his eyes, he saw unfamiliar faces—men in rough clothes, a crying little girl, and a man clutching him as though he were the most precious thing in the world.
Memories flooded in.
Garon Tarth.
Eight years old.
Son of Lord Selwyn Tarth.
Heir to Evenfall Hall.
Zhao Xuan understood.
He had not died.
He had become Garon Tarth of Westeros.