Skyrim System In Westeros

The usage of the Dragon Souls reduced the magical cost of dragon shouts, but this particular shout was unusual. Wright didn't know why but decided to persist regardless. Magicka rapidly converged, pouring out like an opened floodgate. Wright struggled to utter the first word.

"Od~~"

The sound was loud and showed no sign of fading as it spread. This dragon shout carried not only Wright's magicka but also the world's magicka, accompanied by a chill that radiated outward, lowering temperatures wherever it reached. Nymeria and the others, who had already ridden far away, heard Wright's voice and felt a cold wind sweep past them. Goosebumps rose on their skin as they considered stopping to see what was happening.

Wherever the "Od~~~" shout reach, a chill spread and the animals and birds in the Valyrian ruins fled in the opposite direction. Forest creatures scattered, and flocks of birds took flight. Nymeria, seeing the cold air rapidly expanding, realized Wright was casting magic even more powerful than the meteor showers and yelled, "Don't look back! Keep going!"

The first syllable of the dragon shout echoed across the entire Valyrian ruins. Despite consuming most of Wright's magicka, he adjusted himself and shouted the second word.

"Ah~~"

The second word drained even more magicka. Wright's remaining reserves were insufficient to sustain the shout, yet its effect didn't halt. Instead, it accelerated the alchemical potion's effects within him, transforming it into magic. The rapid conversion was agonizing, like drinking water only to have it forcibly expelled immediately. Pain wracked Wright's body, causing his limbs to convulse.

This shout, more piercing than the first, gathered even more magicka from the world, spreading faster than before. As it traveled, trees swayed violently in its wake, forming a visible expanding ring in the jungle.

The shockwave swept over Nymeria and her group, momentarily halting their hearts. Animals roared in terror, fleeing wildly. The shockwave disturbed the magic of the world, dispersing the mists and sweeping through the Valyrian ruins, reaching as far as Volantis, Mantarys, and even Astapor in the Slaver's Bay.

In Volantis, the streets were bustling as usual when the shout, accompanied by a wave of energy, swept through. Dust rose, tents collapsed, and goods scattered from market stalls. Everyone heard the roar and instinctively crouched down in confusion, clutching their chests in fear. No one dared to make a sound.

In the Red Temple, the priestess Melisandre stood amidst the chaos. The wave of energy passed through the walls, lifting her crimson gown. "A surge of magicka from the Valyrian ruins? Has Wright unearthed some treasure?" Ignoring the frightened temple inhabitants, Melisandre approached the altar, igniting flames to peer into Wright's future.

Wright, drained of magicka, could not abandon his effort. He grabbed the Dark Sister and sliced his wrist, letting his blood pool in the air rather than fall. The blood transformed into magicka, a desperate measure reserved for emergencies.

The red blood formed a sphere, which Wright ignited with magic. It dissolved into blue sparks, entering his body and rapidly replenishing his strength. Gathering all his remaining power, he shouted the final word of the dragon shout.

"Viing~~!"

Unlike the previous syllables, this one lacked grandeur. As the sound rang out, the dragon shout's magic forcefully drained Wright's reserves. His wrist wound sprayed blood, which vanished into the air. Magicka from across the vast Valyrian Peninsula converged on Wright, though ordinary people wouldn't perceive it. The nearby trees remained still, but Wright felt himself at the center of a magical storm.

"Ah!" Wright screamed in agony.

Lacking enough magicka, the storm began drawing from his life force. Tiny beads of blood seeped from his skin, turning into blue sparks that ascended into the sky. Immobile at the storm's core, Wright could only await death as his blood drained away.

The Crowned Wight emerged from the excavation pit, sensing the unnatural magical currents in the air. Observing Wright's bizarre state, it hesitated to act. As a remnant soul of a great warrior, its instincts urged caution.

Just as Wright's consciousness began to fade, a dull heartbeat sounded within him — then a second, a third, up to the seventh. The seven dragon souls within his body inexplicably awakened, struggling to escape. Seven yellow energy-formed dragon heads emerged from his chest, roaring and writhing as they sought freedom.

The Crowned Wight instinctively retreated, its warrior's instincts warning of danger.

The dragon souls, long imprisoned within Wright, seized this moment as an opportunity. They joined him in shouting the final syllable, though their intent was not to assist but to cry for help.

"Viing~~~!"

Seven deep voices echoed in unison. The immense magical storm that had engulfed the peninsula abruptly ceased, as if nothing had happened.

Wright's blood-drained, skeletal body began absorbing the magic, rapidly restoring vitality. The seven dragon heads retracted into his body as his life force returned, subdued once more by his draconic lineage.

The Crowned Wight, seeing that nothing catastrophic had occurred, materialized its giant sword and slashed at Wright with a crescent-shaped Blood-red magicka slash.

Fully healed, Wright dodged swiftly. With ample space in the wilderness, he conjured a glowing purple bow in his right hand.

"Arvak!"

His skeletal steed galloped toward him. Mounting swiftly, Wright drew the bowstring, conjuring a magical arrow.

"Let's see you handle this!"

The arrow struck the Crowned Wight as Wright rode off, loosing more arrows as he fled.

Though the dragon shout seemed to leave no immediate consequences, it had torn a rift somewhere in the world. Magicka began pouring through the breach in an unending torrent.

In the Red Temple, Melisandre stood before her flames, scattering powder into the fire. As her magic linked to the flames, she searched the infinite fragments of the future for Wright.

Suddenly, her magicka surged, and the altar flames doubled in height. She had never felt such ease using her powers. Intensifying her efforts, she finally discerned Wright's location within the fire.

"Wright Baratheon, what does the future hold for you?" Melisandre sprinkled more powder into the flames, expecting the future to reveal itself, but no vision emerged from the fire. She intensified her magical output, causing the flames to twist and rise, forming a small protrusion in the fire. As she leaned closer to examine it, the protrusion transformed into a flaming dragon's head, which lunged and bit her arm. Melisandre hastily withdrew her magicka, and the fiery head disappeared. She lifted her arm to find her pale skin marred by a ring of blackened holes.

---

The war had yet to officially begin, but restless nobles needed to find distractions. In the tourney grounds of Sunspear, Prince Doran Martell sat in the lord's seat, overseeing the spectacle. The stands on either side were packed with onlookers. Ashara Dayne was facing off against five knights in a trial of skill. Should she emerge victorious, she would be granted the title of "Sword of the Morning" by Prince Doran himself.

Before the Rhoynar migration westward, Dorne, embroiled in constant warfare, was divided into smaller kingdoms. Over time, the larger ones absorbed the smaller, leaving six principal houses, one of which was House Dayne. When the Martells unified Dorne without ever claiming the tittle of king, the Sword of the Morning title became a ceremonial honor conferred by House Martell. However, the tradition of defeating five knights from five other noble houses persisted as the final trial.

Ashara had already bested her kin within House Dayne. Her house's champion stood nearby, holding the ancestral blade Dawn, waiting to present it to her should she triumph.

Robb and Jon watched from the stands alongside Arianne Martell, who explained the tradition to them. Jaime Lannister sat to Arianne's right, his eyes fixed on the combat below. Tywin had once proposed a match between Jaime and the Dornish princess, but Jaime felt no affection for the woman beside him.

The five knights bore the crests of their respective houses on their surcoats, layered over their chainmail. To claim the coveted title, Ashara needed to defeat all five simultaneously.

A horn sounded, and the duel began. The five knights charged on horseback toward Ashara. Standing her ground, she waited until the horses were almost upon her before unleashing a torrent of flame from her hand, causing the mounts to rear in terror. The knights tumbled from their saddles, unhorsed.

The duel continued on foot, as neither death nor surrender had yet been achieved. Drawing two long swords from her back, Ashara cried out, "Ha!" Her entire body and both swords ignited with flames as she rushed toward her opponents. While the knights were formidable against ordinary foes, they struggled against Ashara's ferocious combination of swordsmanship and magic. Two of the knights had their armor slashed open and withdrew, signaling their surrender.

The remaining three spread out to attack her from different angles, but Ashara danced between them, her twin flaming swords a blur. It was less a defense and more a study of their techniques.

Suddenly, the flames engulfing her and her blades shifted from yellow to gold-red. Her swords, already glowing red-hot, melted into molten iron within moments, and she flung the liquid metal at her adversaries.

"Get out of the way!" she shouted. Ashara bore no grudge against them, and they lacked healing magic — molten iron would be fatal.

The spectators gasped as the molten metal arced through the air, scattering like fiery rain. Ashara stared at her empty hands, frozen in shock.

---

After the Braavos incident, Illyrio Mopatis had smuggled Daenerys Targaryen back to his home in Pentos. Witnessing Wright's magic and conferring with Oberyn and others, Illyrio became convinced that only dragons could challenge Wright. But dragons were long extinct. After much effort and expense, he procured three dragon eggs and brought them to his estate.

Daenerys, born after her family's fall, knew little of her ancestors' methods for hatching dragons. Illyrio had asked her, but she had no answers, so the eggs remained locked in a chest. Yet, Daenerys often took them out, drawn to their beauty.

One day, moved by an unexplainable impulse, she placed the eggs into a brazier. Her handmaidens, alarmed, ran to fetch guards, fearing Illyrio's prized treasures would be destroyed.

Illyrio arrived to find Daenerys cradling the eggs amid the flames, her hands unburned. He did not interrupt, instead quietly noting every detail of what he saw.

---

In Greenstone, Renly Baratheon, Qyburn, and Thoros of Myr felt surges of power coursing through their veins. Across Essos, warlocks in the House of the Undying found the shade of the evening more intoxicating than ever.

Euron Greyjoy gazed at the Valyrian steel arakh on Caggo's - The Corpsekiller - belt with an increasingly wicked grin.

In King's Landing, Malora Hightower nearly overturned her alchemy bench in excitement as she witnessed a white glow of Alteration magic. In the library, Leaf stood and gazed out a window, her senses attuned to the magicka around her. Her younger companion, still too young to understand, continued reading.

Beyond the Wall, the Last Greenseer awakened from a dream. The Night King raised his ice spear high, rallying the White Walkers with a silent gesture.

---

Wright, caked in mud, reforged his shattered ice armor with magicka. His body was riddled with wounds, many yet to heal. A flash of red light forced him to roll away through the sludge.

Mounted on Arvak, Wright kept his distance from the Crowned Wight, firing conjured arrows as he fled through forests and rocky terrain. Unfortunately, he reached a vast expanse of mud, where Arvak's legs became mired, slowing him enough for the Crowned Wight to close the gap. A spectral slash severed the steed's connection to this realm, sending it back to oblivion.

Boom! A wind-infused fireball erupted from Wright's hand, tearing through the forest.

"Feim... Zii... Gron..." A raspy voice, laden with magic, echoed from the woods.

The explosion shook the earth, toppling trees and scattering leaves, yet the Crowned Wight emerged unscathed, its translucent blue form shimmering as it adapted to its undead state.

Its soul, sealed within its body after death, had ensured it would awaken should any intruder disturb its rest. It carried not only the skills and memories of a masterful warrior but also an unyielding determination: fight until victorious or destroyed.

Elsewhere, Nymeria and Tyene had ridden over ten leagues. They dismounted atop a small hill, their hands trembling.

"That was Wright's magic, wasn't it?" Tyene asked, clutching Nymeria's hand.

"I don't know, but I'm staying here until he returns!" Nymeria declared.

Suddenly, the sun dimmed. A massive creature soared twenty meters above them, its wings nearly 200 meters wide. Its blood-red scales and spiked body exuded power, with a pale white underbelly and wings.

All sound ceased — the forest, animals, and even the wind fell silent. Only the rhythmic beat of its colossal wings stirred the air as it passed overhead.

---

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