Solo Leveling in Westeros

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The snow kept falling, flurries dancing like pale ghosts in the night sky. The priestess of R'hllor lay half-buried in frost, red robes clinging to her like bloodied silk. Her hand still throbbed from where he had crushed it beneath his boot, her limbs aching from the fall. But it wasn't the pain that bothered her. 

It was him. 

Aeron Grim. 

He did not descend from the trees. He appeared just like that, drawn out from the very shadows, replacing the earlier figure that she saw, his eyes glowing faintly violet, his presence wrong in a way the priestess could not name. 

She tried to move, to stand but the moment she shifted, he was already upon her. Ruler's Authority, like an invisible hand shoved her back down into the snow, unyielding, his pressing against her collarbone with crushing force. 

"Don't even try." 

His voice was low and calm. But the sort of calm that came just before a blade slid into flesh. 

He stared down at her, and for a moment, the only sound was the creak of the trees and the crackling of dying fire in the distance where Beric fought for borrowed breath once again against his shadow soldier. 

"I've asked this before," Aeron said coldly. "To others like you. Before I got rid of them as well." 

He leaned in slightly. "What is the—" 

"Why does the Lord of Light seek your end?" she interrupted. 

Her voice was steady, despite the weight pressing on her chest. Her eyes glimmered with both fear and curiosity. "Why does he want the Night King's death as well?" 

Aeron tilted his head slightly. 

She continued, her breath coming in white plumes, "Why are you hunted by the Others and the gods alike? I've heard whispers, from fire and flame of all the champions sent to slay you. I know you've killed them." 

Her eyes narrowed as if trying to look through him. "Aeron Grim. Lord of Shadows. Bringer of dread and death. You are not of this world. And in their eyes... that makes you an intruder." 

She spat the last word like a curse, but Aeron's lips curled into a smirk. 

"Especially to my Lord," she said. "He hates all that is dark. All that crawls beyond his firelight." 

Aeron chuckled. It was not a mirthful sound. It was dry. 

"I've been to Asshai," he said, his tone mocking and thoughtful at once. "I've seen your temples. The flame rituals. The rivers that flow black, and your sisters dark magic, some of you even give birth to shadows that hunts people like demons." 

His eyes glinted. "Demon children, born of flame and sex. Darkness given flesh. And all of it done in the name of a 'Lord of light. It sounds a bit contradicting isn't it? You sure this red god of yours is a lord of light?" 

She smiled softly at that tired, sad, or perhaps proud. "Shadow cannot exist without light." 

Aeron smiled and stepped back, the pressure lifting from her chest. He turned, gaze casting off into the dark woods beyond. 

His reply came cool and smug as the wind, whispered over his shoulder. 

"Now they can." 

She blinked at that. And for a moment, silence fell between them. 

But then her voice rose again. Desperate, fervent. "Before you kill me let me tell you this... The prince that was promised..." she breathed. "It is him I sought. The one to unite the realm against the dark and the cold. Azor Ahai reborn..." 

She sat up slightly, brushing frost from her sleeve. Her voice wavered. "I heard the tales of your deeds. In the south and across the Narrow Sea before that. I thought...perhaps. But I've failed before." 

Her voice darkened with memory, regret and shame bleeding into her tone. "Stannis... and others. I saw greatness where there was only ambition. Flame shows only glimpses, never the whole truth. The red god makes no mistakes, only we do." 

Aeron turned halfway, his expression unreadable. She looked up at him again. 

"So I ask you," she said, voice low, reverent but skeptical, "are you him?" 

His eyes narrowed. For a heartbeat, nothing moved. 

The wind stilled. 

Aeron slowly turned, eyes narrowed. Violet light flared in his gaze, not from reflection, it was power. Authority and sheer presence. 

His voice came low, calm, and absolute. 

"I don't care about legends." 

A step forward. The snow didn't crunch beneath his feet. It submitted. 

"I don't care about prophecies." 

Another step. The air around him darkened subtly, like reality itself was bending to make room. 

"And I'm no damn prince." 

Now the priestess flinched not at the words, but at crushing feeling that came over here, she tried to rise. 

But Aeron's voice continued one last time. 

"I'm a Monarch." 

With that, he raised a single hand and snapped his fingers. 

Garm and a pack of shadow wolves burst forward. 

shadows of muscle, claw, and fang, blacker than moonless midnight, they launched and the snow exploded in their wake as they struck. 

The priestess had only just begun to scream when the world turned to silence. 

Garm landed atop her, jaws closing with a wet, final crunch. 

No flame. Or resurrection for her. 

Just the snow. 

Just the blood. 

And utter silence. 

Aeron stood above the scene, eyes glowing faintly in the cold dark. The air was still. 

"No more revivals for that bastard," he murmured to himself, barely above a whisper. 

Then, with no sound to mark his departure he vanished again. 

**** 

The light of Beric's sword seared through the gloom a sun aflame in his grasp, burning bright even in the presence of a mighty shadow soldier. 

Vaydris of Asshai moved like ink, fluid, silent and terrible. His form was humanoid, but only just his glowing eyes burned violet, the only expression of the hatred that lived inside him. 

Beric stood tall, flames billowing in his wake. 

"You are nothing but a demon born of darkness," he declared, lifting his blazing sword. His voice was righteous, but edged with fatigue resurrection had cost him, again and again at the hands of Aeron. 

Vaydris didn't answer. He never did. 

With a sudden surge, he launched his dark chains serpents of the abyss, slithering through the air, hungry for a neck to bind or a soul to crush. 

But Beric stepped forward into their path, his entire body turning to fire, pure and divine. The chains passed through him harmlessly, burning away into wisps of nothing. 

He raised his sword high, divine fire dancing along the blade's edge. The sword descended in a swift, righteous arc aimed to cleave the shadow in half. 

But 

Vaydris vanished in a burst of smoke. 

And Aeron was there. 

Gloved hand gripping the flaming sword mid-swing. 

Flames licked along his gauntlet, sputtered, and died. 

Beric's golden eyes widened. 

"Let me test a theory," Aeron said softly, the words filled with menace. 

And then 

He moved. 

Faster than thought. And brutal beyond comprehension. 

A flash of motion his arms crossed over, both hands stretched open and then slashed. 

A scissor motion. 

CRACK. 

Beric Dondarrion's head tore from his shoulders, his body cleaved between divine and dark. Blood sprayed, steam hissing off the falling corpse as it collapsed to its knees, then slumped forward, lifeless at last. 

His sword fizzled into ash. 

Aeron stood over the body, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. 

He exhaled once, a sharp breath. 

"At last." he muttered. 

And then ding. 

[You have defeated the Apostle of R'hllor.] 

[You have vanquished 6/8 Apostles] 

Beric Dondarrion's scorched corpse lay still at Aeron's feet. The light of the false sun had faded. All that remained was shadow and silence. 

Then another ding. Rang inside his head. 

[An Apostle is nearby.] 

The notification burned across Aeron's vision. 

He frowned. 

His gaze dropped to Beric's body headless, lifeless, utterly ruined. 

"No…" he muttered, voice low, edged with suspicion. "It's not him.." 

His violet eyes narrowed. A faint hum of unease coiled in his chest. 

He turned slowly his gaze drifting toward the mouth of the cave. The gnarled tree above it loomed like an ancient sentinel, its weirwood face red and still, surrounded by bones and roots. The ravens had returned now, perching in black lines like silent judges. 

Aeron stared into the cave's dark entrance for a moment. 

His thoughts raced like a thousand calculations in a single breath. 

'The old man...' Aeron muttered.

He had seen the visions. 

He had shown the path. 

He had spoken of fate like a god watching from a throne of roots. 

Aeron clenched his jaw. 

His voice was barely more than a whisper. 

"Don't tell me…" 

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