One day, two weeks later, Viserys was doing his Sword Training as usual.
Sweat streamed down his head like a creek and ran into his eyes, making it almost impossible for him to open them.
But his hands gripped a Wooden Sword tightly, and his eyes were fixed on Ser Barristan's wrist. He tried to predict the position of the next cut from that slight movement.
Every block allowed the force of Ser Barristan's cleave to travel up his arm and through his body, causing his mind to briefly waver.
"Focus, Your Highness." Barristan's serious voice echoed across the training ground. "On a real battlefield, a moment of distraction will cost you your life. Your enemies will not spare you because of your age."
"Mhm," Viserys squeezed a grunt from his throat in response, pulling his attention back.
He could feel this body growing stronger at an abnormal rate. From the most basic sword grip to the current sparring, Barristan had secretly raised his training intensity to the standard of a Proper Knight.
Although he still used a Wooden Sword due to strength issues, it was astonishing considering he had only started training for about a month, and he was just over five years old.
Viserys didn't know this, however, since his original body hadn't trained, and since this was a World of Dragons and Magic, he just assumed his talent was slightly better than an average child's.
Although Barristan was surprised by Viserys's talent, the Dragon King Bloodline of the Targaryen Family was special, and each generation might produce individuals with unique talents.
He also assumed that Viserys had awakened some kind of Bloodline Talent, which seemed perfectly plausible.
"That's enough for today." After an unknown amount of time, Barristan finally announced the end of the day's training. Viserys just waved his hand; he felt his bones aching all over, and every muscle was swollen and sore.
But he had to admit that the feeling of tangible strength growth was addictive. Viserys dragged his disobedient legs off the training ground, his mind set on immediately soaking in a steaming bath to relax.
Just as he stepped out of the training ground, a hoarse "caw—" sounded, and a crow landed on a stone next to the training area.
At first, he thought it was a Maester's Raven resting because it was tired of flying, as ravens were fierce, carnivorous birds, and thus no other birds could exist in The Red Keep.
But the moment his gaze caught it, Viserys instantly felt cold sweat run down his back.
The crow he saw actually had three eyes. Two were indistinguishable from those of an ordinary crow, showing vigilance in their black gaze, but directly above its brow was a blood-red eye.
That eye looked like a burning Ruby, emitting a dazzling light. At this moment, it tilted its head and stared intently at Viserys with all three eyes.
The Three-Eyed Crow—why would it come to King's Landing? This shouldn't be happening. After all, he had only been transmigrated for just over a month, hadn't touched the wheel of history, nor changed any plot lines, and certainly shouldn't have attracted the attention of this figure.
In the original work, the Three-Eyed Crow told Bran that he needed a weirwood's assistance to activate his ability, and now, except for The North, the weirwood trees south of The Neck were basically all chopped down.
There should only be a few left in the Riverlands and The Vale, in the territories of families who still worship the Old Gods. There's also one in the center of the Isle of Faces, and perhaps some remaining in the remote depths of the Red Mountains in The Reach to the south.
In any case, its appearance in King's Landing was in itself an extremely dangerous sign.
Viserys merely glanced at it, pretended not to notice anything unusual, and followed the Maidservant to wash up. However, a massive storm had already erupted in his heart, and his spirits sank straight to the bottom.
He felt certain that this thing was here for him. Was it because his transmigrator soul had disturbed some damned thread of fate?
He was in a state of distraction the entire afternoon. The blood-red eye repeatedly flashed in his mind. At dinner, the table full of meticulously prepared dishes tasted like chewing wax to him.
The Maid who served him seemed to notice the Prince's abnormality, but silently attributed his silence to the fatigue of training.
Night completely enveloped The Red Keep. Outside the window was pitch black, and Viserys lay on the soft bed, completely sleepless. The terrifying image of Bloodraven and the Three-Eyed Crow kept circling in his mind. Now he was certain: that thing was here for him.
Sure enough, after a short while, Viserys felt a strange drowsiness forcibly descend upon him. It wasn't natural sleepiness; it was more like a mental kidnapping, and his consciousness was dragged into a cold, viscous vortex.
When the feeling of weightlessness disappeared, he opened his eyes again and found himself in an unfamiliar environment.
"You are very special, little one."
The voice came from behind, dry and hoarse, like tree bark scraping. Viserys spun around abruptly, his heart practically leaping out of his throat. What did he see?
Beneath a gigantic weirwood that defied description, a tall figure was half-embedded in the gnarled roots. He wore a ragged Black Cloak, reduced to nothing but a skeleton.
The most terrifying thing was his face: the spot where his left eye should be was occupied by pale roots, which were deeply embedded in his eye socket, seeming to have become a part of his body.
His remaining right eye was blood red, like solidified fire, and the Three-Eyed Crow perched on his shoulder, its three eyes also fixed on Viserys.
"W-who are you?" Viserys let his voice tremble just right, and like someone who had suffered a shock, he took a step back. "Where is this? Am I dreaming?"
Bloodraven let out a laugh that sounded like a cough: "Hah... a dream? You could say that. This is the seam between reality and dreams." His 'good' eye—if one could call it that—glowed red and narrowed slightly. "But you... your thread of fate is shrouded in mist. I cannot see clearly. You are not entirely you, little one."
Viserys's heart clenched, but he replied with a bewildered expression: "I don't understand what you're saying. I am Viserys Targaryen. You still haven't answered me, who are you?"
"Targaryen? Perhaps. I am a Targaryen too, Brynden Rivers. Have you heard that name?" Bloodraven's voice was flat, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself.
"Brynden Rivers? I have heard that name. You are Brynden Rivers? Then you are not a Targaryen; you are just a Bastard." Viserys adopted the arrogant look appropriate for a spoiled, unruly child, emphasizing the three words 'just a Bastard'.
"Discussing these things is meaningless. I brought you here only to tell you that I see something far more terrible approaching—it is the extreme cold from the end of the world, and the breath of death is spreading like a tide, enveloping all things. Long Night is coming. We need all our strength to fight it. Winter is coming, child."
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