GoT Shadowborn: The Rise of Ashford

Ethan stood alone in the dim cave, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. The stone walls loomed around him, cold and unwelcoming, their jagged edges reminding him that this place, this world, was no longer his. He wasn't in his penthouse anymore. He wasn't in New York. He wasn't even human, not in the same way he had been before.

His muscles were alive with power, but there was an unsettling emptiness, a hunger that gnawed at his insides. He could feel it now, deeper than any physical craving. It wasn't just thirst. It was something more primal, a need to dominate, to conquer, to feed. His senses were sharp, razor-edged, but it wasn't enough. He had to learn control—control over the power that surged through him, control over this new identity that was rapidly becoming his.

Then, just as he was about to succumb to the restless gnawing inside him, a sound pierced the stillness. It was soft at first, just a rustling in the underbrush outside the cave. But to Ethan, it was as clear as day. A heartbeat. A presence. Something small, something vulnerable.

A deer.

He could hear it clearly now, the soft snap of twigs as it moved through the forest, its footsteps gentle but steady. A flicker of motion, a brief shadow in the distance. He could smell it too—its scent filling the air, rich and earthy.

Instinctively, his body shifted, his muscles coiling as if to spring. The hunger in his chest flared to life once more, but this time it was different. He wasn't going to give in to the hunger. He was going to control it. This was the moment he would learn—learn to harness the speed, the strength, the power that he had yet to fully understand.

He crept toward the entrance of the cave, moving with a silence that was unnatural, as though the world itself was holding its breath. The ground beneath him was soft, damp from the recent rain, but his feet were as quiet as the wind.

Slowly, he peered out, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the forest. The deer was grazing in a small clearing, its back to him, unaware of the predator watching. It was a young buck, its antlers still small but sharp, its coat a mixture of browns and whites that made it blend almost perfectly with the surrounding trees.

His heart thudded in his chest—not out of fear, but anticipation. The hunt was on.

Ethan took a slow, measured breath, and in that moment, everything felt sharper, clearer. His mind raced, his body humming with the power he hadn't yet fully mastered. He could feel the air shift around him, the wind brushing against his face, the heat of the sun filtering through the trees. Every sound was amplified—the rustling leaves, the distant trickle of a stream, the heartbeat of the deer.

The hunger inside him roared.

He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. He knew he could move faster, stronger. He didn't have to think. He just had to do.

Without warning, he moved.

His body shot forward, faster than he could have ever imagined. The air seemed to bend around him as he closed the distance between himself and the deer in the blink of an eye. His legs burned with the effort, but the power that surged through him pushed him forward, unrelenting.

The deer turned, startled by the sudden movement, but it was too late. Ethan's hand shot out, his fingers closing around the creature's neck with terrifying precision. The deer struggled for a moment, but there was no escape. Ethan squeezed, his newfound strength overwhelming the animal's resistance.

With a sharp crack, the deer's neck snapped, its body going limp in his grip.

Ethan stood over it, panting, his heart racing. The hunger, the power, the control—all of it surged within him, a cocktail of raw strength and deadly intent. The world around him felt distant, as if he were no longer a part of it, but something beyond it. Something unstoppable.

Ethan stood in the clearing, his blood still hot with the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline pounding in his veins. The deer lay at his feet, lifeless, its eyes wide and glassy in the fading light. His heart thudded in his chest, the rapid beat of survival. Yet, something deeper churned inside him—a strange emptiness that had nothing to do with hunger. This was not just about the kill. It wasn't about survival anymore. The world around him was a far cry from what he had once known, and the weight of that truth pressed heavily upon him.

The cave had become his refuge, a solitary place to gather his thoughts. It had a damp, earthy smell, the kind of scent that only caves in the wilderness carried. The walls were rough, jagged stone, dark in the low light, and the faintest echo of the wind outside whispered through the entrance. His bare feet were cool against the stone floor, and he realized with a disoriented sort of clarity that he was no longer concerned with comfort. In fact, comfort felt... distant, alien. His body had adapted already, more rapidly than he had expected, but his mind was slower to catch up with the reality of what he had become.

He ran a hand through his thick, messy hair. There was no mirror here, but he knew that the hunger, the strange power swirling in his blood, had left its mark. He was not the same man who had walked the bustling streets of New York City just days ago.

Ethan glanced out of the cave entrance again, the dying light of day filtering through the trees. The wind rustled the leaves, and the world felt alive with promise—yet, it was an unfamiliar promise. A promise of something unknown, and Ethan had no choice but to rise to it.

His senses flared, as if his body had never fully adjusted to its new form. He could smell the dampness of the earth, the fresh scent of pine and wildflowers carried on the evening breeze. The coolness of the air felt sharp in his lungs, reminding him of the chill in his bones, though the physical sensation didn't seem to bother him anymore. He didn't need warmth; the hunger in his chest was more than enough to keep him alive.

His eyes tracked the distant woods. I need to move. I need to build.

Without another thought, he turned back into the cave, stepping over the carcass of the deer. His mind immediately went to the next task—fire. A campfire. His old life had taught him how to start a fire. He had been an avid camper, even if only as a hobby, and that knowledge was going to prove invaluable now.

His eyes darted around the cave, searching for what he could use. The darkness of the cave was alive with the potential of tools and materials. The shadows clung to the rough stone walls, but there was enough light to make out details. It was an isolated place, untouched by civilization, and Ethan realized that would be both his greatest asset and greatest challenge. He had no tools, no comforts of the modern world. Everything here was raw, primal.

He reached down and ran his hands through the dirt at his feet, testing it. Then he dug deeper, his fingers scraping against something sharp and jagged. A stone. He grinned. It wasn't much, but it would serve. Grabbing the stone, he headed outside the cave, his movements sharp and purposeful.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest floor. The light was faint, but Ethan's senses were sharp enough to navigate without it. He walked carefully, keeping his movements slow and deliberate as he scoured the forest for wood. The trees surrounding him were tall and imposing, their trunks thick with age. Most were pines, the evergreen needles giving off a fresh, sharp aroma in the air. Ethan noted the smoothness of their bark and the low, twisting branches that made perfect kindling.

Twigs. Dry branches. He could hear the snap of brittle wood as he carefully collected a pile of small, dry twigs, enough to start the fire. His enhanced senses could detect the best pieces, the driest, most flammable parts of the branches. It was a delicate balance, the first step in making the fire. If he rushed this, it would be a waste of energy and time.

Ethan had a feeling he couldn't afford to waste time. Not now.

As he continued his search, he noticed the underbrush—a carpet of damp, wild vegetation that would only make things more difficult. But there was also a dryness to the air as the night descended, the coolness settling over the forest like a blanket. He needed a bigger fire, something with lasting heat, something that would ward off the chill of the night.

He also needed a way to make the fire larger, something that would give him the warmth of a real campfire. The thought of feeling the heat again, of sitting by a fire with the sounds of crackling flames, reminded him of the days he spent camping as a kid with his father. Those memories came in brief flashes—tents, laughter, the comfort of knowing the world outside was temporarily shut out.

This is what I've lost.

The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach. He wasn't just hunting for food. He was hunting for something far more elusive: connection. The warmth of human touch, the simplicity of being surrounded by people who weren't afraid of him. In his old life, he had everything—money, status, connections. But none of that meant anything now. In this strange world, he was alone.

Ethan's fingers tightened around a branch he had found, and he shook the thoughts from his head. Focus.

He moved through the trees, gathering larger branches now. His strength—raw and untested—allowed him to break them with ease, snapping them in half to form a pile for the fire. There was no sense in using brute force when precision was needed, so he took his time, ensuring each piece was just the right size for kindling. The fire would need to burn, and it needed a steady base to grow.

He was making progress.

When he returned to the cave, his pile of wood was sizable enough to create the fire he needed. He began stacking the twigs into a small teepee shape, a structure that would allow the fire to grow with little effort. His movements were methodical, but the longer he worked, the more aware he became of his isolation.

Would they trust me? he thought, as he arranged the last of the wood. Can I survive this way? Can I find people here who will see me as something more than a monster?

He wasn't sure. There were too many questions, too many unknowns. He didn't know who or what ruled this land. He didn't know if there was even anyone out there who would listen to him, who wouldn't see his new form as a threat. After all, the people here lived in a world where war was constant, where survival was the only rule that mattered.

Ethan glanced down at his hands, streaked with blood from the deer he had killed, and the reality of the situation hit him.

In his old life, he had been a man who thrived on strategy, on power. But power in this world had a different taste. It wasn't the same as the boardrooms of his former life or the legal battles he had once dominated. No. In this world, power was raw, elemental. It was about survival, about winning the loyalty of those who could help you shape the world around you.

The fire crackled to life in front of him, the small flames licking at the wood, casting long, flickering shadows against the cave walls. Ethan sat back and watched as the flames grew, its heat radiating from the center, though it didn't touch him. The warmth, the comfort, was gone from his life, but the fire remained. It was something to hold onto, something that still had the power to change the world.

His mind wandered again to the possibilities, to the people he would need to meet, the ways he could begin to influence this world. What would they see when they looked at him—this man who wasn't quite man anymore? What would it take to make them trust him, to make them follow him?

I need a name, a story... something that makes them listen. Something that makes them think I'm not just some rogue predator in the dark.

With those thoughts swirling, Ethan took a deep breath. The fire flickered, sending sparks up into the air. He would need patience. He would need cunning. But above all, he would need to change.

And I'll do it on my own terms.

For now, though, the night was his. And in that solitude, he would learn the ways of this world. And when the time came, he would strike.