GoT Shadowborn: The Rise of Ashford

The fire had long since burned down to embers, leaving only faint wisps of smoke rising into the still air. Ethan stood in the darkness of the cave, the weight of the decision hanging over him like an oppressive fog. He had spent the past days here, alone with nothing but his thoughts, the walls of the cave closing in around him. The small comfort the cave had provided was quickly becoming a prison. The sound of his own heartbeat was all that filled the silence.

The world outside was calling to him, but it was the unknown that frightened him. He wasn't like he had been before—an ambitious billionaire who knew exactly how to navigate the world around him. He wasn't even sure how to navigate this new world, let alone survive in it.

I need to move. I can't stay here forever.

The decision came abruptly, almost impulsively. There was no plan, no clear direction—just an undeniable need to leave the cave and venture into the unknown. He had no idea where he was headed, only that the forest was his only option for now.

With the remnants of the deer wrapped around his back as a makeshift pelt, Ethan stepped out of the cave. His feet felt strange against the earth, bare and unprotected, but the discomfort was barely noticeable. He had long since adjusted to the new power running through his veins. The hunger, the strange sensations, had become part of him. His body had adapted faster than his mind, and though he was still learning to control the surge of strength within him, he felt more and more like a stranger in his own skin.

The forest stretched before him, an endless sea of trees, their towering trunks reaching toward the sky. The dense canopy above blocked most of the sunlight, leaving the ground beneath a carpet of shadows. Every direction seemed the same, an overwhelming expanse of trees and underbrush. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, a scent so thick it seemed to fill his lungs with every breath.

Ethan had been walking for hours. The forest didn't seem to end. He had no compass, no sense of where he was going—only an instinct, a pull that kept him moving forward. His enhanced senses, so attuned to the smallest sounds and movements, guided him through the wilderness, but even that felt isolating.

He had read the A Song of Ice and Fire novels in his past life, mostly for the character of Cersei. Her beauty, her ruthlessness—it had fascinated him. He never cared much about the politics of Westeros or the battles fought over thrones and kingdoms. No, it was Cersei who had captured his attention, her manipulation of power, the way she wove her own fate with a combination of ambition and sheer will.

Now, in this new world, power wasn't about wealth or manipulation. It was about survival. It was about the brutal reality of life outside the walls of civilization, where every moment could be your last. And as Ethan trudged through the endless forest, he felt that truth in his bones. This world was harsh, unforgiving, and the rules were unlike anything he had known.

Suddenly, the distant sound of shouting and clashing metal reached his ears. His body stilled, his senses on high alert. The wind carried the unmistakable noise of a battle. Shouts. Cries. The sounds of men fighting. It was coming from the north, just beyond a thick copse of trees.

Ethan paused, listening intently. The air was thick with tension, and though he couldn't see them yet, his enhanced hearing told him that the battle was close. He didn't know whether to approach or keep his distance, but one thing was clear—there was no ignoring the violence.

He crept closer, moving silently through the underbrush, his feet barely making a sound on the earth beneath him. With each step, the noise of the battle grew louder, the chaos more distinct. Shouting. The clang of metal on metal. And then, a scream. A cry that cut through the air like a knife.

Ethan's eyes narrowed as he slipped through a thick screen of leaves. He crouched low, peering between the branches. What he saw was a group of roughly thirty men—bandits, he could tell from their ragged clothing and crude weapons—attacking a small caravan. They were charging forward with brutal force, weapons raised high, striking down anyone who tried to defend the carts.

The merchants were clearly outnumbered, and Ethan could see the terror in their eyes. They were poorly armed, untrained, scrambling to protect their goods. A few men, their faces hardened by the struggle, fought back with what little they had—clubs, knives, anything to hold off the attackers. But it was clear that the bandits were winning.

Ethan's eyes flicked to the merchant leader—a stout man with a graying beard—who was frantically trying to rally his men. He shouted orders, his voice desperate, but his efforts were futile. Another merchant—a woman, her face pale with fear—was clutching a bundle close to her chest, trying to keep herself and her cargo safe.

Something inside Ethan twisted. He wasn't a hero. He had no reason to risk his life for these people. In fact, part of him wanted to stay out of the fight, to let the chaos unfold. But there was something about the helplessness of the merchants, the raw desperation in their eyes, that gnawed at him.

Why do I care?

His mind raced, trying to rationalize his hesitation. In his old world, he had been a businessman, a man who understood power. This was different—brutal, unforgiving. But as much as he told himself it wasn't his problem, he couldn't look away.

He clenched his fists, his instincts screaming at him to act. But he still wasn't sure what he was going to do. He was naked except for the deer pelt draped over his shoulders. His feet were bare. His only weapon was a rusted sword lying at his feet, left abandoned in the dirt by another fallen bandit.

Ethan's eyes flicked to the sword. His mind raced. He had never fought with a sword before. Not like this. He was no trained warrior. He had seen movies, read books, but none of that had prepared him for the brutal reality of combat. Even in his old world, the most he had ever used a weapon for was a few target sessions at the range, and that felt like a lifetime ago.

But there was no time to waste. The merchants were losing. Ethan's heart hammered in his chest as he grabbed the sword from the ground. It felt heavy in his hand—awkward, unbalanced. He could barely hold it properly, his grip slipping slightly as the metal of the blade dug into his palm. His gaze turned back to the fight. The bandits were advancing, their wild, uncoordinated attacks cutting down the defenders one by one.

Ethan's body moved before he could think. He dashed forward, running through the underbrush with that strange, supernatural speed that he still hadn't fully learned to control. But the sword? He had no idea what he was doing with it. His first swing was too wide, his arms unpracticed, and the blade struck nothing but air.

Focus.

He adjusted his grip, trying to find his footing. Another bandit swung a broad axe toward a merchant man, but Ethan moved faster. He swung the sword at the bandit's arm, the weight of the weapon nearly throwing him off balance. The bandit's blade missed its target, but Ethan's strike was far from perfect—it barely made contact with the man's arm, the sword bouncing off the hardened leather of his armor with a dull thud.

The bandit glared at him, growling in frustration, and swung back with a vicious snarl. Ethan barely dodged the blow, stumbling back as the axe swung through the space where his head had just been.

This is not going as planned.

But there was no turning back now. Ethan had stepped into the fray, and he would have to learn on the fly. His body was faster than his mind, but that didn't stop him from realizing just how out of place he was. The weight of the sword was clumsy, the motions unnatural, but he kept going. He was here now. He was in it.

And as the bandits closed in on him, something shifted. Ethan could feel the power surging within him—the raw strength, the speed, the instincts that pulsed through his veins like fire. He wasn't human anymore. He was something more.

He gritted his teeth, focusing as the chaos of the battle swirled around him. This wasn't about being perfect. This was about surviving....