Solo Leveling in Westeros

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The blizzard raged above the frozen wastes of the true north, an unrelenting curtain of snow and shadow, cold enough to steal the breath from the lungs of lesser men. Yet here, amidst the storm, four great dragons stood tall against the white fury, The Cannibal, towered beside the younger beasts, Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal.

At the center of them all stood Aeron and Daenerys Targaryen.

Dany's silver hair fluttered wildly, caught in the wind, her fur cloak whipping behind her as she stood beside Drogon, her hand tightly gripping Aeron's. Their gazes met, violet eyes to violet eyes, a moment suspended between frost and flame. Snow caught in her lashes, but her look held only warmth.

She leaned in without hesitation, her gloved hand rising to cup his cheek, and pressed her lips to his.

It was no timid goodbye.

Their kiss was deep, fierce, her lips trembled not from cold, but from the ache of leaving. He held her like a man etching her memory into stone.

When they broke apart, their foreheads lingered, breaths mingling in clouds between them.

"Be careful," Aeron said lowly, with a half-smirk that didn't reach his eyes, "and do try to make it back to King's Landing quickly. Otherwise, Tyrion might bungle something in your absence. And if the other lords arrive to find both new monarchs missing while the golden dwarf is sitting in the iron throne, they'll uh..." He gave a mock sigh. "They might think it's another Lannister scheme."

Dany gave a soft laugh, her eyes glimmering in the snow.

"I will," she said, voice light but eyes heavy with concern. "Don't worry."

Her expression shifted as she looked over his face one last time. "You be careful as well, and return to me at once when you're done with these… creatures."

Aeron nodded solemnly, and for a breath, something softer crossed his face rare and human.

"I will."

She smiled faintly, her hand sliding down from his face before she turned and approached Drogon. He lowered his massive head, allowing her to mount, his wings twitching as if he too felt the weight of the parting. With practiced ease, she climbed atop him, seating herself firmly.

A blast of fire spewed from Drogon's maw as he roared to the sky, announcing their departure.

Rhaegal and Viserion lifted their heads, responding in kind with guttural cries, their eyes locked on their elder brother. And then, with a great beat of wings, Drogon surged into the air, the snow spiraling violently around him. Viserion and Rhaegal followed close, rising beside their queen.

Aeron watched them ascend, his hand raised against the gales, eyes never leaving Dany's figure as she looked down once more. He raised his voice against the storm,

"Keep your eyes open until you reach the wall!"

Dany nodded, her silver hair trailing behind her.

Then she was gone, swallowed by the white storm, the three dragons vanishing in the blizzard sky.

Aeron's breath lingered in the air. The wind grew colder.

He turned slowly, facing The Cannibal, whose reptilian eyes locked onto him with a flicker of understanding. With a silent gesture, no words, just a nod the ancient dragon beat its wings. The sound alone shook the ice beneath them. Then Cannibal lifted into the air, shadowing the path the others had taken.

Alone now in the white silence, Aeron stood still, his dark cloak billowing in the wind.

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THE SKIES OF THE HAUNTED FOREST -

The sky was white, even here away from the land of always winter, white as bone, white as death.

A blinding curtain of frost stretched as far as the eye could see, swallowing sky and earth alike in its relentless, frigid tide.

Daenerys Targaryen had flown through tempests over Slaver's Bay, faced black skies over the Narrow Sea, and soared through war-fire above Meereen. But this storm was wrong. Not natural. Not born of the sky.

It was dead.

The moment the Wall came into view, a knot in her chest loosened, but only slightly.

"There," she whispered, leaning forward atop Drogon. "The Wall."

That colossal slab of ice loomed ahead, vast and grim, stretching across the world. Towering hundreds of feet into the sky, its frosted surface glinted faintly, barely visible through the swirling mist.

Daenerys could see movement atop the battlements, black specks. Men of the Night's Watch, rangers, crouched figures peering up into the storm-filled sky. She saw one of them stumble backward in what looked like fright. Another ran along the walkway, perhaps sounding the horn.

Her lips curled slightly, not in arrogance, but in weariness. She pulled her cloak tighter, her voice barely audible against the wind.

"The Forest wasn't like this when I passed here on my way north to Aeron…"

She looked behind her. Viserion and Rhaegal flanked Drogon's tail, their wings gliding with precision, their heads low, eyes scanning the haze. They felt it too.

Daenerys turned her gaze forward again.

"But at least," she murmured, breath fogging, "we're out of that white hell…"

Then she heard it.

Not a scream.

Not wind.

A sound that did not belong to the living world.

A dragon's cry, deep, echoing, rumbled the very air.

Her blood ran cold.

She snapped her head around mid-flight, eyes wide.

"The Cannibal!" she gasped.

Far below and behind, near the line where the forest met the snows, the haunted forest, black with dead trees a shadow writhed against the white. Not flying. Not soaring. Struggling. Enormous wings thrashed against invisible weight, the blur of movement broken by flashes of something unnatural, shards of frost clinging to the Cannibal's wings like disease, spreading.

A flicker of black fire spewed skyward, desperate and choked.

"No," she whispered, heart beginning to hammer. "He's under attack!"

Without thinking, Daenerys yanked hard on Drogon's neck, pressing her knees into his scaled neck and commanding him in High Valyrian to turn back.

But Drogon didn't obey.

The great black beast shuddered beneath her but continued forward, eyes fixed on the Wall. Rhaegal and Viserion remained steady in their flight as well. Drogon's wings trembled, not in fear, but with hesitation and resistance.

Daenerys gritted her teeth.

"Drogon, turn back! I command you!" she shouted, voice rising against the gale.

But the dragon only gave a rumble of protest, shaking his head violently before pressing forward, flying faster, as if determined to reach the Wall and away from the forest.

She twisted in her saddle, eyes scanning desperately through the fog. The Cannibal was now barely a shape, just a shadow being swallowed by the storm behind her.

Her breath caught.

Something else was moving in the snow. Not one shape, many. Dozens. Hundreds.

Barely visible.

The forest below was no longer just trees and cold it had become a battlefield.

One she could not reach.

Her hand gripped the reins tighter, torn between fury and fear. The blood of the dragon in her screamed to fight, to fly back. But Drogon refused. Not out of cowardice… but as if some deeper instinct knew what she could not yet see.

The Cannibal soared just above the tree-line of the haunted forest, wings thundering against the storm, And the frost…

It clung.

At first, it was only a few thin veins of white that stretched along the base of his wing joints delicate, almost spiderweb-like. But they grew. Spread. Alive in a way frost should not be.

The Cannibal let out a thunderous, gnarled roar and beat his wings harder, but the weight began to grow.

With every flap, with every gust of wind that struck him, the frost crept farther. It crawled across his wings like living chains, locking joint by joint.

With a roar of defiance, he tilted one wing and turned sharply mid-air, great fangs bared to the wind. His jaw unhinged, and with a deafening roar, he unleashed a torrent of black flame upon himself.

Fire engulfed his left wing. The air cracked. Trees below withered and screamed in the heat.

But the frost did not melt.

The Cannibal screeched in confusion, flailing in the air. He clawed at himself mid-flight, massive talons slashing against his own shadow hide where the frost clung. It tore. Still, the cold remained spreading like rot through meat.

The dragon spiraled once, wings trembling, and spat another line of fire, this time down across his own legs. They vanished in flame, smoke curling high

But when the fire faded, the frost was still there.

And now it climbed. Like a rising tide of ice. Past his haunches. Across his spine. Over his back.

The Cannibal let out a shriek of fury and confusion, deeper than any he had released in battle, and flapped harder. He tried to rise.

But his right wing got stiff.

The left slower.

The air could no longer hold him. The great beast began to tilt, balance giving way to gravity.

And still… the frost climbed.

It reached his neck.

And the Cannibal, in one last defiant act, turned his head inward and unleashed fire directly onto his own torso.

A suicidal blaze. Pure defiance.

The fire scorched bright against the white storm, but the frost, impossibly, froze it mid-air. The flames turned to crystal shards and dropped harmlessly to the earth like snowflakes.

His roar died in his throat.

And then, at last, the frost reached his eyes.

Those terrible, ancient eyes, as old as the dance of the dragons. They dimmed. The pupils froze mid-contraction. The light went out.

And the Cannibal began to fall.

His wings, now solid sheets of ice no longer moved. His limbs were locked in frozen death.

A great, unmoving titan of shadow and white, the Cannibal tumbled from the sky like a fallen god. Through clouds and fog.

And below, the haunted forest waited to receive him.

There was no roar.

No scream.

Only the sound of a mountain breaking, when he hit the ground.

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