ShadowLands Call.

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The harbor of Widow's Watch was restless beneath the twilight sky, waves crashing against the wooden piers as House Flint's men worked hastily to prepare the ship. Cold winds rolled off the sea, carrying the briny scent of saltwater and the promise of a long journey ahead. 

Aeron stood at the edge of the dock, his cloak billowing, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes drifted to the distant horizon, but his thoughts were elsewhere—across the realm, where his shadow soldiers had just delivered death to those who needed it most. 

He exhaled slowly, then spoke, his voice tinged with satisfaction. 

"It's done." 

The gathered men from House Flint looked at him, uncertain of his meaning. Their leader, a seasoned sailor with graying hair and a scar across his cheek, cleared his throat. "My lord?" 

Aeron turned to him, his smirk widening. "Nothing to concern yourselves with. Just the first ripple of a coming storm. And I'm not a lord, yet." 

The older man exchanged glances with his men, wary but knowing better than to ask questions. He had heard enough whispers about this man, about what had happened in Winterfell, and about the monsters that had moved in the night. The Flints were loyal to the Starks, but they weren't fools. If Bran Stark had given his orders, they would obey. 

"The ship is stocked and ready," the old sailor said. "We've given you fifteen of our best men. They're fighters and sailors both. If you need more—" 

"This will do." Aeron cut him off with a nod. "I don't need an army for where I'm going." 'i already do' he thought to himself. 

Behind him, Raya adjusted her sword belt, her piercing gaze scanning the ship as the crew finished preparations. Unlike the others, she wasn't merely following orders—she had thrown her lot in with him. And yet, as she watched his expression, a rare thing crept into her voice. 

"Why the grin, Aeron?" she asked, tilting her head. "What did you do?" 

Aeron turned to her, chuckling softly. "Just clearing the board. A few kings and lords needed to be… dealt with. Consider it an investment in a more interesting future." 

The look she gave him was one of mild exasperation. "isn't this just making enemies?" 

He stepped onto the wooden plank leading to the deck, not even bothering to look back. "I don't make enemies, Raya. I simply remove obstacles." 

She sighed, following him up, but there was an amused glint in her eye. 

As soon as they stepped aboard, Aeron turned to the crew. "We sail now. No more delays." 

The sailors scrambled into action, untying the last ropes, raising the sails. The wooden vessel groaned as it began to drift from the dock, the cold sea embracing it. 

Raya, standing beside him, suddenly narrowed her eyes. "We're leaving Westeros now? Just like that?" 

Aeron glanced at her, the flickering lanterns casting sharp shadows over his face. 

"Yes." 

Raya crossed her arms. "You said it yourself. You have enough power to take Westeros now. Why are we running?" 

Aeron turned his gaze to the dark sea, watching the waves break against the ship's hull. "Because someone else will try to take it after i do." 

She frowned, puzzled. "Who?" 

Aeron's smirk deepened. 

"Daenerys Targaryen." 

Raya blinked. For the first time in a long while, genuine surprise crossed her face. "A Targaryen? Alive?" 

Aeron nodded. "More than just alive. She has a claim, a purpose… and more importantly—" 

He turned to face her fully. 

"She has dragons." 

The wind howled around them as Raya stared at him, searching his face for any sign of jest. But there was none. 

"You want her dragons?" she asked, her voice edged with suspicion. 

Aeron's expression remained unreadable. "I want more than that. She craves the Iron Throne. More than anyone. But I won't allow it—not without an alternative." 

"An alternative?" Raya scoffed. "You're going to make her an offer?" 

Aeron turned back to the sea, his gaze fixed beyond the dark waves. 

"She'll listen. Or she won't." He shrugged. "Either way, the game changes. And that's not the real reason why im heading to Essos." 

Raya shook her head, exhaling. "I don't understand you. If Daenerys isn't the real reason for this journey, then what is?" 

Aeron didn't answer immediately. The ship had fully pulled away from the dock now, and the lanterns of Widow's Watch grew distant in the night. The air smelled of salt and destiny. 

Finally, he spoke, his voice lower, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to her. 

"Beyond Qarth, beyond Asshai, lies a land that most men don't dare speak of." He leaned against the railing, eyes locked on the endless abyss ahead. "The Shadow Lands. A place of mystery, danger, and unknown power." 

Raya's brows furrowed. "The Shadow Lands? What could you possibly want there?" 

Aeron exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the ship's railing. 

"I don't know." His voice was quiet now, thoughtful. "But something is pulling me there. I can feel it. And I know that whatever it is… it will be interesting." 

Raya exhaled, crossing her arms as the sea breeze tugged at her cloak. "Fine," she muttered, watching him carefully. "As long as you know what you're doing." 

Aeron didn't respond immediately. Instead, he simply smiled, a slow, knowing smirk curling his lips. 

With a thought, he pulled up his System Notification. 

[AERON GRIM] 

Job: Necromancer 

Title: All-Knowing (Instantly understand new concepts, +50% learning speed, Automatically identify items, creatures, and magic.) 

Level: 23 

Fatigue: 0 

HP: 1700 

MP: 2650 

Strength: 57 → 60 

Health: 39 → 42 

Agility: 29 → 41 

Intelligence: 58 → 61 

Sense: 29 → 32 

Available Ability Points: 9 → 0 

Passive Skill: 

Tenacity (Level 1) 

Skills: 

Ruler's Authority 

Perception: +10 to Sense when analyzing or strategizing.) 

Job-Specific Skills: 

Shadow Extraction (38/50 Soldiers Limit) 

Shadow Exchange 

Monarch's Domain 

??? (Unawakened Skill) 

Inventory: 

Direfang Sword 

Aeron chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "I can't believe I leveled up just from killing those fools." His tone was almost dismissive, as if he hadn't just altered the balance of power in Westeros. He ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling the familiar surge of strength coursing through his limbs. 

He allocated his remaining ability points, pouring them all into Agility, feeling his muscles sharpen, his reflexes heighten, his body becoming faster—deadlier. 

Then, something else caught his eye. 

A new title. 

[New Title Earned: KingSlayer 

Effects: 

+5 Strength, +5 Agility, +5 Sense 

Enemies of noble birth instinctively fear you (-10% morale to noble-led forces).] 

"Kingslayer, huh?" He smirked. Aeron let out a low whistle. "Fitting, I suppose." 

Raya raised a brow, watching him with mild amusement. "Talking to yourself again?" 

Aeron chuckled. "Just appreciating my work." 

Aeron's eyes suddenly burned with an eerie glow. His expression shifted, like a man who had just found something he had long been searching for. 

A slow smile spread across his face. "So… he found it." 

Raya furrowed her brows. "Who found what?" 

Aeron didn't answer. Instead, his gaze flickered over the ship, taking in the men House Flint had provided him. They were all hardened Northmen, loyal to Bran's orders, but they were still Westerosi—they still feared what they didn't understand. 

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Ah, fuck it." 

He turned and called out a name. 

"Garm!" 

A chilling gust of wind howled across the deck, and the men staggered back as a towering beast emerged from the shadows. Garm—his massive, jet-black wolf—stepped onto the deck, its fur rippling unnaturally as though it were made of living shadow. 

Its burning crimson eyes scanned the men. A single deep growl sent a shiver through their spines. 

"Gods save us…" one of the Northmen whispered, gripping his sword with trembling hands. 

"What in the name of the Old Gods is that?!" another exclaimed, taking a nervous step back. 

One particularly brave fool reached for his weapon. 

Aeron didn't even turn to look at him. "Draw steel against him, and you won't even have time to regret it." 

The man froze. 

Aeron stepped forward and ran a hand through Garm's thick, shadowy fur. "Stay here. Guard her. Kill anyone who does something stupid." 

Garm huffed, its massive frame looming over the trembling crew. 

Raya's arms crossed. "You really don't care if you show anyone what you can do now, do you?" 

Aeron chuckled, his smile sharp. "I'll be their Monarch soon. It doesn't matter." 

He stepped back, rolling his shoulders. "Anyways—be seeing you." 

Then, he spoke a single word. 

"Exchange." 

A violent gust of black wind erupted around him. The world seemed to shudder. His form twisted and distorted into pure shadow, and in an instant— 

—he was gone. 

In his place, a Shadow Soldier stood silently. 

The crew gasped, some stumbling back in shock. 

"Seven Hells—" 

"What did he just do?!" 

Raya sighed, rubbing her temples. "You get used to it." 

Garm simply growled, and the men wisely stayed silent. 

Darkness. 

Aeron materialized in an instant, his boots clicking against the stone floor of the Red Keep's dungeons. 

The air was stifling. Ancient. Heavy with history and death. 

His glowing eyes flickered in the dim torchlight, scanning the massive, gaping skulls of dragons long dead. The shadows of their open maws stretched across the walls like demons frozen in time. 

Aeron took a deep breath, his expression unreadable. 

"Hello there." 

His voice echoed through the chamber. 

/-\ 

If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC

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If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at 

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