JON III
The clang of steel echoed in Jon's ears as he walked away from the training yard, drowned out by the triumphant chime of the System.
[New Skill Acquired: Perfect Parry]
Description: A passive skill that grants the User the instinctual knowledge to deflect an incoming melee attack at the optimal moment, negating its force and leaving the attacker vulnerable.
He flexed his sword hand, the phantom memory of Robb's blade sliding harmlessly off his own still tingling in his palm. Reading about a skill was one thing; feeling it was another. The System hadn't merely taught him a move—it had poured the muscle memory of a thousand perfect parries directly into his mind. He hadn't thought; he had simply reacted. The power was intoxicating, a stark contrast to his lifetime of feeling second-best.
Yet his victory felt hollow as he watched Robb walking away with Theon, his brother's arm slung over the Greyjoy's shoulder in easy camaraderie. The sting cut deep. He and Robb had once been inseparable, two halves of a whole, their days filled with shared adventures in the Wolfswood and secret explorations of the castle's hidden passages. But since the boar attack—perhaps even before—Theon's laughter had been filling the space Jon's silence had created. He couldn't blame Robb. What lord's heir would choose a broody bastard over the boisterous son of a Kraken?
Lost in thought, he almost missed them. Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole were walking toward the Great Keep, arms linked, whispering and giggling. As they drew near, Jeyne fell silent, and Sansa's smile tightened. She looked at him, her blue Tully eyes holding a flicker of something he couldn't name before it vanished, replaced by the cool, polite mask their mother had taught her to wear in his presence.
"Jon," she said, her voice as crisp and cold as a winter morning—a dismissal, not a greeting.
He simply nodded, stepping aside to let them pass. As he did, he activated The Sight. Jeyne's aura was a simple, murky pink of childish gossip. Sansa's, however, was a storm: a base of soft, familial green choked by swirling clouds of grey indifference, shot through with flickering threads of guilty blue.
[Intent: Conflicted. Dutifully Cold.]
He understood. The girl who had once brought him his favorite honey cakes when he was sick was still there, buried under years of her mother's lessons. He is a stain on our honor. A bastard cannot be trusted. Lady Catelyn's poison had taken root, and Sansa was caught between her heart and her mother's will.
A moment later, a flash of wild, dark hair and pure energy burst from a side door. "Jon!" Arya yelled, running toward him, her aura a brilliant, uncomplicated magenta.
[Intent: Enthusiastic. Admiring.]
She didn't slow down, launching herself at him in a fierce hug. "Ser Rodrik said you beat Robb! Did you really? Did you use that tricky move you showed me?"
He chuckled, the chill from Sansa's encounter melting away under his sister's warm affection. "I did." Arya was the one part of his family that had never changed, the one person whose gaze held no judgment.
She was his sister in a way that felt truer than blood. Even Bran, who still sought him out for games of hide-and-seek, was growing closer to Robb as he aged. But Arya was, and always had been, his. She didn't care that he was a bastard. She cared that he listened when she talked about swordplay and didn't laugh when she said she hated embroidery. That was enough.
Later that evening, after the castle had settled, Jon lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His future, once a single, bleak road leading to the Wall, had fractured into a thousand possibilities. He could become a master of The Fang, a swordsman whose skill could rival any knight in the Seven Kingdoms. He could become a true Ghost, a phantom who could walk anywhere, unseen and unheard. Or he could follow the path of The Strider, a promise of the freedom he craved above all else.
The choice was his—both burden and gift. As if sensing his thoughts, a new quest notification appeared, its light soft in the darkness of his room.
[New Quest Available: Initiation III]
Description: The world is a tapestry of paths, some hidden, some forgotten. A Strider learns to see them all. To begin, you must conquer the highest point in this stone forest.
Objective: Climb to the top of the Broken Tower.
Reward: 100 Experience, New Skill - [Feather Fall].
The Broken Tower. It stood in a forgotten corner of Winterfell, a lonely spire struck by lightning a century ago. A ruin, forbidden to the children, its crumbling stones deemed too dangerous. The perfect challenge.
He rested for a few hours, but sleep eluded him. In the deep, cold hour before sunrise, when night was at its darkest, he slipped from his room. His [Silent Step] skill made him a whisper in the sleeping castle. The air hung still and frigid. The Broken Tower loomed before him, a jagged finger pointing at the last of the fading stars.
The climb was brutal. The stone was old and slick with dew in places, crumbling to dust in others. His healing ribs sent sharp protests through his body with every stretch and pull. He was halfway up when it happened.
Reaching for what looked like a solid handhold, his fingers closed around stone only to feel it crumble into grit and dust beneath his grip.
For a terrifying, weightless moment, he was falling.
His other hand, still anchored, took his full weight with a jarring shock that sent a bolt of agony up his arm and into his shoulder. His feet scrabbled against the slick stone, finding no purchase. He dangled there, heart hammering against his ribs, the dark courtyard a dizzying distance below. Panic, cold and absolute, threatened to overwhelm him. This was it. This was how it ended.
But then, another instinct took over—the same that had guided his blade against Robb's. His free hand shot out, fingers finding a tiny, solid crevice in the mortar. He dug his fingertips in, the rough stone biting into his skin. With a grunt of pure, desperate effort, he found a foothold, his bare toes gripping a small nub of rock. He was secure. He hung there for a full minute, his breath coming in ragged gasps, adrenaline singing in his veins. He was not dead.
With newfound, grim determination, he continued. With every foot he gained, the exhilaration grew sharper, laced with the chilling memory of his near-fall.
He was a climber, a striver, pitting his will against unyielding stone. As he climbed higher, the eastern sky began to soften, shifting from inky black to a deep, bruised purple. He pulled himself up, hand over agonizing hand, toward the coming day.
After what felt like an eternity, his fingers closed over the top ledge. With a final, desperate heave, he pulled himself onto the flat, windswept roof of the tower. He lay there for a long moment, chest heaving, muscles screaming, the biting wind a welcome balm on his sweaty skin.
He had done it.
[Quest Complete: Initiation III]
[Reward: 100 Experience. New Skill - [Feather Fall].]
As the notification faded, another wave of instinctual knowledge flooded his mind, different from the sharp certainty of the [Perfect Parry]. This was a deeper, full-body understanding. He suddenly knew, with absolute clarity, the precise way to angle his body during a fall, the exact moment to tuck his limbs, the perfect way to roll upon impact to distribute the force—turning a bone-shattering landing into a survivable, athletic maneuver. The skill wasn't magic; it didn't make him float. It was the System granting him the physical wisdom to fall from a great height and walk away.
He got to his feet, a grin spreading across his face. He felt alive, every inch of his body thrumming with victory. He walked to the edge and looked out. From here, Winterfell was a breathtaking map laid out below him, familiar courtyards and rooftops rendered new and strange from this height.
As he drank in the view, a new light began to glow at the very edge of the roof, on a precarious stone outcrop that jutted over the abyss. It formed into the ethereal shape of a perch, like an eagle's roost, shimmering with a soft, white light. A single line of text hovered above it.
[Synchronization Point Discovered. Step out to survey the area.]
Hesitantly, Jon stepped onto the glowing perch. The moment his feet touched it, the world dissolved. His consciousness rocketed upward, and for a glorious second, he felt like he was soaring. He saw Winterfell not with his own eyes, but with the impossible, all-seeing gaze of an eagle. The Great Keep, the First Keep, the Godswood, the training yard—all lay bare, their locations and connections burned into a mental map.
Just as this panoramic view solidified in his mind, the sun broke over the eastern horizon. A brilliant ray of golden light crested the distant hills, washing over the world and setting the snow-dusted roofs of his home ablaze. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Then, just as quickly, his senses snapped back to his own body. He stood on the perch, wind whipping his hair, but the world felt different. Sharper. More known. The synchronization had burned a perfect, detailed mind map of the entire castle into his memory. He could mentally picture every rooftop, every alleyway, every hidden passage as if he were still soaring above them.
The descent proved far easier than the climb. With the [Feather Fall] skill now part of him, the fear of falling vanished, replaced by confident certainty. He didn't climb down so much as drop, moving from ledge to ledge in controlled falls, his body instinctively absorbing each impact. He reached the ground just as the first sounds of the waking castle began to stir.
He slipped back into his room, his heart still thrumming with quiet energy. The sun was now fully up, and he knew he had to prepare for the day's routine of lessons and training. But as he turned from the door, a new notification appeared, grander and more complex than any before. Not a simple quest—a directive.
[New Knowledge Protocol Initiated: The Mentor's Codex]
Description: An assassin's greatest weapons are knowledge and patience. A blade is useless without the wisdom to know where and when to strike. The System will assist in the assimilation of knowledge at an accelerated rate. To reach your full potential, you must understand the world you seek to master.
Long-Term Objective: Acquire a fundamental understanding of the following subjects. Progress is tracked by reading relevant texts and receiving instruction.
- History of Westeros (15/100)
- Geography of the Known World (20/100)
- High Valyrian (5/100)
- Major Houses & Lineages (25/100)
- Poisons & Alchemical Agents (0/100)
Reward for Overall Completion: [Hidden Blade]
Jon stared at the list, his breath catching in his throat. This was a new kind of challenge, one that couldn't be solved with a sword or by climbing a tower. This required time in the library with Maester Luwin, studying maps, learning a language spoken only in whispers and ancient texts. It seemed like a quest that could take years, but the System's promise to "assist in the assimilation of knowledge" gave him a sliver of hope. Perhaps it wouldn't be as tedious as he feared. Perhaps the System could help him learn as unnaturally fast as it had taught him to fight.
And the reward… a Hidden Blade.