Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

After leaving the camp, Lynd found a relatively narrow spot on the moat, leapt into the air, and activated the Storm Dragon rune embedded in the Banished Knight's greatsword. A powerful hurricane materialized, propelling Lynd several meters forward before he landed firmly on the grassy bank on the opposite side of the moat.

Lynd had been experimenting with the Storm Dragon rune ever since King Robert had demonstrated its power on the Banished Knight's sword. According to the Banished Knight's memories, the full potential of the rune was astonishing. It could summon a massive storm capable of obliterating a castle or even drag a flying dragon to the ground with a binding tempest.

However, like the other two Dragon runes, the Storm Dragon rune could not currently reach its full potential. Creating a castle-destroying storm was out of reach; even the tornado generated on the day the rune was first activated represented its current maximum power. Perhaps, with enough time to accumulate energy, the rune could eventually produce an even more formidable storm.

In its current state, the rune's power wasn't suited for direct attacks like the destructive capabilities of the Lightning or Frost Dragon runes. Lynd had instead discovered an alternative use: directing the rune's force inward, on himself.

As anticipated, channeling the Storm Dragon rune's power into his own body drastically enhanced his speed. When fully unleashed, the sensation was so intense it felt as though time itself had slowed down. Additionally, the rune granted him the ability to hover briefly or traverse short distances in mid-air.

He was confident that even if he leapt from the top of a tower, he would land unscathed, much like the Feather Fall or Flight abilities in games from his previous life. He speculated that if he could further harness and refine the rune's power, actual sustained flight might become possible.

This realization made him recall the legendary flashing ability of Castle Sol's foremost expert. Perhaps that ability was the result of pushing the Storm Dragon rune to its absolute limit.

With the rune's aid, Lynd felt secure venturing into the enigmatic ruins of Summerhall ahead. Even if danger arose, his enhanced speed would ensure his swift escape. After straightening his clothes, he gazed at the illusion of Summerhall shimmering before him and stepped inside.

In a quiet clearing outside the camp, Asha sparred with Brienne in swordsmanship. Asha's skills had noticeably improved over the past few days of training, building upon her natural foundation, but she was still slightly outmatched by Brienne.

Brienne executed a quick thrust, and Asha's wrist was struck. The impact caused her to lose her grip, and her practice sword clattered to the ground. Brienne immediately stepped back, maintaining distance—she had learned from previous mistakes not to linger too close after a successful strike.

Asha glanced at Brienne as she retreated, shrugged, and picked up her practice sword with a hint of weariness. Just as she rose, she noticed movement nearby. Lynd had leapt from the riverbank, soaring like a great bird across the ten-meter-wide moat, and landed gracefully on the grass beyond.

"Look! Lord Lynd is heading toward the ruins of Summerhall!" Asha exclaimed, pointing toward him.

Brienne's initial reaction was to glance at Asha skeptically, wary of being tricked—Asha had pulled similar stunts before. But as Asha's tone carried no mischief, Brienne followed her gaze. She caught sight of Lynd, who was indeed heading toward the ruins. Then, before their eyes, something astonishing happened: Lynd vanished into thin air.

"A ghost? The ghost of Summerhall!" Brienne muttered anxiously, recalling the eerie legends Jon had shared with them during their travels. Panic flickered in her voice as her imagination raced.

In stark contrast, Asha's excitement only grew. "Is Lord Lynd going to get rid of the ghost of Summerhall?" she asked eagerly.

Neither of them doubted what they had seen. From their vantage point on a small hill, the moonlit lawn was clearly visible. There was no cover where Lynd had disappeared—he was simply gone. With the sudden and inexplicable nature of his vanishing, the legendary ghost of Summerhall seemed like the only plausible explanation.

"We should immediately tell everyone that something has happened to Lord Lynd!" Brienne exclaimed, trying to calm herself as she prepared to run toward the camp.

But Asha grabbed her arm firmly. "What's the point of you telling everyone? Who in the camp can compare to Lord Lynd? If something really has happened to him, what could they possibly do?" Her voice was steady, but her words cut through the urgency of the moment.

Brienne froze in place, her face clouded with worry. "We can't just do nothing, can we?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Asha pouted, her tone turning serious. "Of course we have to do something. At the very least, we need to confirm that something has actually happened to him."

Brienne, already familiar with her companion's tendency to act on impulse, sensed something off in Asha's demeanor. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do you want to do?"

"Obviously, we need to go check out the ruins ourselves," Asha replied. But her serious expression didn't last long, and her excitement shone through once more.

Brienne immediately opposed the idea, but Asha's persuasive words were hard to resist. Before long, Asha had convinced her. The two girls found an abandoned, slightly damaged boat nearby—likely left behind by a thief. Though the boat showed signs of wear, it was still serviceable and would suffice to carry them across the river.

Not long after, the two of them crossed the moat and entered the ruins of Summerhall.

At the same time, Lynd remained unaware that his attendants had seen his movements and boldly followed him. His focus was entirely on the visions unfolding before him.

As Lynd stepped into the ruins of Summerhall, the scene transformed. The ruins disappeared, and the palace reappeared in its full glory, as though untouched by time. Its architectural style was unlike anything in Westeros, heavily influenced by the Essos designs Lynd recognized. He could discern the courtyards of Pentos, the intricate reliefs of Lys, and glass panes characteristic of Myr.

However, the most striking feature was the Book Tower. Its design bore the unmistakable hallmarks of Valyrian architecture. Adorning the sides of the tower were numerous wyvern statues, whose placement clashed somewhat with the rest of the palace's aesthetic.

Outside the palace, all the servants had been driven out, and groups of people dressed like nobles gathered in the square. They stood in clusters, quietly talking and casting worried glances at the palace. But Lynd knew these were only illusions, the remnants of resentful spirits. The figures moved, but their voices were silent.

Palace guards surrounded the building, barring entry to anyone. Lynd walked past them as though they were mere shadows and slipped through the closed palace doors.

Inside, the corridor was alive with activity. Septons of the Faith of the Seven sat in armchairs, chatting in hushed tones. Others walked solemnly, whispering prayers under their breath. Their expressions betrayed their discontent with whatever was happening within the palace hall.

Lynd paid them no mind, continuing straight toward the hall. At its entrance, two unfamiliar Kingsguards stood flanking the doorway, accompanied by a handful of guards. The hall doors were ajar, and Lynd stepped through without hesitation.

The grand hall was packed with people—hundreds of them. Septons from the Church of the Faith of the Seven, Maesters adorned with their signature chains, and Pyromancers clad in their distinctive robes crowded the space. At the center of the hall stood a makeshift altar.

On the altar rested a bronze basin, inside which lay seven dragon eggs of varying colors and patterns. Each egg's scales glinted uniquely in the light. Surrounding the altar, seven Pyromancers held small glass jars filled with a green liquid.

In front of the altar stood King Aegon V, his white hair gleaming under the torchlight, and the tall figure of Ser Duncan beside him. Behind them, a heavily pregnant woman reclined in a chair. Her pale face and labored breathing made it clear she was near to giving birth. Several maids attended to her. This woman could only be Rhaegar's mother, Rhaella Targaryen.

Next to her stood a middle-aged couple, their expressions anxious as they watched Aegon V near the altar. The resemblance between the man and Aegon left little doubt that he was Prince Duncan, and the striking woman beside him had to be his wife, Jeyne of Oldstones.

Behind Prince Duncan and Jeyne, several Maesters scribbled furiously on parchment, documenting the events unfolding before them.

Lynd's attention was then drawn to a peculiar figure among the crowd—a short female dwarf standing close to the couple. Though she attempted to mask her expression, Lynd could tell she had noticed him. Her keen gaze seemed to pierce through the illusion, as if she could truly see him.

However, Lynd's attention soon shifted from the female dwarf to the altar.

He noticed Aegon V, already showing signs of impatience, speaking in hushed tones to a nearby Pyromancer. This Pyromancer, dressed more extravagantly than the others, stood out among the group. After a brief exchange, the Pyromancer retrieved an instrument that appeared to be used for measuring time. He manipulated it for a few moments, then conferred with several other Pyromancers. Finally, with a nod of acknowledgment towards Aegon V, the Pyromancer signaled readiness.

Aegon V's stern demeanor softened into a slight smile as he issued orders to the Pyromancers stationed beside the altar, each holding glass jars. The Pyromancers obeyed promptly, unsealing the jars and carefully pouring their contents—a shimmering green liquid—into the copper basin at the altar's center. The liquid completely submerged the seven dragon eggs resting within.

Once the jars were emptied, the Pyromancers swiftly retreated to what they judged to be a safe distance. One of them stepped forward, holding a flaming wooden rod. With deliberate precision, he directed the rod toward the copper basin, touching the green liquid.

In an instant, an enormous ball of fire erupted, roaring upwards to the stone roof before spreading outwards. Flames cascaded along the ceiling and ignited the surrounding draperies. Yet, the spectacle didn't end there. The unexpected horror unfolded as the entire hall—and indeed, the entirety of Summerhall Palace—was engulfed in flames. Objects far from the initial fire inexplicably ignited, as though an unseen force willed them to burn.

The heat was oppressive. Even Lynd, standing at a distance, felt as though the flames were scorching his very skin. Instinctively, he activated the Frozen Dragon Rune etched into the Banished Knight's greatsword.

A wave of cool energy coursed through his body, quelling the unbearable sensation and granting him a brief reprieve.

The devastation grew worse. Not only were objects consumed by fire, but some of the people in the room spontaneously combusted. Among them were Aegon V and the short Prince Duncan. Jenny of Oldstones, desperate to save her husband, tried to smother the flames consuming him, only to catch fire herself. The couple was soon completely consumed by the inferno.

Tall Duncan, witnessing the tragedy, tore off the white cloak from his back and used it to strike at the flames engulfing Aegon V. The female dwarf, too, attempted to help Jenny of Oldstones, but before she could act, a shadowy figure emerged behind her. In one swift motion, the figure seized her and vanished into the ground.

Lynd froze in shock. He recognized the figure—it was Spark, the Child of the Forest he knew so well.

Chaos reigned. Those not yet overtaken by the flames fled in terror. Amidst the confusion, Rhaella Targaryen's handmaiden abandoned her mistress, overwhelmed by fear. Pregnant and unable to move, Rhaella remained seated, her expression one of utter despair.

Meanwhile, something strange occurred. Whether it was due to Ser Duncan's frantic efforts or another unknown cause, the flames consuming Aegon V seemed to weaken slightly. The king, barely conscious, stirred. His flesh was charred, and his eyes had been entirely burned away, leaving behind hollow sockets. Yet, he managed to raise his scorched arm and point towards Rhaella Targaryen, who sat helplessly in her chair. The empty voids where his eyes had once been turned toward Ser Duncan.

Ser Duncan, with his white hair, seemed to grasp something in that moment. After hesitating briefly, he turned away, tears glistening in his eyes, and ran toward Rhaella Targaryen. Without a second thought, he picked up the pregnant woman and rushed outside with her in his arms.

Lynd stood still, watching the unfolding chaos with an unusual calm. His gaze wandered over the burning Summerhall, its once-majestic halls now completely consumed by flames. Aegon V lay charred and lifeless, reduced to ash. Lynd's attention eventually fixed on the copper basin, still spewing flames. The thought crossed his mind—what had become of the dragon eggs?

Driven by curiosity, he walked toward the altar. It was then he noticed something unsettling: Aegon V, despite being reduced to a blackened husk and stripped of his eyes, appeared to be watching him. When Lynd moved, the lifeless king's head followed, his empty sockets seeming to track Lynd's every step.

Meanwhile, Ser Duncan, who had rushed Rhaella Targaryen to safety, returned with several cloaks in hand. It seemed he had handed her over to the care of the other Kingsguard or men-at-arms and come back for Aegon V.

Wasting no time, Ser Duncan approached the charred king, wrapped a cloak tightly around him, and, without regard for the flames searing his own flesh through the gaps in the fabric, hoisted Aegon V and sprinted for safety.

As Ser Duncan carried the blackened figure, Aegon V's burned arm lifted slightly, pointing toward the copper basin that housed the dragon eggs. This gesture was not meant for Ser Duncan, who was facing away from the basin, but for Lynd. The meaning was clear—Aegon V's empty sockets had seen him.

Before Lynd could fully process this, a section of the roof, weakened by the inferno, collapsed. Stones and flaming debris crashed down, burying Ser Duncan and Aegon V beneath their weight. The flames surged, consuming the hall entirely as the palace began to crumble.

By now, Lynd had reached the copper basin. As he peered inside, he saw that only one dragon egg remained intact. The others had been destroyed by the wildfire. The surviving egg was blood red, streaked with faint blue veins. Its surface was patterned with swirling scales, and at the center of each swirl lay a delicate design, so fine that its details were impossible to discern.

Despite knowing that the energy of vengeful spirits likely conjured what he saw, the egg felt undeniably real to Lynd. Compelled by its presence, he reached out and cradled the egg in his hands.

But the sensation in his palms—the weight and texture of the egg—made him realize this was no illusion. He had truly grasped a dragon egg. In that instant, the eerie visions dissolved, and Lynd found himself standing amid the ruins of Summerhall. The flames, the spectral apparitions, the haunting illusions—all were gone. What remained was the dragon egg, nestled securely in his arms.

Nearby, at the edge of a pond, Asha and Brienne stared at Lynd in utter disbelief. He had materialized out of thin air, holding the egg as if he were the ghost of Summerhall himself.