World creator system

Merlin stepped into the somber hall, his gaze falling upon Alyssa Velaryon, who knelt on the cold stone floor with her children—Rhaena, Jaehaerys, Alysanne, and Vaella Targaryen. They clustered around the lifeless forms of Aenys, Viserys, and Aegon, grief weighing heavily in the air, as if time itself had stopped in mourning. Alyssa's face was pale but resolute, her arms protectively draped around her children, each lost in their own hollow-eyed sorrow.

Beside Merlin stood Maegor, silent but seething, and Visenya, her sharp gaze tinged with sorrow. Maegor's voice cut through the silence, taut with barely restrained rage. "We captured the assassin alive. I've tried every method I know, every manner of pain, but the coward refuses to speak of who sent him."

Even as he spoke, Merlin could feel the bitterness of Maegor's anger—cold, smoldering, and unyielding. Visenya's gaze softened as she looked to Merlin, a glimmer of hope mingling with despair. Her voice was barely a whisper, laced with a fragile hope. "Can you make him talk with magic?"

Merlin met her eyes and gave a solemn nod. "I have ways to unravel his mind. Lead me to him."

Maegor inclined his head, turning on his heel. As they began to move toward the dungeons, Rhaena's voice cut through the silence. "I'm coming too."

Maegor stopped, eyeing his niece with a mix of surprise and hesitation. Merlin caught his gaze and gave a subtle nod of approval. After a beat, Maegor yielded, and they continued in a somber procession, with Visenya and Alyssa quietly joining them.

As they descended the winding stone steps, the torches cast flickering shadows against the cold walls, casting an eerie light on their solemn faces. Merlin's eyes flicked over the group, and he noted the intensity in young Jaehaerys' gaze as he stared at Maegor, his jaw clenched. Merlin recognized the look—it was one of silent accusation, a blame that had already taken root.

So, Jaehaerys already suspects Maegor, Merlin mused. The boy has drawn his conclusions, whether Maegor has changed or not.

The dungeon door loomed ahead, and Merlin felt the tension in the air thicken as they approached, each step closer to the truth awaiting them in the shadows.

As they reached the dungeons, thick iron doors creaked open, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond. Guarding the entrance were Maegor's most loyal men, standing stone-faced and unyielding. Their steely gazes and imposing stances left no doubt—no one had entered or left without Maegor's express command.

They stepped inside the cell. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of blood and sweat, and the faint glow from a lone torch cast deep shadows on the stone walls. In the center of the room, slumped and barely conscious, was the assassin. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly in iron chains bolted to the walls, his body a patchwork of fresh bruises and open wounds. He was drooling slightly, his head hanging forward, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only sign he was still alive.

Merlin took in the sight, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man. Even in his half-dazed state, the assassin's jaw was clenched with a fierce, grim resolve—a silent declaration that he would take his secrets to the grave.

Maegor's fists tightened as he watched. "He's stubborn. No amount of pain seems to break him."

Merlin stepped forward, his expression calm but resolute. His fingers began to trace an intricate pattern in the air, faint tendrils of magic swirling around his hand. The shadows danced, twisting as the magic took hold, the air around them crackling with a dark energy that felt both ancient and powerful.

"Then it's time to see what he has in that little mind of his," Merlin murmured, his voice low and foreboding.

He glanced back at Rhaena and the others, his eyes warning them of what was about to happen.

The assassin's eyes widened in terror as he recognized the figure before him. He stammered, his voice shaking, "You… you're Merlin, the wizard."

Merlin's gaze held steady, cold and piercing. Without a word, he placed his glowing hand on the assassin's forehead, and the man's muffled scream echoed through the cell, his body convulsing as Merlin sifted through his memories. The flickering torchlight seemed to grow dimmer, the room closing in as Merlin's magic pried open the assassin's mind, peeling back layers of thought and deceit.

Fragments of a secret meeting flickered across Merlin's mind—the assassin making a deal in hushed tones, the plan laid out with meticulous care. Merlin saw a conversation in which the assassin was instructed to make Aenys's death appear as though it were caused by poison. The final, damning touch was to be Maegor's Targaryen bracelet, planted beside Aenys's body, meant to cast suspicion on Maegor himself.

Merlin scowled as he delved deeper. The figure instructing the assassin was not the mastermind but only a messenger. A shadow obscured the true face of the one who orchestrated this, and Merlin sensed it was all designed to protect the real architect, someone who harbored a deep hatred for Maegor and the Targaryens as a whole.

Merlin withdrew his hand, his eyes hard as steel. The assassin slumped back, gasping for breath, drained and broken.

Maegor's voice broke the silence. "Did you find anything?"

Merlin turned to face the grim assembly.

With a steady hand, Merlin gestured into the air, and tendrils of shimmering magic spiraled outward, forming a misty orb that expanded, filling the dark cell with an eerie glow. As he wove his fingers through the air, faint images began to materialize within the swirling mist, shifting and solidifying into scenes from the assassin's memories.

Before Maegor, Visenya, Alyssa, and young Rhaena, a darkened chamber appeared, dimly lit by candlelight. The assassin knelt, his head bowed before a cloaked figure, whose face remained concealed in shadow. The murmur of voices echoed, distorted and haunting, as the memory replayed itself in full view.

They watched as the figure laid out the plan in cold, calculated words. "Slip poison into Aenys's wine, and leave this"—a hand extended, revealing Maegor's bracelet, glinting ominously in the low light—"near his body. Let it be known that Maegor struck him down."

Merlin spoke up"This was a deliberate attempt to throw the Targaryens into chaos—a calculated strike designed to incite a war between Maegor and Jaehaerys. The assassin was instructed to poison Aenys and leave Maegor's bracelet at the scene, making it look as though Maegor had murdered his own kin."

A shocked silence followed, Alyssa and Rhaena exchanging horrified glances. Maegor's jaw clenched, fury radiating from him. Visenya's eyes blazed, but her voice remained steady. "Do you know who's responsible?"

Merlin exhaled slowly, his frustration evident. "The true puppet master kept themselves hidden, sending intermediaries to contact the assassin. Whoever arranged this will have covered their tracks thoroughly, and those intermediaries are likely already dead."

Alyssa's voice cut through the tension, laced with determination. "Can you find them?"

Merlin gave her a calm, reassuring nod. "By tomorrow, I will have a lead. Magic leaves traces even in the darkest corners."

The gathered Targaryens listened, their resolve hardening. Visenya's face showed unwavering trust, while Maegor's fury simmered just below the surface. Rhaena watched them all, uncertain but taking strength from her mother's belief in Merlin.