World creator system

The skies above Dragonstone were painted in shades of crimson and gold as the sun descended over the Narrow Sea, its rays casting an ethereal glow upon the cliffs. The rhythmic crash of waves below blended with the solemn chants of Valyrian priests, echoing through the courtyard where the marriage of Paul Emrys and Lena Targaryen unfolded.

Beneath a towering arch carved with ancient Valyrian runes, Paul stood, holding Lena's hand, his expression a mixture of pride and adoration. His black hair shimmered in the fading light, a reflection of his mother's legacy. Lena, draped in a gown of flowing crimson silk embroidered with black dragons, radiated regal grace. Her piercing violet eyes softened as they met Paul's.

Merlin stood apart from the crowd, a faint, fatherly smile gracing his lips as he watched his son exchange vows. The legendary mage, dressed in understated robes of midnight blue, looked every bit the proud father. Cassandra, standing beside him in a dark green gown adorned with silver accents, leaned closer.

"You're leaving for Yi Ti soon, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice almost lost in the sea breeze.

Merlin nodded, his gaze still on Paul. "Yes. I delayed it for this moment. A father should not be absent on his son's wedding day."

Cassandra's expression softened. She touched his arm lightly, her voice tinged with warmth. "You've done well, Merlin. Paul is grown up to good man."

Merlin turned to her, his piercing eyes reflecting gratitude. Without a word, he embraced her. Cassandra rested her head against his shoulder, a fleeting moment of solace.

Paul approached them then, his face flushed with emotion. Merlin clasped his son's shoulder, his smile deepening.

"I know you wanted to accompany me to Yi Ti," Merlin began, his voice resonant yet gentle, "but it seems you'll have your hands full for a while." His eyes flicked meaningfully toward Lena.

Paul chuckled nervously, his cheeks tinged red. "Next time," he promised.

Lena joined her new husband, her fingers intertwining with his as she smiled up at him. Paul looked at her as if she were his entire world, and in that moment, nothing else seemed to exist.

As the festivities continued under the rising moon, shadows danced at the edges of the celebration. There, beyond the reach of the firelight, another story lingered in the North.

Far beyond Dragonstone, past the Wall and into the unforgiving wilds, the snow-covered mountains stood in eternal defiance. Beneath their icy peaks, a figure clad in shadow moved with lethal precision. Zagreus, the unyielding shield of the North, the son of Mandos and married to daughter of Alara Stark, and the protector of the Starks, watched over the frozen expanse. His silver eyes, inherited from his divine father, glinted like blades in the moonlight.

Yet it was not Zagreus but his grandson, Maniyan, who carried the blood of both gods and wolves, that drew whispers across Westeros.

His name was Maniyan, a name unbound by the weight of Stark legacy. He had renounced the Stark name for two reasons, both rooted in his mother's defiance.

Helena Stark daughter of Horic Stark and granddaughter of Zagerus, but her heart led her to run away with a Dornish knight in training Griffin. Her elopement stirred outrage in her father, who saw the act as a betrayal to the honor of the North.

In time, Horic's anger cooled, his love for his daughter outweighing his pride. He forgave her, yet she chose to remain in Dorne, taking her husband's name as a symbol of her new life under the southern sun. Maniyan, born of this union, carried the blood of wolves in his veins, he was unlike any Stark before him. A son of rebellion, he had forsaken his family name, choosing instead to carve his path in the South, where the sands of Dorne met the wealth of noble lords.

Dorne, with its blazing sun and shimmering sands, had shaped Maniyan into a living tempest. He moved like a panther through the shadows, his anklets ringing faintly as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. A master of martial arts, Maniyan had forged a unique fighting style inspired by the movements of animals—graceful, unpredictable, and deadly.

Maniyan's rebellious spirit extended beyond combat. He had made it his mission to steal from the decadent lords of the South and redistribute their wealth to the oppressed. To the poor, he was a savior; to the nobles, a menace cloaked in mystery. His legend grew with each moonlit heist, his wolf-like agility and divine strength leaving even the most skilled knights in awe.

[A/N:Does anyone need Chapters about Maniyan's adventures. This is during second half of Jaehaerys Targaryen's Era. Maybe he could marry Saera Targaryen or Daella Targaryen.]