The Hall of Death was quiet.
She'd walked this path before—many times, in many lives—but never like this. Never with so much behind her and so little ahead. Her boots made no sound on the black stone. The Ministry had long since fallen to dust, reclaimed by time and silence, but the Department of Mysteries remained intact. Preserved, somehow, like the spell of secrecy lingered in the bones of the walls.
The Veil still stood.
It drifted slowly in its arch, the same as it had the first time she saw it when she was just a girl and Sirius had vanished through it. The whispering hadn't changed either. It still pulled at the edge of her senses, a susurrus of half-familiar voices that might've been memory or imagination.
She paused a few paces away, not out of fear, but habit. Her eyes—still green, though dulled slightly by centuries—took in the arch, the stones, the silence. Everything she carried hummed around her with quiet purpose.
The Elder Wand was holstered along the inside of her forearm, nested in enchanted leather. The Resurrection Stone sat in its ring, worn loosely on her right index finger. The Cloak of Invisibility, thin as air and stronger than myth, was folded and secured under the clasp of her cloak. She wore armor made from basilisk hide—black, flexible, and lined with magic so old it barely whispered.
Over her shoulder hung a satchel that defied space, weightless and deep. Inside it was everything that still mattered: the Potter family library, the darker texts of the Black vaults, the ancient Peverell grimoires. Journals, enchanted artifacts, potions in stasis, coin in dozens of currencies. The Sword of Gryffindor, wrapped in dragon-hide and preserved with stasis charms, lay beside a sheathed dagger once belonging to Bellatrix. She hadn't kept it for sentiment. She kept it because it still worked. There were other things, too—letters she'd never burned, maps from dead countries, a vial of phoenix tears sealed in gold.
There had been decades when she wandered deserts and frozen valleys, walking with giants and wolves and ruins no one remembered. Centuries in which she had not spoken aloud. The world forgot magic. She had not. There was no one left to teach, to fight, to save. No letters came. No prophecies. Only long silence and the endless echo of memory.
She didn't look back. There was nothing to look back to. Magic had faded, first slowly, then all at once. The hidden world shrank as the non-magical one surged forward. Even the Muggle-borns stopped arriving. The cracks widened. No new prophecies. No magical births. She outlasted it all. Kings came and went. Wars began, flared, then vanished into headlines and algorithms. Every once in a while someone would ask her age, or if she remembered where she was during this or that war. She always did.
Time had been merciful in one way—it moved. People forgot. Wizards more than most. Whole bloodlines vanished. The last wandmaker died with no apprentice. The goblins shuttered the vaults and sealed them in gold. And she remained. In the end, she stopped counting the years. There was no one left to count them for.
It wasn't grief anymore. Just weight. She'd learned to carry it. It rested along her shoulders, in the lines of her hands, in the corners of her eyes. She didn't long for the past. She just had nowhere left to walk forward to.
She stepped closer. The whispering in the Veil shifted slightly—as though it recognized her. Maybe it did. She'd carried its Hallows for lifetimes. She'd wielded death, mended the line between life and what lay beyond. She'd never tried to cross.
Until now.
Her fingers hovered just above the edge of the stone arch. Cold. Familiar. There was magic embedded in the frame, old and unshaken by time. Runes she'd studied centuries ago still glowed faintly beneath the stone surface. The magic here had always been strange—untamed, circular, deep. She had never trusted it, only respected it.
She took a breath. Her heart wasn't racing. She wasn't afraid. She didn't expect anything. That was the difference now—there was no prophecy, no victory to win, no war to end. Just an open question.
She stepped up onto the dais. The air changed—just slightly. The whispering voices slowed, curled inward. There was no heat, no chill. Just a sense of being seen.
She reached up and drew the Cloak of Invisibility from her shoulders, folding it neatly into the satchel. The wand she left holstered. She didn't need it.
She waited another moment, long enough to feel the weight of her own breath. Then she stepped through the archway.
There was no flash of light. No crack. No scream.
Only silence. And then, the world changed.
‐-------------------
She drifted.
Not through darkness or light, not through space or even time, but through quiet stillness. It felt like floating in the depths of an ocean with no current, no surface, no seabed—just an endless stretch of nothingness that somehow contained everything. Here, sensation was muted. She could neither see nor truly feel, yet she existed clearly and sharply, aware of every subtle shift within her mind.
She had expected death to be different—colder perhaps, or more violent. Something conclusive, at the very least. But this silence was strangely familiar. It felt patient, like the silence after the final chord of music fades and the listener waits for applause that never comes. She found herself wondering if this place even counted as an afterlife or simply the space between breaths, where one existence ended and another began.
A presence stirred nearby, breaking the timeless calm with gentle purpose. She turned—or rather, felt herself orient towards it, for directions were meaningless here—and observed a shape taking form from the emptiness. It did not solidify into something she could precisely describe, yet she understood instantly whom she faced. She knew this figure intimately, not as an enemy or friend, but as something that had always walked at her side, invisible yet inevitable.
"Hello," she said softly.
"Hello again," replied Death.
The voice matched the figure perfectly: neither male nor female, young nor old. It was a voice she had heard in her quietest moments, at the edges of battlefields and hospital rooms, during lonely nights and silent sunrises. Death sounded calm, unsurprised by her presence here.
"I wasn't sure you'd appear," she admitted.
"I always appear," Death replied simply. "But you do not always see."
She accepted this with a quiet nod, wondering briefly if she had ignored this presence on purpose, through all those centuries of immortality. The weight of time had dulled her senses, numbing her to truths that might have once frightened her. Death had become abstract—distant and academic—rather than real and immediate.
"Is this it, then?" she asked, though she felt no fear or urgency.
"It can be, if that is your choice," Death answered evenly.
She considered the offer for a long, uncountable moment. Her memories stretched back through countless lifetimes, through wars and peace, through lives she had saved and lives she had ended. She carried no illusions about her role—she was neither hero nor villain, merely someone who had survived. Immortality had taught her the subtleties of existence, how morality bent under the strain of centuries. She'd grown weary not from physical exhaustion, but from a fatigue that lay deep within her bones, an exhaustion born from witnessing the endless cycle of humanity without being able to fully partake in it.
"Do you have something else in mind?" she finally asked.
Death did not smile, but she sensed something akin to amusement. "There is always something else. If you want it."
"What would you ask of me?"
"Nothing that you haven't done already. I only ask that you continue, as you always have—by your choice alone."
She felt herself smile faintly at that. Choice was something she understood. Something she valued. Destiny, prophecies—she'd left them far behind her, having outgrown the chains of fate centuries earlier. Choice was simpler, cleaner. It allowed her freedom, even when all else seemed lost.
"What is this new place you speak of?"
"A world called Westeros," Death said, voice smooth and unhurried. "It is old and young at once, a place where magic still breathes but grows weaker with every passing generation. Dragons still live, though fewer than before, and gods still hear, though they seldom answer. Magic remains, not dead, but vulnerable."
She tilted her head thoughtfully, absorbing this. "And what am I meant to do there? Save it?"
"If that is what you choose," Death responded mildly. "There is no prophecy, no destiny written in stone awaiting your arrival. Magic does not require a champion—it requires understanding. Protection. Someone who knows its value, someone capable of defending it, nurturing it, or even shaping it anew."
She let that sink in, understanding fully the freedom Death offered. "And my magic? Will it function there?"
"Mostly, though perhaps not exactly as you remember. The land has its own rules. You will learn them."
She nodded slowly, unsurprised. She had adapted before. She had reinvented herself countless times over the centuries, learning and unlearning spells, rules, cultures. The thought didn't deter her—it intrigued her.
"Will I keep my name?" she asked, the question suddenly important.
"No,you will take your ancestors" Death said, "and it will carry meaning in this world. The name, Peverell, exists there. It is known—an ancient Valyrian house whose blood once commanded serpents and creatures of scale. Your lineage is old, respected, feared even. You will arrive as yourself, your identity intact, your legacy already rooted in that world's history."
That surprised her slightly. "Valyrian," she repeated quietly, tasting the unfamiliar word. "Serpents?"
"Your family has always held sway over creatures others feared. The basilisk, the snake. In this world, that legacy continues. Dragons, serpents, fire—magic is drawn to your bloodline. You will find yourself at home in a place you have never visited."
She considered this, fascinated by the implications. She had always been at ease with serpents; Parseltongue had been as natural to her as breathing. The thought of a world where her ability was not just accepted but revered intrigued her deeply.
"And what happens if I fail? If magic dies despite my presence?"
Death regarded her calmly, without judgment. "Then it dies. But that end is not set, and your presence might change things."
She nodded again, accepting this truth without argument. She had never needed guarantees, not even when facing certain death. Certainty had never been her goal—only opportunity.
"Am I to be young again?"
"Yesu will arrive with all the experience you have now, but you will become 18 again, you will age but slightly slower, yoh will be free to choose your path, your allies, your enemies. You can stand aside or intervene. Rule or retreat. Magic cares little for morality, only survival."
She understood fully then. There were no expectations, no limitations, no prophecy to bind her actions. Only a task: ensure magic endured in a world where it was fading. Everything else was left to her discretion, to her own desires and choices.
"I will go," she said firmly, feeling the words settle within her like an anchor.
Death inclined its head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than agreement or approval. "Then go, and know that your choice is yours alone."
She felt a sensation akin to waking, like emerging from deep water into light. Death began fading away, dissolving into the gentle, empty stillness. She did not say goodbye—there was no need. She knew they would meet again, someday.
The world around her shifted subtly, and with a slow, deliberate breath, she felt herself return.
Then she opened her eyes.
-----------
Haedryn opened her eyes.
Sunlight filtered softly through leaves above, painting the world in gentle shades of green and gold. Beneath her lay cool earth and a cushion of moss, strangely welcoming after the formless void she had passed through. She took a careful breath, tasting clean air filled with the scent of rich soil and growing things. She had expected confusion, pain, perhaps even panic, but instead found only a quiet stillness within herself, matching the tranquility of the grove.
She sat up slowly, muscles moving fluidly beneath her basilisk-hide armor. She noted, with subtle curiosity, that the aches and strains accumulated over centuries had vanished entirely. Raising one hand, she studied the smooth skin, the absence of scars that had previously told their stories. Her hair, she discovered as it fell forward over her shoulder, was thick, shining, untouched by silver strands. She was young again, or at least her body was. Restored to an age when time had not yet marked her.
Standing, she glanced around. Tall, pale-barked trees ringed her, their leaves rustling gently despite the absence of wind. Faces carved into the trunks stared with somber red eyes, weeping slow streams of sap. The air felt thick with ancient magic, as tangible as mist and twice as heavy.
This was the Isle of Faces, she remembered suddenly. Death had promised her arrival here, though the reality was far more vivid than the vague descriptions she'd received. She turned slowly, taking in the sacred grove, feeling the presence of countless unseen watchers. She had been in many ancient, magical places before, but nothing had ever felt quite so deeply alive, so patiently attentive.
Movement flickered at the edges of her vision. She turned smoothly, not startled but aware, one hand resting lightly near the Elder Wand, ready but not aggressive. Figures stepped forward from between the trees, small beings with large, luminous eyes that shone gold and green beneath leafy brows. Their skin was mottled green and brown, blending seamlessly into the surroundings. She recognized them immediately from the echoes of old legends and fragmented histories she had encountered through the centuries—the Children of the Forest.
They watched her warily, their delicate hands clutching weapons crafted of bone and obsidian. Yet they made no aggressive moves, only observing with guarded curiosity. She waited, letting them study her, knowing well the respect owed to beings whose history surpassed her own by millennia.
Finally, one stepped forward—a figure clearly older and wiser than the rest, carrying a staff carved from pale wood and bone, adorned with intricate symbols. She met the creature's gaze calmly and respectfully.
"You are not of this world," the elder said softly, its voice like wind rustling through leaves.
"No," Haedryn agreed, her voice steady and respectful. "I've come from very far away."
The elder's golden eyes searched hers, seeming to see far deeper than mere flesh. "Your coming was foretold to us by the roots of the world. You carry old power, ancient blood."
She nodded slowly. "I am Haedryn of House Peverell, a line older than many realize. Our blood once commanded serpents and spoke freely to creatures of scale and venom."
The elder inclined its head in acknowledgment. "Blood such as yours has not walked these lands since the Doom claimed Valyria. Yet now, here you stand upon the Isle of Faces, where old magic still breathes freely."
"I was guided here," she admitted truthfully, seeing no reason to hide it. "To this grove, specifically. I was told your people would allow me to gather my strength, to learn about the world I now find myself in."
The elder considered this silently before giving another slow nod. "We are guardians, watchers. Our duty is to protect and observe. If your purpose is to defend magic, we will allow you sanctuary here while you regain yourself."
"Thank you," she replied sincerely. "I have no desire to disturb the balance here. I merely seek knowledge."
With that, the tension among the Children eased visibly. Their weapons lowered slightly, and the elder stepped aside, gesturing toward the heart of the grove.
"Come," it said quietly. "We will show you a place to rest, and speak further."
She followed without hesitation, moving silently through the grove alongside these ancient beings. They guided her deeper into their hidden sanctuary, passing beneath great boughs that seemed to close gently behind them. The sense of calm and welcome grew stronger the further she went, and she felt herself relax in a way she hadn't in decades, perhaps centuries.
They reached a small clearing ringed by smooth stones carved with more faces and ancient runes, glowing faintly in the dimness beneath the canopy. At the center stood an altar-like slab, around which grew clusters of delicate white flowers that seemed to shimmer gently in the filtered light.
"You may remain here," the elder said, indicating the area. "We will speak again when you are ready."
Then, quietly, they withdrew, melting back into the shadows of the grove and leaving her alone in the sacred heart of the Isle.
Haedryn placed her satchel gently upon the stone slab and began to carefully remove its contents, checking each item methodically. She took stock of the Potter and Black libraries, the precious Peverell grimoires—texts rich in knowledge and steeped in centuries of magical tradition. Each book, artifact, and vial was carefully inspected, though nothing seemed damaged or disturbed by her passage through the Veil.
Her hand lingered over the Sword of Gryffindor, its silver blade shining gently in the dim light. She had always appreciated the sword's quiet presence, the way it appeared when needed most. Carefully, she set it aside, making note of its condition and enchantments. Everything felt intact, undiminished by her transition.
Satisfied, she turned her attention back to the grove itself. Haedryn approached one of the nearest weirwood trees, placing her hand carefully upon its pale bark. The tree felt warm beneath her touch, thrumming softly with magic that resonated deep within her bones. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, opening her senses to the currents of power flowing gently through the roots beneath her feet.
The magic here was different, primal and raw, unlike the structured spells and enchantments she had spent lifetimes mastering. It was patient, connected to the earth itself, moving in slow, purposeful currents. She felt the subtle echoes of distant memories, visions flickering briefly behind closed eyes—snatches of history, glimpses of places and faces yet unknown to her.
Drawing back slightly, she opened her eyes again, stepping away with thoughtful care. There was much to learn about this new land and the magic that flowed through it. Her own spells and rituals would need careful testing to discover how they functioned in this unfamiliar environment. But for now, at least, she had a safe place in which to rest and reflect, thanks to the quiet generosity of these ancient watchers.
Settling herself carefully upon the stone altar, Haedryn allowed herself a moment to simply exist. She was no longer Harry Potter, survivor of wars long past and keeper of forgotten magic. She was Haedryn Peverell, heir to an ancient Valyrian bloodline whose name and power would soon become known once more.
For the first time in centuries, she felt the gentle stirrings of excitement within her—curiosity unburdened by weariness, purpose without chains. She was in a new world, unbound and free to choose her path.
She closed her eyes and let the quiet hum of ancient magic wash over her, knowing this peace was temporary, yet savoring it deeply nonetheless. Soon enough, she would act. But for now, she allowed herself simply to breathe, and to rest.
-----------
Haedryn spent the following days quietly, immersing herself in the ancient stillness of the Isle of Faces. She rose each morning at dawn, taking in the soft, pale light that filtered through the canopy, gently illuminating the sacred grove. There was no urgency here, no demands or pressures. Only peace, and the space to carefully sort through all that she had brought with her.
She began by carefully arranging her belongings, laying out each item methodically upon the smooth stone altar. Her extensive libraries—the Potter, Black, and Peverell grimoires—were arranged neatly, their covers gleaming faintly with enchantments designed to protect them from decay. She handled each book reverently, ensuring that their spells of preservation remained unbroken. Every text was precious, a repository of knowledge gathered over centuries, and losing even one would be an irreplaceable loss.
As she worked, she felt the presence of the Children of the Forest observing her, though they kept their distance respectfully, allowing her privacy to settle into her new surroundings. Occasionally, she caught glimpses of them—small figures slipping silently through the trees, their golden eyes briefly meeting hers before vanishing back into the foliage. Their quiet vigilance was comforting rather than unsettling, a gentle reminder that she was not entirely alone.
Once satisfied that her books and artifacts were safely accounted for, Haedryn turned her attention to the satchel containing her gold and silver. She carefully counted and examined the coins, noting their differing currencies and intricate engravings. They would have no immediate value in this new world, she knew, but precious metals were universally recognized and would be useful eventually, once she ventured beyond the sanctuary of the Isle.
She paused briefly over the Sword of Gryffindor, carefully unwrapping it from its protective covering. The blade gleamed softly in the dim light, its edge razor-sharp despite centuries of existence. Haedryn felt a quiet reassurance in its presence. It was more than a mere weapon; it was a relic of courage and conviction, a companion that had never failed her when needed most. She carefully polished it with a soft cloth, murmuring protective charms to ensure its continued durability.
Satisfied that her belongings were intact, she began to familiarize herself with her new home. Guided by the quiet presence of the Children, she learned the layout of the Isle, noting the locations of freshwater springs and sheltered clearings where edible berries and roots grew abundantly. The island was rich in resources, its ancient trees and fertile soil creating an environment that seemed almost untouched by time.
The Children watched her closely, their initial wariness gradually easing as they observed her respectful treatment of their sacred spaces. After several days, one of the younger Children—a small female with vivid emerald eyes and delicate, leaf-green skin—approached cautiously, her expression curious yet cautious.
"You are unlike any who have come before," the young Child said softly, her voice delicate like the rustle of leaves.
Haedryn regarded her gently, mindful of the trust being offered. "Perhaps because my journey has been different from others," she replied calmly. "I have lived many lifetimes, seen countless worlds, yet yours is unlike any other."
The Child tilted her head, thoughtful. "Our elder says you have old blood. Blood from across the seas, from the land of dragons and fire."
Haedryn nodded. "My family, House Peverell, once stood among the dragonlords of Valyria. We were known for our command over serpents and creatures of scale, our magic deeply entwined with fire and venom."
"Valyria fell," the Child said softly. "It burned and drowned beneath waves and flame."
"Yet its blood still lives in me," Haedryn replied. "I carry its legacy, even if the land itself is gone."
The Child studied her for a moment longer before nodding slowly. "You are welcome among us, then. Our roots whispered your coming long before you arrived. Magic itself seems to stir in your presence."
Haedryn smiled faintly, appreciating the honesty of the statement. "Magic is why I am here," she admitted. "I was asked to protect it, to nurture it if I can. Though how I do so remains my choice alone."
The Child's eyes widened slightly, intrigued. "Magic flows differently here than in the lands of men. It is quieter, deeper, tied to the earth itself and the memories of the trees. Do you wish to understand it?"
"Very much," Haedryn agreed sincerely. "Understanding magic, in all its forms, has always been my life's purpose."
The young Child nodded, clearly pleased by this answer. "Come then," she invited softly, gesturing toward the deeper grove. "The elder waits to speak with you again."
Haedryn followed quietly, her steps soundless upon the soft earth. The Child led her deeper into the heart of the Isle, where the weirwood trees grew thickest, their white bark glowing gently in the dimness. At the very center stood the oldest tree of all—massive, ancient, its branches stretching upward like reaching arms. The faces carved into its bark were numerous, their red eyes glowing faintly, solemn and watchful.
The elder stood waiting beneath the great tree, leaning lightly upon its bone-and-wood staff. It inclined its head respectfully as Haedryn approached.
"You have found your place here quickly," the elder observed gently. "The Isle accepts you, as do we."
"I am grateful," Haedryn said quietly. "Your hospitality has allowed me the peace I needed after a long journey."
The elder gestured gently toward the tree. "This is the heart of the Isle, the greatest weirwood. Through it, the world speaks—past, present, and sometimes future. You are welcome to commune with it, to listen and learn."
Haedryn stepped closer to the massive tree, placing her hand reverently upon its smooth bark. Immediately, she felt a quiet pulse of magic ripple outward beneath her touch, gentle yet profoundly powerful. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to sink deeper into the connection, opening her mind fully to the ancient presence within.
Visions came slowly at first, drifting gently into her consciousness like leaves floating upon a quiet stream. She saw glimpses of Westeros—vast landscapes of mountain and sea, forests deep and ancient, bustling cities of stone and timber. She felt the land itself breathe slowly beneath her feet, felt the distant stirrings of dragons somewhere far away, their fire still burning fiercely within their hearts.
She saw people, faces she did not yet recognize but whose significance she felt deeply. A king crowned beneath a vaulted ceiling, a woman with silver hair and eyes full of ambition, another with red hair and quiet, watchful strength. She saw shadows stretching long across the land, whispers of unrest and uncertainty.
Yet the visions offered no commands, no prophecies demanding her obedience. They were merely impressions, possibilities, glimpses of paths she might choose or ignore entirely. She was not being guided or controlled, merely informed. The choice, as Death had promised, remained hers alone.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand, feeling strangely refreshed and deeply thoughtful. She turned back to the elder, who watched patiently.
"The weirwoods have shown me much," she said quietly. "But I sense they have not shown me everything."
The elder inclined its head gently. "They rarely do. Even we, who have lived among them since the beginning, know that their wisdom is never fully revealed. They offer possibilities, nothing more."
Haedryn nodded slowly. "Then I shall take those possibilities and find my own path."
The elder smiled faintly, approvingly. "Then you understand well."
She stayed beneath the great tree for some time afterward, simply existing in the quiet presence of ancient magic. Her thoughts were calm and clear, her resolve quietly building. Soon, she knew, she would venture forth from the sanctuary of the Isle, stepping into the wider world beyond. There, she would decide her role, her alliances, her actions.
For now, though, she allowed herself the simple pleasure of quiet contemplation, knowing such peace would soon be rare once she crossed the water. She knew the world waited beyond, full of challenges and intrigues, of dragons and kings, prophecies and wars. But for this single moment, she was content merely to exist, to listen, and to prepare for what lay ahead.
-----------
Haedryn stood quietly at the edge of the sacred grove, watching the gentle light of dawn filter through the weirwood leaves. It painted the world in subtle hues of gold and rose, illuminating the faces carved into the ancient bark with gentle clarity. She took a slow breath, savoring the stillness one last time before turning to face the gathered Children of the Forest.
The elder stepped forward first, its luminous eyes patient and watchful. Haedryn offered a small, sincere bow, deeply grateful for the sanctuary and guidance they had provided her during her brief stay.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice clear but quiet. "For your generosity and patience. You've allowed me time and peace to prepare myself. That is a gift I'll never forget."
The elder inclined its head gently in acknowledgment. "You have respected our land and traditions. Few who come from the outside ever do. We offer our thanks in return."
Haedryn smiled faintly, moved by their sincerity. "When I've found my place and established myself in the world beyond this island, I will return to you—if you'll allow it. I'd offer anything I can in exchange for the kindness you've shown me."
The elder considered her words thoughtfully before speaking. "Your presence here has been enough. You honor us with your offer, but we require no payment. Should you choose to return, you will always be welcome."
Haedryn nodded respectfully, grateful once more. Then, meeting the gaze of several younger Children watching her closely, she added softly, "Perhaps someday, some among you might wish to join me—to see beyond your shores, to walk the wider world. If that time ever comes, I promise to guide you safely."
A gentle ripple of murmuring went through the gathered figures, thoughtful rather than fearful. The elder seemed quietly pleased, offering her another small nod.
"Perhaps that day will come," it said softly. "Until then, go safely, Haedryn of House Peverell. The roots of this land will remember your steps."
"I'll remember them too," Haedryn replied gently. "Always."
With a final respectful inclination of her head, Haedryn turned and walked toward the clearing near the shore, where the early sunlight gleamed brightly upon the open sky above the water. She carefully opened her satchel and drew out her broom—an ancient yet immaculately maintained Firebolt, its handle polished from centuries of careful use. Running her fingers lovingly along its length, she felt familiar enchantments hum beneath her touch, reassuring her that the magic woven into its wood and twigs remained strong.
Mounting the broom smoothly, she felt its gentle vibration beneath her, a comforting presence after the stillness of the past few days. With a gentle push off the ground, she rose steadily above the treeline, the soft morning air flowing coolly around her. She took a moment to hover, looking down at the lush, vibrant island beneath her—a sanctuary she would always cherish.
"Farewell," she whispered softly, then turned eastward, toward the mainland and her first steps into this unfamiliar world.
The wind rushed past her gently, her broom responding perfectly to her subtle shifts in direction as she soared above the waters of the God's Eye. The distant shore grew closer rapidly, revealing lush fields and forests stretching toward mountains and distant plains. From this height, Westeros spread out before her, vast and alive—a land waiting for discovery.
She flew steadily onward, the land unfolding swiftly beneath her. Fields gave way to rivers, villages became towns, and gradually, signs of greater civilization emerged. Eventually, a city appeared in the distance, its spires and walls glittering faintly in the sunlight. King's Landing, she realized—the seat of Targaryen power, and the heart of this world's politics and intrigue. It seemed a logical first stop; where better to understand the realm than the city at its center?
As she approached, Haedryn slowed, descending carefully toward a quiet, wooded area just beyond the outskirts of the city walls. She landed silently, stepping lightly from her broom and quickly concealing it again within her satchel. After a careful glance around, she drew out the Cloak of Invisibility, draping its shimmering fabric securely over herself and her belongings. Immediately, she vanished entirely, unseen to any watching eyes.
She moved silently, slipping unseen past farmers tending their fields and merchants traveling the roads toward the city's gates. Her footsteps left no trace, her presence unnoticed by all who passed. Soon enough, she stood before King's Landing's mighty walls, massive gates open as traders and travelers flowed steadily into the bustling city.
She followed quietly, careful to avoid brushing against anyone. The streets were packed and lively, filled with noise and activity—a stark contrast to the peaceful solitude she'd experienced on the Isle. Merchants shouted their wares, children laughed and chased each other through narrow alleys, and guards in polished armor watched the crowds closely from street corners.
Haedryn navigated carefully, moving deeper into the city's heart. King's Landing was vibrant but chaotic, and she found herself grateful for the anonymity her cloak provided. It allowed her the freedom to observe without interruption, taking in the city's atmosphere, learning its rhythms and tensions.
Eventually, she found herself drawn toward the towering shape of the Red Keep, perched high above the city, its towers gleaming faintly in the afternoon sun. She moved steadily closer, slipping easily past groups of servants, soldiers, and nobles alike, none aware of her silent passage.
As she reached the castle grounds, she noted with approval the security measures—numerous guards at key positions, gates carefully watched, patrols regular and disciplined. Yet for someone of her skills and advantages, bypassing these protections posed no challenge. She moved effortlessly into the keep itself, passing unseen through its wide halls, her eyes carefully noting details of architecture and layout, security points, and vulnerabilities.
Her first stop was the throne room. She found it empty at this hour, the great hall echoing with silence rather than the usual hum of courtly intrigue. The Iron Throne itself stood stark and menacing at the room's end, its twisted blades catching faint reflections of torchlight. She studied it carefully, sensing the heavy weight of ambition and violence woven into its creation. It was a stark reminder of the world she now inhabited—dangerous, complex, and filled with power struggles.
Moving quietly onward, she explored other key areas—the council chambers, the barracks, the sprawling courtyards where knights trained diligently with swords and spears. Haedryn paused a while to observe, carefully noting the combat styles and weaponry favored here. She watched their movements closely, mentally comparing them to the sword and dagger techniques she'd mastered over centuries of training. Though styles differed, the fundamentals remained constant—footwork, precision, adaptability. She found herself pleased; her skills would translate well.
Satisfied, Haedryn carefully withdrew from the Red Keep, returning to the quieter streets of the city. The shadows lengthened as afternoon faded toward evening, casting King's Landing in softer, golden hues. She knew she needed a secure place to rest, somewhere private and safe to plan her next steps in earnest.
Eventually, she found an empty, abandoned house tucked into a quiet corner near the Street of Silk, its windows boarded and doors secured—but easily bypassed with a whispered charm. Inside was dusty and neglected, but private enough for her immediate needs. She quickly sealed the doors and windows with protective spells and subtle wards, ensuring no one could disturb her here.
Finally safe and alone, Haedryn removed her cloak and sat carefully upon the old wooden floor, feeling thoughtful and deeply aware of the opportunities and challenges before her. King's Landing had revealed itself as complex and vibrant, full of potential allies and rivals. She knew she'd need caution, patience, and careful strategy to navigate this city's intricate web.
But Haedryn felt no fear. Instead, she felt anticipation—a sense of readiness she had not experienced in centuries. Her path remained fully hers to choose, her actions dictated solely by her judgment and desires. She would watch carefully, learn swiftly, and then begin making her moves.
The city lay before her, ripe with possibility. Soon enough, Westeros would know the name Haedryn Peverell, and magic would live or die by her decisions