[You have died]
[Your soul has been chosen]
[Welcome, Aegon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone, Rider of Balerion.]
My eyes fluttered open.
'Where am I?'
The question I asked myself seem to echo through my own mind. A sharp headache rang from somewhere deep, so piercing and disturbing, and a soft, whispering yowl escaped my lips. I bent my head in agony to endure through the peril.
'I thought I died? I'm alive?'
When I regained my senses and coherence, I looked around me and realized I was truly alive—or so it was. It seemed the truck that balefully rammed through my bones, had transported me into some fantasy world just like all those stories go.
With the memories I had just acquired; the result of the cerebral anguish I had suffered, it appeared my name was: "Aegon Targaryen," I said aloud, surprised by deep masculine tone that followed.
After my speech, I realized a strange driblet of liquid threatened to drool off my lips. It was a foreign fluid, different from saliva and any liquid I had ingested so far in this world, as I could remember.
'I was dare poisoned?'
My thought sparked with outrage, surprise and caution at the same time.
I glanced at the fallen tumbler in my hands and began to speculate who would ever do this, but my results remained vague as my choices and conception had just been influenced by myself because it was a different soul and conscience now.
I would have to figure that out later. Whoever tried to poison the Lord of Dragonstone must truly have the guts and no fear.
I was in a lavish chamber, carved from black stone. The walls all around me were comfortably warm as a result of the volcanic heat of my great island—Dragonstone.
The room was spacious; my House's insignia was etched everywhere, even to the high, unreachable dark ceiling, so dark, there might be a grim colony of bats roosting peacefully there.
'Why was I reincarnated to this world?'
I asked myself a couple of questions as I threw my legs over the chamber and put on a dark coat, one that used to be my father's—Aerion's.
After putting on the coat, I walked out of the room.
The corridor outside was long and narrow, I had to walk quietly and slowly because I was quite anxious and spooked by the fact of being in a new world.
The walls in this castle were carved from volcanic stone that still pulsed with anciency. Torches crackled in sconces shaped like dragon heads, casting scampering shadows across the obsidian floor. A window slit to my right gave a glimpse of the grey morning sky with clouds thick and slow like ash drifting over fire.
I ascended a spiral stairwell that appeared, my boots echoing with authority against each step. At the top was a stone archway that opened to a wide, wind-battered terrace.
The moment I stepped onto the pavement of the terrace, the wind threatened to blow my frame away, but I stood my ground. However, my snow hair billowed with ferocity that even a single strand danced freely.
I walked to an edge of the overlook and gripped the warm railings to look at the beauty of Dragonstone and the surrounding waters.
The castle itself was a fortress grown from the bones of a volcano with towers shaped like dragons. Everything hummed with energy and reminded me of Old Valyria, including Baely's bone-deep growls I could faintly hear.
I was the Lord of this castle; I had been for two years now, since my father's demise. I was still learning a great deal, but for a start, I had married both my sisters —Rhaenys and Visenya—as our Valyrian customs embraced such unions.
To the east, the sea stretched out into memory we had long chosen to forget. I stared across the water, imagining the Doom unfolding; the sky aflame, the great towers of Valyria falling, dragons wailing as the end came.
'Is my purpose in this world to rebuild my home? To bring back what once was?'
Suddenly, a translucent interface, like a glowing screen of light, shimmered into view before me.
[Welcome, Aegon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone]
[Welcome to the Known World: Planetos]
[You have been blessed by the special class: Conqueror]
[Your mission is not to revive the past.]
[You will not rebuild Old Valyria.]
[Look west, Aegon. Look far.]
I narrowed my eyes, unsure if I was reading or hearing the voice in my head. "What about the west?" I muttered. "Those are people I do not know. Lands I've never walked. A continent so vast it touches ice and ends in wind."
[Truly reflect, Aegon Targaryen.]
[What do you see?]
I gazed westward, across the waves, beyond the sea mists. I felt something stir, not within me physically, but in my very blood and soul.
'I see...'
With a parched throat, I was unable to utter my realization, but my expression spoke for me. My long pause was reflective and my blinking slowed as the vision took shape in my mind.
"I see gold in the hills. Rivers that glisten. Fields of green, untouched by fire. I see castles rising high, and men who think themselves kings... but no dragons in the sky but mine."
"I see a realm that is not yet a realm. A land ruled by great families but do not yet understand what greatness truly is."
"I, Aegon, will teach them."
[Conqueror System Activated]