GoT Shadowborn: The Rise of Ashford

The road back to the caravan stretched out before them like an endless ribbon of darkened earth, cloaked in uneasy silence. The faint scent of smoke lingered on the cool night breeze, a reminder of the village's ruin behind them. Ethan glanced at Kieran, who walked beside him, pale and grim. Though his wounds had healed remarkably fast, there was a haunted look in Kieran's eyes. It wasn't just from the near-death experience—it was the weight of what he'd become.

The voice still echoed in Ethan's mind, cryptic yet commanding. Save him, it had urged. And Ethan had obeyed, slicing his wrist and letting his blood flow into Kieran's mouth. The transformation had been immediate, violent, and undeniable. Ethan had felt a strange power surge through him as he watched Kieran shift from the brink of death to an unnaturally fast healing state.

"How are you feeling?" Ethan asked quietly, his voice laced with concern, though he tried not to show it. He wasn't sure if Kieran was ready to talk, but he needed to know how much control he had over whatever had happened to him.

Kieran shook his head, his voice hoarse. "Different. Stronger... but wrong. What am I? What did you do to me?"

Ethan hesitated, his eyes scanning the path ahead, avoiding the weight of Kieran's searching gaze. It had been a simple decision in the moment, driven by the voice in his mind, but now he felt the gravity of what he'd done. "I saved your life. That's all that matters right now."

Kieran's jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing. "You call this living? I feel... thirsty. But not for water." His voice wavered, a tremor of fear in it, and Ethan could sense the struggle within him—the terrifying realization that he was no longer entirely human. He could almost feel Kieran's internal battle with whatever dark force had been awakened in him.

Ethan sighed, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "We'll figure it out. Together. Just keep it under control. No one else can know."

Kieran's voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't ask for this."

Neither did Ethan, but he didn't say it. Instead, he walked in silence, his mind racing. Kieran had to stay calm—if the others sensed something was off, they'd all be in danger. Kieran had to control whatever hunger or power was gnawing at him.

As they approached the camp, Bjorn and the twins were already waiting, their faces etched with worry. But as soon as they saw Kieran, alive and standing, their expressions froze in disbelief.

Kieran stood a few paces behind Ethan, hesitant. He could feel their eyes upon him, like they were searching for some sign that he was who he used to be. But even he didn't know if he was. The transformation had been brutal and quick, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Bjorn's eyes widened. "Kieran! We... we thought you were dead!" he called out, his voice thick with disbelief.

"I thought I was too," Kieran muttered, his gaze avoiding the group, as though he were ashamed to face them. The strange, overwhelming sensation of being reborn had left him feeling like a stranger in his own body. He could feel the gnawing hunger beneath his skin, the need to feed—but there was also something else, something darker that he wasn't sure how to explain.

Bjorn hesitated, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He exchanged a quick look with the twins, his brow furrowed with suspicion. "But you... you were dead. How? How are you here?"

Ethan stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Bjorn's shoulder, trying to guide the conversation away from the tension. He knew it wouldn't be easy to convince them. "He's alive, Bjorn. I don't have all the answers, but I saved him. He's not a ghost, and he's not a damn corpse."

"But—" Bjorn started, his eyes narrowing, skepticism evident on his face. The twins, wide-eyed and visibly shaken, stood at a distance, their hands hovering near their weapons, as if ready to draw at any sudden movement.

Kieran stepped forward, deciding he couldn't afford to keep silent any longer. The truth would be too much, so he needed to craft something that was close enough to reality. He swallowed hard, pushing the growing hunger to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the lie he needed to tell.

"I... I don't know how to explain it," Kieran started, his voice low but steady, his eyes darting nervously as he tried to construct a story. "I was caught in the fight when the house collapsed. I slid under one of the bandits, thinking I'd be crushed, but I managed to slip free when the roof came down. I ran through the smoke and debris, trying to get to the town, but I lost track of them. I found myself hiding in a basement under the wreckage. It was dark, and I was stuck there for what felt like hours, waiting for the chaos to die down. When I finally crawled out, I was just... out of it. I don't remember much after that, but I made it back here. Alive."

Bjorn stared at him, clearly skeptical but not outright rejecting the story. "You're saying you were hiding in a collapsed building all this time?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, his suspicion growing.

Kieran nodded, trying to sound convincing. "Yeah. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what happened. I thought I was going to die under there. But when I finally got out, I just... I didn't know what else to do. I was barely able to make my way back here."

There was a long silence as Bjorn studied him, his expression hardening. Finally, he seemed to relax a little, though his gaze was still cautious. "I don't know about this, Kieran. It's strange, but I'll take your word for it. Just don't pull something like that again."

The twins remained silent, though they cast worried glances at Kieran, their distrust palpable. Kieran could see it in their eyes—they weren't convinced, and he had no way to prove otherwise. He had come back from the dead, after all, and that was a truth no one would believe without a price.

Kieran forced himself to smile weakly, trying to cover the unease he felt. "I won't. I swear. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

Ethan stepped forward again, sensing the growing tension in the air. "We need to focus. Whatever happened, Kieran's back, and that's what matters. We're not safe yet."

Bjorn, still looking unconvinced but willing to let it go for now, nodded. "Fine. Let's keep moving, then."

As they settled in for the night, the fire crackling in the center of the camp, Kieran couldn't shake the feeling that his story wasn't enough to hide the truth. The hunger still burned in him, a constant reminder of what he had become. But for now, the others seemed to buy it.

Ethan settled nearby, but he didn't say anything further. His gaze was intense, probing, but he didn't push Kieran to elaborate. Kieran knew Ethan was watching him closely, waiting for some sign that he was in control. The truth was, Kieran didn't even know if he was in control. How could he explain the urges that pulled at him? The intense hunger that surged beneath the surface whenever he was near blood or when his thoughts drifted too long into the memory of that transformation?

The voices whispered again, faint but insistent, Feed, Kieran. You are stronger now. Give in, and the world will kneel to you.

It took everything in Kieran not to flinch. He clenched his fists at his sides, keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. "I won't give in," he muttered under his breath. "I can't. Not like this."

But the hunger was still there, gnawing at him.

As he stared into the fire, the tension of the day weighing heavily on his shoulders, he heard a voice beside him. "Kieran."

He turned to see Ethan standing next to him, his expression unreadable. "Are you sure you can control it? This... hunger?" Ethan asked softly.

Kieran exhaled sharply, looking away. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice low. "But I have to. I can't lose myself."

Ethan nodded, a flicker of something in his eyes—concern? Fear? "Keep it together. We need you, Kieran. And you're not alone in this."

Kieran swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn't sure if he could ever be the same again, but one thing was certain: his path forward was no longer just about survival. It was about mastering this new power. The gods had given him this chance, and they would have their own designs on what came next. Whatever that was, he had to be ready.

The world was changing. And so was he.