In Game of thrones with Sci fi Military system

Far Beyond the Mountain Wall: The City of Asshai

Deep in the shadowed lands beyond the mountain wall, the city of Asshai lay cloaked in eternal twilight. Its blackened buildings of oily stone seemed to drink in the faint light of the distant sun, and the air was thick with the hum of ancient power.

In a dark chamber within one of the oldest towers, a woman tossed and turned in her sleep. Her face was pale, her features drawn tight as though she was locked in an intense battle. Sweat poured from her brow, soaking the silken sheets beneath her.

In her nightmare, visions of fire, blood, and shadows danced before her. Cities crumbled under the weight of an unstoppable force. A massive black dragon soared above the chaos, its roar shaking the very earth. At the center of it all stood a man and a woman, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light. Death followed in their wake.

The woman's eyes snapped open. She gasped for air, clutching at her chest as though trying to calm her racing heart.

The noise woke the servants outside her chamber. They rushed in, their faces etched with concern.

"High Seer!" one of them cried, kneeling beside her. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head weakly, her breaths still labored. Her voice, though faint, carried a chilling certainty.

"Death… and destruction," she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "We cannot… stop it…"

Before she could say more, her body went limp. The servants panicked, calling for healers, but the High Seer lay unconscious, her mind still lost in the terrifying vision.

BACK IN VOLANTIS

Victor paced the halls of the triarchs' former palace, now the seat of his temporary command. His burned arm was heavily bandaged, the skin beneath raw and throbbing with pain. Despite his injuries, his mind was focused on ensuring the stability of the newly conquered city.

Jorah Mormont entered the chamber, his face filled with concern. "Victor, you need rest. That arm isn't going to heal if you keep pushing yourself like this."

Victor shot him a sharp look. "I don't have time for rest, Jorah. Volantis may be under our control, but it's far from secure. There are still remnants of the triarchs' loyalists hiding in the shadows, and the slaves need guidance as they adjust to their freedom. I can't afford to stop now."

Jorah folded his arms, his tone firm. "You won't be able to lead anyone if you collapse from exhaustion. You've done more than enough for now. Let me handle things while you recover."

Victor hesitated, his pride clashing with his growing fatigue. "You think you can manage all this on your own?"

Jorah smirked. "I've been a knight, a lord, and an exile. Trust me, I can handle it. Besides, you've already trained these men to follow orders. I'll make sure everything runs smoothly."

After a long pause, Victor sighed. "Fine. But if anything goes wrong, I'm holding you personally responsible."

"Noted," Jorah said with a nod. "Now, go rest before that arm gets infected. We can't afford to lose you."

Victor finally relented, leaving the chamber with a reluctant nod. Jorah watched him go, then turned to the task at hand.

Jorah began by organizing patrols to root out any lingering resistance within the city. He met with the freed slaves, offering them reassurance and guidance as they adjusted to their newfound freedom. The docks were reinforced with additional guards to prevent any surprise attacks, and the remaining Red Temple structures were thoroughly searched for hidden dangers.

Despite the challenges, Jorah felt a renewed sense of purpose. For the first time in years, he was part of something greater than himself a chance to rebuild not only a city but also his own tarnished legacy.

As the sun set over Volantis, Jorah stood on the balcony of the triarchs' palace, watching the city come to life under their rule. Though the road ahead was fraught with danger, he felt a glimmer of hope.

"Let's see if we can make this work," he muttered to himself, his resolve strengthening with every passing moment.

The City of Asshai

In the shadowed halls of the High Seer's palace, the air was thick with tension. The room where the High Seer lay was dimly lit, the flickering flames of black candles casting long, eerie shadows on the walls. Around her bed stood a gathering of Asshai's most powerful magic users witches with tattoos of strange symbols, warlocks with pale, hollow eyes, and other practitioners whose powers were feared across Essos.

The High Seer remained unconscious, her breathing shallow, her body as still as death. The gathered magic users murmured among themselves, their faces etched with concern.

"None of our spells can wake her," one witch said, her voice trembling.

"Nor can we divine the exact nature of her vision," added a warlock, his pale eyes narrowing in frustration. "It is as though the magic itself is obscuring her thoughts."

One of the witches turned to the servants who had been present during the incident. "Tell us exactly what happened," she demanded.

The lead servant stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously. "High seer was having a nightmare, from what it looked like one" he began, his voice shaking. "She was shaking and cold from the sweat... and She said… she said something about 'death and destruction.' And then…"

"And then what?" one of the warlocks pressed.

The servant swallowed hard. "She said, 'We cannot stop it,' before she fainted."

A heavy silence fell over the room. The witches and warlocks exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions darkening with dread.

"Do you understand what this means?" one witch whispered. "The last time the High Seer spoke of such things, it was before the Doom of Valyria."

"And she was right," another added grimly. "Every word of her vision came true." The reason they didn't warn valyria about their doom because they don't interfere with outside world much. And valyria had nothing to do with them, but now it's different.

"If this new vision holds the same weight…" a warlock trailed off, his voice heavy with fear. "Then we may be on the brink of something far worse than Valyria's fall."

The group fell into an uneasy silence, each of them grappling with the implications of the High Seer's vision.

Volantis

The sun was high in the sky as Victor emerged from his quarters, his burned arm now wrapped in fresh bandages. Though the injury still ached, the rest and treatment had done wonders for his condition.

He stepped onto the balcony of the triarchs' former palace, where Jorah Mormont was overseeing the activities in the city below. The docks bustled with activity as their forces worked to secure the area, and the streets were alive with freed slaves rebuilding their lives.

"Jorah," Victor called out as he approached.

Jorah turned, offering a respectful nod. "Feeling better, I see."

"Much," Victor replied. He glanced out at the city, then back at Jorah. "You've done good work while I was recovering. The city's stable, the docks are secure, and the people are… hopeful. That's no small feat."

Jorah allowed himself a small smile. "Thank you. It hasn't been easy, but the men have been cooperative, and the people are starting to trust us."

Victor clapped him on the shoulder. "You've earned their trust. And mine."

Jorah raised an eyebrow. "You're not the easiest man to impress, Victor."

"Maybe not," Victor admitted with a smirk. "But you've proven yourself. If my King asks, I'll tell him you're a man we can count on."

Jorah's smile widened slightly, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "That means a lot. Thank you."

Victor nodded, then turned his attention back to the bustling city below. "We've done well here, but the war's far from over. Stay sharp, Jorah. Things are only going to get harder from here."

Jorah nodded solemnly. "Understood."

Back in Asshai

In the dark chamber of the High Seer, the witches and warlocks continued their discussions in hushed tones. Though their spells and rituals had failed to wake her, they could feel the weight of her vision hanging over them like a storm cloud.

One of the warlocks stepped forward, his voice low but urgent. "We must prepare for the worst. If her vision is anything like the one before Valyria's fall, then the world as we know it is in grave danger."

Another witch nodded. "But from what? We don't know what she saw in her vision and what to look for now?".

"We may not know the specifics," the lead warlock said, his tone grave. "But we know one thing for certain: the storm is coming. And it will change everything."

As they spoke, the High Seer stirred slightly in her sleep, her lips moving as though forming silent words. The magic users leaned closer, straining to hear.

But the only sound was the faint whisper of the wind outside, carrying with it the weight of an uncertain future.