Solo Leveling in Westeros

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Aeron stood on the battlements at Winterfell, the wind cold against his face, tugging at his cloak, as he watched the ravens vanish into the night. He blew out a slow breath, a smile playing upon his lips. 'I've assigned shadow soldiers to the ravens. Now we wait.' 

Turning back, he found Maester Luwin staring at him warily. 

"You're done with 'inspecting' them, then?" the old man said with suspicion laced in his voice. 

Aeron nodded. "I am." 

Luwin hesitated a moment. "You know the lords of Westeros will laugh at those letters. They haven't seen what we have." 

Aeron chuckled, his head swinging. "Oh, I'm aware. They laughed at Aegon too." 

He took a step forward, his hand rising. In an instant, his army of shadows materialized behind him—soldiers clad in black, beasts with glowing eyes, a monstrous direwolf standing like a specter of death. The weight of their presence made the air feel heavy. 

"I have enough power right now to take Westeros and Essos both. No one could stop me." His voice was calm, but beneath it, a storm brewed. He turned his gaze to Luwin. "But I'd leave a trail of death and destruction in my wake. And I'd rather not." 

Luwin watched him closely, his old hands clenching in his robes. 

"That's why I'm offering them the choice to bend the knee—peacefully." Aeron furthered, "The same offer Aegon made when he conquered these realms. And all it took for him was three mortal dragons." 

A thick silence followed. 

There was nothing Luwin could say. 

Aeron let the mass of his statement hang for a second before adding, "I am not staying in Winterfell, Maester. So, you don't have to worry about me doing something here." 

Aeron's violet eyes came to rest on Bran Stark. "As you are the Lord of Winterfell in your brother's stead, I have a favor to ask of you." 

Bran, seated in his brother's high seat, straightened. "What is it?" 

"Have House Flint of Widow's Watch ready a ship for me, and some men to crew it." His voice was even, yet weighty. 

He looked at Maester Luwin, then back at Aeron. After a moment, he nodded. "Fine." He turned to Luwin. "See it done." 

Luwin hesitated but finally bowed his head. "As you command, my lord." 

Aeron nodded. "Then I'll ride now." He turned to go, but Ser Rodrik stepped forward, his voice firm. 

"Are you certain about the people you spoke of?" 

Aeron, already mounted on horseback, merely paused and looked back at the grizzled knight. His face was inscrutable until, suddenly, he smiled. "The chaos of this war will serve me just fine." His fingers tightened on the reins. "I have no reason to lie to you, Ser Rodrik. And as for some of them… you don't need to worry. I'll handle it myself, just make sure Theon serve his punishiment, his father won't believe him anyways so do what you must." 

As Aeron prepared to ride out, the clatter of hurried footsteps echoed behind him. "Wait." 

He turned just as Raya approached, her expression firm. "You're not leaving without me." 

Aeron arched a brow. "I thought you liked Winterfell." 

She snorted. "I like being where you are more." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Besides, if you're sailing off to gods-know-where, someone has to keep you in check." 

As Aeron swung himself onto Garm's broad back, he felt the direwolf shift beneath him, muscles coiled like taut steel. Just then, Raya stepped forward. 

"Move up," she said. 

Aeron cast a glance at her, an eyebrow arched. "You sure?" 

She snorted. "Do I look unsure?" Without waiting for a reply, she mounted behind him, flinging her arms about his waist. 

Aeron snorted. "Hold on, then." 

Garm growled low and lurched forward. His paws made barely any noise against the frozen ground as they tore across the night. The wind whirled and howled, whipping around them as the towers of Winterfell dwindled into the darkness behind them. 

Ray wraps her arms a little more tightly around his waist, pressing in slightly. "So, where exactly are we going?" 

Aeron's glowing purple eyes flickered with humor. "Somewhere warmer." 

As Aeron and Raya disappeared into the night atop the massive direwolf, the silence that followed felt almost deafening. The people of Winterfell stood frozen, their breaths visible in the cold air, minds reeling from what they had just witnessed. 

Sir Rodrik let his breath out slowly, his hand closing, relaxing, upon the hilt of his sword, as if in need of some real thing to grasp. "Did we really just have someone like that here. or was it all just some bad nightmare?" 

Maester Luwin shifted his maester's chain, his face impassive, yet his eyes fixed on the empty gates. "No. it was real. All of it." 

Bran sat in his saddle, his boy-face unreadable as he watched the vanished figures. He could still feel the weight of Aeron's presence."He's not like us," he said softly. "But he i feel like he is a good man." 

**** 

The Riverlands :

The wind was howling across the wide expanse of the Riverlands, with dust and steel in the air, while Robb Stark was trying to tackle the raven's letter. It was tattered and worn, its edges frayed from the long journey, but there was no mistaking the handwriting 'Maester Luwin.' Robb read the words slowly, a frown pulling deeper into his forehead as their meaning seeped in. 

"What is this nonsense?" Robb muttered, shaking his head in dismay. "Theon took Winterfell, and a sorcerer saved them? The last part." he trailed off, his voice full of confusion and frustration. "'The Shadow Monarch is coming for Westeros, bend the knee or become my eternal loyal servants?'" 

The bannermen around him shifted and exchanged glances. There was no denying the urgency in Luwin's tone, yet it sounded strange, even perilous. 

"A sorcerer?" Jon Umber said from the side, setting down his cup as he peered over at Robb. "Are we to take that for truth? Winterfell has been taken by Theon, yet he says this... what Monarch protected them? 

Robb's jaw clenched. "I don't know," he muttered, tapping the paper against his leg. "If it weren't from Maester Luwin, I'd say it's a joke, but. He looked up at his bannermen. "Do you think he'd make something like this up?" 

"Oh, I trust your maester," Greatjon Umber grunted, his big hands tightening round the haft of his axe. "But this whole 'Shadow Monarch' nonsense? Doesn't sit right." 

"A monarch of shadows?" a voice at the rear added. "Sounds like one of those damn fairy tales." 

He shook his head again, not quite knowing what to make of it. "Luwin says it's real," he said in a low tone, once more glancing at the words. "And the end of the letter. " His voice fell to a whisper, "'bend the knee or become eternal servants'. It's madness. Still, if Luwin's telling the truth, we may well be facing things we can't even comprehend." 

In a sudden whoosh, the tent flap flew open, the flickering fire light dancing as inside turned cold. A figure unfolded from the dark, its outlines draped in flying blackness-a shadow of a man. Almost immediately, men jumped up from inside the tent, drawing their weapons, and the figure did move with terrorizing speed. 

"What in the.?" Robb's sword was already in his hand, but before he could utter a word, this shadow soldier threw himself at Roose Bolton. 

The others tried to swing their weapons, but it was as if the shadow didn't even acknowledge them. The soldier's movements were too fast, too fluid. Roose Bolton tried to raise a hand in defense, his eyes wide with panic, but the shadow didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, it plunged a blade into Roose's heart. 

The shadow soldier was already tugging backward and disappeared as fast as he materialized. The tent turned eerily silent suddenly. 

"my lord!" shouted one of Bolton's men, who went to his side, but by then it was too late. The lifeless body of Bolton slumped down, staring at something in terror, having breathed his last even before he knew what happened. 

Robb was frozen for a moment, his sword still clutched tightly in his hand, eyes scouring the now-empty space that had just been occupied by the shadow soldier. "What in the gods' names just happened?" he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. 

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