Cherreads

Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

The darkness was absolute, an endless, suffocating void. Alex Maxwell, or what remained of him, floated in this cosmic limbo, a disembodied consciousness stripped of its earthly form. He had been twenty-two, a business management student at the University of London, seemingly invincible until a variant of a global virus had claimed him. He remembered the last hazy moments: nightclub lights, blurred faces, then the grim sterility of a hospital room, and finally, oblivion.

"So, I died. Then why am I here? I still can't believe that I died of Covid, dammit!" The thought, though silent and unvoiced, echoed through the vast emptiness, a testament to his lingering frustration. He'd expected the afterlife to be heaven, hell, or at least a purgatorial waiting room. Not this. Just infinite black, punctuated only by the distant, swirling galaxies that shimmered like scattered stardust.

Then, a voice, ancient and resonant, filled the silence, deep and calming like a forgotten lullaby. "Your time has not yet come. You died due to a variant of the virus."

A shimmering figure coalesced before him, an old man with a beard so long and magnificent it put every earthly philosopher and wizard to shame. His eyes, though timeless, held a twinkle of profound amusement.

"Who are you? Are you a God? What do you mean by variant?" Alex demanded, a flicker of his old impatience returning.

The old man chuckled, a sound like rustling autumn leaves. "Well, you can call me a god if you wish to simplify it. But I'm more than a god. And no, you're not updated; you've been in this space for nearly a year. On Earth, the virus mutated, and every country has different, stronger variants. But you don't need to worry about it, since you already died."

A year? Time truly had no meaning here. "Oh, okay. So what happens now? Do I go to heaven?"

The old man stroked his magnificent beard, his gaze unwavering. "I could send you to heaven, or offer you another chance to live. Not on Earth, where you came from, but in a different universe where magic exists. You will be going to a world commonly known as Game of Thrones, or 'A Song of Ice and Fire.' And with all the karma you accumulated in your life, I will also give you several wishes. What will they be?"

Alex's disembodied eyebrows shot up. This was it. The ultimate cliché, the dream of countless fanfiction readers. Reincarnation, a new world, and wishes. He'd devoured enough novels to know the pitfalls, the wishes that backfired, the powers that came with unforeseen curses. He needed to be smart, to craft his new life with precision, leaving no room for regrets.

"I accept your offer," he said, his voice surprisingly steady for a man who had just been offered a second shot at existence in a fictional, brutal world. "Could you tell me what world I'll be sent to?"

The being smiled, a wide, bright grin that seemed utterly unfitting for the grim realities of the world he was about to enter. "Good. I'll be sending you to the world of Game of Thrones."

"Well, shit…" Alex rubbed his ethereal hands over his non-existent face. Game of Thrones. A realm of brutal politics, sudden deaths, literal ice zombies, and dragons. He needed more than a few boons; he needed an arsenal.

"Are you ready to make your wishes yet?" the old man asked, still stroking that ridiculously long beard.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Alex declared, taking a deep, phantom breath. He knew exactly what he needed.

"For the first wish, I need an upgraded version of the Spatial Farm world that is in 'Bringing a Farm to Another World'." He reasoned this would provide an impenetrable, self-sustaining sanctuary, a base that could evolve into an entire universe. "This will give me a world of my own after level 30, and by upgrading further, the various backgrounds will become independent worlds, and eventually, a universe will be created."

"Granted," the old man nodded, his smile unwavering.

"Second wish, I want a system in the Spatial Farm to improve, needs to have a powerful AI to assist me and more options like, a store where I can buy all the things, build structures, an option to summon loyal followers to aid me and to cross to different universes if I want to in the future." He paused, awaiting any objections.

"This wish is alright," the old man conceded, "but the summons won't be from different worlds. Those summons will be created by the system with options like race, what kind of being, character appearance with job class and skills from the world that you have already visited. If you want to cross universes in the future, you need to complete some requirements beforehand."

A fair trade. Indigenous summons prevented unwanted cosmic attention, and universe travel remained an option, albeit conditional. "Okay, then for my third wish, I want the ability of my Skyrim Archmage character with all his skills, spells, and mana capacity which will improve by practice and age. This should also include the Dragonborn perks." This would give him potent magical abilities, a significant advantage in a world where magic was rare and often misunderstood. "This will give me extra hidden cards against my opponents."

"You will only get the ability, skills, spells, and the mana capacity of your mage character which will improve with your age and training, but not the items or equipment." The old man raised an eyebrow. "Now, onto your physical enhancements. What else do you desire?"

Alex seized the opportunity. "The fourth boon I'd ask of you is to inject the Super Soldier Serum from Captain America into my new body, as well as martial talent blessed by Ares, the God of War (all things to do with war will be implanted into the mind of the MC) and Takemikazuchi, God of Thunder and Swords." This was crucial. Physical prowess and innate martial skill would be invaluable in a world dominated by steel and blood. He would be a natural warrior, a leader on the battlefield, his body honed to peak human perfection, his mind instinctively understanding strategy and combat.

The old man merely motioned for Alex to continue.

"The fifth boon I would ask of you is to grant me Apollyon and Robin Hood along with their officers as my subordinates. I ask that you make them and their officers absolutely loyal to me to the point where they would give their own lives for my own." Having legendary figures, even if system-created, would provide unparalleled leadership and unique skill sets—Apollyon, a master strategist and brutal warrior, and Robin Hood, an unparalleled archer and master of guerrilla warfare. A deadly combination.

"The sixth boon I would ask of you is to grant me ten thousand soldiers, armored and fully trained and tested by war. They would be loyal to me and me alone. Of the ten thousand, three thousand would be heavy cavalry, two thousand would be elite archers, two thousand would be elite heavy infantry, and the rest would be elite infantrymen."

Before he could continue, the old man raised his hand, stopping him. "I'll give you eight thousand soldiers loyal to you, no more."

Alex considered haggling, but eight thousand was still a formidable force. "Fine. Eight thousand soldiers accompanied by an additional two thousand civilian company made up of blacksmiths, engineers, medical doctors, horse breeders and caretakers, and finally, chefs of the highest caliber. Not to say the rest of them should be mediocre; everyone should be the best of the best in their field."

The old man threw back his head and laughed, a hearty sound that vibrated through the white room. "Very well! I'll give you the two thousand artisans of the highest caliber. What other boon would you have of me?"

This was going better than expected. An army, and the logistical support to sustain them. "I would further ask for a pocket dimension with farmland and a keep to house my soldiers in. The farmland would have farmers to tend to the land, and only those with undying fealty and loyalty would be able to gain access."

The old man merely motioned for him to continue. Alex hesitated, knowing his next two requests were audacious.

"For my seventh boon, I would ask that you make me the Grand Master of the Assassins in 'Assassin's Creed' and that they have undying loyalty to me. I ask that you spread them throughout the world as informants and hidden blades for me to use. We also only communicate through hawks." He waited for any sign of denial, but the old man merely raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Alex decided to push his luck further. "I would further ask for an eighth boon: a map of my surroundings and the world that I could access in my mind. The map would show me my allies and enemies as well as spies, and would act much like the Marauder's Map in 'Harry Potter,' as well as a mini-map in any game."

Still nothing but a single raised eyebrow. Alex knew he was reaching his limit. This was the time to go big or go home. He took a deep breath.

"For my ninth boon, I ask for all the magic of 'Harry Potter' and the magical power of Dumbledore as well as the Elder Wand."

"Denied!" The old man's voice cut him off instantly. "That is too much to ask for another boon."

Alex mentally grumbled about the "stingy old man," but quickly refocused. He needed a good substitute, something that would still ensure his prosperity. And then it hit him.

"Very well then, I ask for four dragons." This would solve his Targaryen problem rather neatly. "And instead of all the magic of 'Harry Potter,' I ask for the ability to make at least two clones of myself that will have a mental link, as well as the ability to use Legilimency as well as compulsion." The ability to read minds and subtly influence others would be invaluable in the treacherous political landscape of Westeros. "I also ask for an additional two thousand personnel this time: innkeepers, prostitutes, as well as sailors with ships, all loyal to me and me alone." This would provide him with an intelligence network, trade routes, and vital resources.

"Granted. There will be no more boons. I have given you more than enough. Now, tell me which family you wish to be born into?"

Alex considered his options carefully. To truly thrive, he needed to be in a position of power, or at least one that offered a clear path to it. He also needed a distinct identity, one that resonated with the world he was entering.

"I want to be born as Aegon Targaryen (Jon Snow), son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. I want the TV show version of age and similar timeline to follow. With pure Targaryen blood." He paused. "For my appearance, I don't want to look like actor Kit Harington. No offense, but I like to have my own personal appearance then to look like other people."

"It's fine, it's your choice anyway," the old man said, and a blue screen shimmered into existence before Alex, displaying a detailed character customization interface. Alex spent what felt like hours, meticulously crafting his new visage – sharp, intelligent eyes that held a hint of ancient wisdom, a strong jawline, and a bearing that hinted at both noble lineage and inner strength. He envisioned a blend of Targaryen features with a touch of Stark solemnity, a face that could command respect yet also inspire trust.

"Thanks, all done," he finally declared, satisfied with his creation.

"All the wishes will be unlocked when you are five years old. Otherwise, your body can't handle all these powers." The old man's voice became more serious. "Then, I will be sending you off now."

With a casual snap of his fingers, like a cosmic Thanos, the space around Alex twisted, contorted, and then collapsed into a singularity, sucking him into a swirling vortex of light and sensation.

The air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat, the sounds of desperate struggle echoing through the ancient stone. The Tower of Joy, a lonely sentinel on the northern edge of Dorne's Red Mountains, was in turmoil. Inside, a woman's screams tore through the oppressive silence, a guttural symphony of pain and effort.

Lyanna Stark, her face pale and streaked with sweat, pushed with her last reserves of strength. Her handmaiden, Wylla, hovered anxiously, offering words of encouragement and wet cloths. Finally, with a gasping cry, a small head crowned, then shoulders, and in a rush of fluid and life, a babe emerged.

"It's a boy, my lady! A healthy boy!" Wylla exclaimed, her voice thick with relief. She quickly cleaned the infant, wrapping him in a linen cloth.

Lyanna, her breath ragged, reached out a trembling hand. "Hurry and pass me my son. I want to have a look at him." She knew her time was short; the birthing had taken everything she had. As the tiny bundle was placed in her arms, her eyes, clouded with approaching death, softened as she gazed upon his face. "Aegon Targaryen," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You will be known as Aegon Targaryen."

Finally, I'm born. The thought, clear and concise, resonated in the newborn's nascent mind. From here onwards, Alex is no more. I'm Aegon Targaryen. The overwhelming sensations of a new body, the chilly air against his skin, the comforting warmth of Lyanna's dying embrace, threatened to engulf him, but the core of his old self, the essence of Alex Maxwell, remained.

The heavy wooden door to the room suddenly burst open, splintering against the stone frame. A man in his mid-twenties, his face long and drawn, his brown hair disheveled, strode in. His closely-trimmed beard was beginning to grey prematurely, and his dark grey eyes, usually soft as fog, were now hard as stone.

"Lyanna!" Ned Stark bellowed, rushing to his sister's side. His gaze fell upon the blood-soaked bed, then to the newborn in her arms. The grim reality of the situation settled heavily upon him.

Aegon felt a strange detachment, observing the scene through the hazy lens of infancy. He was here, in the heart of Westeros, at the genesis of a story he knew intimately. But this time, he wasn't just an observer; he was a participant, imbued with powers that would shake the very foundations of this world.

He felt the faint, comforting brush of Ned Stark's hand on his cheek. The great Lord of Winterfell, unknowingly, held a force that could either save or shatter the Seven Kingdoms. The stage was set. The game had begun.

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