Solo Leveling in Westeros

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In the heart of the earth, where roots wound like veins through ancient stone, and the breath of the Old Gods whispered through the darkness. 

Aeron stepped into the final chamber, where the twisting path ended in stillness and shadow. Before him loomed a great weirwood roots, sprawling across the cavern like a web spun through centuries, entwining bones, soil, and stone alike. 

And beneath it… he saw him. 

The Three-Eyed Raven. 

Or what remained of the man. 

He was more root than man, his body sunken and pale, skin stretched tight like old parchment, veined with the weirwood's red. His robes were rotted, moss-stained and melded into the roots of the tree itself. 

Aeron's steps slowed, the violet glow in his eyes flickering. He stared, not with fear, colder and calculating. 

The Raven's one good eye met his. No blink. No breath. 

"Lord of Shadows," the old voice rasped, low and withered "You have come far." 

Aeron inclined his head slightly. "Three-Eyed Raven," he replied, voice even. "I can you've been watching me for a long time. " 

"I have watched many things. But you... I have seen." 

Aeron didn't reply immediately. His gaze swept over the cavern once more, quiet, measured. Garm stood behind him in silence, hackles half-raised. 

And then the ping. 

[System Alert: An Apostle is nearby.] 

Violet light bloomed in Aeron's eyes again violent, ominous. 

His hand twitched toward his side, the urge to summon his blade rising with instinct. But something made him pause. 

He looked at the Raven again. The old man sat motionless, looked barely alive. No malice. No hostility. And yet... 

"This can't be right," Aeron muttered beneath his breath. "I sense no threat from him. So why am I getting this?" 

His gaze lingered on the weirwood's gnarled branches above breathing, pulsing with memories not their own. Then he narrowed his eyes again, whispering to himself: 

"Do I really have to kill him…?" 

The Three-Eyed Raven's eye flickered. Almost knowingly. 

"You are troubled by the night king." 

Aeron let out a small, humorless chuckle. "more like troubled that I can't find him.. That's why I'm here." 

He paused. "You are not a threat to me. and I mean you no harm, I just need your aid to find the bastard." 

The Raven did not blink. "Aeron Grim, and you are not a man. Not as men are known. You are the counterweight. The shadow born of imbalance. The night king will not march south while you are here, but he grows in power while he waits for the perfect moment." 

Aeron stepped forward, his voice low but firm. 

"Then speak, old man. Tell me what you know about him, where can I find him, can you see him right now ?" 

His fingers curled into a fist at his side. "I'm not here to waste time, so spare me the riddles." 

He nodded toward the roots. "I've come to bring war to the thing these children that protect you created... nothing more." 

The Three-Eyed Raven finally blinked. 

The old man spoke, his voice hoarse and slow as the passing of seasons. 

"It took… everything in my power just to speak to you earlier," he rasped. "Of all the creatures I've seen in my thousand visions… you are the one I cannot see. Not clearly. You… and him." 

His words hung in the air like mist over frozen ground. 

"Your powers may appear similar in nature… both of you have some sort of dominion over the dead... but yours are terrifying. Not born of this world. The gods know it. They fear it. That is why they seek your end. The Great Other is no exception, Aeron Grim." 

A pause. A whisper. 

"He was made for the Long Night… that is his purpose.. But now that you have emerged another purpose emerged with you. And that is to end you." 

Aeron exhaled slowly, his breath curling in the cold like ghostflame. He reached up and ran a gloved hand through his black hair, half-annoyed, half-amused. 

"Old man…I'm not going to ask again. Where. Is. He.?" His voice was low, sharpened like a blade unsheathed. "Speak." 

The Three-Eyed Raven didn't raise a hand, he literally can't, he merely gestured with his tired eyes toward one of the massive roots coiling from the weirwood heart behind him. 

"Touch that root." 

Aeron stared at the root. thick, pulsing faintly like the veins of an ancient creature. Slowly, he stepped forward, boots cracking frost and stone alike with every step. He knelt, his hand hovering over the root for a breath, then lowered it. 

As his fingers made contact 

THE VISION STRUCK. 

The world vanished in a roar of wind and shadow. 

Aeron stood atop a mountain of ice. The skies above were split by swirling stormclouds, the snow falling sideways in blinding gales. Before him stretched an endless frozen plain. 

And then he saw them. 

An army. An army is an understatement. 

It was more like an ocean of the dead. 

Skeletons wrapped in rags. Wights with frozen eyes and twisted limbs. Giants reborn, their bellies slit and rotted, their eyes lifeless blue. Ghouls, pale as moonlight, stood in ranks deeper than any mortal army. Direwolves snarled at their feet. Shadowcats zombies and all kinds of creatures. 

And at the head, mounted atop a deathly horse of bone and frost. 

The Night King. 

His armor was dark. His crown of ice crowned his cruel, unmoving face. His eyes, burning blue, pierced through space itself. 

They locked with Aeron's. 

Violet met blue. 

No words were spoken none needed. 

But behind Aeron, a voice echoed, ancient and deep, as though the land itself spoke: 

"In the lands beyond the Thenns… in the Lands of Always Winter…" 

"He gathers his strength. He builds with silence… with certainty. He and his generals." 

Aeron was in awe as he saw them, the others. Like the Night King, cloaked in ice and fury, silent commanders of the dead. One by one, they emerged through the mists, wielding blades of ice that shimmered like starlight. 

The entire frozen plain trembled beneath their march. 

Aeron's eyes narrowed. 

"That's… a serious number… but why do I get the sense that he can see me?" he muttered to himself. 

The vision ended with a final flash of white a shriek of cold wind. 

And then he was back in the cave, breathless, frost clinging to his shoulders. His hand still rested on the root, steam rising from his skin. 

The Three-Eyed Raven watched him in silence. 

Aeron stood tall again, eyes glowing violet, jaw set. 

"So… he waits there. At least I know exactly where he is now. " 

He turned slightly, and muttered, "I'll go and fight him there, before he ever gets the stupid idea of marching his filth south." 

"A rash plan," the Raven said softly, his voice more wind than man. "But I cannot stop you." 

Aeron chuckled, low and sharp, brushing the frost from his sleeve with the back of his hand. 

"Of course you can't," he replied, voice smooth like sharpened glass. "But thank you for the concern." 

He turned then, intending to leave the chamber of roots and ghosts. 

But something shifted behind him too sudden. 

The air cracked. 

A voice, warm and uninvited, slid in. 

"Truly, the Lord of Light is most generous… I came seeking the Three Eyed Raven for help, yet instead I find you. A far greater reward." 

Aeron stopped mid-step. His shoulders tensed. Slowly, he turned around. 

A man stood at the mouth of the root hall, silhouetted in the cold light of the cave's entrance. Cloaked in crimson and wrapped in layers of boiled leather and fur, his face bore the smug calm of one who believed his god was watching closely. 

Eyes gleamed under a hood. 

Aeron tilted his head slightly, the flicker of annoyance clear in the narrowing of his glowing violet gaze. 

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked flatly. 

/-\ 

If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC

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