The choices hung before him like stars in the night sky, eae glittering with possibility. Edric weighed them carefully against his previous ability, sidering how each might plement what he already possessed.

  To see like an eagle, marking the smallest movement from leagues away. To loose arrows straight as falling stars, to throw true as the Warrior himself. Both were intriguing, but her called to him now—two gifts tered on vision.

  Perhaps the powers weren’t as carefully crafted as he’d first thought, but rather random in their . Something to remember for future choices.

  To ugh at winter’s bite, to walk through snow and storm untroubled—useful, but distant. Years would pass before he’d face true winter, and even then, furs and fires served well enough. To grip steel with hands strong as castle-fed iron, never yielding bde or shield—valuable, yet he was far from true swordpy. And to make any lock yield its secrets, to pass through doors meant to stay sealed… here in Starfall, where he moved freely, what doors did he o open?

  But to stand unbowed before pain’s teeth, to fight on though wounds that would fell other men… that, he could use now. bined with his tireless limbs, it would let him push further, train harder. Where other boys had to stop when their muscles burned, he could tinue. When others yielded to exhaustion and aches, he could press on, building strength and skill faster than anyone would believe possible.

  More than that, it ractical. In a world where even practice swords left bruises, where every fall in the yard meant scraped knees and ag muscles, the ability to ignore such hurts would prove invaluable. Not just in years to e, but tomorrow, in his raining session.

  His choice crystallized, and he felt the ge settle into him, subtle yet profound. Somewhere in the realm, anift would find its bearer. But here in his tower room, Edrid flexed his hands, w how different tomorrow’s practice would feel without pain’s familiar bite.

  The m found him in the practice yard earlier than usual. He o test his new gift carefully, uand its limits before others were around to withem. The pale dawn light cast long shadows across the yard as he lifted a practice sword.

  First, a small test. He rapped his knuckles hard against the stone wall. The sensation was... different. He could feel the impact, kly how hard he'd struck, but he could choose how much pain to let through. Like a door he could close partway or entirely. Useful, he realized - he could still feel enough to know when he was truly hurting himself, but suppress the pain that might stop him from tinuing.

  "Up early, Sand?"

  He turo find Ser Daemoering the yard. Perfect - he hadn't had time to fully test his limits, but perhaps that was better. Better to learn them slowly, naturally, than risk revealing too much too soon.

  "Couldn't sleep," he said, the excuse ing easily. Many boys were eager for their training, after all.

  The master-at-arms heured to the practice ring. "Well, since you're here, we might as well begin. Though remember your recovery..."

  Edric took his stance, wooden sword held ready. Now would e the true test - not just of his new gift, but of his ability to hide it. He kept the pain suppression partial, letting himself feel enough to know when a blow oo hard or his staressed his muscles wrongly. A child should still flinch at strikes, still show some fear of being hit. And more importantly, he o know if he was actually injuring himself.

  The dance began, and Edric learned what it meant to fight with pain as his servant rather than his master.

  Ser Daemon's practice sword whistled through the air, a strike that would normally send any boy scrambling backward. Edric saw the opening it left, small but real. Instead of dodging, he drove forward, letting the blow nd on his shoulder while his own wooden sword tapped the master-at-arms' ribs.

  "Seven hells, boy!" Ser Daemon lowered his sword immediately. "What were you thinking? You're barely recovered from fever!"

  Edric realized his mistake too te. A normal child would have avoided the hit, not traded blows. Especially not oill supposedly weak from illness. He o py this carefully.

  "I'm sorry, Ser," he said, f a wince he didn't feel. "I thought... I thought I could be quiough."

  "That's enough for today." The master-at-arms' voice brooked nument. "A bold strategy, aye, but foolish. Tell me true - do you feel any weakness? Any trembling?"

  "No, Ser," Edriswered truthfully, then quickly added, "But perhaps I should rest." Better to seem prudent now, after one rash a, than raise more questions.

  As he left the yard, he could feel Ser Daemon's worried gaze following him. He'd have to be more subtle, he realized. Having the ability to ignore pain didn't mean he should openly show it. Better to save such tactics for when they were truly needed, not m practice.

  Still, he had learned something valuable. His new gift worked perfectly - perhaps too perfectly. He would o practice appearing vulnerable even when he wasn't.

  Ser Daemon's face had gone pale at Edric's reckless move, and now he uood why. No doubt his mother had spoken to the master-at-arms, made him promise to be careful with her supposedly fragile, fever-recovered son. The st thing he needed was worried adults restrig his training further.

  "I'll walk you back," Ser Daemon insisted, his usual gruff manner softened by . "And I think perhaps we should dey returning tur practice for another week."

  "But I feel fine," Edric protested, then caught himself. Too eager, too obvious. "I mean... I'm not tired or anything."

  "That's what worries me, d. After a hit like that, you should be showing some disfort." The master-at-arms shook his head. "Lady Ashara will have my hide if..."

  He stopped himself, but Edric heard the slip. Not Lady Allyria, his supposed mother, but Lady Ashara. Iing, how worry made even careful men fet their practiced lies.

  "I'll be more careful," Edriised, already pnning how to better hide his abilities. He would o practice fling, learn to show just enough pain to seem normal without actually slowing his training.

  He had been too rash, too quick to test his new powers. If he wasn't more cautious, he'd end up ed that niin swaddling clothes instead of trainihers.

  Tomorrow, he would do better. Tomorrow, he would remember that sometimes showing weakook more strength than showing power.

  "Rest today," Ser Daemon said as they reached the castle doors. "We'll try again in a few days. Slower this time."

  Edriodded dutifully, already calg. He'd been too eager, like a child with a oy. His gifts o be used with more subtlety, more patiehe endless stride had taught him that - small improvements over time drew less attention than sudden leaps in ability.

  Later, in the library, Ashara found him. "Ser Daemon told me what happened in the yard," she said, her voice carrying an aunt's proper , though her eyes held a mother's fear.

  "I got excited," he said, letting childish enthusiasm color his voice. "I won't do it again."

  She touched his shoulder - the ohat had take - a himself wihe gesture was brief, proper, though he saw how much it cost her to maintain that distance.

  ***

  That night, in his chamber, Edric paced. Each moon's choices scattered powers across the realm like seeds in the wind. A cutthroat in Flea Bottom might now see leagues away, or a mert ios could hear whispers through stone walls. Small ges, perhaps, but even small stones could start avanches.

  He thought of the game to e - of Starks and Lannisters, dragons and wolves. His knowledge of future events meant little if these random gifts ged too much. Would some newly-empowered sellsword alter the course of a crucial battle? Would a thief with supernatural abilities steal something that ged everything?

  No, he couldn't trol that. But he could prepare. His tireless limbs aao pain gave him advantages few would suspect. Used carefully, hidden well, they could make him strong enough to face whatever ges came.

  The trick would be patieomorrow, he would return to training, but slower. Show just enough improvement to seem natural. Let them think the fever had somehow strengthened him, rather than suspeything more. When he did take hits in practice, he would flinch appropriately, even if he felt no pain. When sparring, he would tire at the expected times, though his body could tinue for hours more.

  Small deceptions, building day by day. Like the foundations of Starfall itself, id stone by careful stoil they could bear the weight of towers that touched the sky.

  In the practice yard, he would o relearn every rea. A child's natural flinch from a sword, the instinctive step back from a thrust - all had to be maintained even though pain no longer forced such responses. More dangerous would be his endless endurance. Boys his age tired quickly, their small bodies not yet built for lengthy training. He would o remember to breathe harder, to let his arms tremble at the right moments.

  His private training would o be truly private. The hours before dawn, perhaps, whehe guards grew drowsy at their posts. Or in his chamber, practig forms slowly to master them without withe tower's old servants' passages might serve as well - fotten routes where he could push himself without eyes to see.

  Agai day, the thought of greater game troubled his thoughts more than his owions. Twelve moons in a year meant twelve new abilities grao others across the realm annually. By the time the Baratheon king died and the game truly began, dozens—perhaps over a hundred—would possess gifts beyond normal men’s reach.

  Would some servant with supernatural sight spot the truth of Cersei's children? Might a guard with impossible strength ge the oute of Eddard Stark's arrest? Or would these powers scatter harmlessly across farmers and merts, ging nothing of importance?

  He couldn't know. The ripples would spread in ways even his foreknowledge couldn't predict. All he could do was build himself into something strong enough to face whatever came. A bastard boy with the blood of wolves and stars, armed with gifts that could make him more thaher.

  The sound of boots on stone drew his attention. The night guard was ging shifts - he'd been lost in thought lohan he'd realized. Soon the castle would begin stirring to life, and another day of careful deceptions would begin.

  Edric moved away from the window as dawn's first light began to creep over Starfall's walls. The servants would be up soon still, he had time for a few practis before anyone came to wake him.

  He took up his wooden sword, moving through the stances Ser Daemon had taught. Without pain to hinder him, he could feel exactly hoosition strained his muscles, how his weight shifted from foot to foot. His endless endura him hold each pose lohan should be possible, learning the perfect bance point.

  The castle was beginning to stir. He could hear the kit staff below, the distant csh of the guards ging shifts at the gates. A mert caravan had arrived yesterday, bringing news from across the realm. Talk of King Rrowing fatter, of Lord Tywin's increasing influe court, of pirates growing bolder iepstones. Small things now, but seeds of what was to e.

  The night hours were his greatest advaime when most slept, when he could train without watg eyes. Yet even Starfall's vast halls held dangers. Guards patrolled, servants worked te into the night and rose before dawn. He would o learn their patterns, find the gaps between their routines.

  The uorerooms in the lower levels might serve. With the summer sting so long, half the wie spaces y empty. Or perhaps the old practice yard behind the kit gardens, where the ground was too uneven fur training. Pces fotten or overlooked, where a bastard boy might grow stronger without raising questions.

  A door creaked somewhere in the corridor. Edric quickly hid his practice sword and rumpled his bedding.

  The uorerooms would work best, Edric decided. The Greyjoy Rebellion had ended just st year - he'd heard the merts speaking of how trade was finally returning to normal in the Su Sea. That put him at 290 AC, if he remembered correctly. Nine years before Jon Arryn's death would send King Robert north to Winterfell.

  Nine years to prepare. He was six now, the same age as Jon Snow and Robb Stark in the North. The same age as Joffrey in King's Landing, though he tried not to dwell on that thought. Somewhere in Essos, the Beggar King and his sister wahe dragon eggs not yet found.

  The sound of footsteps in the corridrew closer. Wyl, probably, with his breakfast. The old wet nurse kept to a strict schedule, unlike some of the younger servants. He'd o learn all their patterns if he wao train unobserved. The guards ged watches at set hours, the kit staff had their own routines, and even the maester made his rounds at regur times.

  More voices in the yard now. He caught fragments about Lord Stannis - something about ships being built at Dragonstohe king's brother rusted the peace with the Ironborn would st, it seemed. Smart man, though it wouldn't be the squids that caused the real trouble in the years to e.

  A knock at his door. Wyl's voice carried through the thick wood, "Young lord? Are you awake?"

  Edric rumpled his hair and moved to open it. Another day in Starfall was beginning.

  Author's Note:

  Thank you all ! I really appreciate your support. If you have the time, I’d love to hear your thoughts in a review—structive criticism is always wele!

  Also, if there’s a power or ability you’d love to see iory, feel free to mention it. If it fits the narrative, I’ll definitely sider adding it.

  Happy reading!