"Lord Darean, why did you have to accept what Viscount Brandon Cuy said?"
"You know perfectly well that was never the Earl's intention. It was an illegitimate order!"
Beneath a fluttering White Tower banner, a small troop of fully armored cavalry escorted Dareon Hightower, the youngest child of House Hightower, toward his newly acquired fief.
In year 297 of Aegon's Calendar, midsummer sunlight shone on the bright armor of these southern horsemen, making them look all the more martial and imposing.
The South, the Reach, was a land of knights.
Strangely, however, there was no sign of happiness on these horsemen's faces.
Every one of them wore a long face, sighing heavily.
"You're right, Clyson, but whatever the case, those orders came from the Hightower, and I must obey."
Dareon Hightower, who had been knighted and had a not inconsiderable knight's holding carved out of Sunflower Hall's lands for him just a day earlier, answered his guard captain's question with a smile.
Likewise clad in armor, he reached out with a steel-encased hand, patted Clayson Hightower on the shoulder, and continued:
"Besides, you know perfectly well that if we stayed at Sunflower Hall, all we could do was slowly rot away in Summer Red's wine barrels."
Born in the Hightower in year 281 of the Conquest Calendar, the young lord, now sixteen, spread his arms.
A warm breeze lifted the ash-gray cloak behind him, embroidered with a stepped white tower topped by a burning beacon.
It was the emblem of House Hightower, the rulers of Oldtown.
"Look, land beneath the sun, with no one to constrain us. We can build our own castle however we like, instead of hiding in that wretched stone house at Sunflower Hall every day, staring blankly out at the Summer Sea."
"Why did I accept those words? Because I liked them so much!"
Darean spoke loudly.
Though reluctant to dampen the spirits of the master he served, Clyson, a member of a cadet branch and Darean's de facto protector, could not help reminding him:
"My lord, you told me you promised Ser Baelor you would return to the family as soon as possible. But now we have to put our own lands in order and pass an inspection before we can return. Are you... truly not worried?"
Looking back at the hundred-odd new subjects following behind the party, Clyson could not help furrowing his brow.
Darean lightly nudged his horse's belly, the name Baelor bringing earlier events to mind.
He was not a person of this world. Not strictly speaking.
Having crossed over into this world, he had inherited all of Dareon Hightower's memories. In a sense, he was him, too.
Yet before he even had time to find his cheat ability or system benefactor, he, the fifth in line to inherit, had inadvertently become embroiled in the family's power struggles.
Soon, under the pretext of giving him experience, certain people had dumped him at Sunflower Hall, the ancestral castle of House Cuy, vassals of House Hightower.
As for why he had run into such a miserable situation right from the start?
The reason was simple: Lord Leyton Hightower, the Voice of Oldtown, Lord of the Harbor, Earl of the Hightower, Protector of the Citadel, Beacon of the South, nicknamed the "Old Man of Oldtown."
Oh, in other words, the father he had acquired with this identity and had barely ever met had become utterly sick of managing the family.
At any rate, after Darean turned fourteen, this man, one of the most powerful figures in the South, had spent every day studying books of magic at the top of the Hightower with his eldest daughter, Moroa Hightower.
What exactly were they doing, you ask?
Sorry, no one knew except the Earl of the Hightower himself.
And so the resulting power vacuum was swiftly filled by his five sons, though Darean, barely in his teens, was clearly only there to make up the numbers.
Being kicked out of the Hightower afterward had been both unexpected and entirely predictable.
The old man paid no attention to any of them anyway.
When Darean arrived at Sunflower Hall, he thought he would be far removed from all the scheming within the Hightower.
He had never expected that Brandon Cuy, Viscount of Sunflower Hall, had already quietly chosen a side. Faced with this Hightower who had come to eat and drink at his expense, he bristled and glared, never once showing him a pleasant face.
Darean knew very well that, beginning in year 298 of the Conquest Calendar, the curtain would rise on a great drama.
And being in what was theoretically the safest place in all the Seven Kingdoms, he did not think there was anything he could do.
House Hightower might be powerful, but it was not a name at the heart of events.
At least, not yet.
For a minor knight like him, who had only just acquired a fief, accomplishing anything was utterly impossible.
Surely he could not charge straight into King's Landing now and tell the king, slumped dead drunk on his throne, that his heirs had all been fathered by someone else?
He, Darean, was no cat. He had only one life, and if Robert cut him down, that would truly be the end.
Lying low was fine. There would always be opportunities later.
Yet all of that was shattered one sunny, breezy afternoon by a gift from his father, delivered from the Hightower.
Darean had never imagined that his helping hand would not appear with a chime in his ear.
It was a book, one that only he could understand.
Twisted, unfamiliar characters carried a power that made his heart tremble.
"You who come after, when someone can at last open this book and read these words, it means the chains of the end have already loosened."
"Perhaps you do not know what that is. It does not matter."
"When the Woman of Light and Heat is reborn in fire in a corner of the world, the return of the magic tide will become inevitable."
"But do not forget, light does not shine upon everything, flames can also harm, and the white frost of the end will surely return alongside them."
"I have arranged certain tasks for you. Complete them, and you will receive certain rewards."
"Perhaps the end and oblivion need not be the conclusion..."
This passage had been written on the title page.
Yet in everyone else's eyes, it was simply a blank page.
Darean did not know whether this gift was a casual gesture from his elusive father or whether it carried some other intent.
He knew very well that he could not ask.
Perhaps everyone outside the bounds of fate had something special about them.
Like himself, a Dareon Hightower who had never existed in this world.
Sunlight fell on Darean's young face, and a neigh from his warhorse pulled his wandering thoughts back to reality.
Touching the book resting against his chest, Darean looked at Clayson Hightower, whose face was still full of worry, and answered the question that already seemed so distant:
"Let's do our own work well. I'm not worried about when I'll see the Hightower's fire blazing high above the clouds again."
"When it's time for me to return, I will."
The young lord gently nudged his horse's belly, urging the powerful warhorse brought over through trade with Essos to quicken its pace slightly.
His voice echoed in the warm breeze of year 297 of the Conquest Calendar:
"Pick up the pace, my retainers!"
"Now, let us see just what this promised land the Seven have granted us looks like."
Before you continue