(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Eldoria...
As the last wisps of fog dissolved and the first gold of sunrise crested the horizon,
Leo remained on the balcony, hands resting on the cool stone rail.
Below him, the Eldoria stirred softly—tired, quiet, but changed.
There was no revelry now. Just a deep, peaceful stillness, like the world had finally exhaled.
A familiar presence bloomed at his side.
Emily appeared without sound, the hem of her dark dress fluttering as if touched by a breeze that did not exist.
Her eyes reflected the sunrise, no longer hollow or distant, but alive with something close to wonder. She spoke softly.
"I enjoyed it, More than I thought I would."
Leo glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"You're welcome, Lady Death."
She rolled her eyes at the title and nudged him with her shoulder.
"Don't start..."
Then, after a pause, she grew thoughtful. She continued.
"You know, the bridge here is stable. Strong. The system helped… but the concept was yours."
She looked at him sidelong.
"I want to do this in the wizarding world too."
Leo raised an eyebrow.
"Bold request."
Emily sighed dramatically the frowned.
-Sigh
"I have authority here, yes. But not there. In the wizarding world, Death is… fragmented. Imprints, echoes, unfinished crossings. It's messy. Cruel, even."
She looked up at him, unusually earnest. Then said what was in her mind.
"But the bridge, is under your control."
Leo watched the sun climb higher, light spilling over towers and rooftops.
Somewhere below, a child laughed.
Somewhere else, an old man tended a grave that no longer felt so heavy.
After a moment, he chuckled.
-Chuckle
"…You're right, If spirits imprints are already wandering there, pretending order exists is just hypocrisy."
Emily's eyes widened slightly.
"So?"
He nodded once signalling her he accepts her request.
"We'll do it. Carefully. Same rules. Same balance."
For a heartbeat, she simply stared at him—then her face lit up in a smile so bright it felt almost out of place on Death itself.
"...."
In the next instant, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing close.
"I knew marrying you was a good idea,"
-Fufu
She murmured, half-laughing.
-SMOOOCH!!!
Leo barely had time to reply before she rose on her toes and kissed him—warm, lingering, unmistakably real.
Not the kiss of a concept or a cosmic force, but of a woman who had found meaning again.
When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his. Then said softly.
"You give worlds closure, That's rarer than power."
While Leo smirked with a teasing tone.
"Careful. You'll ruin my reputation."
Emily laughed, the sound light and genuine, and stayed there with him as the sun fully rose—two beings who ruled over endings and beginnings, quietly planning another night where the dead would be remembered… and the living, healed.
After sharing one last, lingering kiss,
Emily stepped back—her smile soft, but resolute. Then she said gently.
"For now, Death never truly rests."
Leo nodded, understanding.
-Nod
"...."
At his request, the system opened a silent corridor, and in a shimmer of golden light she was carried back to the Death Realm of the wizarding world, already planning bridges, ledgers, and festivals yet to come.
Leo remained alone on the balcony for a moment longer.
He did not yet connect Nurarihyon's world or Hotel Transylvania to this one.
The timelines were still delicate, the people were not ready. Then those gods were clearly not friendly.
Some doors, he knew, were meant to wait until the world could walk through them without breaking.
And so, non-synchronized time becomes snychronized its flow.
Years Started To Passes...
King's Landing...
Red Keep...
On the Crown's side of the divided world, years passed with a quiet rot beneath the surface.
King Viserys grew weaker with each season.
The sickness that had once gnawed at him now hollowed him out completely, leaving a ruler who clung to memory and fear more than strength.
The wall—vast, dark, and unyielding—loomed at the edge of his realm, a constant reminder of defeat.
He named it himself:
Demon's Wake.
A boundary not merely of stone and shadow, but of terror.
By royal decree, Viserys forbade any legion, knight, or heir from approaching it.
Stories spread of patrols vanishing, of dragons refusing to fly near it, of shadows that watched without moving.
Disobedience, the king warned, would be met with consequences severe enough to erase a name from history.
Yet fear did not stop life.
With Queen Catherine Hightower, Viserys sired children in quick succession:
Aegon II Targaryen
Helaena Targaryen
Aemond Targaryen
Daeron Targaryen
But the household was never whole.
As Viserys' health failed, so did the unity of his court.
Whispers crept through the Red Keep. Loyalty frayed.
Catherine herself, long neglected and bitter, sought comfort where she should not—her affair with a king's guard named Jimmy becoming an open secret behind closed doors.
The Iron Throne endured.
The crown did not.
When Viserys finally died—quietly, bitterly, and afraid—the world did not mourn him as a great king.
It moved on.
And as history always does, it corrected itself.
Without a common enemy to unite them, tension coiled inward.
Old grudges resurfaced. Pride sharpened. Blood remembered blood.
From the ashes of one reign, a new conflict took shape.
Not a war of nations. Not a war of gods.
But a cold war—silent, ruthless, inevitable.
Between brothers. Between Aegon II Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen.
Across the sea, beyond Demon's Wake, Eldoria and its allied lands with North watched—but did not interfere.
For some wars, Leo knew, were lessons the world had to endure on its own.
And this one… was only beginning.
On the other side of the divide, a quieter revolution was taking place.
Across the North and the allied lands bound to Eldoria, change did not arrive with banners or fire—it arrived with books, teachers, and choices.
The Citadel felt it first.
OLDTOWN...
CITADEL...
Maesters who had once whispered doubts in private studies now acted openly.
Some deserted Oldtown outright, abandoning their chains and towers, drawn by the knowledge spreading from Eldoria—knowledge that was not hoarded, not filtered through doctrine, not twisted to preserve power.
It aligned too closely with what many of them had believed in secret for years.
Truth shared freely. Healing without hierarchy. Learning without obedience.
These were not all idealists.
Some were cautious reformers.
Some were tired old men who had buried too many children because "tradition" forbade better methods.
And yes—some were rebels who had always wanted to change the system but had been silenced, isolated, or quietly erased before they could gather momentum.
The Citadel had never been without dissent.
It had simply been very good at smothering it.
Now, it couldn't.
Those who fled Oldtown were branded traitors.
Those who stayed and questioned were watched.
And those who tried to imitate Eldorian methods without approval were disciplined harshly, sometimes disappearing altogether.
So the Citadel did what it had always done best.
It controlled the narrative.
From septs, ravens, and council chambers came a single story, repeated until it hardened into "truth":
Eldoria was a devil's domain.
The North and those allied lands had been abandoned by the gods.
Their prosperity was unnatural.
Their medicine was unethical.
Their education corrupted children.
They spoke of cruelty, of hidden sacrifices, of souls stolen and damned.
They painted Leo not as a king, but as a tempter—a being who offered comfort now in exchange for ruin later.
It was damage control.
And everyone who mattered knew it.
Because the reality was impossible to hide.
Harvests improved, Winter deaths dropped.
Disease outbreaks shortened instead of spreading. Villages grew into towns. Towns into cities.
Population rose—not from conquest, but from people choosing to stay.
Lords who had once struggled to maintain order found their territories stabilizing naturally.
Crime fell. Literacy rose. Even armies changed—better trained, better supplied, and less desperate.
And most importantly, the next generation was different.
By treaty and choice, heirs of allied houses were sent to Eldoria for eleven years of study.
Not as hostages. Not as prisoners. As students.
They learned reading, numbers, history, medicine, governance, logistics, ethics, magic theory, engineering, and diplomacy.
They trained their bodies and sharpened their minds.
They were encouraged to question—even Eldoria itself.
They were allowed to return home during festivals and seasons, bringing fragments of that knowledge back with them, slowly reshaping their lands from the inside.
When they returned permanently, they were no longer just heirs.
They were leaders.
The Citadel saw the danger clearly.
A generation that had learned without chains would never willingly wear them again.
So the Citadel clung to its stories.
But stories weaken when reality contradicts them long enough.
And as years passed, one truth became impossible to deny—no matter how loudly Oldtown screamed:
The lands branded as "abandoned by the gods" were thriving.
And the lands still claiming divine favor were quietly rotting from within.
The world had not lost its gods.
It had simply found something stronger.
A future that worked.
As the years rolled forward, something subtle yet profound changed in the hearts of the people.
Fear of death began to loosen its grip.
Not vanish—never that—but soften, transform.
Death was no longer whispered about like a curse lurking in the dark.
Through the Night of Returning Souls, people came to understand it as a passage, a pause between chapters rather than the end of the story.
At first, many had watched the festival from behind shuttered windows, candles trembling in nervous hands.
But when they saw neighbors laughing through tears… When they heard children speaking with grandparents they had only known through stories… When they witnessed peace instead of horror…
Acceptance spread. Then anticipation.
Soon, the yearly festival became sacred—not mournful, but celebratory.
Homes prepared meals not just for the living, but for those who would briefly return.
Names of the departed were spoken with smiles instead of sobs.
Death itself, once cloaked in dread, became a respected traveler—acknowledged, greeted, and bid farewell with gratitude.
Life felt fuller because it was no longer haunted.
And in that era of healing, a wedding was announced.
The marriage of Daemon Drakonis, first of his new house, shook Eldoria—not with shock, but joy.
His bride was a warrior elf Lensa Glynvyre, fierce and radiant, her presence carrying the quiet strength of ancient forests and battle-hardened resolve.
They had met years ago amid blood and fire, standing back-to-back when the war still raged.
Where steel had crossed, respect had formed. Where respect lingered, love took root.
The ceremony was held beneath an open sky.
An altar of stone and living wood stood at the heart of the hall, runes glowing faintly as Leo stepped forward.
With a calm gesture, he let a single drop of their blood fall upon the altar.
The runes ignited.
Not violently—but warmly.
Fate itself acknowledged the bond.
Before witnesses from countless races and worlds, the couple exchanged vows—not of obedience, but of choice.
When they kissed, the magic sealed, rippling outward like a promise the world itself accepted.
Applause thundered.
-Clap -Clap
-Clap -Clap
Laughter rang. Cheers echoed through the citadel.
Leo stood among them with Rhaenyra, Alicent, Aemma, and Rhaenys at his side.
Several lords had arrived too.
Rhaenys looked younger than she had in decades—eyes bright, posture strong—having taken to the wizarding world's magic with surprising enthusiasm after Leo's gift of an Adaptation Pill and a droplet of Magic Water.
Where once she had carried regret, now she carried curiosity.
Aemma laughed freely, pride unmistakable as she leaned on Leo's shoulder.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Rhaenyra watched the ceremony with a soft smile, hands intertwined with Leo's and Alicent's alike, the future no longer something she feared.
Guests from across Eldoria and allied lands stepped forward one by one, offering gifts—enchanted blades, rare tomes, blessings spoken in old tongues.
Then Leo raised a hand.
Silence fell—not from command, but respect.
"...."
"...."
"...."
He produced two gleaming golden tickets, their surfaces etched with shifting sigils. Then he stated simply with a grin on his face.
-Grin
"My gift, Your honeymoon."
The couple stared, stunned. While the bride's face turned red while Daemon grinned.
-Grin
"...."
"...."
"With these,"
Leo continued to explain in detail about his gift to them,
"you may travel freely to three worlds connected to Eldoria: Hotel Transylvania, the Wizarding World, and Nurarihyon no Mago. No danger. No obligation. Only experience. For One time..."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
Leo then gestured to a tall figure stepping forward from the shadows—a sharp-eyed yokai with dark wings folded neatly behind him as he introduced him.
"This is Kuroumaru, son of Karasu, He will act as your guide. Try not to lose him in the modern world."
Kuroumaru smirked, bowing lightly.
-Smirk
"I make no promises. My lord..."
Laughter erupted. The newlyweds could barely speak, overwhelmed by the gift—not of wealth, but of possibility.
Three worlds. Three cultures. A journey beyond war, beyond duty. A beginning. For the couples.
KING'S LANDING...
RED KEEP...
Meanwhile, in King's Landing, the Red Keep no longer felt like the heart of a united realm.
It felt like a pressure chamber.
The so-called peace between the two factions had thinned to a fragile skin, stretched tight over barely concealed hostility.
Courtiers whispered more openly now.
Guards changed routes. Councils ended in raised voices instead of polite disagreement.
Even the smallfolk had begun to notice—arguments breaking out in taverns, rival banners torn down overnight, sudden arrests quietly explained away as "misunderstandings."
The cold war was no longer cold.
Queen Catherine worked tirelessly to keep it from erupting.
She mediated disputes, silenced rumors, delayed decrees, and soothed tempers with careful words.
But the strain showed.
Her authority held only because both sides still needed her—yet neither trusted her fully.
And under that strain, she sought comfort where she should not have.
She began visiting Jimmy, one of the king's guards, more frequently.
What began as secrecy turned into habit, then into dependence.
It was not love, nor strategy—only an escape from the suffocating weight of court politics and the knowledge that the realm was sliding toward bloodshed no one could stop.
They believed they were careful.
They were not. Because while Catherine struggled to keep the balance, the brothers were changing.
Aegon II and Aemond no longer saw each other merely as rivals.
"...."
"...."
Their glances lingered too long. Their smiles sharpened. Their conversations ended with veiled threats instead of mockery.
Each began to see the other not as kin—but as an obstacle.
Worse still, their attention slowly shifted outward.
Other siblings. Other claimants. Other pieces on the board.
They were marked for removal. Or to be manipulated.
A few… for transformation into pawns that could be controlled, bent, or sacrificed when needed.
None of this was visible in public.
Not yet. But beneath the polished floors of the Red Keep, ambition coiled like a living thing—patient, calculating, and hungry.
The court still called it tension.
History would call it the moment before the fall.
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)I hope you guys are enjoying the story.
Thanks for reading the chapter!
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And power stone!!!
It will Motivate Me.