[A/N] -
Hey everyone!This is the start of a new story I've been really excited to write. I hope you enjoy where it goes! Feel free to drop a review, share your thoughts, or leave some constructive feedback — it really helps.
Thanks for reading! :)
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295 AC
The first thing he knew was pain. A deep, searing fire in his ribs that flared with every shallow breath. The second was a quiet, insistent chiming in his ears, a sound like distant bells. Jon's eyelids fluttered open. The ceiling of his small chamber in Winterfell was familiar, the grey stone a comfort, but something was wrong. Displayed in the air just above his face, translucent as heat haze, were words written in crisp, blue light.
[User Condition: Stable. Vitality: 15/100]
[System Activated.]
[Welcome, User.]
He blinked, but the words remained. A fever dream. It had to be. He remembered the Wolfswood, the immense size of the boar, the flash of its tusks, and then a blinding, world-ending agony. He must have been brought back near death. This was just the milk of the poppy playing tricks on his mind.
He tried to sit up, but the fire in his side exploded into a white-hot nova, and he fell back against the pillows with a strangled gasp.
[Warning: Movement will aggravate injury.]
[Recommendation: Rest for optimal recovery.]
"Be still, son."
His father's voice cut through the fog of pain. Lord Eddard Stark sat in a chair by his bed, his face etched with worry, his grey eyes weary. "You were lucky. Jory's party found you just in time. The boar was dead, but you were not far from it."
Jon wanted to ask what happened, to explain the impossible thrust that had saved him, but he was fixated on the strange lights. He had to tell his father. He would know what to do, whether this was a sickness of the mind or something else.
"Father," Jon croaked, his throat dry. "I... I..."
He watched his father's face, ready to describe the shimmering text, but as he drew breath to speak, a new box flashed into view. It was a stark red, its edges sharp and angry, and it blotted out everything else.
[Directive 7: Absolute Secrecy.]
[Warning: Revealing the System's existence to any unauthorized individual is a critical violation. ]
[Penalty: Death.]
The words were cold, devoid of any emotion, and utterly terrifying. Death. It was not a word for a fever dream. It was a word of finality, a promise of an end more absolute than any boar's tusk. Fear, sharp and primal, lanced through him. This was not a hallucination. It was real, and it was threatening to kill him.
He snapped his mouth shut.
"What, Jon?" his father prompted gently.
"N-nothing," Jon stammered, his mind racing. "Just... the pain. My head is clouded."
Lord Stark's expression softened with sympathy. "That is the milk of the poppy. It will pass. Maester Luwin says the wound is deep but clean. You will heal. Just rest, now." He placed a comforting hand on Jon's shoulder before leaving the room, satisfied with the explanation.
Jon was left alone in the silence, his heart hammering against his ribs. He lay perfectly still, terrified that even a stray thought might provoke the red warning again. He was trapped. A demon was inside his head, and he couldn't tell a soul. The loneliness felt deeper than ever before. He thought of Lady Catelyn, her Tully-blue eyes always colder for him than any winter storm. He remembered the sting of her words to his father, overheard through a cracked door years ago, a wound that had never healed: "That boy cannot stay here. He is a stain on your honor, and on mine."
He was a shadow in his own home. Robb would be Lord of Winterfell. Bran and Rickon would be his lords and bannermen. Arya and Sansa had their own paths. But his? His future was a lifetime of exile at the Wall, payment for a crime that wasn't his. This thing in his vision was terrifying, but was it any more terrifying than a life of being nothing?
Lost in his misery, he thought of his own name, the only thing that was truly his. Jon Snow.
Instantly, the script in his vision changed, responding to his focus on himself. This was the System's first page.
[Status]
Name: Jon Snow
Title: The Bastard of Winterfell
Rank: 1
Experience: 0/100
He recoiled, a gasp escaping his lips. It knew his name. It knew his shame, labeling it a Title as if it were an official station. This confirmed it. This wasn't a random curse; it was something tied to him. The fear intensified, mixed with a profound sense of violation.
This pushed him past his terror. He had to know. He focused on the script and whispered into the empty room. "What are you?"
There was no answer. The blue text remained impassive.
"Are you a demon?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Silence.
"What do you want?"
Again, nothing. It was not a creature he could bargain with. Frustration warred with his fear. He thought back to the strange words he had seen. System. User. Rank. He focused on the concept, the function. "What do you do?" he finally asked, a desperate edge to his voice.
This time, the interface responded. The familiar text faded, replaced by a new screen, like a page from a Maester's book, but written in the same impossible light.
[Assassin's Creed System - Overview]
• The System is a framework designed to quantify and facilitate the User's growth.
• Rank: A measure of your overall progression and power.
• Experience: Gained by overcoming challenges, completing Quests, and mastering Skills. Required to increase Rank.
• Quests: Objectives provided to guide the User's path. Rewards are granted upon completion.
• Skills: Abilities that can be learned and honed through practice.
• Prime Directive: To ensure the User achieves their maximum potential.
Jon read the words over and over. It wasn't a demon that wanted his soul. It was… a framework. A tool. The words were cold and alien, but they weren't malicious. They were a set of rules, like the rules of swordsmanship or the lessons of a maester. And its goal… to ensure the User achieves their maximum potential.
The phrase echoed in his mind. His potential. What potential did a bastard have? To serve, to be forgotten. To watch his trueborn siblings live the lives he could never have. He was Jon Snow, the living reminder of his lord father's single dishonor. But this System... it didn't care for names or mothers. It spoke of Ranks and Experience, a path to power measured not by blood, but by deeds. It was alien, a demon's pact perhaps, but it was the first thing in his life that had ever offered him a chance to be judged on his own merits.
A new notification appeared, this one smaller, simpler.
[New Quest Available: Initiation]
Description: The world is full of shadows. To survive, you must first learn to become one.
Objective (1/2): In the dead of night, move from your chambers to the castle battlements without being detected.
Objective (2/2): Return undetected.
Reward: 100 Experience, New Skill - [Silent Step].
He stared at the quest. Unlike the terrifying threat of "Death," this was concrete. It was a challenge, like a drill from Ser Rodrik. It was a test of his own ability, a task he could attempt or ignore. For the first time, he felt a sliver of control. He didn't have to trust this System, but he could test its promises. Could he truly earn a "Skill"? The thought was a single, defiant spark in a sea of fear.
That night, tormented by a whirlwind of new thoughts—of Ranks and Skills, of secret paths in the dark—his mind inevitably drifted to the one question that had always haunted him. Who was he, really? Who was his mother? He whispered the question into the darkness, a moment of pure, lonely grief.
The System, ever-present, responded to the profound desire behind the words. A chime, golden and significant, echoed in his senses.
[New Main Quest Issued]
[Legacy Quest: The Ghost of a Mother]
Objective: Your past is a shadow. Your name is a lie. Uncover the truth of the woman who gave you life.
He now stared at two quests glowing in the dark. One offered a Skill, the other, a chance at the truth. He understood now that these "Skills" were the key. Curious, his fear momentarily forgotten, he focused on the interface and thought, 'Show me the Skills.'
The screen shifted again, dissolving into something that looked almost alive — a tangled web of lines and branches, like the roots of a great Weirwood tree stretching out beneath the snow.
Four paths glowed softly in front of him.
The Ghost. A path of silence, shadows, slipping through the world unseen. Silent Step. Disappear.
The Fang. Brutal and direct. A fighter's path. Perfect Parry. Wolf's Strike.
The Strider. All speed and movement — running where others fall, climbing where no one dares. Feather Fall. Wall Run.
And then the fourth.
It didn't have a name. Just a flicker of pulsing symbols — [??????]It was dim, wrapped in mist, unreachable. Only one line sat beneath it:
[This branch is bound by blood and deed. It cannot be chosen. It must be awakened.]
Jon frowned. Something about it felt… personal. Heavy. Like it was waiting for something he hadn't done yet. Or someone he hadn't become.
[Core Ability: The Sight] (Eagle Vision)
Tier I - Awakening (Unlocked): Perceive the immediate intent of others as colored auras.
Tier II - Adept (Locked - Rank 5 Required): Perceive the likely paths of targets. Highlight routes through the environment.
Tier III - Master (Locked - Rank 10 Required): Perceive echoes of past events. Sense the presence of active magic.
Tier IV - True Sight (Locked - Legacy Quest Completion Required): Perceive the hidden nature of things. See through illusion and uncover truths bound in blood.
He stared, mesmerized. The four branches were paths he could choose, skills he could build. But this... The Sight was something else entirely. It was fundamental, a part of the System itself, and its deepest secrets were tied directly to the quest to find his mother.
The Ghost, the Fang, the Strider, and a nameless path bound to his blood. An escape, a challenge, a road to freedom, and a mystery he was now compelled to solve. He now saw the full shape of the power that had awoken within him. The fear was still there, a cold stone in his gut, but it was now dwarfed by the terrifying, exhilarating weight of the destinies that had just opened before him.