Chapter 2: Blessed by the Gods Pt.1

259 AC

The acrid scent of smoke and the roar of flames filled the air as the group outside Summerhall scrambled to escape the spreading inferno. The heat was unbearable, and the scene was one of chaos and desperation. Rhaella Targaryen, exhausted from the arduous labor of birthing twins, lay helplessly on the grass, clutching the newborn Rhaegar to her chest. Maester Corso, his face a mask of panic, barked orders to the servants and guards, urging them to move quickly.

"Get her up! We must get them all to safety!" he commanded, his voice strained with urgency.

Two servants and the guards hastily lifted Rhaella, trying to support her as she stumbled, her legs weak and trembling. The fire was closing in, the crackling of burning wood and the screams of those trapped inside the building adding to the nightmarish atmosphere. As the group began to move, the flames leapt to the tree beside them, igniting its branches in a sudden, violent blaze.

"Run! Hurry!" Maester Corso shouted, his eyes wide with dread.

In their haste, one of the servants tripped, her foot catching on a root. She fell to the ground, holding Rhaemon tightly in her arms. The flames licked at the grass, reaching out hungrily. Rhaella's scream pierced the night as she saw her firstborn son fall beside the burning tree.

"No! My baby, no!" she cried, her voice raw with terror.

The servant girl screamed in agony as the fire engulfed her, her flesh searing in the intense heat. The flames wrapped around her and Rhaemon, consuming them both.

The other servants and guards stood frozen, paralyzed by fear and horror, unable to move or act.

Rhaella's screams grew louder, a mother's desperate plea, "Get him out! I order you! Save my son!"

But no one dared approach the inferno. They watched, helpless, as the flames danced and crackled around the servant and the infant. The fire raged for what felt like an eternity, and then, as suddenly as it had started, it receded. The charred remains of the servant crumbled into ash, leaving behind a scene of utter devastation.

And there, amidst the smoldering remnants, lay Rhaemon Targaryen, miraculously unscathed. The infant prince was still asleep, untouched by the fire that had consumed everything around him. The sight left the onlookers in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing.

Maester Corso, closest to the miraculous scene, was the first to recover from his shock. He rushed forward, scooping the unharmed baby into his arms, his voice trembling with awe and reverence.

"A miracle," he whispered, "A child blessed by the gods!"

The maester's words broke the spell that held the others. Rhaella, tears streaming down her face, reached out for her son, her relief mingled with disbelief. The guards and remaining servants, shaken but galvanized by the miraculous survival of the prince, resumed their efforts to escape the burning ruins of Summerhall.

As they hurried away from the flames, Rhaemon's unburnt form cradled safely in Maester Corso's arms, the significance of what had transpired began to sink in. This child, born amidst tragedy and fire, was no ordinary infant. He was Rhaemon Targaryen, the firstborn twin of Rhaegar, and he had been touched by the flames, yet remained unharmed.

In the days to come, whispers of the miracle at Summerhall would spread, tales of the prince who was immune to fire. And as the Targaryen family grappled with the loss and devastation of the tragedy, the legend of Rhaemon Targaryen's miraculous survival would grow, marking the beginning of a new chapter in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.

~~~

Ryan found himself once again enveloped in a void of darkness. Unlike the previous time, his senses were alive and alert. He could feel a gentle warmth surrounding him, almost like a comforting embrace. The darkness was not oppressive; it was soothing, and in this strange, comforting cocoon, time seemed to lose all meaning. He didn't know how long he had been here, but it felt like an eternity of peace.

His mind drifted to the events that had led him to this place. He remembered the fire that had claimed his life, the searing pain, and the acrid smoke filling his lungs. The fear and despair of that moment were still vivid, but now, in this darkness, they seemed distant, like a bad dream. Then came the memory of his rebirth. He had been reincarnated as a Targaryen baby in Planetos, the brutal world of Game of Thrones. He didn't know who his new mother was, nor the exact year he was now living in. All he knew was that he was in an infant's body, in a world fraught with danger and deceit. 

He didn't want to die again. He didn't want to play the game of thrones. He just wants his normal life back. His peaceful, modern life with internet connection. Was that too much to ask?

As he continued to bemoan his new predicament, a small, flickering flame appeared in front of him within the darkness. It was a small ball of fire, but the flames themselves were intense and wild, dancing with a mesmerizing energy. Ryan felt a strange pull towards it, a fascination that reminded him of his childhood, when he would stare at a lit candle, mesmerized by its glow, wondering what would happen if he touched it. Of course, he learned the bad way. Got burned and even traumatized himself for it. 

Call him stupid or whatever, but the temptation was too strong to resist. So even though he was afraid, he reached out again, his fingers trembling slightly, and touched the flame. The moment his skin made contact, the flame leapt to life, devouring his entire being. He expected a burning sensation. Yet, he felt no heat, no pain. Instead, the darkness around him exploded into pure, blinding white light.

Suddenly, memories and knowledge bombarded his mind with a fierce intensity. Scenes from his favorite anime and shows began to play out in his mind, vivid and detailed as if he were watching them on a screen. He saw the fierce determination of Kyojuro Rengoku from Demon Slayer, the masterful execution of Flame Breathing techniques, each move precise and powerful.

The images shifted, and now he was watching Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender, each Firebending technique flowing with grace and raw power. The movements were fluid, the fire bending to Zuko's will with a combination of strength, discipline, and inner balance. Ryan felt as though he were absorbing these skills, the knowledge seeping into his very being like water soaking into a sponge.

He could see each technique in perfect detail, the stances, the control, the sheer physicality required. It was as if he were downloading files directly into his brain, each move and form becoming a part of him.

Somehow, instinctively, he knew he could replicate these techniques. Like he actually had the supernatural power of fire and can produce the flames from using the same breathing techniques. 

But he also somehow knew he could not simply wield them without effort. The techniques required strength, precision, and the right muscle memory. He would need to train, to work hard, to perfect his form just as the characters he admired had done.

"This is crazy," he thought to himself, marveling at the strange turn of events. How is this even possible?

But he didn't have time to overthink it. The knowledge continued to pour in, each technique and move embedding itself in his mind with clarity and purpose. He saw Rengoku's Flame Breathing forms in detail, from the first form, Unknowing Fire, to the devastating Ninth Form, Rengoku. He could feel the heat, the intensity, the sheer willpower behind each strike.

Then, the scenes of Zuko's Firebending took over. He watched as Zuko manipulated fire with a combination of martial arts and breath control, the flames responding to his every command. Ryan could feel the discipline required, the focus, the inner peace that balanced the raging fire.

As the light began to fade, the last of the knowledge settled into place. Ryan felt a deep sense of empowerment, but also a weight of responsibility. He knew that these powers, these techniques, would only be his if he earned them through hard work and dedication. He would have to build his strength, hone his skills, and cultivate the inner balance needed to wield fire effectively. But still—how fucking awesome! 

Was the voice he heard before he died actually real? That his casual what-if's delusions were interpreted as his wishes? Did the voice—or whatever omniscient being who heard him—grant his wish? 

Shit—is that why he got reincarnated in Game of Thrones?! Fuck. He should've been more specific with his wishes then! He wanted to go to the Marvel Universe! Not here! Can he get a refund or a do-over?