Prologue

In my previous world, I was what you might call a bookworm. I devoured books of all genres, whether they were about science, economics, history, politics, or my favorite, fantasy. Reading was my escape from the mundane reality where I had no family or friends.

Being an orphan was tough, but I found solace in my imagination, dreaming of being part of a loving family. In those pages, I lacked nothing and had everything I ever wanted. But every time I closed a book, I was forced to confront my real life—no family, no friends, just me and my books.

Life was draining. I wasn't blessed with good looks or a strong physique. My asthma made it difficult for me to engage in physical activities or workouts. I had hoped that school would be different, that I would finally make some friends, but it turned out to be the same as the orphanage.

People ignored me, and I never found the courage to reach out to them.

It was during my time at school that I came to understand the selfish nature of humans. The only thing I had going for me was my keen intellect, and I used it to excel academically, always coming first in class. Suddenly, I started receiving attention, and for a while, it made me happy. But deep down, I knew that if I weren't smart, those same people wouldn't give me a second glance.

But enough about my sad past. I know what you're really curious about—the circumstances that brought me to this new world. It was a typical situation, really. I was walking along the sidewalk when a school bus came barreling toward me. Next thing I knew, I woke up in the arms of a man adorned with various circular chains around his neck. He handed me over to a woman with silver hair, who looked at me with tear-filled eyes, radiating love.

In that moment, I was in shock, realizing I had been reborn as a baby. But seeing my mother's silver hair and the chains around the man's neck, I couldn't help but fear the worst. If my assumptions were correct—and they usually were—I had been transported into the world of Planetos. What remained uncertain was the specific time period. Was it before the Targaryen conquest or during their rule? And most importantly, did I belong to the nobility or the smallfolk?

My thoughts were interrupted when the maester asked my mother, in this new life, what she wanted to name me. "Ulf," she said softly. Upon hearing that, panic surged through me. Why did she name me that? Surely, there must be many people named Ulf. The odds of me being that Ulf were frightfully low.

Just then, a maid entered the room, crushing any remnants of hope I had. She delivered the following words that hung in the air, suffocating my spirit:

"Maester Gerardys, Princess Rhaenyra has asked for your presence in her solar."

"No!" I screamed, my voice echoing with desperation. The maester's attention returned to me, and he smiled, remarking, "Mary, little Ulf has quite the lungs."

"Mary," I whispered to myself, finding solace in the name. Strangely, I wasn't consumed by anger or depression, as one might expect in my situation. Instead, I felt overwhelming gratitude for the one thing I had always longed for—a mother.

However, this didn't change the fact that I had been reborn into one of the most treacherous periods in Westeros' history—the time of the "Dance." It was an era stained with bloodshed, where no one was safe—royalty, nobles, smallfolk, and even dragons.

Dragons—the majestic, fire-breathing creatures that had only existed in the pages of my books. Silverwing, the dragon that would have been claimed by Ulf had his consciousness remained instead of mine. She was the dragon of the "Good Queen," said to be the most docile and friendly among them all. Often seen flying alongside Vermithor, "The Bronze Fury."

According to my memories of Ulf, he was a man-at-arms stationed in Dragonstone. Initially a mere drunkard, his life took a turn when he rode Silverwing. During the Dance, he would ultimately betray the "Blacks."

Damn, how could I forget about the Blacks and the Greens? A bunch of fucking idiots, all of them. Engaged in a relentless pursuit of an uncomfortable chair, they failed to see the bigger picture. What did all their fighting lead to?

The loss of the very essence that had propelled their house to prominence in the first place. Both sides were flawed—Aegon and Rhaenyra, both bloody idiots, their father being no exception. The only ones worthy of admiration on either side were the "Strong" Boy and the "Daring," but even they had their flaws. That's why I loved reading that book—the flawed characters, unlike the perfect protagonists in some novels.

Before I could delve further into planning, my mother gently guided her breast to my mouth, and I instinctively began suckling, nourishing myself and growing stronger with each passing day. As I fed, a newfound determination took root within me.

The "finger" guy was right—chaos is a ladder, and there was no greater chaos than during the Dance.

Stranded in this new world with no way back, but who would want to return anyway?

I was resolved to climb that ladder, to play the game of thrones and emerge victorious. This time, I would make a difference. I would reshape the course of events and leave my mark on Westeros. With my keen intellect and the knowledge I carried from my previous life, I would rise above the chaos and forge my own destiny.

My name may be Ulf, but it's not the name that defines me—it's the choices I make, the actions I take, and the game I play. Westeros, with all its danger and uncertainty, would become my stage, and I would make my presence known. The Dance of Dragons was just the beginning.