~ A Letter from Hecate, anf Planning for Travel ~

~ Valyrian Freehold, Capital Valyria ~

~ Draegon Targaryen Stark - POV ~

The flames of the small hearth in my chamber flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. The ornate carvings of dragons on the stone pillars seemed almost alive in the dim light. I had always found comfort in this room, nestled within the heart of the Targaryen estate in Valyria. It was a far cry from the cold stone halls of Winterfell, but it had its own warmth, a reflection of my dual heritage.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I looked at the wooden box that had appeared without warning. There was no need to guess who had left it. The hum of magic around it, subtle yet undeniable, was Hecate's calling card. That old goddess never could resist a bit of theatrics, even in her subtle ways.

With a touch of excitement, I opened the box to reveal a pendant nestled within. The design was striking: a dragon and a wolf, their forms entwined in an intricate dance. The gemstones set in their eyes gleamed in the firelight, the dragon's an amethyst like my own pale violet eyes, flecked with gray at the center, and the wolf's an onyx black as a moonless night.

Beside the pendant lay a folded letter. The parchment smelled faintly of wildflowers and ash, a scent that instantly brought memories of Hecate to mind. A smile tugged at my lips as I unfolded it. Her scrawled words danced across the page, every stroke of the quill carrying her unmistakable voice.

~ Hey, Draegon,

It's been a while, hasn't it? I figured it was about time we had a little chat. And by "chat," I mean me tossing you some advice before you charge headfirst into the chaos ahead.

First off, congratulations are in order. You've done well these last ten years, balancing the weight of two legacies on those young shoulders of yours. Prince of Winterfell and heir to the Dragonlords of Valyria—not bad for someone who started as a mortal in a completely different world.

That war you just won? Defeating two of Westeros' great houses without so much as a puff of dragonfire? Yeah, that's something even the Goddess took notice of. And trust me, impressing her is no small feat. She sent you here to shape this world, to leave a mark, and you're doing just that. But don't think it ends here. The omniverse is vast, and your journey is just beginning.

Now, about that pendant. It's not just a fancy trinket—it's a key, a map, and a tool. This little beauty will let you travel between worlds. Want to visit a realm of ancient magic? Or a world where machines reign supreme? Picture it in your mind—feel the place, its energy, its essence—and the pendant will guide you there. It's not foolproof, though. Use it recklessly, and you might end up somewhere unpleasant. Or worse, nowhere at all. So, think before you leap.

The Goddess has high hopes for you, Draegon. You're her champion, her hand in the chaos. And don't worry, I'll still be watching. You've got this, kid. Go show the omniverse what the Dragonwolf can do. And remember, don't blow anything up unless you really have to. I'm still cleaning up from the last reincarnated merc.

P.S. If you learn and master all space and time attributed magic, you'll be able to leave a world and slow down the time of said world. That way you can take longer trips without missing much in your home universes.

P.P.S. Almost forgot, the Goddess sends her regards, and says your only mission is to improve Harry James Potters' life. Easy enough. To help you out the Goddess left something you want and need. "Just think of the fake locket and the cave." Were here exact words.

Hecate ~

I let the letter fall to my lap, my fingers brushing the cool surface of the pendant. Hecate's words stirred something deep within me, a mixture of pride and determination. She wasn't just a teacher; she was a guide, a beacon in the labyrinth of this life the Goddess had gifted me.

Ten years. It was hard to believe a decade had passed since I first opened my eyes in Winterfell. The North had been my cradle, shaping me with its harsh winters and unyielding traditions. I had learned to wield a sword in its training yards, my strength and speed quickly surpassing even the most seasoned warriors. I had stood beside my father, Barthogan Stark, and my mother, Daenora Targaryen, as they navigated the complexities of their dual heritages.

The North had given me a sense of belonging, but Valyria had awakened something deeper—a hunger for knowledge, for power, for understanding. The first time I soared on Haedes' back over the smoking mountains of Valyria, I felt it: a connection to something ancient, something eternal. The blood of dragons ran through my veins, a legacy that tied me to this land of fire and ash.

But Valyria was not eternal. I knew its days were numbered, the Doom looming just four decades away. Hecate's letter only reinforced my resolve. I would not let this empire's treasures and secrets vanish into oblivion.

The forges of Valyria were unmatched, their secrets guarded jealously. Valyrian steel, imbued with magic and fire, was a marvel I intended to understand—and replicate. I had already begun planting the seeds for my plan, subtly gathering knowledge and resources. The Dragonlords were proud, but pride often blinded them. They would never suspect a mere child—however gifted—of plotting to steal their most guarded secrets.

My thoughts drifted to my dragon. Haedes had grown into a mighty beast, his black scales gleaming like polished obsidian, his purple hued wings blotting out the sun. Saeraxes, my mother's she-dragon, was no less formidable. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with, but they were also a symbol of the power I carried.

And then there was the omniverse. The pendant around my neck hummed faintly, as if responding to my thoughts. The idea of stepping beyond this world, of exploring realms where magic took on new forms, where gods walked among mortals, or where technology outpaced imagination—it was intoxicating.

But I couldn't rush. There was still so much to do here. Valyria needed to be secured. The North required my continued guidance to strengthen its independence. And Westeros as a whole remained a fractured land ripe for change.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. It was my father, his gruff voice calling through the heavy wood. "Draegon, we leave at dawn. Get some rest."

"I will, Father," I replied, tucking the letter back into the box and slipping the pendant beneath my tunic.

As I lay back on the bed, the weight of Hecate's words and my own reflections settled over me. This world had given me so much—a family, a purpose, a legacy. But it was only the beginning. The Goddess had sent me here for a reason, and I intended to honor her gift.

The Dragonwolf was ready to embrace his destiny. Not just in Westeros or Valyria, but across the infinite expanse of the omniverse.

~