Chapter 4

Aragon continued his steady gait along the dirt road. The rhythmic beat of his hooves against the earth created a soothing cadence, a metronome to the journey that stretched out before them.

Aragon, a majestic steed with a coat the colour of midnight, moved with a grace that belied his size. His powerful muscles rippled beneath the sleek black fur, and the tuft of his tail swayed in harmony with each step. The sunlight caught the sheen of his coat, casting a subtle glow as if the very shadows bent to acknowledge his regal presence.

The horse's movements were a dance of controlled strength, each step deliberate and purposeful. Akame, atop Aragon, experienced a seamless connection with the steed, their journey becoming a synchronised ballet of rider and mount. The wind played with the mane that framed Aragon's noble face, and the pair moved forward in silent understanding.

Aragon's breath, a steady rhythm, mingled with the ambient sounds of the journey – the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of birds, and the occasional creaking of the wagon. His ears flicked in response to the surrounding environment, a testament to his awareness and keen senses.

As they travelled, Aragon's eyes, deep and intelligent, scanned the horizon. His gaze seemed to take in the landscapes unfolding before them, a silent companion to Akame's contemplation. The road, a tapestry of dirt and pebbles, bore the imprints of countless journeys, and with each step, Aragon carried his rider forward into the unknown.

While Aragon continued his measured stride along the dirt road, a sense of tranquillity settled upon the duo. Akame, perched atop the majestic steed, found herself enveloped in a peaceful rhythm.

The sunlight painted the world in warm hues, casting a golden glow upon the landscape. Akame, with her flowing black kimono-like attire, seemed like a figure seamlessly integrated into the natural beauty surrounding her. Her posture reflected a quiet ease, as if the movements of Aragon beneath her were an extension of her own being.

The brown hard covered book rested gently on her palm and her red eyes, framed by the subtle sweep of her long, jet-black hair, scanned the words with a serene focus. The world moved around them in a serene ballet, and Akame, lost in the rich tapestry of Westerosi lore, found solace in the unhurried pace of their passage.

The breeze, carrying whispers of distant melodies, played with the edges of the book's pages. Akame's fingers traced the words as if deciphering an age-old manuscript, her mind fully immersed in the myths and histories of noble families. The creaking of the wagon, the rustling leaves, and the distant sounds of nature formed a harmonious backdrop to this symphony of peaceful exploration.

Akame had found her fascination in one particular noble family.

House Targaryen.

It's crest a three-headed dragon rendering in hues of crimson and obsidian. Each sinuous head, regal and fierce, intertwined with the others, forming a harmonious dance of power and dominance. The scales, meticulously detailed, shimmered as if touched by the flames of ancient lore, and the wings, outstretched in majestic splendour, conveyed a sense of mythical grace.

Akame had delved herself deep into the pages of the Targaryen chapter. The medieval book became a portal, and its pages unfolded like a mesmerising tapestry of tales that transported her far beyond the realms of Westeros.

Her focus, once attuned to the landscapes around her, now withdrew entirely into the confines of the book. The outside world seemed to blur and fade into the background as the stories of dragon lords and conquerors captivated her imagination. The creaking of the wagon, the subtle symphony of nature, and even the rhythmic gait of Aragon became mere whispers in the periphery of her awareness.

The intricate details of Targaryen exploits held Akame in a trance. Her eyes moved across the pages with a fluid grace, absorbing every word as if it were a sacred incantation. The three-headed dragon crest, once a symbol on paper, now seemed to come to life in her mind's eye, each head embodying a chapter of a fantastical epic.

Aragon, ever attuned to his rider, continued his journey with an almost intuitive understanding. His hooves created a gentle percussion, yet the sounds failed to pierce the veil of Akame's deep engagement.

The world around her melted away as Akame navigated the twists and turns of Targaryen sagas. The politics, the dragons, the conquests—all unfolded before her in vivid detail. The dirt road became a mere conduit, a pathway through which her mind traversed the landscapes of a world both ancient and fantastical.

Akame delved further into the pages of Targaryen history, her fascination with the legendary family began to unravel. The tales of conquests and dragon-riders, which had held her in thrall, suddenly gave way to a revelation that struck her like a sudden tempest. The words detailing the incestuous unions within the Targaryen bloodline unfolded before her eyes.

In that moment, the awe that had surrounded House Targaryen crumbled, replaced by a stark reality that left Akame gawking in shock and disgust. The intricate family tree, once a source of intrigue, now became a twisted labyrinth of relationships that defied the norms she knew. The once regal and mythical image of the three-headed dragon seemed tainted; its grandeur overshadowed by the unsettling practices that held the bloodline together.

The very symbol of the Targaryen crest was a representation of Aegon and his two sister wives.

Her ruby red eyes widened in disbelief.

The medieval book, once a portal to a fantastical realm, now became a vessel for a truth that Akame found repulsive.

The shock etched across her face as the words sank in. The tales of siblings marrying and producing heirs, in the name of preserving the dragon lord heritage, sparked a visceral reaction within her. The intricate dance of dragons and conquests now felt tainted by a reality that clashed with her own sense of morality and societal norms.

In disbelief, Akame found herself rereading the passages, as if hoping the words had played some cruel trick on her perception. However, the unsettling truth persisted, confirming the reality of Targaryen incestuous unions. She couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that now clung to the once-fascinating tales.

Her eyes flitted across the text once more, tracing the lines that detailed siblings entwining their destinies in the name of preserving the dragon lord heritage. The shock on her face deepened, her brows furrowing in a mixture of disbelief and repulsion. A heavy silence enveloped her, broken only by the sounds of Aragon's steady hooves and the rustling of leaves.

In a tone that carried a blend of incredulity and dismay, she muttered to herself, "What kind of Ancient Egyptian shit is this?" The comparison to a distant, archaic civilisation underscored her bewilderment, as if the Targaryen practices transcended not only the norms of her world but also those of long-forgotten histories.

In that moment, the pages became heavy with the weight of revelations, and Akame slammed the book shut. The tranquillity of the journey shattered as she uttered a terse, "Okay, that's enough for today." The warmth of fascination now replaced by a cold discomfort, Akame's connection to the Targaryen history transformed into a complex tapestry of conflicting emotions, leaving her to grapple with the unsettling truths that lay within the old pages.

"I need a second to get all that in" Akame whispered with a slight horror in her tone and her face seemed like her soul was sucked right out of her body. "…. The fuck did I just read" she rubbed her eyes.

She let out a deep sigh of frustration for the lack of biological knowledge ancient people had. "Those future off springs are gonna have two heads and webbed feet. It's gonna be a mutant freak show in that castle." Akame remarked.

"Oh well not my problem" she said half-heartedly, shrugging her shoulders apathetically.

Akame urged Aragon forward, she shook herself free from the unsettling thoughts that had gripped her moments ago. The medieval book, now closed and nestled against her, seemed to lose its weight as her focus shifted to the practicality of the journey.

Her mind wandered to the wooden crate and the old maps nestled within it. She had taken a quick glimpse of the map and came to know that the continent she currently traversed was Westeros, a realm both unfamiliar and unwelcome.

Akame knew she was no longer in her world, and that knowledge carried a burden that tugged at the corners of her consciousness.

Her mind, often honed for battles and strategic thinking, now grappled with a different kind of conflict—the yearning for a world she once knew. The recognition that she had been reincarnated into a different realm, severed from the familiar contours of her own existence, gnawed at her like an incessant ache.

She was no longer in the world she knew. The medieval maps and the tales of dragons were not a mere diversion; they were stark reminders of a journey that transcended the boundaries of her former existence.

Deep within her, the yearning continued to stir. It wasn't for the perfection of her previous world, with its 21st-century complexities and societal flaws. Instead, her heartache stemmed from the desire to return to the one person who had been a steadfast presence in her life—James.

The uncertainty of James' fate weighed heavily on her heart. The explosion that had severed her from her reality left the fate of those she cared about hanging in the balance. Her fervent hope was that he had survived the chaos and made it out alive before the countdown had hit 0.

Just maybe, maybe she was able to save the last remaining member of Delta Raptors.

Just one.

The burden of losing Jame's whole squad weighed heavily on her shoulders. The haunting echo of that failure resonated within her, and it became a poignant reminder of the cost war demanded.

All the members were once strong and honourable heroes but died for what they believed in and she couldn't help but blame herself for their loss. If maybe she was stronger, faster, and smarter maybe neither of them would have died.

But that is just foolish thinking, it was war, you can't save everyone no matter how strong you are.

Liam, a friend who had shared the camaraderie of high school with James, met his demise in the chaos of battle.

Boris, a towering presence within the squad, had met a gruesome end. Shot in the highest tower and callously kicked off by her own brother, Kaito—a sibling whose betrayal still stung with the venom of familial treachery. The vivid image of Boris plummeting from that tower was etched in her memory.

Alex, whose throat had been slit by Kaito months later, was another comrade lost to the ceaseless cruelty of war. He was probably the first person to ever accept her as a person from the very moment they met. Alex was a good person, a best friend to her not to mention an amazing hacker yet an idiot who hacked into the American military data system in order to prove to his mother that he was something but got caught in the process which was why he ended up in the military in the first place, if not he would have probably been alive.

Lucas a strong pilot, in a final act of bravery, sacrificed himself to destroy enemy planes. He wrestled with the controls, his plane colliding with the enemy in a blaze of selfless determination. The sacrifice was both beautiful and tragic—a last stand against an overwhelming force.

And Fiona, who had only just begun to accept Akame as a comrade, fell victim to an enemy soldier's bullet. The abrupt and violent end to Fiona's journey left a bitter taste, a stark reminder of the unpredictable nature of warfare.

At first, Akame had regarded them as little more than a necessary nuisance, a fleeting presence in her war-torn existence. They were faces she passed in the chaos of battle, names she scarcely bothered to remember.

The initial detachment, however, crumbled like ancient walls over time. As Akame worked alongside these strangers, the layers of indifference peeled away, revealing the humanity beneath. Shared struggles, battles fought side by side, and the harsh reality of war began to forge connections that transcended mere comradeship.

The transformation from perceived enemies to an ersatz family happened imperceptibly, like the slow merging of colours in a twilight sky. Akame, once dismissive of their presence, found herself caring for the lives intertwined with hers. In the crucible of conflict, bonds were forged—unseen ties that bound Delta Squad together.

The echoes of laughter in moments of respite, shared victories against insurmountable odds, and the silent understanding that passed between them all painted the canvas of their camaraderie. Akame, who had once deemed them an inconvenience, began to see them as kindred spirits—compatriots who faced the same demons on the battlefield.

The turning point was subtle, a realisation that dawned slowly. Akame's heart, once guarded against the encroachment of unfamiliar alliances, softened. The members of Delta Squad became more than comrades; they became family. The dynamics shifted, and the squad transformed into a refuge—a source of strength in the relentless storm of war.

But fate, unforgiving and indiscriminate, snatched away this newfound family with a cruel swiftness. In the blink of an eye, the bonds that had grown so strong were severed. The camaraderie that once echoed with life and laughter now lingered as a haunting memory.

James, the last living remnant of the squad, bore the weight of their shared history alone. The memories, once shared amongst a band of brothers and sisters, now rested solely on his shoulders. The camaraderie that had once been a pillar of strength had crumbled, leaving James standing alone amidst the debris of what was once a vibrant alliance.

Even if Akame was alive in another world, she was still dead.

"Forgive me James for leaving you alone." Akame mumbled softly to herself. "I hope you understand what I had to do in order for the Allies to push on further and win the war" she said.

Akame hoped that her sacrifice would not go in vain and that James would use this opportunity to win the fight and finally bring an end to all this war bullshit.

The lone soldier took a long in take of breath before exhaling out, her mind now racing with one thought. "You better win this war asshole" her lips turned up to a grin and she couldn't help but chuckle silently to herself.

James Carter, a stalwart figure in the military, was the epitome of strength, stoicism, and unwavering bravery. His demeanour mirrored the rigors of his duty, a portrait of a soldier who faced the harsh realities of warfare with a resolute seriousness. In the chaotic theatre of battle, he stood as a beacon of steadfast determination.

A man of few words, James exuded authority and commanded respect effortlessly. His orders were concise, his decisions unwavering, and his commitment to the mission unyielding. Within the intricate web of military hierarchy, he stood at the pinnacle—a leader who inspired both fear and admiration among those who served under him.

But for Akame, James was just an annoying bastard, always telling her what to do and what not to do. That staidness to him whenever he was on duty and in command. How he was the only person in the world that could get her to something she didn't want to. The dichotomy between them was palpable. Akame, a warrior moulded in the shadows of her own battles, despised the notion of someone commanding her. Her independence clashed with James' authoritative presence, leading to a tumultuous relationship. She hated the way he could issue orders without batting an eye, how he could dictate her actions with an unwavering resolve.

Yet, beneath the surface of animosity, Akame couldn't deny a grudging respect for James. His strength, both physical and moral, left an indelible mark. He was the only one unafraid to meet her gaze, the only one who saw beyond her origins and treated her as a fellow soldier rather than a feared anomaly.

But what made her look at James in a daughterly way was because he saw her as just a kid being manipulated by a monster who created her, that her place was never in war. 

It was when a sudden memory suddenly struck her and she smiled to herself.

Silently, she had placed a live tarantula—a creature she mockingly named "James" in her own twisted sense of humour—onto James Carter while he slept, blissfully unaware of the eight-legged intruder inching its way across his sleeping form.

The result was a symphony of chaos in the stillness of the night. James awoke to the tactile horror of a crawling presence, his stoic facade shattered in a cacophony of horror and fear. A guttural scream escaped him as he swiped at the arachnid invader with a force that sent it hurtling across the room, hitting the wall with a resounding thud.

Days later, the tarantula met its demise, succumbing to the aftermath of the unintended airborne journey. Akame, unrepentant and fuelled by a thirst for retribution, took the deceased arachnid and placed it on a box adorned with James' name. With a shovel in hand and a mischievous glint in her eyes, she buried the box in James Carter's backyard, each layer of soil a silent declaration of her calculated act.

The burial, a symbolic gesture of her vengeful amusement, lingered in the recesses of James Carter's property. However, Akame's satisfaction was short-lived. When she returned, she found James standing over the unearthed box, shovel in hand, a heartless figure with his German Shepherd named Max at his side. The air hung heavy with the scent of burning embers, the box and its arachnid occupant now reduced to ash.

James, with the poise of a man unyielding even in the face of the unconventional, had taken matters into his own hands. The silent exchange between them spoke volumes—her mischievous act met with his stoic resolve.

Fucking Arachnophobia asshole, Akame thought to herself as she chuckled softly to herself.

As Akame rode on Aragon, the memory of the tarantula prank lingered in the recesses of her mind, a mischievous echo of the camaraderie they once shared. A subtle smile played on her lips, a reflection of the complex dynamic she had with James Carter. Yet, beneath the surface of amusement, a deeper emotion stirred—an earnest concern for his well-being.

Amidst the landscapes of Westeros passing by, Akame found a moment of quiet reflection. As she gazed upon the horizon, she offered a silent prayer, a heartfelt wish directed toward the man who had become a steadfast presence in her tumultuous journey. The prayer was not for her own sake but for James' safety and peace of mind.

In the solitude of her thoughts, Akame prayed that James remained safe, unscathed by the perils of the war-torn world they traversed. The hope extended beyond mere survival; it carried the weight of a wish for his happiness, even if he found himself as the last remnant of a once-vibrant camaraderie.

She prayed that James wouldn't burden himself with guilt or grief over her absence. Akame understood the depth of his character, how losing those dear to him could cast shadows on his soul. Her prayer sought solace for him, urging him to lift himself from the depths of sorrow, to continue forward even if he felt alone in the journey.

The bond they shared, a blend of mischief and unspoken understanding, held a promise of resilience. Akame's prayer resonated with the desire for James to find strength within himself, to carry the weight of their shared past without succumbing to the darkness that often-accompanied loss.

With a final glance toward the horizon, Akame's prayer echoed in the winds of Westeros. She hoped that James Carter, the stoic and resolute leader, would find the fortitude to live on, to embrace the fleeting moments of happiness, and to carry the legacy of their camaraderie in a world that often demanded more than it gave.

"I hope to see you on the other side asshole" Akame said. "Just don't come after me with a rifle.

~~~~------------------------------------------------------------------------~~~~

Akame and Aragon continued their journey, the hours of riding eventually led them to the outskirts of a castle upon the waters of the river. Positioned atop a distant hill, Akame reined in Aragon, allowing the landscape to unfold before them. The view was captivating, and she couldn't help but admire the sight of this old castle sprawled along the banks of the river.

The lone soldier's brows furrowed deep into a curious gaze. "Could this be Riverrun?" she questioned with a slight wonder. "That man did say I was on the road to Riverrun."

Akame began to ponder over what she read in the journal, trying to remember where she read Riverrun from. She didn't need to open the book to and search it for as the memory came sliding back in.

It was the castle that House Tully resided in.

'Great! A noble house on the first day of reincarnation' she thought bitterly, mentally rolling her eyes.

As much as she wanted to avoid nobles it didn't mean she was not going to have a good look at their homes. She always wanted to see ancient architecture especially castles.

The lone solider gazed down from the lonely hilltop with a quiet and serene demeaner. 

Riverrun, a castle with its roots deeply entwined in the intricate tapestry of this world, stood proudly against the backdrop of the flowing river. The castle's architecture, a harmonious blend of stone walls and sturdy towers, bore witness to the passage of time and the history etched into its very stones. Akame, from her vantage point, marvelled at the craftsmanship that had withstood the test of countless seasons.

The river itself, a lifeline that meandered gracefully around the castle, added to the scenic beauty. Its waters, reflecting the hues of the sky above, glistened in the sunlight. The strategic location of Riverrun, nestled amidst the natural contours of the landscape, was a testament to the military prowess of the houses that had held sway over it through the ages.

As Akame gazed down at the castle, the wind played with her hair, tugging at the strands as if whispering tales of the past. The air was filled with a mix of scents—of earth, river, and the distant echoes of the castle's own history.

Aragon, sensing the stillness in his rider, stood patiently, the majestic creature embodying the quiet strength that accompanied them on their journey. Akame, lost in the panorama below, allowed herself a moment of reflection. The distant view of Riverrun served as a reminder that even in a world fraught with turmoil, beauty and history endured.

For a moment, Akame simply sat astride Aragon, her gaze fixed on Riverrun's silhouette. The wind gently tousled her hair, and the distant sounds of the river added a soothing melody to the scene. In the tranquillity of that moment, a wishful thought crossed her mind.

"I wish I had my phone to capture this," she mused aloud, a wistful tone betraying a desire to preserve the picturesque sight before her.

However, as the minutes passed, Akame's admiration gave way to a pragmatic resolve. She knew that Riverrun, with its regal allure, was also home to nobility. Her aversion to entangling herself in the politics and power struggles of Westeros prompted a decision.

Just like it came, her awe of wonder disappeared to be replaced by her same bored and annoyed feeling.

"Alright, that's enough sightseeing, let's keep moving." she declared in a blunt and bored tone, as if dismissing the scenic charm with a casual wave of her hand. With that, she nudged Aragon to turn away from the castle, steering clear of the regal abode. The road ahead beckoned, and Akame, ever pragmatic and cautious, was determined to continue her journey without getting entangled in the affairs of noble houses.

As they moved away from Riverrun, the castle's image gradually diminished in the distance. Akame, focused and resolute, guided Aragon on the path that veered away from the regal abode, leaving behind the picturesque scenery to traverse the less celebrated but safer routes of Westeros.

The dirt road stretched endlessly before Akame and Aragon, and the rhythm of the horse's hooves against the ground created a cadence of reflection.

Realizing the need to chart her course in this unfamiliar world, Akame guided Aragon to a gradual halt. She dismounted gracefully, the black and red katana at her side glinting in the sunlight. Retrieving the map from its secure spot within the wagon, she spread it out with a deliberate care, the parchment crackling softly in the stillness of the moment.

As Akame scrutinized the ancient map spread out before her, a moment of realization and complete annoyance swept over her features. Her eyes narrowed, and she couldn't help but feel rather lost in utter realisation of what she was doing with a map she could not understand.

Frustration built up in her and she shuffled the side of her head. "What the fuck? How do I? What?" she wanted to pull her out. How could she navigate this shit?

In her world, she had been accustomed to the convenience of electronic navigation systems, GPS, and the simplicity of Google Maps. The absence of a blue dot indicating her precise location on the parchment before her felt like a glaring omission. Akame found herself missing the digital guidance that had made navigation a breeze in her previous life.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she thought about the ease with which she used to navigate the complex urban jungles of her world. The simplicity of following a blue dot on a screen, the turn-by-turn instructions—these were luxuries that the ancient map failed to provide.

"Missin' my blue dot," she muttered, a hint of annoyance in her voice. The map, though detailed in its own right, lacked the intuitive simplicity she had grown accustomed to. The realisation that she now had to decipher winding roads, landmarks, and noble houses without the aid of modern technology added an extra layer of complexity to her journey.

The lone solider stared at the map for another second longer and then lost her cool.

Frustration etched across Akame's features as she grappled with the archaic intricacies of the ancient map. A disgruntled snort escaped her, echoing the difficulty she faced in deciphering the medieval cartography. The absence of her familiar digital aids left her feeling disoriented and vexed.

"Man fuck me" she mumbled angrily to herself, rubbing her eyes in vexed frustration.

Aragon neighed softly, his tail swishing along his response. Akame glanced up to look at the horse intelligent eyes. It was like a window to his beautiful and calming soul that told her to relax and that they would figure it out, it all just needs a little more understanding.

The black-haired Asian girl decided to simplify the puzzle. "Alright lets figure this out" Akame said with begrudging determination. She focused on the one location she was sure of—Riverrun. The sight of the majestic castle nestled along the riverbank served as her starting point. However, a new challenge presented itself. She wasn't certain which direction she was facing—east, west, north, or south.

Stepping back both mentally and figuratively, Akame recalibrated her approach. She considered the clues, the roads, and the limited landmarks available to her. Riverrun, she knew, was on the road she had been traveling. Gazing at the thick line on the map that stretched from the east to the west, she made a mental note of the route.

As she retraced her steps on the parchment, her finger followed the winding road leading to Riverrun. The realization dawned on her that, based on the path she had been traversing, she was likely facing eastward. A flicker of satisfaction crossed her face as she aligned herself with the map.

"East it is, then," she muttered to herself, a sense of clarity emerging from the chaos. The frustration began to dissipate, replaced by a steely resolve to navigate the ancient world of Westeros. With Riverrun marked as her starting point, Akame noted it deeply in her mind.

Akame shifted her gaze upward to meet the intelligent eyes of Aragon, the noble steed who had been patiently observing her endeavours. A sense of appreciation glimmered in her eyes, and a small, knowing smile played on her lips.

"You truly are a gift, aren't you?" she remarked, her words carrying a note of gratitude. The bond between them, forged through the shared journey and unspoken understanding, seemed to deepen in that moment.

Aragon, in response, remained a silent but reassuring presence, his eyes reflecting a mutual understanding that transcended words.

Akame's eyes once again laid on the map again. Those red eyes of hers swept across the ancient map, her expression stoic and unyielding. The symbols denoting Winterfell, King's Landing, Castly Rock, Dorne, The Twins and other majorly noble houses garnered her undivided attention. It was as if she were meticulously choosing a path through a complex maze, each decision marked by a simple yet resolute directive.

Her finger hovered over Winterfell, and her voice, devoid of emotion, cut through the air, "Avoid." The word lingered like a silent command, the implications clear and unyielding. King's Landing received an even blunter assessment, "Definitely avoid," as if there were no room for negotiation.

Castly Rock earned a dismissive glance, and her tone remained unapologetically blunt. "Stay clear." The ancient parchment seemed to carry the weight of her decisions, and her eyes moved to Dorne. "Don't go there," she declared, a finality echoing in her words.

Each directive, delivered with the finesse of a practiced decision-maker, painted a picture of Akame's strategic acumen. It was as if she were perusing a wardrobe of potential destinations, evaluating each with the same bland expression. "No, no, no, definitely no," she murmured, the map becoming a canvas for her pragmatic choices.

Akame wasn't going to risk her existence being known by hungry power war lords or whoever they may be.